It's 1987.
Michael Jackson is shattered by the marriage of Diana Ross, isolated by fame, and finding it hard to cope.
That is until he meets Sheri Carter - a hard-working, quick-witted single parent who swears she'll never love again.
They form a st...
"Mama's gonna be out for a little while, okay?" I told my toddler, who was smearing mashed banana all over her face with a spoon, which she then excitedly banged on the table of her high-chair. I raised my eyebrows at her and used her bib to wipe the banana away. "Does that mean you want me to go?"
The doorbell rang so I briefly left to answer it. It was the nanny that Michael arranged (and paid) for. I couldn't ask Faith to look after Joy without giving away the whole date thing. Since my weekends were now free, it was best to let her assume I was at home. Faith's replacement that night was a short Spanish woman, Graciela. Her light grey hair was tied in a neat, low bun and she carried a bag which was larger than the ol' girl herself! But she was a sweetheart, really. Her eyes were small and kind, with delicate wrinkles on her aged face. Back inside, I had an episode of déjà vu as I wiped Joy's face clean again. While I anticipated my date's arrival, I explained to Graciela everything she needed to know about Joy: which toy will make her stop crying, how to distract her when changing her diaper and what temperature of her milk is just right. She said she raised five children of her own so I didn't worry too much.
I got one final look at myself before leaving. I decided to do something different with my hair and put on some light make-up. I had on a sleeveless, wine-red dress that I once bought but never wore, with a deep neckline. The length flowed loosely from my waist and stopped above my knees. I topped off my outfit with some subtle jewelry and red lipstick to match. It was a warm night, so I whipped a sheer wrap over my dress. The only thing I took with me was a small purse just to keep the tickets safe—I hardly stressed over touch-ups.
I kissed my daughter goodbye and made my way to the car outside. My heart was like a jackhammer rattling inside my ribcage. Bill accompanied us that night. He got out of the car and acted like an escort. He was weirdly formal, shaking my hand and opening the car door for me. I dived in soon as I saw him sitting there in a silk red shirt and skinny black tie, topped off with a smart black blazer and his shades. He looked sodamn fine. I kissed Michael's cheek and complimented his hair that he left loose in all its curly glory.
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He took a long, slow, hard look at me and told me I looked beautiful wearing his favorite color. I don't always dress up but when I do, it's a refreshing change from the usual.
Michael planned to take us to a restaurant first. We were unusually quiet for the drive there. Hope everything goes right. Michael was looking out the window. I gently tapped his arm.
"You'll take those off when we get inside, right?" I asked about his shades.
"Of course," he smiled.
When we arrived, a posse of star-snappers was waiting for us out front.
I panicked, "um...paparazzi? Michael, they're gonna see us together, what if they take pictures?"
