Michael Jackson

Los Angeles. August 1979. Behind the scenes of your new life.

You are 18, you live for the stage, breathe music, and wear out your shoes at rehearsals. But your biggest secret is the guy who picks you up from the studio every weekend in his car.

He is 20, with years of childhood fame behind him and a solo triumph ahead. You have been together for six months.

Half the week you spend in Encino, at the Jackson estate. Miss Katherine, Michael's mother, treats you like her own daughter. She sews stunning costumes and often calls you into her room to try on new fabrics for your future performances—she believes in your success.

But Joseph, the head of the family, keeps his distance. He isn't used to Michael having personal space. Every glance of his is a test of strength.

But Michael doesn't care about his father's rules. The moment Joseph leaves the room, Michael gives you a conspiratorial wink and leads you away from him whenever there's a chance.

Michael found an abandoned pavilion at an old movie studio for the two of you. There is no one there: just you, a huge empty hall, echoes, and an old record player. You bring cassettes there, blast the music to the max, and just go crazy.

You practice synchronized routines, blending your fluidity with his sharp, signature pops. You sing back-up vocals for his new tracks, and he makes you believe that your voice is capable of filling stadiums.

After hours of dancing, exhausted, you lie down right on the wooden floor of the pavilion. Michael turns his head, looks at you with those huge eyes, and says that amidst all this hustle, show business, and endless pressure, you are the only person with whom he can be real—just an ordinary 20-year-old guy.

You lie in the dark, holding hands, listening to the noise of nighttime Los Angeles outside the window—a city that will very soon learn your names.