Blood on MY dance floor
"Thriller Night"
“Omigod omigod omigod omigod”, I shirked repetitively, probably bugging the shit out of MJ, who was particularly calm, sitting on the couch writing part of his autobiography.
“What’s the matter?” he asked look up from his notebook.
I was running around my room, whipping clothes all over the place, it was such a mess, and I couldn’t find anything I wanted to wear to the party that night, “I don’t know what to wear!”, I wailed pathetically.
MJ got up off the couch and bounced into my room. He grimaced at the sight of my room (he’s pretty orderly), then took a quick glance. He walked into my closet and pulled out two garments. One was a black dress, that a had a layered ruffled skirt that was short. And another was a pink plastic-like short jacket that was covered with buckles.
“Omigod, that’s perfect!” I shouted and ran up, grabbed the garments, then gave him a huge hug. “Now what about shoes?”
MJ went back into my closet and pulled out a pair of white, leather, knee high hooker boots with huge heels, “I think these’ll work.”
“Oh, the defiantly do”, I giggled, “What would I do without you?”
“Tear apart you entire room, I guess,” MJ smiled, “Now c’mon, we need to get there in time for make-up and stuff.”
“Okay, I’m ready”, I gathered my performance outfit, my party outfit, and the huge boots, shoved them in my bag and we both hurried out the door.
The make-up rooms were crowed, hectic, hot, and extremely irritating. It reminded me of warm-ups at a swim meet. We pushed our way through a whole lot of people and finally found our room. You can say I was a nervous wreck.
“Now how would you like your make-up done, miss”, the make-up artist asked. I’m not going to lie, she kind of creped me out. Calling me miss.
“Um, well, I want to look like Michael Jackson,” I dragged on the sentence, not knowing how she was going to react.
“Okay, well, can you be a little more specific, I mean, he does have many different looks. Which one are you talking about?”
“Um, I don’t know”, I tried to think; this was so awkward, “I guess during Bad.”
“Okay”, she gave me a weird look, “I’ll try my best.” She mopped on this stuff that made my face look pretty white, and then she carefully applied a heavy coat of eyeliner and a ton of mascara. Next, went on the red lipstick. The hair took awhile; I wanted it to be perfect for this performance. She started by matting it with this weird gooey stuff that I think gets rid of the entire tangle, so it’s easier to work with. It just made me look like a greaser, not the look I was aiming for. She let it dry out for a couple minutes, then started scrunching and spraying very intensely. She continued to scrunch and spray, scrunch and spray, scrunch and spray for about twenty minutes. So this was celebrity life, huh?
“How’s this?” she asked roughly.
“Great!” I replied honestly, it really did look amazing, exactly what I wanted, except it wasn’t quite finished. “Okay, do you think you can put it in a half pony tail now with tendrils coming down sort of in my face?”
“Well, you know what you want”, she replied, “I’ll give you that. I bet you put on quite a show.”
“Actually, this is my first ‘show’; I’ve only been in videos really.”
She stuck some elastics and scrunchies in her mouth while gathering little handfuls of stiff, jet-black hair and somehow creating my perfect hairdo. I must say this lady was pretty good.
“You’re that girl that re-made the Thriller video, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Um…yeah,” I laughed nervously, not sure what she was going to say next.
She pulled down a couple chunks of hair in front of my face, just the way I wanted her too and spun me around in my chair signaling I was done, “Never give up on you, kid. People will stand in you way, but you gotta knock ‘em down. You’ll be great out there”, I stepped off the chair, “Now get outta here, I gotta do make-up for some fake. Remember what I said, I don’t say that to everybody, because not everyone deserves it.”
“Thank you, so much!” I smiled obnoxiously and quickly ran out the door to meet MJ. That really did mean a lot to me, what that lady said. I could tell she was someone that could really see through people, and I liked that.
“Wow, you look…like…ME!” MJ exclaimed laughing softly.
“Of course”, I replied.
“Well, we’re up in five minutes, we better get backstage.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Stop saying that, your gonna pysce yourself out.”
“You sound like my old swim coach.”
“Isn’t he the one that got you into my music?”
“Yes, actually.”
“What was the first song you ever heard of mine?”
“Smooth Criminal,” I knew what MJ was trying to do. He was trying to distract me by asking me all these simple questions that I could answer quickly too without thinking. He was doing this so I wouldn’t babble about being nervous, because he knows me well enough that I would physce myself out. I must say his techniques are very fine.
“And now, for the next act!” I heard the host shout out to all the celebrities sitting in the theater, “ We have special guests. Michael Jackson and his ‘appetence’, if you will, Idolyn Villiotti.” I couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying if he was even saying anything at all. My heart was beating so loudly as a squeezed MJ’s cold, white hand. The curtain lifted and the jazzy tune started to play as a bounced held out my arms in a show girl position and bounced my hip to the beat.
“What’s the matter?” he asked look up from his notebook.
I was running around my room, whipping clothes all over the place, it was such a mess, and I couldn’t find anything I wanted to wear to the party that night, “I don’t know what to wear!”, I wailed pathetically.
MJ got up off the couch and bounced into my room. He grimaced at the sight of my room (he’s pretty orderly), then took a quick glance. He walked into my closet and pulled out two garments. One was a black dress, that a had a layered ruffled skirt that was short. And another was a pink plastic-like short jacket that was covered with buckles.
“Omigod, that’s perfect!” I shouted and ran up, grabbed the garments, then gave him a huge hug. “Now what about shoes?”
MJ went back into my closet and pulled out a pair of white, leather, knee high hooker boots with huge heels, “I think these’ll work.”
“Oh, the defiantly do”, I giggled, “What would I do without you?”
“Tear apart you entire room, I guess,” MJ smiled, “Now c’mon, we need to get there in time for make-up and stuff.”
“Okay, I’m ready”, I gathered my performance outfit, my party outfit, and the huge boots, shoved them in my bag and we both hurried out the door.
The make-up rooms were crowed, hectic, hot, and extremely irritating. It reminded me of warm-ups at a swim meet. We pushed our way through a whole lot of people and finally found our room. You can say I was a nervous wreck.
“Now how would you like your make-up done, miss”, the make-up artist asked. I’m not going to lie, she kind of creped me out. Calling me miss.
“Um, well, I want to look like Michael Jackson,” I dragged on the sentence, not knowing how she was going to react.
“Okay, well, can you be a little more specific, I mean, he does have many different looks. Which one are you talking about?”
“Um, I don’t know”, I tried to think; this was so awkward, “I guess during Bad.”
“Okay”, she gave me a weird look, “I’ll try my best.” She mopped on this stuff that made my face look pretty white, and then she carefully applied a heavy coat of eyeliner and a ton of mascara. Next, went on the red lipstick. The hair took awhile; I wanted it to be perfect for this performance. She started by matting it with this weird gooey stuff that I think gets rid of the entire tangle, so it’s easier to work with. It just made me look like a greaser, not the look I was aiming for. She let it dry out for a couple minutes, then started scrunching and spraying very intensely. She continued to scrunch and spray, scrunch and spray, scrunch and spray for about twenty minutes. So this was celebrity life, huh?
“How’s this?” she asked roughly.
“Great!” I replied honestly, it really did look amazing, exactly what I wanted, except it wasn’t quite finished. “Okay, do you think you can put it in a half pony tail now with tendrils coming down sort of in my face?”
“Well, you know what you want”, she replied, “I’ll give you that. I bet you put on quite a show.”
“Actually, this is my first ‘show’; I’ve only been in videos really.”
She stuck some elastics and scrunchies in her mouth while gathering little handfuls of stiff, jet-black hair and somehow creating my perfect hairdo. I must say this lady was pretty good.
“You’re that girl that re-made the Thriller video, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Um…yeah,” I laughed nervously, not sure what she was going to say next.
She pulled down a couple chunks of hair in front of my face, just the way I wanted her too and spun me around in my chair signaling I was done, “Never give up on you, kid. People will stand in you way, but you gotta knock ‘em down. You’ll be great out there”, I stepped off the chair, “Now get outta here, I gotta do make-up for some fake. Remember what I said, I don’t say that to everybody, because not everyone deserves it.”
“Thank you, so much!” I smiled obnoxiously and quickly ran out the door to meet MJ. That really did mean a lot to me, what that lady said. I could tell she was someone that could really see through people, and I liked that.
“Wow, you look…like…ME!” MJ exclaimed laughing softly.
“Of course”, I replied.
“Well, we’re up in five minutes, we better get backstage.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Stop saying that, your gonna pysce yourself out.”
“You sound like my old swim coach.”
“Isn’t he the one that got you into my music?”
“Yes, actually.”
“What was the first song you ever heard of mine?”
“Smooth Criminal,” I knew what MJ was trying to do. He was trying to distract me by asking me all these simple questions that I could answer quickly too without thinking. He was doing this so I wouldn’t babble about being nervous, because he knows me well enough that I would physce myself out. I must say his techniques are very fine.
“And now, for the next act!” I heard the host shout out to all the celebrities sitting in the theater, “ We have special guests. Michael Jackson and his ‘appetence’, if you will, Idolyn Villiotti.” I couldn’t hear the rest of what he was saying if he was even saying anything at all. My heart was beating so loudly as a squeezed MJ’s cold, white hand. The curtain lifted and the jazzy tune started to play as a bounced held out my arms in a show girl position and bounced my hip to the beat.