June 1988



Michael eyed his assistant angrily and crossed his arms and legs.

"Hmmf," he snorted and looked away. "Look, I want the ranch. So make it happen."

Across the desk, his assistant, Mark, rubbed one temple and pursued cautiously.

"I just don't think it's a good investment. It's way too much cash and you don't need all that land; it's ridiculous, Michael."

"What's ridiculous is you not sealing this deal!" He was quickly losing his temper. Michael had been here many times before with Mark. Under normal circumstances he would have dismissed an uncouporative employee. After all, nobody told Michael Jackson what to do.

So it was a surprise to many in the Jackson camp that he elected to keep Mark on and pick-pick back and forth with him. Something that had, needless to say, not gone unnoticed and caused a bit of undisclosed gossip and giggles. Mark could drive Michael through the roof in minutos so there must be a very good reason as to why he was still around.

"Michael why don't you purchase one of the lots in Beverly Hills or Bretwald?" Michael immedietly began shaking his head back and forth sending his black curls swaying. Mark trailed off and watched as one of them caught and came to rest across his petite nose. Michael peered at him now looking disheveled and quite peculiar. Mark restrained his smirk and continued, "two or three mil for fives acres. Come on."

"The ranch." Michael didn't blink. There was silence.

"...fine." Mark rose and snatched up his phone and folder after the announcement. He flung on his burberry and faced his boss once more. "I'm going for some coffee. You exhaust me, Michael. You want anything?"

"No," Michael snipped. He stared deliberatly out the window at his brother, Randy, who was giving a spectacular walloping to something in the pool.

"Right." Mark slid from the room. Michael quickly turned and watched him interestedly as he went. Then he cleared his throat and stood. Some juice sounds pretty good, he thought, and headed for the kitchen.