Michael Jackson (36 page)

As he turned to walk out of the room, a shaking Katherine Jackson grabbed a silver-framed photograph of the two of them from
a table and hurled it to the floor with everything she had in her. She was filled with such contempt for Joseph, she didn't
even know what she was doing. The glass smashed to smithereens, a fitting metaphor for her life.

The next day, 19 August 1982, Katherine quietly filed for divorce. Her action got practically no press coverage. She was discreet,
not wanting to jeopardize the family's image with a public and volatile divorce. In her petition, she said:

‘Approximately one year ago, Joseph told me that we were running short of money. I asked him questions about the business
and he told me to “stay out of the business”. I am informed and believe that within the last year, Joseph has spent in excess
of $50,000 on a young woman and has purchased for her parcels of real property from our community funds. I am fearful that
unless restrained by an order of this court, Joseph will continue to dissipate community funds and transfer community funds
in jeopardy of my community property rights.’

Though Katherine had only a vague idea of exactly how much community property existed, she wanted to keep Joseph from transferring
or otherwise disposing of any of it. The property she was aware of included her interest in the Encino home, furniture, furnishings,
and other personal property, her interest in Joseph Jackson Productions and in various bank accounts. She made a list of the
rest of the community assets: a 1979 Mercedes-Benz (colour not indicated in legal documents), a 1971 blue-grey Mercedes-Benz,
a 1971 white Rolls-Royce, a 1978 brown Mercedes-Benz, a 1971 blue Rolls-Royce, a 1974 G.M.C. motor home, a 1981 Toyota truck,
a 1980 white Cadillac limousine, a 1978 Ford van, two boats (day cruisers) with trailers, and a Keogh financial plan.

There was only one snag in Katherine's declaration of independence. Jerome Howard, who would become her business manager in
1988, recalled, ‘She told me that after she filed for divorce, she naturally expected Joseph to move out of the house. However,
he refused to leave. So what could she do?’

‘This is my house, too,’ Joseph told Katherine, defiantly. ‘You're my wife, I love you, and it's going to stay that way.’

Michael could not remain neutral and uninvolved. ‘You have to kick him out,’ he told his mother. ‘Or call the police. Or get
a restraining order. But he can't stay here just because he wants to.’

Katherine would not discuss the matter with Michael, or any of her children. This was her cross to bear, not theirs.

‘This is killing me,’ Michael told his oldest sister, Rebbie, according to her memory. ‘I will never get married. I will never
trust a person in that way. I couldn't bear to go through this again.’

‘But, Michael, this is their life, not yours,’ she said in her most compassionate voice. ‘You will live your life differently.
Trust me.’

‘But how do you know that?’ Michael asked, his eyes red from crying. ‘Mother never planned any of this for herself, did she?’

‘No, I'm sure she didn't,’ Rebbie said, embracing him. ‘I'm sure she didn't.’

In August 1982, Michael began work with Quincy Jones on a new album at Westlake Studios in Los Angeles. The album would be
entitled
Thriller
with a budget of about $750,000 to produce, and nine songs carefully selected by Michael and Quincy from about three hundred.
The sessions went well; Michael was satisfied with the work. However, once they played back the album – the ‘master pressing’,
as the final mix was called – it didn't sound as good as Michael thought it should. In fact, to his ears, it sounded terrible.
He was crushed. Never one to shy away from a good old-fashioned ‘scene’, Michael ran from the studio, sobbing.

To solve the problem, each song had to be remixed, bringing up the level of some orchestration and voices and toning down
others. It was time-consuming, tedious work at the rate of two songs a week, but in the end it proved to be worth the effort.
Quincy Jones along with one of Michael's managers, Ron Weisner, and his attorney, John Branca, sat with Michael in the Westlake
Studio as he listened to a playback of the album. To Michael the music now sounded terrific. He was optimistic, bobbing his
head to the rhythm and smiling broadly as each cut played.

‘Mike, you know, the record market is off right now,’ Ron Weisner told him as the title track, ‘Thriller’, blared from the
speakers. He had to almost shout to be heard above it.

‘Yeah, Mike,’ Quincy agreed. ‘You can't expect to do with this one what you did with
Off the Wall.
’

‘These days, two million is a hot album,’ Ron added.

‘Yeah, it's a tough market. Nobody's having hits,’ Quincy said.

‘Turn it down,’ Michael shouted out at the engineer. ‘I said,
turn it down.
’ His smile was now gone. ‘What's the matter with you guys?’ he wanted to know. ‘How can you say that to me? You're wrong.
You are dead wrong.’

‘But, Michael – ’ Quincy began.

‘Look, don't even talk to me,’ Michael said, turning away from Quincy. ‘I've had it with you, Quincy. Don't ever tell me anything
like that again,’ he added, angrily. ‘What kind of attitude is
that
to have?’

John Branca sat in a corner and watched the scene. A wry smile touched his mouth; he'd been around Michael enough to know
how this scene would climax.

‘Goodbye,’ Michael announced as he stormed out of the studio.

By the next day, Michael had worked himself into a fully fledged fury. He telephoned John Branca and told him how angry he
had been at Ron and Quincy for predicting that
Thriller
would ‘only’ sell two million copies.

‘I know,’ John recalls saying. ‘Don't listen to those guys, Mike. You're the one who knows. They don't know.’

‘But Quincy should know,’ Michael said.

‘Well, maybe not this time,’ John told him. ‘You're the man. Call Walter [Yetnikoff] and he'll tell you the same thing.’

‘No, you call him,’ Michael said. ‘And tell him this. Tell him the record is
cancelled,
John. It's over. I ain't even submitting it to CBS.’

‘But Mike – ’

‘No, John. If Quincy and Ron don't have faith in it, then forget it,’ Michael said. ‘I'm not even going to let the album come
out.
Thriller
is gonna be shelved for ever,’ he said. ‘I'd rather it go unheard than see it not get the attention it deserves.’

‘But, Mike – ’

‘Let me tell you something,’ Michael said, cutting him off. ‘There are winners in this life, Branca, and there are losers.’
Before John had a chance to respond, Michael hung up.

Ten minutes later, John telephoned Michael to tell him that he had passed on the message to Walter Yetnikoff and – no big surprise – Walter
wanted to talk to Michael. He wanted Michael to call him. ‘What? No way,’ Michael said. ‘Tell him to call me.’

‘But, Mike – ’

‘Tell him to call me.’
Michael hung up.

Whereas most of the CBS artists were intimidated by Walter Yetnikoff, Michael was not at all cowed by him. After all, he'd
dealt with Berry Gordy, one on one. Walter called, as instructed.

According to Walter's memory, when Michael told him what had occurred at the studio, he tried to calm him down. ‘What the
hell do they know?’ he said of Quincy and Ron. ‘
You're
the superstar, not them. Jesus, Michael. We trust
you.
Not Quincy, all due respect to the guy. And certainly not one of your managers. You're the superstar.’

‘You think?’ Michael asked, coyly,

‘Absolutely.’

‘So you agree?’

‘Of course.’

‘Okay,’ Michael decided. ‘Then it can come out.’

Michael Jackson had created a melodrama surrounding the completion of
Thriller
, there was little doubt of that. Would he really have cancelled the release of the album simply because Quincy had predicted
it would only sell two million copies? Perhaps. However, the more likely scenario is that Michael was just trying to, as they
might have said in the Jackson family, ‘get his way’. The manner in which he handled the situation couldn't exactly be described
as ‘artful’ or ‘strategic’. It was more like the dynamics of a family flare-up – one party has a tantrum, just as people in
big families often do with one another… then pushes and pushes and pushes until he gets his way, and until he feels validated.
Such tactics would work for Michael many times in the future. Obviously, there is no road map to success. Few entertainers
ever reach a goal of stardom at all, and if one finds a way to go about it, he has to be given credit. It would seem that
Michael Jackson had certainly found a way that worked for him.

On 1 December 1982,
Thriller
was released to a market of seasonal shoppers. It seems ironic, considering the impact
Thriller
would have on the record industry, that when CBS released the album's first single (in October, a little over a month before
the issuance of the album) many observers thought
Thriller
would be a disappointment. The auspicious pairing of Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney for the mid-tempo ‘The Girl is Mine’
(which the singers co-wrote while watching cartoons) appeared to be of greater interest than the song itself which, while
cute, was lacking in substance. Many in both the black and white music communities felt that Michael and Quincy Jones had
gone too far in consciously tailoring a record for a white, pop audience. If this first single was an indication of what else
would be found on
Thriller,
Michael seemed to be in big trouble.

And then came ‘Billie Jean’.

Dark and sparse by Quincy Jones production standards, ‘Billie Jean’ prowled in rhythm like a predatory animal. It's a disturbing
song Michael wrote about a girl accusing him of fathering her child. Joseph Jackson's extramarital affairs and his daughter,
Joh'Vonnie, must have come to mind when Michael wrote the lyrics. However, there was another experience Michael had, which
was the catalyst for ‘Billie Jean’.

In 1981 a female fan wrote Michael a letter to inform him that he was the father of her baby. She enclosed photographs of
herself- a young, attractive, black woman in her late teens whom he had never met – and of the infant. Michael, who often received
letters of this nature, ignored it as he does the others. This teenager, however, was more persistent than the rest. She loved
Michael, she claimed, and longed to be with him. She wrote that she could not stop thinking about him, and about how happy
they would be as they raised their child, together. She was obviously disturbed.

In months to come, Michael would receive dozens more letters from this woman. In one, she claimed that the baby and Michael
had similar eyes and wondered how he could ignore his flesh and blood. It wasn't long before Michael began having nightmares
about the situation. He fixated on her, wondering where she was, when she would show up at his front gate, and what he would
do then. It seemed to some in the family that he had become as obsessed with her as she was with him.

One day, Michael received a package from her. When he opened it, he discovered another photograph: her high school graduation
picture. In it, she smiled with girlish innocence. Also in the box was a gun. In a note, the fan asked that Michael kill himself
on a certain day, at a certain time. She wrote that she would do the same – right after she killed the baby. She had decided,
she wrote, that if the three of them could not be together in this life, perhaps they could in the next. Michael was horrified.
He took the photograph, had it framed, and displayed it in the dining room on a coffee table, much to Katherine's dismay.
‘God, what if she shows up?’ he fretted. ‘What will I do? I have to remember this face. Just in case. I must never forget
this face.’

She never showed up at Michael's gate. In fact, he later learned that the poor young woman ended up in an insane asylum.

After ‘Billie Jean’ came out, Michael said that he wrote the song with his obsessed fan in mind. Ironically, Quincy Jones
did not want to include it on the
Thriller
album; he did not think it was a strong enough song to be a part of the collection. Michael so believed in the song, he and
Quincy had strong disagreements about its merit. When Michael came up with the title of the song, he asked LaToya, ‘You don't
think people will believe I'm talking about that tennis player, do you?’ He was referring to Billie Jean King; LaToya didn't
think so. Quincy Jones did, however, and wanted to change the title of the song to ‘Not My Lover’. Of course, Michael vetoed
that.