Shana Mangatal - Michael and Me: The Untold Story of Michael Jacksons Secret Romance

Dreams do come true. It could happen to you.

Walt Disney

I t was March 5, 1988.

The city lights soared past me as the Yellow Cab wove in and out of busy traffic. The energy of New York City was an intoxicant, invigorating every moment. The city had a pulse so strong, it felt like it must be the epicenter of the universe.

As we pulled up to Madison Square Garden, the butterflies in my stomach flew faster. I felt that I was about to step into a piece of history. I was right: this night would set me on a course that would change my life.

We had arrived in New York just a few hours earlier after a four-and-a-half-hour drive from our hometown in Largo, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, DC. My aunt Vera had driven my friend Tracy and me in her brand-new silver Nissan Maxima. That car was all the rage that year because it talked, telling you important things like Your lights are on. I always got a kick out of riding in it. Sometimes we would purposely leave the lights on just so we could hear it talk.

We were here to see Michael Jackson in concerthe was on his Bad tour. I had been looking forward to this day for months. I was seventeen, and Michael was my idol.

We found our seats, which were behind the stage. At first I was upset that they were so bad. When I purchased the tickets, they hadnt informed me that the seats would be in an obstructed view area. As the show went on, however, I grew to like them. It gave me a different vantage point. From behind, you could catch a glimpse of how the magic was made, and I could see him walking off and on stage before the curtain was raised. I had always been obsessed with magicians like David Copperfield. I was the type who would watch a trick over and over so that I could figure out how the illusion was created. The creation of an illusion is what fascinated me about Michael. I always suspected his Peter Pan image was just a facade. And now I could glimpse the real Michael, behind the curtain.

After a couple songs, the charm of sitting behind the stage wore off, and we decided to walk around to see if we could snag some better seats. Since we were already behind the stage, we easily made our way onto the floor without anyone checking for tickets. We spotted an empty area in the front row, and blended in there as if we belonged. We managed to stay in our newfound front-row seats for the remainder of the concert. I couldnt believe how lucky we were.

This experience was completely different from sitting behind the stage. Michael was right there, as if he were performing in my living room. And he was overwhelmingly sexy. He wore black pants with silver buckles, which showcased his perfect bodyespecially his round backside. They were so tight; I could see everything. It was like he was dancing naked in front of me for two hours. It was so intense and exhilarating, inspiring feelings that I had never felt before.

During the song I Just Cant Stop Loving You, he and Sheryl Crow, who was his background singer back then, came together and started dancing closely. He started rubbing his crotch while he was singing to her, so much that he became noticeably excited. I could not believe my eyes. I felt like I was going to faint from shock. It was like I was seeing something I wasnt supposed to see. I was overwhelmed. I had read so many tabloid stories painting Michael as this asexual man-child that I was not expecting this at all.

He then launched into a beautiful rendition of his hit song Human Nature. See that girlshe knows Im watching. She likes the way I stare. As his smooth voice effortlessly glided over the lyrics, he pointed right to me. I squealed so loud, he started smiling. I had been screaming the whole time, so there was no doubt he had noticed me before then. He kept glancing at me for the remainder of the concert and I was sure we had made a love connection.

I talked endlessly about that magical moment with my aunt Vera and Tracy during the entire cab ride back to the hotel. Did you see him point to me when he said See that girl? We made eye contact! He was looking at me the whole concert. I know he saw me!

Yes, he did point at you. I saw it. Tracy said, probably just hoping I would shut up.

We had left at the beginning of the last song, Man in the Mirror, to beat the traffic. We also wanted to arrive back at the hotel before Michael so that we could try to catch a glimpse of him returning from the show.

The Helmsley Palace on the corner of Fiftieth Street and Madison Avenue was a luxurious, majestic skyscraper fifty-five floors high, directly across the street from St. Patricks Cathedral. Stepping into the lobby made you feel like royaltythe decor was classic, literally like a palace. I had read in magazines that this was Michaels favorite place to stay while in New York and I was hoping this time would be no different. When we had checked in earlier, we noticed a group of fans waiting across the street, and I knew that my research had paid off. Michael was staying there. I was so relieved.

As our cab pulled up to the entrance at around eleven, the group of about a hundred fans were still gathered across the street behind a barricade. A glimpse of Michael was all they wanted. Some held signs with Michaels picture; others were decked out in Michaels signature costume: high-water pants, a fedora, and one sparkly white glove. They were chanting, Michael! Michael! Michael! hoping to get his attention. New York City police manned the area, making sure the crowd didnt get out of control. This scene would repeat itself in every city Michael traveled to. At this moment, he was truly the king of the world.

Whenever Michael came to any town, the place stood still. It was as if pixie dust had been sprinkled over it. Everything seemed more alive, more beautifulmore magical. I distinctly remember being excited simply because Michael was breathing the same air, feeling the same weather, and seeing the same sights as I was.

Back then, Michael mania was in full effect. When he came to town, vendors would set up on every block, selling buttons and T-shirts and anything else they could stick his image on. It seemed like the entire world was under Michaels spell. New York City was no different on this balmy night.

We exited our cab and a surly hotel security guard stopped us at the revolving doors. Im sorry, but only guests of the hotel are allowed in the lobby. Aunt Vera proudly produced the card key to our room. That was the magic ticket. The guards demeanor instantly changed to warmth and we were promptly escorted into the elegant lobby.

I felt so special as I looked back at the growing crowd of screaming fans being held at bay across the street. Some shouted, La Toya!, mistaking me for Michaels beautiful older sister. I chuckled under my breath but felt honored to be mistaken for anyone in the Jackson family. I reveled in the moment and waved to the crowd. They screamed even louder.