HOWZAT

Then, dressed in red velvet trousers and a red shirt, his face unexpectedly pale and with a hint of cosmetics on his lips, there he was. The king of pop was shaking my hand, thanking me profoundly for “sparing time” to see him, attentive to my every need, as coffee and delicacies arrived in a whirl of white pyjamas. Something about the way he walked — a high instep, or a slight flat-footedness, something less lithe than I had been expecting — prompted my last vestige of misgiving, a suspicion that I was with a brilliant impersonator of the world’s single most famous man.

He sat a few feet away from me and as our conversation got rather stutteringly under way, I found myself noticing what seemed to be faint discolourations of skin grafting on his face, the brilliance of his eyes, which at reflective moments seemed to well up with sadness, and the soft girlishness of his voice, especially in laughter. I didn’t really know who to “be”, as the unreality of this encounter gave way to the rational conclusion that it was actually happening: I was watching me at the same time as being me. Should I be an awestruck fan, or somebody from the music business who could share a bit of his vocabulary, or a wise elder bringing cool assessment from a different discipline?

I suppose I tried all three, as we talked about the new album, Bad, the rigours of being on tour, the rehearsal regime for his breakthrough choreography and the opportunity for the creation of something completely original.

In response to his questions, I told him things about Cats and Starlight Express, shows I had directed with the intention of finding more environmental, inclusive ways of presenting music theatre. In return, Michael told me how he yearned to be able to do something more spectacular, such as flying over the audience. “Oh, I know just how to do that, no problem,” I said banteringly. “I had people flying over the audience when I did Peter Pan.”

Something seismic had happened. He reacted as if an electric current had just passed through him. He sat up to the edge of his chair, clutching the arms with splayed hands, one of which was gloved. “You did Peter Pan?” he whispered.

“Yeah, in London,” I said.

He leapt up. “You directed Peter Pan?” The high-pitched voice went higher as he walked up and down in front of me, repeating: “Oh my God. Peter Pan! I don’t believe it.”

I described our production, in which all the children’s parts had been played by adult actors. He bounded across the room, his eyes full of tears, he knelt down in front of me, his hands on my knees, and he said: “Could I play Peter, is it too late? Will you let me play Peter? All I ever want to do is to play Peter Pan.”

From that point on I was his new best friend. White-clad figures hovered in doorways, worried that the yells, squawks and squeals of unbridled delight might be the sounds of their lord and master being beaten up by his unknown visitor. He knew every incident in the Peter Pan story, he recited lines from the text and he became immensely vulnerable and childlike as the delight transformed him to some earlier moment in his life.

The unexpectedness of this convulsion, in which I had suddenly become the possible enabler of his greatest yearning, prevented me from reflecting on what it meant or what condition it revealed; but I think I realised something about his life as a child star and his eccentric discomfort with being grown up was being shown and this revelation was very private and very rare.

The meeting finished after two hours, but not before he had made me “promise” to go to his concert the following night. I was scheduled to be in the garage below the hotel at 5.30 in the evening. I arrived through a similar cordon of security and then discovered to my disbelief that I was being ushered into a Dormobile vehicle with black glass windows, containing a driver, two security men and . . . Michael Jackson.

I travelled with him to the stadium and had the unprecedented and unrepeatable experience of being invisible in the dark interior, as totally visible hordes of fans screamed adoration and reached out to touch the glass as we passed. I was taken backstage with him briefly, before following an escort to my place beside the sound operator at a massive desk in the best position in the entire auditorium.

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