BACK IN 1993, MICHAEL HAD LEARNED THE HARD way that his individual relationships with kids and their families could be a liability, but this didn’t dampen his desire to help people, especially children, and it didn’t compromise his sincerity in putting that desire into action. Just listen to “Heal the World,” “Keep the Faith,” “Man in the Mirror,” “Lost Children,” “Will You Be There,” “Gone Too Soon,” and “Earth Song” and you’ll know how he used his music to give people hope, and understand the depth of his desire to do good in the world.

   Then, while he was working on Invincible, he befriended Rabbi Shmuley Boteach. Rabbi Shmuley was a short man, with blue eyes, a beard, a yarmulke, glasses, a big belly, and an extremely long tie, with whom Michael decided to create a foundation for children in need. They wanted to bring families together. The mission of the “Heal the Kids” foundation was to inspire parents to set aside a day when they made sure to have dinner at home with their children so that the current generation of parents wouldn’t take their kids for granted. Part of the “family dinners initiative” involved imparting to parents the skills they needed to initiate and engage in conversations with their children. It was simple: we wanted to remind them to communicate with their children, to listen to them, and to tell them they were loved.

   In March 2001, for the launch of Heal the Kids, Rabbi Shmuley obtained an invitation for Michael to speak at Oxford University about the foundation’s initiative to help children around the world and bring families together. By giving a meaningful talk, Michael wanted to demonstrate the seriousness of his commitment to the cause. It was something he took to heart and thought about deeply, not a public-relations ploy of a big star and his big ego.

   At Oxford, Rabbi Shmuley introduced Michael, who hobbled onto the stage. He was on crutches, recovering from a broken foot he’d suffered at Neverland a few months earlier. I was with him when it happened, and my first reaction was to start laughing. “Moonwalking motherfucker, you can’t even walk down the stairs.”

   “Shut up, I’m in pain,” he said, motioning for help. I managed to get him up and brought him a chair. He said something about Prince leaving his toys in the middle of the steps, then tried to walk. After a few moments he said he was fine, and I figured the whole episode was over. But as we went on with our mission—to raid the kitchen —he kept testing out the bad foot, and eventually he said, “Fuck. I don’t think I’m okay.”

   Now, as he began his speech, Michael made a joke about walking like an eighty-year-old. But then he quickly got down to business.

   “All of us are products of our childhood,” he said. “But I am the product of a lack of a childhood, an absence of that precious and wondrous age when we frolic playfully, without a care in the world, basking in the adoration of parents and relatives, where our biggest concern is studying for that big spelling test come Monday morning.”

   He spoke about the great loss that went hand in hand with his success, talking about how important it was to him to ensure that children, all children, not be forced to grow up too soon. As much as he expressed regret for what he’d missed as a child, he also spoke about the need for forgiveness—forgiveness, in his case, of his father. He didn’t want to be judged harshly by his own children, and he looked into his past and into his heart to find the love he knew his father had for him. It was a phenomenal speech, and Michael was given a standing ovation. It was a special moment for him: he was clearly moved by the experience of opening up, sharing painful memories in public, and it made him feel more connected with people—recognized and understood for who he truly was. Furthermore, he saw that connection in a larger context, as a way of bringing hope to all children.

   We all saw that day as one of great possibility. Michael wanted to help children, and he had always tried to do this on an individual basis—visiting hospitals, befriending ill children, and so on—but here was a chance for him to have a wider-ranging and more powerful impact. Through a foundation, reaching out to children he would never have time to meet, he could accomplish much more than he could ever dream of accomplishing as a single, very busy individual.

   As important as Heal the Kids was, however, we had other business to attend to in Europe. The day before the speech, while we were still in London, I’d gotten a call from Michael’s business adviser, Myung-Ho Lee, who wanted us to meet with a European media magnate named Dr. Jürgen Todenhoefer. In the Italian Alps. Prince and Paris weren’t with us on this trip and all Michael wanted was to rejoin them in New York. But apparently this was a very important meeting, so instead of heading home, we found ourselves driving higher and higher into the mountains, where spring turned back into winter and the increasingly remote villages seemed to be frozen in time.

   The night before, I had, uncharacteristically, been at a nightclub with the magician David Blaine until five in the morning. I was tired and a bit hungover, and the drive was long and winding, but at last we pulled up in front of a house.

   As we gathered ourselves, a few people emerged from the front door, among them a strikingly beautiful young woman. “Look, there is some fish for you,” Michael said. We hadn’t grown out of calling attractive women “fish.” It was unclear if we ever would.

   “No, no, that’s your fish,” I said.

   We went back and forth like that until finally Michael said, “She is perfect for you. There are plenty of fish in the sea for me.” Her name was Valerie. She was Dr. Todenhoefer’s daughter. Michael’s foot was still in a cast, and the altitude was causing it to swell. As soon as we entered the house, a warm chalet, I started trying to get him a doctor. Valerie and her mother, Françoise, explained that there was only one medical doctor in Sulden, Italy, population four hundred. Her name was Maria.

   Françoise called this woman and told her she really needed to come to the house. Like any busy doctor in a small ski village would have done, Maria said, “Bring the patient in, but he’ll have to wait for me to attend to some other patients first.”

   Françoise explained that this person could not just wait in the waiting room. She would not reveal the patient’s name, but she emphasized that he could not come to the clinic. It took a bit of doing, but finally Maria was persuaded to come to the house without knowing who this mysterious patient was. When she arrived, Michael was sprawled out on the couch, looking like nothing so much as a caricature of himself. The look on Maria’s face when she recognized him was priceless.

   After the doctor straightened Michael out, we went to the basement of the chalet to hear a presentation about the deal with Jürgen, which sounded promising. After the meeting, Michael and I went up to my room to get ready for dinner. Somehow I’d gotten my hands on two bottles of white wine. I wanted to review what we’d heard in the meeting, but Michael said, “Fuck it, let’s enjoy ourselves.” So we did. We talked about the beautiful home we were in, the stunning girl downstairs, and how we were going to conquer the world together. We were in a really good mood, and we ended up drinking a whole bottle of wine. Or maybe we were in a really good mood because we ended up drinking a whole bottle. When it was time to go down for dinner, both Michael and I got dressed up. I put on a black suit. Michael wore a lime-green shirt with black pants and a black sport jacket. And sunglasses, which he eventually took off.

   It was a very long, convivial dinner, and Michael was in rare form. He was usually very shy, but that night he made all sorts of conversation with people at the big table. We spoke about meditation, soccer, and music. In the middle of dinner, a family of local entertainers showed up to regale us with traditional folk music from their village. They looked like they’d walked straight out of a fairy tale, like characters from the Brothers Grimm who had strolled over from their gingerbread house.

   Then there was the beautiful girl, Valerie. She was sitting across from me, and she had gorgeous sandy-blond hair, chiseled features, and remarkable blue-gray eyes. We didn’t speak much at the dinner, but we made eye contact and silently flirted with each other from across the table all evening long.

   Michael knew something was up. At the end of the dinner, when everyone arose from their chairs, Valerie and I happened to be standing under a mistletoe sprig. (I guess mistletoe is available year-round in the Alps.) Suddenly I heard Michael from over my shoulder.

   “Frank, you need to kiss her!” he told me. “It’s bad luck if you don’t.”

   With that, he grabbed my head and Valerie’s and pushed us toward each other. Michael was feeling exceptionally, shall we say, confident that night. I defused the awkwardness by kissing Valerie on the cheek.

   It was past midnight, so Michael and I excused ourselves and returned upstairs, where our second bottle of wine was awaiting us. Everyone else went to the only disco in the village—a place called the Après Club. Michael and I drank and talked until we ran out of wine, at which point we realized that we had the munchies. We figured everyone was asleep, so we slipped downstairs to raid the kitchen, Michael limping on his one good foot. There, standing in the kitchen, was Valerie.

   Valerie told us that we’d missed all the excitement. On the way to the club, her mother had slipped on the ice, hit her forehead, and been taken to the hospital. Later, Valerie had returned home to check on Françoise, but apparently she was still at the hospital with our security team. After we called to check on her condition and learned that she was fine, Valerie, Michael, and I stocked up on snacks and more wine and brought our stash upstairs.

   Valerie and I sat next to each other on the top of the steps, while Michael sat in a chair in the wide corridor. We were all just talking and laughing when Michael suddenly said, “Come on, Frank, you know you want to kiss her. You should just kiss her.”

   I started blushing. Michael did this sort of thing to me frequently, and I was inured to it, but this time was different because I actually wanted to kiss Valerie. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I threw a pillow at Michael, stood up, and announced, “You’ve had enough. You are going to bed.” I started to push him to his room, all the while saying, “You had too much to drink. You need to sleep.”

   I was joking, but Michael excused himself, saying, “I guess I’ll leave you two alone.” He instructed me to behave myself and warned Valerie to be careful. I knew Michael wanted me to be happy, but I also sensed, behind the teasing, a little bit of jealousy. It was great for me to be with a girl—so long as it didn’t mean I’d be less available to him. I understood this, but I didn’t worry about it. I was in the moment, and I was enjoying it.

   Now it was just me and Valerie. She led me outside, where the air was as cold and clean as air can be. A famous mountain climber lived next door, and he kept a couple yaks in the fields behind the house. Valerie showed me the yaks, but I was unimpressed. I thought they looked like oversize cows. Still, they were a reminder that New York, with its everyday bustle and ringing cell phones and deadlines and general yaklessness, was far, far away. Valerie and I huddled near the yaks, with a blanket wrapped around us, watching the sunrise. At last, alone in the picturesque dawn, we kissed.