Dish Upon A Star (or how I almost met Michael Jackson)

I’m driving home from work in a downpour and my phone rings.

Caller ID tells me that it’s my husband.

“Hey honey, what’s up?”

“Michael Jackson just died,” he says quickly.

“What?”

“He is dead.”

“No way. You are fucking with me,” I accuse.

“It’s on the news right now.” 

“Ok, I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

Greg loves to yank my chain but not about people dying. I drive home in the rain the rest of the way knowing that if I turn up the volume on the radio I will hear the news and that will make it real. So for a couple more minutes Michael Jackson lives on and I think back to the early Nineties and the day that I almost met the King of Pop.

I was waiting tables at Disney’s Grand Floridian where celebrity sightings were a common occurrence. Speilberg, Lucas, Zemeckis, Oz, Ford, Cruise, Stallone, Crystal, Williams, Goldthwaite and even a pre-Pulp Fiction Travolta. I had watched them all eat breakfast, or try to, as fans of all ages found reasons to walk by their table or gawk from the other side of the dining room. Somewhere in Melanie Griffith’s house there is a videotape of her family’s Disney vacation that includes a clip of me and my friend Chris in our Burt from Mary Poppins inspired outfits. She thought they were adorable and I wanted to know her room number so that I could slip a screenplay under her door. She would love it and I would win an Oscar.

Whenever stars were on property an itinerary would be sent to all of the locations they were scheduled to visit with the information for that location highlighted. When they would arrive, how many in their party, how they would get there, what time they would leave and where they were going next. It was page after page of the comings and goings of some of the biggest stars in the Universe. A Hollywood-sent feast for a young up and coming celebrity Whore. I almost never took advantage of my access to information (except for with Harrison Ford but that is a tale for another time) but when I heard that Michael Jackson was staying at Disney I really couldn’t help myself. What can I say? It’s an addiction.

Back in those days there was a place over near Universal Studios called the TV and Toy Museum. This was before Islands of Adventure and parking structures that can be seen from the Space Shuttle. From kirkman road you could see the Psycho house on the hill above the Bates Motel. Back when there was a Psycho house.

I enjoyed spending time at the museum looking through the collection of toys and talking to the guy who owned it. Like every other Orlando attraction they had a gift shop but at this one you could actually buy collectible toys, lunch boxes, posters etc. The owner and I liked to swap stories about our celebrity sightings and it eventually came out that I was privy to information that could give him access to half of Hollywood. We made a gentleman’s agreement that I would let him know when someone really big was coming through and in turn, if he got the autograph, photo-op or handshake that he was looking for I would be repaid with credit to spend in the museum gift shop.

When I learned that Jackson was staying at the Dolphin Resort I called my comrade in celebrity-dom and gave him the particulars that he would need to have the best chance of a crowd-free interaction with the Prince of Neverland.  He and a buddy made plans to stake out the hotel the following day with their cameras, Captain EO dolls, posters and Sharpies. I was going to be off as well and told him that maybe I would come by and see how things were going on their hunt for the guy who was not the father to Billie Jean’s son.

I asked a friend of mine who dabbled in photography if she would like the chance to possibly shoot Michael Jackson and his entourage as they were coming or going from the hotel and she said yes. The following day I was on my way to pick her and her telephoto lens up and head out to Mouse Town to join the stakeout. I was cruising north on Orange Avenue through downtown Orlando in my husbands brand new Nissan Sentra. The car was his pride and joy and we had only had it for about a month.  Adding to the pressure was the fact that the Sentra was purchased from the dealership in St. Pete where half of his family worked at that time.

I was stopped at a red light and as it turned green I started to drive forward when all of a sudden WHAM!!! A not so little and not so red Corvette slammed into the passenger side of the car, crunching in the door and pushing the entire vehicle across an intersection. Thankfully the Universe was watching over me that day and I walked away unharmed. I wish I could say as much for my honey’s new car. Although it wasn’t totaled it was quite a mess and I was not looking forward to giving him the bad news.

Thankfully he was glad that I was ok and even gladder to hear that it was not my fault. The lady driving the Corvette was cited for the accident and her insurance company had to foot the bill. I will never forget the look on her face when we both got out to survey the damage and she got all teary-eyed.

“My husband is going to kill me,” she said with a sigh.

“Your husband? MY husband is going to kill me AND you for what you did to his car. Now where the fuck is my wheel cover?”

She walked over to the sidewalk and stood quietly waiting for the cops to arrive with a bit of a shocked look on her face.

“Your husband is my husband’s bitch,” I said in my head where nobody else would hear me.

So I never made it to pick up my friend and we never got to go and join the others on the prowl for MJ. The guy from the TV and Toy Museum did get to meet Michael and spend a good ten minutes talking to him AND Macaulay Culkin. Jackson loved the attention and was nice enough to sign my friend’s memorabilia and even posed with them for pictures. Had I been there I too would have met him and had a picture taken to remember the moment by for the rest of my life.

In the end I got some really cool Star Wars toys from the shop that I still have to this day and the museum guy’s friend was so grateful to me that he gave me a VHS bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special. That made it all worth it to me because when the special aired on TV during (once and only once) my mother had grounded my little brother and me so we could not watch it. So instead of meeting the future daddy to Blanket I was given back a small but very important piece of my own childhood. One that George Lucas regrets making and one that I had to wait until adulthood to reclaim.

Back to reality. I arrive home and rush in the door. As I kiss Greg hello I can already hear Wolf Blitzer in the background talking about Michael Jackson being dead.  It’s finally true to me and I sit down on the couch with my husband and put my head on his shoulder. This time I am the one who sighs and gets all teary-eyed. I allow myself a quick minute-long cry. For the King of Pop and for another piece of my childhood that is gone forever.