Los Angeles, California, April 8th 1990

Michael's point of view

"I think we're good, Smelly!" Quincy cheered while I was coming out of the recording booth. "You put your guts in this one," my producer told me while I was getting some water.

"Yeah, I just want people to hear my message. There's so much more important to take care of than me," I explained, referring to one of my song, Why You Wanna Trip On Me, which I was recording for my Dangerous album.

"You're right, son," Q agreed. "So you're sure you don't want to change the name of this album? I know where it comes from, so, I'm asking you one last time."

"No, I'm sure I want it to be Dangerous," I decalred without hesitation. "You know, I don't regret what I had with June. Even though we had our ups and down, I cherrish the memory of my relationship with her. She said she was dangerous for me, and maybe she was, but I loved her," I explained, and Quincy gave me a smile. "I never loved like I loved her," I concluded.

"Tell me about it," he said, laughing a bit. "What's up with Jessica? Don't you love her?"

"I do, she's a sweet girl, really, and I love her son as well, but I'm not in love with her. I don't feel those butterflies when I'm around her, you know. Plus, I married her so she can have my health insurance at first, I was just acting out of kindness."

"Yeah, I see. Take your time, boy. I didn't know my wife was the one at first, but then I found myself falling for her," he explained. "You didn't do things in the right sense because you married the girl before falling in love with her, but I'm sure there's still hope. And if she's not the one, then you'll find another one," Q explained to me, and I smiled at his words.

"I hope you're right," I sighed. "But I don't want to make a fool of Jess. I mean, we both signed a contract when we got married saying that this marriage would lasts for two years, so she can have the time to get back on her feet, and then we'll fill for divorce," I explained. "The thing is, I'm afraid she's falling for me. Last week, while we were home, she kissed me, and I don't understand why. I mean, nobody was there, we didn't need to act in front of anybody like we do in public."

"I didn't know about the contract," Quincy frowned. "Maybe you should have a talk with the girl, Mike," Quincy advised me. "Just so she knows that you don't see anything else than a friend in her."

"You're actually the only one who's not a part of my family that knows about this," I admitted. "I think I'll have a talk with her when I get home, then. Thanks Q, you always have the right words," I smiled at my producer.

"I'm old, I got experience," he laughed. When our laughter died down, Quincy looked at the songs list in front of his eyes, and turned to me. "Did you finish your song Can't Let Her Get Away yet?"

"No," I responded, looking down. "It's hard for me to deal with the lyrics. It reminds me of a lot of stuff."

"I know, Mike, but you have to finish it. It's a good thing it touches you, you'll make a hella good song if you're upset about it," Q encouraged me.

"Yeah, I'll finish it as soon as possible," I promised with a slight smile.

As Quincy and I were still debating on what kind of musical arrangements we wanted for this song, someone knocked at the door of the studio. As I was writing stuff on a paper, Quincy stood up and opened the door. Bill stood there, my phone in his hands. He came to me, and he seemed shaken up.

"What's wrong, Bill?" I asked, frowning.

"I'm sorry Mike, but... it's- it's Ryan, Ryan White," he said in a low voice, looking at me.

"What happened to him?" I asked, standing up quickly from my chair.

"He died this morning, I'm sorry," Bill informed me, and I fell back on my chair, as my knees became weak.

I stared for a few minutes into space, not knowing what to do or what to say. I just could feel tears falling from my eyes, but nothing came out of my mouth. The last time I saw Ryan was on his birthday, in december, last year. I offered him a car, because I knew he wanted one badly, and I thought it would be the perfect gift for him so he can feel like he's a normal teenager, not a freak like some people thought he was because of his disease. I couldn't understand how Ryan could be gone so soon. It was much too soon for him to be gone. He didn't deserve any of this.

Ryan is gone, I tried to repeat over again in my head so the information could sink in. I couldn't believe it.

***

New York City, New York

June's point of view

Today was the day I met Oprah Winfrey to give her the live interview I agreed to give her. I didn't like interviews that much, but I guess this is the price to pay when you get a certain notoriety in showbuisness. I agreed to finally do this interview because too much lies were written about me in the press, and I didn't like it: I wanted the truth to be known about me, and say out loud: "No! I didn't use Michael to get famous; No! I don't have anyone in my life; No! I'm not dating Karl Lagerfeld; No! I didn't try to kill myself", and finally: "No! I'm not dating Michael's bodyguard." There are so much more things written about me, but those things are the major ones. I argued with Karl about those things, because I told him he was responsible of those lies about me. He was the one who told me I needed to be known as myself, not as Michael Jackson's girlfriend. Well, it worked, but now the world see me like some bitch who used Michael to be famous, who's sleeping with his bodyguard while dating her boss. What the hell, people?

Jer and I were waiting in the ABC premises, waiting for Oprah to be done with whatever she was doing. We were both quiet, patiently waiting on a chair outside.

"What are you thinking about?" Jer's voice rang in my ear, which tear me out of my thoughts.

"Just things I want to be heard loud and clear," I answered. "I want these rumors to stop."

"Yeah, I know," Jer smiled. "This is going to be your first interview in the states," he said, clipping his hands together. "I'm so excited for you!"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for Oprah. She's been really nice to me when she asked me to give her an interview, and I really love what she does."

"And I love what you do, dear," Oprah said, coming out of the room in front of us. I stood up, and she gave me a tight hug. "It's so good to finally meet you in person!" she joyfully said, breaking the hug. "You're so much more beautiful in person," she said, giving me the elevator look. "You're beathtaking, darking."

"Aw, thank you! I'm so glad to finally meet you as well," I admitted with a grin.

Jer, Oprah and I enterred the room before us which turned out to be Oprah's office. We sat around a circular table, and Oprah took a pen and a notepad in front of her.

"Are you as excited as I am?" she, once again, joyfully asked me.

"Well, I'm glad to do this interview for you. I don't like interviews that much," I admitted. "But since you've been really nice to me, and since I love what you do, I just agreed," I smiled at her.

"Aww, isn't she lovely?" she asked Jer, and he nodded. "My assistant said you and the other guy who came to settle things down a few days ago were great," she smiled at Jer.

"Well, she's been really nice to us as well," he grinned back.

"Is Karl Lagerfeld joining us for this?" she asked me.

"Um, no. He's in Paris at the moment, he's not coming back in the states for a while," I explained.

I was actually glad Karl didn't come for this interview. In two whole years working for him, I never got used to be completely myself when he was around. I swear, this guy is really intimidating and strict, but I owe him a lot. He's the one who made me who I am now. He taught me everything I needed to know to be sucessful in my work, and apparently, it worked pretty well. I love him, but I sometimes wish he could be less professional and more fun to be around. We rarely laugh and joke around with him, and I miss this kind of complicity, but he's there when I need someome to cheer me up, when I need advice about some things. He's like a father figure for me, because when he talks, I sometimes feel like I'm having a talk with my dad, and it feels good to feel like this without being crazy, like I was a couple of years back. Bad memories.

"So!" the interviewer exclaimed. "I asked you, dear June, to come here before we begin the interview so you can tell me if I need to keep my mouth shut about some stuff, like your relationship with Michael Jackson. Are you comfortable talking about it?"

Shit. I knew it.

"I wouldn't say I'm comfortable talking about it, but if you want me to, I guess I will," I shrugged.

"Aw, dear, I won't force you if you don't want to talk about it. Is it a sensitive subject?"

"Yeah, it is," I confessed.

"What happened? I swear I'll keep this story for myself," she promised, and I felt like I could trust her. "But if you don't want to talk about it, that's ok."

"Well, I was hurting him. Throughout our relationship, I kept hurting him by walking away from him everytime things got complicated. I also lied to him, I made him worry about me, I made him cry, I made him sad... He didn't need this, but I put him through all of this. I was selfish, and I didn't want to be selfish with him, so as much as I loved him, I had so set him free, to let him go," I explained, ignoring the huge lump in my throat. "And no, I didn't use him to become famous. I don't even like this word, famous. I'm not considering myself like a celebrity."

There are things that stay the same. For two years, everytime I came to talk about Michael, I felt the urge to cry, or a sharpe pain in my heart. I left the love of my life, and I guess I'll end up alone, because for me, there is only one true love waiting for us in this world. I was lucky to find mine, but not good enough to keep it. The only things I have left are memories, but they look like they're fading away, and Michael's promise ring I wear around my neck, on a chain, that I keep hidden in my clevage.

"That was brave, doll. I don't think I would have been able to do so if I were you," she confessed. "Do you miss him?" she asked in a shy voice.

That was stupid, I said to myself.

"Can we stop talking about him, please?" I gently asked her with a slight smile. "I don't want to be rude or anything, but, it's still hard to talk about this."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, sure! I shoudn't have asked you this," she said, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. "So the least we talk about him, the better it is, right?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I really want to clear things about me, so I would like to speak about the rumors the press is spreading all around the world about me. That's the major reason I'm doing this interview," I admitted.

"Sure, I'll make sure to talk about this. Of course, I'll ask you some questions about yourself, your past, your family, your job and so on. Is that okay for you? I can show you the questions, I got them here if--"

"No, it's ok," I cut her off. "I trust you," I sincerely smiled at her.

"Good," she smiled back. "I guess we're done, then. I'll go check to see if we're ready on set, while you're having youe hair and make up done," she explained, and I smiled at her.

The three of us left the room, and a woman lead us to another room. To my surprise, when I came in the room, David was standing there.

"Didn't expect me to be here to do your make up and hair, did you?" he smiled.

"Not at all," I laughed. "Come, let's work your magic, mister Rogers!"

***

"We're now live on ABC, and my guest tonight is the beautiful muse of the haute-couture house Chanel, Miss June Wellington," she introduced me, and I smiled at the camera, waving shyly. "I heard this is your first interview in the states, isn't it?"

"Yes, it actually is," I giggled. "I did a few interviews in Europe, like in France, in Italy or in Spain, but I never got the chance to do one here."

Damn, I was nervous as hell. My hands were sweating hard, and I kept playing with a ring I got around my finger.

"You're travelling a lot, aren't you?" Oprah asked.

"Yes," I nodded. "I've been living in Paris for one year and a half, actually. I moved away there for the Fashion Week, but I guess I loved the city too much for leaving," I giggled. "And after the Paris Fashion Week, I went to Milan's, I came back for New York's, and then I went back to Europe where I went from cities to cities to present the House's work," I explained to Oprah.

"Don't you miss your country?"

"Of course I do, my roots are here," I said. "Bit living in Paris isn't something hard for me, because I feel like there's a part of me there. My father was half French, and he could speak it fluently. He was the one who taught me my first words of French, actually."

Oprah hummed in response, "you used to be a translator, right?"

"Yes, I fisnished college like three years ago or so," I nodded.

"Which languages do you speak now?"

"Well, I can speak french, italian, spanish, chinese and of course, english," I informed her.

"That's pretty useful when you get to travel the world like you do."

"Its is," I smiled.

"So, you taught me about your father earlier. He passed away a few years ago, right?"

"Yes," I said, looking down for a second. It became less painful for me to talk about him over the years. I think I finally grieved, and it helped me to get through all of my problems. "He passed away two years and a half ago."

"What was your relationship with him?"

"He was my everything. After my brother, Julian, died, he was the only one who succeded in replacing him. Julian was my confident, my best friend, and my dad became even more. So when I lost him, I think I lost a part of me as well," I explained.

"It was hard to get through it," she nodded. "You became emotionally fragile after this, I guess."

"Yes, and bad stuff kept happening to me, so I didn't get better after his passing," I admitted. "So that rumors can stop, I'm saying today, that no, I didn't try to kill myself, I just had a nervous breakdown. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I was barely hanging on. I was heartbroken, not suicdidal. Never suicidal. Life's too beautiful to be watsed," I sincerely said. This had to be said.

"There are other crazy rumors about you, in the press," Oprah began. "I rarely write things down for my interviews, but I had to write those down because I was afraid I won't remember it. They're all so crazy."

"I know right," I laughed.

"So, the first one I wrote down says that you used Michael Jackson, your es boyfriend, only to become famous."

"First of all, I didn't mean to be famous. I happened to fall in love with Michael, and I then was seen as his girlfriend. Then, things I didn't plan happened. Photos were released from my past years where I made a photoshoot where I posed with lingerie on. I didn't know those photos would be released. Ever. But that's another story," I said. "Following this, I received numerous phonecalls on my cellphone, and I still don't know how they get my number, but whatever, and one of them happened to be Karl Lagerfeld. He asked me to meet him, and after refusing over and over again, I finally agreed. He made me Chanel's first muse ever, and I think this is the positive thing I needed in my life at the moment," I explained, shrugging. "I never used Michael for anything."

"Does this rumor hurt you?" Oprah asked with a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, it hurt to know that I used someone as nice and great as Michael just so I can be famous," I said, air-quoting "famous". "I do not consider myself as a celebrity at all. I'm just a woman who's been offered a job to one of the most prestigious haute couture house in the world."

"But you are famous," Oprah laughed. "Didn't you see all those girls in front of the building chanting your name?"

"Yes," I smiled widely. "I love those girls. I receive a lot of letters in which they say they wish they could be as beautiful as me, but I just want to tell them this: you are all beautiful. No matter what people say, everybody's beautiful. They's no such things as perfection because we all have a different view of perfection," I said.

My perfection was Michael, and it will stay this way until the end of time.

"That's well said," Oprah grinned at me. "Is there someone in your life at the moment? Because, if we believe what the media says, you'd be dating your manager, Mr. Karl Lagerfeld, and Michael's bodyguard, Pit, I think it is."

I laughed at the absurdity of the media, "I find this hilarious, to be quite honest with you. I'm not dating any of those two guys. Karl is my boss, my mentor, and he's been in a relationship for years. And Pit, who's really Michael's bodyguard – oh God, the press didn't lie about this!--" I said, laughing, "is a dear friend of mine. I love him. Eveytime I'm back in the states, we do what's necessary to see each other. He's like a big brother for me," I confessed. "And, if I'm right, I think relationship between brother and sister is forbidden by the law, right?" I smartly said.

"It is," Oprah giggled. "So you're still single?"

"I am," I nodded.

"Another rumor said that you lost weight and cut and dyed your hair so nobody recognize you. It also says that you wanted to change your name because you were ashamed."

"Darn, I didn't even know this one," I laughed. "The reason why I lost weight is because of the nervous breakdown I had: I told you I couldn't eat, so no need to say that when you don't eat, well, you lose weight. And I cut and dyed my hair because I needed change. I needed a freash start: new life, new style. That's as simple as this."

Well, actually, Karl is behind all of this: the changing of style, of hair and the lost of weight. I wanted to gain my weight back, but Karl said I was better this way, so I didn't argue back. He advised me to change my clothing and hair because he said I needed to look more as a grown-up, so I did. I'm glad I did, actually. I really like the way I look now, even though I wished I could be a little bit more curvy as I used to be.

Oprah nodded in understanding, and loooked at the camera, "We'll be back in a few minutes for more! Stay with us," she smiled at the camera, and then, the little red light on top of our heads died. "You're doing great! Don't be so nervous, girl," Oprah told me, smiling at me to comfort me.

"Really? Damn, I thought I was talking non-sense," I laughed.

"Come on, have a drink, and be back in five minutes," she commanded, and I did as told.

I jogged towards Jer and David. I noticed they both had an uneasy expression on their face. I grabbed the water bottle from Dave's hands, and looked at Jer skeptically.

"What's the matter?" I asked him, and have a sip of my bottle. "Was I so bad?" I asked, after giving the bottle back to Dave.

"No, you were good. Everything's fine," he said, and gave me a fake smile.

"Jer," I warned. "I know you, I know when something's going on."

"I'll tell you after the interview, so you can stay focused."

"Don't you think I'll be focused knowing something's up? Tell me, what the hell is going on?" I asked, becoming upset and nervous.

"Ryan, Ryan White. You remember him, right?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, of course. He came with his mother to see me while they were in Paris a long time ago, and you were there. What's up with him?" I asked, frowning.

"I'm sorry June, but he... He died ealier today."

"We're live in two minutes!" a guy called.

But I couldn't move. I was frozen.