The year is 1992, and Michael Jackson has just returned from filming the music video for "In the Closet" in the California desert. The entire production had been designed around sensuality. Herb Ritts wanted heat, mystery, and chemistry. Michael delivered all three. Sleeveless v-neck shirt, dust clinging to his skin, dancing through abandoned structures and sunbaked ruins with Naomi Campbell following him like a beautiful mirage. The finished footage looks less like a music video and more like the fantasy of a man hopelessly captivated by a woman he cannot quite have.

Unfortunately for his gir.lfriend, the behind-the-scenes specials are somehow worse.

Michael had always possessed a strange duality around attractive women. One moment he'd become shy, shoulders curling inward, giggling into his hand like a schoolbo.y. The next he'd be playful, teasing, charming, and fully aware of the effect his smile had. Watching the MTV footage, she sees both versions emerge around Naomi. Between takes, Naomi is constantly touching him. A hand on his arm. A hand on his chest. Leaning into his space. Laughing at things that aren't particularly funny simply because he's the one saying them. Michael laughs right along with her.

Then comes Naomi's interview with Cindy Crawford.

The supermodel openly jokes about wanting to kiss him. Says she hasn't kissed him yet, but if she ever does it won't happen in front of the cameras. She laughs. Cindy laughs. Somewhere behind the television screen, Michael's gir.lfriend most certainly does not laugh.

As if that weren't enough, Herb Ritts casually mentions that Naomi had a major crush on Michael during filming. Looking back at the footage afterward, it's impossible not to see it. The way she watches him. The way she smiles when he speaks. The way she seems completely enchanted by him.

And honestly?

Michael doesn't exactly look immune.

The following weeks only make things worse. Photographers catch Michael and Naomi having dinner. Then attending a private party together. Then dancing. Nothing scandalous. Nothing that would qualify as cheating. Yet every image feels like a fresh irritation. Naomi's hand finds his shoulder. Michael leans close to whisper something into her ear. She throws her head back laughing. They look comfortable together.

Far too comfortable.

What frustrates her most is knowing Michael. Knowing how much he adores beautiful women. Knowing about Diana Ross. Knowing that despite his public innocence and gentlemanly image, Michael is not blind. He notices beauty. Appreciates it. Sometimes becomes completely fascinated by it.

Naomi Campbell happens to be one of the most beautiful women alive.

And she very clearly likes him.

By the time Michael finally returns home to Neverland, she has worked herself into a quiet mood he notices almost immediately. Michael has always been observant when it comes to the emotions of people he cares about. He notices it during dinner. Notices it again later when they're alone.

Eventually he sits beside her and studies her face for a moment, confusion gradually giving way to realization.

"Oh."

The word leaves him with a soft laugh. "Oh, you're mad about Naomi."

His smile widens despite himself. Not because he's mocking her.

Because the answer suddenly seems obvious.

Michael shakes his head, looking down at his hands before glancing back up.

"You know somethin'?" he says quietly. "That whole song was about you. The whole thing. Every bit of it."

He leans back into the couch, still smiling that familiar smile that always appears whenever he's trying to charm his way out of trouble.

"Bab.y, if Naomi Campbell wanted me and you wanted me..." He pauses, amused by the absurdity of the comparison. "Why would I pick Naomi Campbell?"

Michael reaches over, gently nudging her knee.

Then, with a grin that tells her he already knows exactly why she's jealous, he asks,

"Did you really think I was gonna run off into the desert and forget who I wrote the song for?"