Life Aint So Bad At All

a/n!: Hello lovelies! I’m slim! I’ve fallen in love with Michael and I CAN’T GET UP!!!! No srsly, I’ve been obsessed since the movie yall, I’ve used this as my chance to get back into writing, as I haven’t cohesively written a story in a very long time. Just editing and adding ideas but not flushing them out if ykwim. Idk, whatever girl. I have so many ideas and a lot of them match the storyline I came up with here, so I’m just gonna make this an anthology series with connected stories that can be read separately. But I gotta lay the foundation down first! Important to note: Michael and her don't actually meet in this part; they meet in the next one! This won’t be released until it’s finished, so fret not. this is just exposition and context for now. I'm a sucker for it tbh. 2. Michael was supposed to create a song called 'Family Thing' for the Addams Family Values, but was dropped after the allegations. I don't think it was going to have a music video, but we're pretending for the sake of the fic. 3. There's no smut and won't be for a while. I want to delve more into Michael's (possible) celibacy since we really don't know if he really did lose his virginity to his first wife or not. I also just am not that much of a fan of it anymore. 4. Olaide is very much #misunderstood, just...bare with her please. pt 2 is looking a little more like there's gonna be a pt 3, and if i go that route, you're not gonna like her in pt 2 😭. Just stick beside my girl! 5. I'll talk more about it in the series masterlist, but this series, while i try to keep it lighthearted, does have dark themes and topics. It's all past trauma so it's talked about and implied rather than taking place in the series. Just a warning if you want to follow it! I hope you all enjoy this, and idk abt y’all I’m in this fandom long term, so 🤷🏾‍♀️ I'm using this as a chance to become a consistent and intentional writer, so anything i say I'm doing is getting done. I'm not gonna be a hiatus writer anymore, I'm telling you!

pt 2

AUGUST 17, 1993 - LOS ANGELES

No one else was up to the job.

It was a beautiful but humid summer day in California. Though the sky was gorgeous, the heat did nothing to help Barry Sonnenfield’s nervous sweat as he hastily walked to the trailer for his next film’s antagonist. He never imagined he’d be in this position; directors send people to deliver bad news; they don’t do it themselves. And on the off chance they do, they’re certainly never this worried about the outcome. 

Not even Rena, her assistant, wanted to be in the same room. “Uh uh,” she’d said, shaking her head profusely. “I’m not touching that. You the one who got rid of Michael Jackson, so you go in there and tell her just what you did.” Some wonderful words of encouragement, and because she was Olaide Carter’s assistant, she could accept or refuse whatever she wanted, just like her stuck-up boss.

He finally approached the trailer, taking a minute to adjust his clothes and calm himself down, only realizing how badly he was shaking when he trilled his knuckles on her door instead of the 3 sharp knocks he really wanted. “Come in,” she’d called. He took the small towel he had in his pocket and dabbed his forehead before saying screw it and wiping his entire head like a madman.  Then, he rattled the door handle a few times before being able to open it.

He walked in with a smile to no avail. She never smiled at him unless she was getting what she wanted. He hadn’t seen what she was like when she didn’t; he’d only heard about it.

He was about to find out. 

“Hey darling,” he greeted happily. 

“Mhm, what do you want?” She cut to the chase, already untrusting of his tone. It’s never good when the director comes in, jolly as can be, minutes after your crew skedaddled out of your room. Everyone had been acting weird all day. And she knows it’s not good news if Rena got called to his office and he came back instead.

Barry sat down on her pink faux fur couch, requested by her. The upholstery was bedazzled with pearls and had a leopard print stripe outlining it. The entire room was themed similarly; a mix of black, varying pinks, and some sort of animal print. All a bit of an eyesore in his opinion, but whatever kept her happy.

“I just want to go over a couple changes with you.” He was grossly underexaggerating the news in question, and she could sense it.

Looking through the mirror, she glances at the papers in his hand. Her face remains stoic as she gussies up her curly blonde bob. She looks into his eyes, then looks back at herself. The whole thing lasted mere seconds, but felt like a lifetime for Barry. “Script changes?” She asks.

He gulps. “…amongst others,” he mutters, pulling out his towel once more. The trailer had its own air conditioning, and he was still sweating like a pig.

She nods with a look on her face that reads ‘sarcastic acknowledgement’. “Ah,” she said, “And what would these ‘other changes’ be?” She turned to him while doing the quotes, then crossed her right leg over her left, placed her hands on her knees, and gave him a beautiful, closed-mouth smile that looked the exact opposite of pleased. Right now, she was more upset that he was, very obviously, playing in her face.

He saw it as letting her down easy so she doesn’t completely wail on him. Instead of just admitting it, he continues to push for talking about the script beforehand. “Well, we’ll have to start shooting again in 20 minutes, so I’m going through and going over these changes with everyone-”

“Well, how much time could it take to tell me the other stuff? And it’ll be better if we talk about the script right before we start anyway.” The smile never dropped, and her voice never faltered. She was used to this kind of thing. “Just say what it is, Barry.”

He takes a deep breath, holds it in for just a second, then says, “Michael Jackson is no longer doing a song for us.”

For a minute, it’s silent. She just sits and looks at him. She blinks. Then blinks again. And again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that correctly.” She turns her head and puts a single manicured finger behind her ear. “Did you say…you dropped Michael Jackson from production?”

The man sat there twiddling his thumbs, completely drenched. He didn’t say…exactly that. But that is exactly what happened. And maybe in any other circumstance, this would be a minor disappointment. But if the song got cancelled, that means so did the music video Olaide was set to star in.

He gulped heavier this time as he tried to explain, even though he didn't think he should have to. “Now I know you’re disappointed. I wanted you to meet him and see you in the video; everyone did. But-” He’s interrupted by a bottle of perfume being aimed at his head. He ducked just in time for Chanel Platinum Egoiste to shatter against the wall, leaving an auburn stain and a gorgeous smell that wafted through the room. He gathered all his courage to look up at the woman who was now fully standing and glowering at him. Her bob surrounded her head like a silky, golden star; her short curls big enough to frame her face so that only her scowl, scrunched nose, and fiery chestnut eyes were visible to him. 

“Do you have any idea how much that video meant to me?” She raises her arm, and her finger comes up slowly, then pokes straight at him like a bow. If he focused, he could see her shaking slightly. “Fix it.”

“Olaide-“

“NO!” In a flash, she turns over and grabs a shoe. “Take it back, now!” She throws it, and this time it lands on his arms as they shield his face. “Are you fucking kidding me!”

She continues to pick up small items and throw them at Barry on the couch while he shouts at her to stop. “Olaide-ah! I’m sorry! But it’s not a good-ow! Look!” His words fell on deaf ears. He let her have her tantrum until she picked up a stool. He was already out the door when it smashed against it.

Rena, the makeup team, and the hair team all stood in a circle outside, having scattered from the door when it opened in a panic. Some of them looked concerned, others laughed amongst themselves, and Rena just shook her head. “I told you I wasn’t touching that.”

SEPTEMBER 6TH, 1993 - MOSCOW

Michael thinks this may be his lowest point.

After everything that’s happened to him, his tumultuous childhood, his hair catching on fire, his vitiligo completely taking over his body, he didn’t think he could suffer more.

The accusations had ruined him, accusations he could never come back from. Ever. This will stain his legacy forever, whether things work out in his favor or not.

It was September, weeks after Evan Chandler publicly accused him of something so heinous he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud. He lay in his hotel, alone like usual, but this time he felt suffocated by the isolation. There’s no silence; there never is when it comes to him. Right outside, he could hear a large crowd shouting at him from the street. There were still millions of people who cared. And yet, he’s all by himself in a dark, dark room.

Everyone has to hate him; it must be true. He’s lost so much already; the same company responsible for his chronic pain threw him to the curb when he needed them most, and production companies are dropping his projects like flies. He can barely remember them all, not that he needs to anymore.

He felt like he weighed two tons. The pills on the side of his bed mocked him as he succumbed to something that mimicked sleep. He thought of the past months of his life, the stress of the tour with the uncertainty of what Evan’s next actions would be. The whole thing had confused him; he couldn’t understand why this man hated him so much. He barely even saw him unless it was with his ex-wife and son.

One thing he knew for certain: he could not settle this outside of court. While it wouldn’t have been cold, hard evidence, it would be too suspicious for anyone to ever trust him again. At the same time, he was losing a lot because of this, and settling so it’ll never be discussed again is the fastest way to getting things back on track. Neither option made him happy.

Happy? When was the last time he could say he was truly happy?

At 4 in the morning, he finally closed his eyes, then opened them again at 8 am on the dot. 4 hours, yes, that was more than enough sleep for what would be an over 16-hour day. He rubbed his face and left his bed to open the curtain and let in some Russian sun. The crowd had dissipated, leaving lingering photographers and super fans who just had to get a glimpse of him. They would all be back tonight, maybe. 

Hopefully. He needs something to tell him that there was still love for him out there somewhere.

Finishing up in the bathroom, there’s a knock on his suite door. Breakfast and his assistant making sure he’s up and at ‘em. He lets them in without a word. He hadn’t spoken since he’d gotten in the limo yesterday to leave the concert. “Good morning, Michael. How did you sleep last night?” She asks as room service wheels in the food that he inevitably won’t eat.

Michael taps his feet and looks at the ground. “Okay, I guess.”

She doesn’t look pleased with his answer, but what can she do? She’s used to this by now. She definitely knows he slept too late and didn’t get any real rest. But it was morning now, and Michael needed to get to the studio rented out for night 2. “Well, if everything goes according to plan today, you can get a nap in before the concert.” He nodded, knowing that wasn’t going to happen. Michael didn’t take “naps”. If he did, they didn’t last longer than 10 minutes.

“So first, your lawyer called about an hour ago; you need to call him back now because it’s currently 1 in the morning Eastern Standard Time, and he said he’d stay up until 1:30.” Michael let out a grunt through his nose and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. That’s the last thing he wants to do right now. 

“Can you just tell him to go to sleep and call me back when he wakes up?”

She nods and writes it down. “Okay, other than that, your morning is pretty free unless you still have things to pack up. You should look through some more fan mail; your sound designer wants to speak with you, so make sure to call him…other than that, just like yesterday. Be at the studio by 10, meet and greet at 4, then prepare for the show tonight. I’ll let you know about any changes, okay?” He nods and thinks of asking her to join him for breakfast. He won’t finish it; he never does, and he could really use some company.

But he finds he doesn’t have the energy to keep talking. She smiles sadly at him, feeling his sadness but doing nothing about it. Then, she flips the page over with a furrowed brow and gasps. “Oh! Right! You know who called last night?”

Michael, without breaking eye contact, turned his head to the side oh so slightly. “No…” he answered nervously.

“Barry Sonnenfield. He really needs to talk to you. Sounded like it was urgent. Best time to call him would be late at night for you. It’s the only time you’ll be free. It’ll be the afternoon in Los Angeles. But that’s if you even want to speak to him.”

Barry Sonnenfield? In all honesty, Michael wanted nothing to do with the people who turned their backs on him, but he just had to know why the hell the director of Addams Family Values was urgently contacting him. He thought about it for a few seconds before deciding, “I don’t know. I don’t know what he could want with me.”

She shrugged. “Heck, if I know. Maybe they regret letting you go. Maybe they believe you.” But Michael snorted at that. There was no way. They wouldn’t rescind their decision before he’d even gone to trial. “Well... why else would they call?” He still smiled but bit his lip in wonder. Why else would they call?

“Okay, I’m gonna leave you to your breakfast. See you before 10.” They waved at each other, and she turned to exit. She’ll be back in about 2 hours to get him for the studio.

He would be remiss if he didn’t admit he was nervous. He already has a lot on his plate; what is it now? What could it possibly be? He finds himself too nervous to eat the little breakfast he usually does and opts to open one of the few large bags of fan mail that always came every day. They’ve been lighter recently.

As he reads through the letters, his heart swells, and his eyes soon follow. He wishes he could be with them, all of them. He was so alone…

He gets up swiftly to grab his journal from the nightstand.

SEPTEMBER 7TH, 1993 - LOS ANGELES

“Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing yet. Not from him or Olaide.”

Barry Sonnenfield wiped his sweat with a towel. These past few weeks had gone straight to hell. He was warned, he was warned not to work with this woman, that if he’d screwed anything up, he’d come to regret it. Now look at him. Production pushed back by 3 weeks! All because she wanted to go on strike.

After he, essentially, “broke the news” to her, the rest of the day was spent trying to get her out of her room. Only Rena had been allowed to come in, and she spent 3 hours in there trying to calm her down enough to want to leave, and leave she did. When her security walked her out, she was wearing shades, and her shoulders and hair were wrapped with a light, breezy scarf. Rena walked out soon after, exasperated. She adjusted her glasses, smoothed down her dress pants, and sighed. “So…she’s not coming back.”

This girl was so upset she refused to come back to set until he’d reinstated his contract with Michael Jackson and got that video back in production. Barry had called her bluff, thinking she’d cool off in a couple of days then come back. Maybe not with an apology and maybe a little more attitude, but she would come back.

And now, it’s been nearly a month, and she hasn’t said a word to him.

She didn’t disappear, far from it! She was just in a fashion shoot for Ebony magazine. Black in Pink! The article was called. Cute.

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t ignore an entire movie production. The crew was pissed, specifically those who were on hourly or paid by the day. Janitorial, Cosmetics, costuming, catering; they were all missing out on money because of this, and Olaide wasn’t facing any of the consequences. They were reaching the final act of the movie. They were set to film the scene in Debbie and Fester’s mansion where she attempts to kill him in one final act, then the ending where she almost electrocutes the entire family. Nearly the entire movie had been shot; there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing anyone could change to work around this hiccup.

The shareholders were angry, and so was his staff; he was coming between a rock and a hard place. So, he swallowed his pride and called Michael Jackson…

To no avail.

He had already retired for the night, according to his assistant. Of course, he was still on tour after all.

Certainly, with the element of surprise gone, Michael would not be calling him back. There was no conceivable way he’d want to talk with him about anything. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

The clock turned 1. Two minutes passed, then his desk phone beeped. Someone was waiting on the line for him. Before he could grab it, his assistant frantically ran into his office. He looked up at him, slightly annoyed. “Yes?”

He caught his breath and swallowed his spit before answering. “Sir, Michael Jackson is on line 2.”

MOSCOW

“Hello?”

“Hello? Michael?”

“…Yes, I’m speaking with Barry Sonnenfield, right?”

On the other line, Michael hears Barry clear his throat. “Yes, this is he. Hi Michael.”

Michael takes a deep breath. “You called me yesterday.”

“I did.”

The silence was nothing more than deafening, and if it meant anything at all, it made one thing clear: Michael wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“I just want to start by saying, I apologize for being so hasty with my decision. You know, I got scared. But that was wrong of me.”

Then there was a pause, and for a second Michael thought, that’s all? He geared up to thank him anyway, the people pleaser in him working against his true feelings as usual. But then, Barry kept going.

First, he had the nerve to sigh, as if apologizing had taken everything out of him. “Look, I’ll just cut to the chase,” Michael’s mouth snapped shut, waiting to hear what it was that was so difficult to say. 

“I’m wondering if you would consider…restarting the production for ‘Family Thing’.”

What? What!

“What?”

“I know, I know, trust me. I hate to ask you like this… but I’m desperate.” Oh yeah, like that was supposed to make Michael feel better. Did he even want to call him?

“You’re desperate.” He repeats. It was almost humorous, if only it weren’t so pathetic.

“Yes, I’m desperate.” Barry doesn’t sound sorry at all, just exhausted. What the hell was troubling him so badly? “This hasn’t gotten out yet, but…we haven’t been able to shoot for nearly a month.”

“…okay?”

“One of our leading ladies has…gone on strike, I would put it. Olaide?”

Oh. Oh. “She was supposed to be in the music video, right?”

Barry sighs once again. “Yes. She was not happy to say the least. She hasn’t returned any of my calls since August, and her assistant won’t relay anything that wasn’t her being in your video.”

Michael was stunned. He tried to come up with something to say, but he was drawing a blank. What could he say? Who would have thought this would wait for him on the other line?

All because of a video? His video? He could just put her in one if that were the case. He almost said it, but stopped himself. That wasn’t something for Barry’s ears.

“I…I don’t…What?” He tripped over his words as he failed to respond to this very interesting information. This girl loved him that much? It’s not possible.

And then, he thinks about it some more, and Michael’s nervous grin decays. His face becomes stoic, and he rubs his chin. This request was appalling to say the least, despite the reason it happened. His “apology” was even more confusing. It barely sounded like one; he took forever to say it and took a breath every few moments, as if it were suffocating him. He literally choked on his words, then sighed in relief when he was finally done.

Barry didn’t even want him back. It was Olaide, and she’d forced his hand.

He was, frankly, abhorred by his audacity and his fake concern. But, ever the gentleman, Michael thanked him all the same. “Okay, uhm, thank you, Barry. But I’m not doing the song.”

The line fell silent for a bit, and Michael got worried he’d made him angry. He knew it was foolish, but he hoped and prayed he didn’t ask him ‘why?’ He didn’t really have an answer. At least, not one he felt would make sense to Barry. He could say he didn’t think he was really sorry, but that would just make him hostile or give him an even more pathetic apology. He wasn’t a vengeful person, so it’s not like he wanted to get back at him. And it’s not like he didn’t feel sorry for Olaide; he looked forward to meeting her as well.

He was hurt. That’s all. He just doesn’t want to do it anymore.

To his surprise, Barry doesn’t ask him to explain himself. No. He pleads.

“Michael, listen. I understand how you may be feeling. I was a dick to you; I get that. But I’m telling you, if we don’t get production started soon, we’ll start losing a lot of money. Our staff and contractors are threatening to quit on us, and we cannot finish shooting without her. I’m begging you, man.”

This was almost worse. A situation that wasn’t his fault, but started because of him, that he can solve, but it goes against his wishes. No, not almost. This was worse.

While he did appreciate where her heart was coming from, he simply could not accept workers going unpaid when they were promised or looking forward to payment. No, it wasn’t his fault, but he felt the need to do something.

“Look, Barry, I’ll…think about doing a video. Okay?” It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but he did sound a bit relieved over the receiver.

“Okay. Thank you, Michael-“

“Hold on, just-before you go…” he trails off, getting a bit nervous about what he wanted to ask.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you…why don’t you give me her number? Let me talk to her.”

SEPTEMBER 10th, 1993 - LOS ANGELES

“Ugh, would you look at this shit!”

Olaide’s voice echoed through the master bathroom, then through the halls of the penthouse suite of her hotel. Rena cringed before picking up the magazine her boss and best friend threw to the floor. In bright, yellow letters it read: CRAZY CARTER ON STRIKE! Then the caption: OLAIDE THROWS A TANTRUM AND STOPS PRODUCTION! ADDAMS FAMILY PUT ON HOLD!

In all honesty, she was surprised it took this long for the news to come out. It’d been nearly a month now since Olaide walked off the Addams Family Values set in protest against Barry’s, and by extension everyone’s, treatment of Michael Jackson. She guesses one of the actors must have spoken about it, and it spread from there. Or maybe an inside scoop from a crew member. It doesn’t matter anyway; Olaide was, once again, being dragged through the dirt.

But, in typical Olaide fashion, she couldn’t care less about that. “They always use that picture! How did they even get that? I don’t remember wearing that; I’m telling you, it’s edited.”

It is not edited. Rena remembers that night, and not fondly. It’d been a few months after she started working for her in 1987. She was at one of her first high-profile after-parties. Rena was mainly tasked with babysitting her, so she didn’t get into trouble.

At that point, the two of them were not fond of each other, to say the least. There were many times during the night Rena would be stuck apologizing profusely to Olaide, just to get her to calm down and not turn their argument into a screaming match. Rena gathered she was the kind of person who had to ruin everyone’s night once hers went to shit, and she didn’t appreciate that.

Eventually, she couldn’t stay silent, so she walked away to get them some water. What she needed was a damn drink, but she couldn’t afford to lose focus. Olaide kept her on her toes. This was all the more proven when she came back to find her missing. After 20 minutes straight of searching the manor, Rena finally found her with her hand in Jon Bon Jovi’s, stumbling as he led her to God knows where from who knows what. That picture was after she had forced her away from him and tried to lead her back to the limo. Whatever she was on, of which Rena still doesn’t know to this day, caused her to throw up all over that gorgeous dress, ruining it forever.

Rena has confessed what happened that night a million times, and every time Olaide seems eager to forget it, then she literally does. This time, she just sighs and puts the magazine on a counter. “I think you look good, actually.” And that was true. Olaide couldn't look bad, but that didn't mean paparazzi didn’t try. It was the worst possible picture they could take of her, so they used it whenever it was time to talk about her.

Olaide smirked for a second before dropping it and turning her head to the makeup artist. “Shut up, you’re so sweet. I’m trying to complain.” Her voice projects easily from years of having to speak with authority to be respected. Her hairstylist unclips the giant rollers in her silk-pressed hair, letting the strands fall into bouncy curls and scrunching them with oil. She finger-combs through them 3 times, scrunches again, then hairsprays all over her head, being sure to cover her face. The makeup artist does the same with setting spray and covers her hair. Olaide takes her hand fan and starts to dry her face, closing her eyes as she feels the cool breeze on her cheek. She could spend 5 more minutes in here before she had to put on her dress and leave.

She and Rena were attending a charity benefit for CASA Long Angeles, the largest foster care advocacy organization in California. Olaide herself had made generous donations over the years; she always had a seat waiting for her at every event. It was a bi-annual routine of hers that she never missed, even in the middle of shooting a movie.

Or…not.

A sigh leaps from her chest out her mouth as her mind moves a mile a minute like it always does when no one’s talking. One thought leads to another before the last one even finishes, and soon she’s rubbing her head, perturbed. In all honesty, she didn’t know what she was thinking, walking off a movie set like that and vanishing without a peep. Not towards Barry at least. While she felt some pride standing up for what she believed in and having the power to do so, her stomach still churned at knowing somewhere, someone who hadn’t done her wrong was suffering because of her actions. She couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it; each day that went by was another gigantic ‘fuck you’ to all her colleagues and fans who were excited to see her. How could she rescind her decision with nothing to show for it? Had Michael Jackson even noticed? He’s still on tour, she would know; she saw him at the beginning of the year. 

He was in Europe or Asia or wherever; he wasn’t concerned with what she had going on. They’d never even met before, and they’d had ample opportunity to do so. An after party, a gala like tonight’s, hell, she could have gotten vip passes in January. But she foolishly never made the effort to, not quite feeling worthy enough. She needed more Oscars, more publicity, more shoes and dresses and perfume.

She needed to be more than what she was if she ever wanted to meet Michael Jackson and not completely pass away. So she took the roles that didn’t “belong” to her and showed directors what they couldn’t imagine; a girl like her front and center, being doted on, smart, confident, messy, and courageous. She made it impossible to see anyone else bring their vision to life, just as Michael makes it impossible for her to listen to any other artist.

All that hard work, for what? Another reason for everyone to hate her, use her as an example of disgusting stereotypes that keep her and other black women from reaching new heights. And whose fault is that? Who can she blame but herself? She’d been through a lot…but she hates letting her past define and control her. No, all her actions, all her problems, all her pain; it was on her to fix it. Her emotions are her decisions alone, and so is what she does with them.

For some reason, it was easier for everyone to hate her while she held her head up high. She would be hated even if she begged and groveled for forgiveness, so why should she embarrass herself like that?

“You okay, honey?” Rena peeked her head in the bathroom after the stylist and MUA finished and left. She heard the loud exhale and wanted to give her a minute before checking on her. She held up her rose gold cocktail dress. “We gotta go soon. You don’t like your hair? Or your makeup?”

Olaide shakes her head no. “No, as in yes? Or no as in, no it’s not that?”

“Rena, please.”

“Please what? We gotta go, and you don’t have your clothes on sitting in here sulking like you have all night. What’s wrong?”

How could she explain it? She’s never known how to gently express her negative emotions. She can’t put it into words that don’t place the burden of healing onto another person, and the last person she wants to do that with is Rena. “I don’t know, girl,” she whines.

Rena puts the dress down and walks up to her. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and lightly touches her head with her cheek, making sure not to smudge her own makeup and Olaide’s gorgeous curls. “I know you’re thinking about the movie. Just so you know, I think you’re doing the right thing, showing him your support.”

There’s something left unsaid that hangs in the air, and Olaide hates that kind of tension, so she breaks it. “But I’m doing it the wrong way…aren’t I?”

Rena takes a deep breath and nods on the exhale. Her heart was beating a bit fast; she had yet to tell Olaide that Barry had called and confirmed that Michael Jackson would reach out to them soon. Apparently he said he’d think about doing the video, but both Rena and Olaide know that if they were him, they’d tell Barry where to stick it. He was a gentleman who, according to people who knew him, hated confrontation. Of course he said he’d consider it.

Olaide dipped her head even lower and held Rena’s arm. It wasn’t until Rena felt a warm tear drop on her hand that she finally spoke again. “Oh, no no no. We can’t have that.” She held Olaide’s cheeks in her hands and frowned at her pouty face. Her eyes were completely glossed over with tears, and they threatened to fall with each passing second. She quickly reached for napkins and began dabbing her skin, holding them underneath her eyes to catch the remaining tears that escaped.

“Rena,” she whispered, “what should I do?”

“…Just wait. I think something good is coming soon.”

At that moment, Olaide believed her. She put on her dress and entered the limo waiting to take them to the banquet hall in the Millennium Biltmore Hotel. She was still a bit nervous, but held Rena’s hand whenever her brain worked too hard, and all would be right with the world.

They both felt the shift when they finally arrived. The usual cameras were flashing from uninvited paparazzi trying to get a glimpse of the big names entering the building, but inside, they were almost nonexistent. Many people greeted them with a nod or a polite smile. There was the occasional handshake, but the typical warm welcomes and excited smiles that Olaide was always greeted with here were missing. It was odd, to say the least.

A couple of the staff working for the event asked for some pictures, which she was always delighted to give. They were the only pictures she was asked to take that night. What is going on?

Olaide didn’t say anything to Rena, and definitely wouldn’t say anything to her security, but she knew she wasn’t imagining things. Did anyone really think she couldn’t tell how clearly unwanted she was here? Did they think she wasn’t used to being in a room full of people who wished she was anywhere else? She can tell; she knows the glances, the whispers, the cold shoulders; she knows it all. And usually it wouldn’t hurt…but…

Not them. Not this charity. It means too much to her.

Her faith in Rena’s words began to fade. There weren’t many times Olaide’s actions came back to bite her, not really anyway. Not in a way that she cared. Is this what karma is?

What do they know? She was just standing up for what she believes in. ‘So are they,’ she suddenly thought.

Hm…that’s stupid.

No, that’s stupid! At least say it to her face, not pretend to be buddies with her and take her money.

“Rena,” she finally says. “Do you want to go?”

The woman sighs in relief. “Oh my god, I thought you’d never say something. It’s very weird in here.”

But their troubles weren’t over. Leaving the venue was just as bad as entering, and since they were the first ones to depart, they got the full brunt of paparazzi and journalists. As they waited for their driver to bring the limo, they stood only feet away from blinding cameras and intrusive questions from people who wanted to ruin their lives with the answers. Olaide rolled her eyes and scoffed dramatically, all of which the cameras caught, but underneath her sunglasses, she was on the brink of tears. She harshly bit her lip to stop herself from crying, and she impatiently tapped her foot on the concrete. Rena, adjusting her own shades, subtly wraps her arm around Olaide’s and checks her nails.

“Olaide! Olaide! Over here!”

“Olaide, you look wonderful tonight!”

“Leaving so early? Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Are you sleeping early to get back to set after a month of being away?” 

Rena holds Olaide’s arm tighter. “Not worth a response.” Olaide agrees, but she was shaking. Her skin crawled. She needed the driver to get here now.

“Olaide, why have you decided to leave the production? Is it really because you’re intimate with Michael Jackson?”

The moment the question left the reporter’s lips, the girls’ mood dropped. Rena lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing her head because she knows Olaide has yanked her head to the side to find whoever asked her that question. She pulls her arm from Rena’s grasp and tries walking over to where the paparazzi stood behind the black rope. Her security stops her, but only physically. “Who said that? You? What do you mean I’m intimate with Michael Jackson? What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rena sees the small smirk on the woman’s face before it disappears and the mic is back up to her mouth. She got her. She baited Olaide, and she got her. “Honey, we know you have always been a little obsessed with him since you were a child-“

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” She shouts as the cameras get louder and her security fumbles around with her as she keeps breaking loose, trying to get around them. All the while, the reporter is following Olaide with the microphone pointed at her. “I’m not intimate with Michael Jackson, ma'am. You’re playing with me.”

“So then why would you risk your career for him? You’re-“ Olaide is furious now. She doesn’t want to let the woman finish and is doing everything in her power to shut her up, but to no avail. Every time she gets out of one guard’s grasp, the other grabs her. She manages to slightly interrupt her, but only because she’s still trying to catch every insult and defense Olaide throws at her. “You’re…you’re throwing your career away for someone you’ve never even met; you said it yourself before.”

“What? Ma’am, ma’am, in all honesty, you sound dumb. My career is fine. Thank you. Thank you!”

“What do you think it looks like leaving a foster charity benefit early after publicly supporting-“ 

SMACK!

Olaide’s hand found a way through the wall of security separating the two women; she would later say her hand “acted on its own,” like a heat-seeking missile. Her vision had gone black, leaving a small circle of light aiming right at the woman’s cheek. She moved too quickly for anyone to realize she’d already focused her aim. The reporter had flown back, glasses soaring off her face into the air and shattering on the ground.

“Oh my lord, get her in the car NOW!” Rena screams at her security. They pick Olaide up as she continues shouting profanities at anyone and everyone who was listening. They get her and Rena into the limousine, then close the door, sending them off.

In the silence, Rena realized Olaide had been drinking all night. She didn’t remember her saying no to a glass of champagne. Olaide wouldn’t speak, but she knew she was trying to drink her sorrows away.

Olaide went to bed without a word, the lock click ringing through the halls and Rena’s heart. She wondered, ‘Should I tell her about Michael?’ Barry said he’d call, and she thought it would be a nice surprise, but things weren’t looking up. She hoped he’d do it soon. 

She did get a call the next morning…from their publicist, a job with high turnover. “What happened last night? CASA is furious. They’re saying they should have rescinded the invitation! You can’t handle her, no one can!”

Rena rubbed her head. “She regrets what she did-“

“Does she? Or are you speaking on her behalf? That woman is going to sue her! What exactly did she say?” And her silence spoke the words she kept inside. “Hmph. Do you know what I just saw on a hot dog cart in New York? New YORK, Rena.”

She braced herself for whatever horrible thing was being said about her friend. Nothing could have prepared her for the email she received. She put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Her throat swelled as she tried not to cry.

WACKY JACKIE? ADDAMS FAMILY STAR GOES CRAZY FOR JACKO!

SEPTEMBER 11th, 1993 - FUKUOKA

It’s been some days since Michael spoke with Barry, and he still hadn’t brought himself to go through with his idea.

He could say he just hadn’t found the time, and that would be a reasonable excuse as he had just arrived in Japan, but he wasn’t trying to make time either. He was nervous to say the least. He wondered, would she make him do the video? He hated the word 'no’ whether it’s coming to or from him. And knowing what he knows about her, he felt she was the same.

Hm, what did he really know about her? Not much at all, he realized. Which was why he currently had magazines with her likeness spread out on his desk.

Now, Michael had had these magazines for a while, since the beginning of the year when he was first contacted for the movie. He remembered being so excited as he’d absolutely adored The Addams Family. He agreed profusely to do it and immediately got to work creating a concept for a music video. He mostly expected it to be him alone in a room somewhere, singing to the camera with scenes from the movie, but after looking at the overview, he thought of having something a little extra at the end. He decided he’d be a long-dead maestro who lived in an abandoned castle. He was a rich bachelor and heir to an amazing fortune, but he was killed in a riot led by Old Cannonball Addams, who took over his manor; the same manor the Addams currently lived in.

The video would have been set an unknown number of years in the future, where the Addams family no longer resided. He’d have stood and danced in a ballroom, surrounded by soiled and tattered portraits of the family, and then at the end of the video there’d be a knock at the door. He’d open it to reveal Debbie and let her in, after which she’d turn to the camera and smile as the door closed and thunder clapped. It wasn’t a big role, but he thought it’d be a nice touch.

He never spoke with her, but apparently Olaide had been elated to hear the news, even if it’d only really take a day to record her scene. He didn’t know too much about her, just what he’d seen in the media, and he knew better than to let that cloud his judgment or decide her character. Although…she certainly doesn’t make things better for herself.

TEEN VOGUE ‘88 Olaide Carter’s guide to  RAISING HELL!!! on and off set “I always get what I want, It’s a talent I have.”

She was far from unknown to Michael; he had just never gotten a chance to speak with her on a personal or even professional level. But that wasn’t to say he wasn’t a small fan, even with her reputation. She was definitely a staple in the late 80s. She’d been acting since she was a teenager, and you could find her in the occasional detective show or a patient in a medical drama, but her big break had been The Breakfast Club in 1984, where she played Claire. It was a huge deal, especially at that time; black actresses were not seen in lead roles like this where they were playing the desirable, popular girl that everyone wants.

Everyone thought she’d be the new face of romcoms because of it, but she subverted all expectations when she popped out in Aliens in 1986. Of course, it hadn’t done as well as its predecessor, but it was a good follow-up. After that, she was everywhere. The world couldn’t get enough of her. She had an insane movie run with Beetlejuice and Hellraiser, solidifying her as the face of horror in the 80s, and most recently she played Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs. 

ESSENCE  QUEEN CARTER: AN INSIDE LOOK AT THE FIRST BLACK SCREAM QUEEN 1990

VOGUE CARTER’S GUIDE TO LOVE, LOSS, AND OUTSMARTING HANNIBAL LECTER 1991

To Michael, someone who broke barriers with every new project they did was someone to keep an eye on. He wasn’t a fan of horror movies, but Olaide intrigued him enough to give them a try. For research, of course.

What he found was a woman who transformed herself for every character she played. He didn’t think he was watching Olaide; he could almost be convinced she was a completely different person. Each personality she gave her characters was distinct and formative. He loved when he could tell how much fun an artist was having with what they did. She put her everything into her acting; he could see why she was so sought after.

Not just for acting, though. She was a beauty to say the least. She always managed to be the picture of utter perfection; the kind of woman on every girl’s wall and in every guy's dream. While they never really had the chance to meet one another, as she didn’t attend music award shows, he admired her a lot and what she meant to pop culture.

Yes, Michael was very familiar with the infamous starlet, the girl who gave every director a run for his money and still got cast. 

As he flipped back through the magazines, he finally took a second to really read everything she had to say. She really was an intelligent young lady, but her confidence came off as smugness. The interviews were mostly interested in how she got these roles rather than how she formed her craft. In her answers, she’d say things like ‘who wouldn’t cast someone this pretty?’, ‘It’s a no-brainer.’, or sometimes, she’d just plain admit it: ‘Maybe I'm just that fucking good.’

The few times she gets good questions is where her artistry begins to shine. Reading the Essence article, he recognizes the TV special it was adapting. The interview that crowned her a Scream Queen when no one else wanted to admit it. He’d seen the interview one night on tour, mindlessly searching channels waiting for his sleeping pills to kick in. They’re working less and less these days.

Who would you say are your biggest inspirations for how you perform? And she would go on a tangent about her favorite actresses and shows from when she was a teenager to decades before she was born. She was very inspired by old Hollywood and loved old cartoons the most. It made sense; she was very dramatic and expressive with her roles.

‘My absolute favorite performance is Sissy Spacek in Carrie. She was just so tragic, and during the prom scene she was so unsettling. She made my skin crawl.’ She sits up as she begins to reminisce about seeing Carrie for the first time. Little Olaide in 1979, watching a tape she had no business getting her hands on in the first place. It’s as if she’s teleported back to that very moment in time, clutching her pillow and shaking with fear but unable to look away. ‘The unbridled and blinding white fury in her eyes as she just stared into the crowd, I was…depressed, *ha! I was sick, and I was terrified. I want to evoke that kind of feeling into people the way she did to me. Not those emotions themselves, you know? Just being able to rupture a strong reaction out of people.’ Then she leans back and relaxes with a cute smirk. ‘And I can. And it’s amazing.’

‘When did you see that movie? I was 15 and snuck into the theater, haha!’

‘HA!’ Olaide shouts, placing her hand on her chest. ‘Oh girl, I stole the tape from my babysitter when she fell asleep. I was 10.’ The studio begins to laugh with her. ‘She didn’t wake up, because she was drunk,’ and even more laughs ensue. ‘But she found out in the morning because…ooo, I said too much.’

‘What? What happened?’

‘I peed myself.’

Michael managed a good cackle before his eyes got heavy and he drifted away. Looking back over it now, he’d missed the part where she lists him as an inspiration next.

‘Is there anyone else you’d say inspires you? Or motivates you?’

‘So many people, uh…Diahann Carroll, Eartha Kitt, who I’ve had the privilege of meeting, Marilyn Monroe, Mel Blanc, if you can believe it.’ That piqued Michael’s interest. He’d have to remember that for later, if things went well.

‘But most of all, I love Michael Jackson.’ Oh…oh! He immediately feels the heat rise from his neck to his face, and he can’t stop the nervous smile that spreads; what he would have given to hear her say his name. The article reads Olaide gets a far-away look in her eye and lets out the dreamiest sigh and smile; our girl is in love! And he had the gall to fall asleep at that moment. Of course.

‘Oh? Are those heart eyes?’ Her interviewer teases. Apparently she has the most mischievous giggle that leaves you wanting to know more. He could almost hear it.

‘Oh, man. You guys don’t even know. Rena can testify.’ She had pointed at her most recent assistant in the background who confirmed, ‘Yeah, she can’t get enough. She don’t stop.’

Olaide then laughed so hard she fell over on the couch. She caught her breath and, true to Rena’s word, she kept going. ‘Oh yeah, I’m waiting on a call from him. I’ve always wanted to be a girl in his short films. I would watch Thriller thinking, damn it should have been me!’

And there it is. That explains why she would be willing to break a movie contract near the end of it just so she can perform with him. Just to meet him. Just to be near him.

After recovering from laughter, her interviewer says, ‘Don’t we all?’

‘Yes ma’am, but I’m telling you, it’s gonna happen one day. I can feel it.’

‘Oh, can you?’

‘Sure can! Can you feeeel it?’

Michael bursts out laughing for the 100th time since he started reading. This girl was a riot with immense intellect. From her icons to her mindset, and even her humor. He liked her…a lot. He regrets not making more of an effort to meet her before.

He never really knew what to think of her; she may have the reputation of a diva, but not everyone she’s met had horror stories. In actuality, there are nearly as many people who talk about how she’s able to light up a room and can be very charming when she wants to be. And he can clearly see that. She makes everyone she meets blush, whether in awe or anger, and will sweep you off your feet if you’re not careful. At least, that’s how Vogue describes her.

After recent events, maybe he should reach out to her, although he knows he has no real reason to do so. He wants to thank her for her support, but that can’t be all. Maybe…maybe he just wants to see her in the movie, which is true. However, he’d already given up on Family Thing, so he couldn't begin to consider coming back to it. It was painful for him now.

He feels like he has to prepare for this as if it’s a work presentation. He can’t say the wrong thing and bring the conversation to a halt. 

She says she always gets what she wants, and that may still be true.

Later that day, he sees a new magazine while walking down the hotel lobby with his security. He stops at the paper stand near the entrance and inspects it. It says…Wacky…Jacky? Oh no.

SEPTEMBER 12th, 1993 - LOS ANGELES

Today she was feeling better.

Yesterday, Rena decided it would be a self-care day. She ordered Olaide’s favorite food for breakfast, Butter Chicken and Basmati rice with Naan, and managed to coax her out of her room with the sweet smell. The rest of the day was dedicated to a makeshift home spa; they did face masks and facials, gave each other mani-pedis, then she helped Olaide wash the heat-pressed curls out of her hair, restoring her big, bouncy afro. She had cried from how appreciated she felt, but didn’t mention it afterwards.

Today, Rena rolled a blunt, and they were playing cards on the balcony when she got a call. Her heart dropped again, and she tried not to let it show in her face, but then she looked at Olaide, who had gone pale, and she grimaced. “I don’t know who it is,” she said. It was true, but she could probably guess. Their publicist, someone’s lawyer or theirs, it could be anyone at this point.

“Hi, is this Rena Taylor? Olaide Carter’s assistant?”

“Yes, this is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“Uhm…this is Michael Jackson. Barry Sonnenfield called me and told me she wanted to be in a music video? I’d love to speak with her, if she wouldn’t mind.”

I hope you all enjoyed! the series masterlist should be coming soon and a taglist. Gonna try and fit in a small synopsis for the series and an About Me for Olaide as well! please comment and talk to me! I don't take requests (i'd never commit to them) but I love to YAP! my anon requests are off, im sorry to those of you who are shy, but if you've seen what people have been dealing with you'd do the same. I'm not touching that! Byeeeee! welcome to my Michael Jackson fan act! My main is @tojisbbygworl . I write for other fandoms: Spiderverse, JJK, and Red Dead Redemption 2.