So what I’m about to tell you, you have to promise me no one else hears. Yes, you are about to hear one of Mr. Michael Jackson’s sworn-to-secrecy secrets. Guess what this secret is about? Yes. I, Michael Joseph Jackson, had fallen in love. And I’m gonna tell you all about it. Will you keep it a secret?

               I’m gonna tell you anyway. Just don’t go off to People and gossip about it, right? Well, here goes;

               It was the first day of studio time for Thriller. Quincy, my producer, introduced me to my team. Production, studio techs, you know, the so-so people I saw for the Off The Wall sessions. Then, but then, Mr. Jones introduced me to this Hispanic beauty. “H-hi,” I mumbled. She laughed softly and smiled at me. “Hello Mr. Jackson. I’m your…well sort of like a personal assistant, but I also happen to be your make-up and hair stylist. I’m gonna guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, eh?” I nodded and blushed wildly. Quincy smirked smugly at me. “Michael, you’re not helping at all,” he teased. “Really.”  I rolled my eyes. “Oh shut up Quincy! Ain’ nobody wanna hear it!” I snapped. “Mind-Reader Michael?” The girl questioned. I smiled. “Ohh, yeah! You know, ever since that near death experience I’ve had some special powers I’ve been wanting to share…” She laughed. “Well, I can’t wait to hear about them.” Quincy stepped between us. “Michael, would you like to know the name of the young lady you seem just so darn fond of? This is Maria Osorio. As she said, she will be your personal assistant, and hair and make-up stylist. I also have a feeling she will be around the studio during recordings, just a heads up, so you know what to…ah, wear.”  You know, I was blushing insanely at this point. This girl was too perfect. But eventually, I realized nothing it too perfect. Nothing’s even just perfect. And when I introduced my family to Maria, they went insane with excitement, right? Then they saw the color of her skin. For some reason, they were…disappointed in me? They were a little upset that she wasn’t fully Hispanic. Apparently, I had failed to mention that she was 45% Irish as well as Hispanic. 

               “Michael, she’s white!” Tito exclaimed. “I mean, she’s pretty damn hot, but she’s white! Dad isn’t gonna be very happy about this man.”

               And that was how the huge fight started. I had brought her to dinner, and I planned on surprising my family with this beautiful lady, but they were shocked. They didn’t know I liked “light-skinned peoples”. I had no idea how racist they were. All I knew was that apparently, before I was born, white people were considered much more prestigious than black people. In fact, black people were actually slaves for years at one time. Imagine how I felt. In the back of my mind, I was having nervous little thoughts. What if her parents are disgusted that she works for me? What if they are thinking ‘I owned his great, great grand daddy!’?  The reason I was thinking the granddaddy thing was, my great, great grandpa was an actual, I’d-swear-on-my-momma’s-grave slave. It scares me a little bit, but I’m proud to say it, it gives me a little bit of that kind of, Wow-his-grandpappy-was-a-slave-better-be-nice-to-him sort of respect, yah know?

               Halfway through the first recording session for Thriller, (I was recording Billie Jean,) she barged through the door, crying madly, like, I thought her mom died or something. “What happened? You guys? What’s wrong with her, what’s up?” I took off my headset and rushed out of the booth. Once I was out she turned to me. “Michael, this is none of your concern. Just back away from me! I don’t need this right now, I really don’t!” She yelled. “Maria, did I do something wrong? Just, please, tell me, I’ll fix it, I prom-“                  “You can’t fix anything.” And with that, she left the studio. Obviously, this really worried me. I got her number from Quincy, and I tried her phone like twelve times. After the tenth time, I was starting to lose hope. Now, I know it’s the eighties and you’re about to be like, “What the- There was none of those- ?” But I’m telling you right now. Celebrities and their associates had cellphones. I tried her cellphone once more, and finally, she picked up. “Hello? Who is this?” I asked. “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SCARY MOVIE?” The voice replied. It was a creepy voice. The voice of a man. “What the hell? Maria, stop it, I’m serious,” I said. “Fine,” Okay, it was really her. “What do you want Michael? Your father told me all about what you say about me.” What the fuck? “What are you talking about? I don’t even talk to my father, what the hell is this, a sick joke?”

               “No, I’m not like that. But apparently you are. Marlon-stop-stop it! C’mon I’m talking to Michael, just stop it.” Marlon. That son of a bitch, that traitor, that liar, that scumbag, that…Pimp. “Marlon, get the hell away from her! I’m warning you, if you so much as rip a hair off her head!” Marlon had recently got into a…business we’re not proud of, okay? And if he was gonna turn this precious girl into some crackwhore stripper, prostitute, streetwalker bitch; I’ll kill him in front of any soul. I don’t care if it’s in front of my own mother. This son of a bitch is getting the can of whoop-ass, that’s all I have to say.