Author's Note:
Any comments, encouragements, or suggestions would be appreciated. Please feel free to email me at brandonkies@yahoo.com I'm more than willing to accept criticism, but please no flames. I've gotten some wonderfully encouraging emails already. I think I've responded to everyone privately, but in case I missed you, thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think. I do appreciate it.
I wanted to thank any and all that nominated my story for a boy band story award. I honestly don't know what else I can say; I'm certainly pleased that some of you are enjoying the story.
Disclaimer:
This story is pure fiction. I don't know any of the guys from `N Sync and my writings should in no way imply anything about their sexuality. Please do not post this story with out first receiving my permission.
Right for Me -- Chapter 5 _______________________
"Alright," I said, turning to scoop Chad up, "let's get our little men cleaned up and we can head out. My jeep is still in the drive, we can take that if you'd like."
"Na, no need," Justin said as he grabbed Jesse and followed me upstairs to clean them up, "The studio is that glass and steel building you saw when you pulled in yesterday."
"You had your studio built here?"
"Doesn't that get claustrophobic, everything so close together?"
"It can be, yes. It certainly gives new meaning to that old adage of `taking your work home with you'. But the advantages definitely outweigh the disadvantages. I don't have to worry about the press or fans out here. It's easier to protect Jesse from prying eyes. And I have the studio available to me 24/7 so if I happen to be inspired by something suddenly, I can get it down almost instantly."
The studio was well hidden from the house. Landscaping had been used ingeniously to delineate the properties. There was a gravel path that meandered through the foliage and separated the buildings. It was cleverly laid out, and maintained the privacy Justin prized for his home.
There were benches along the route, strategically placed at points of interest. A brook, a clearing, some sculpted fauna. It was definitely utilitarian and functional, but it was also beautiful and free-flowing encouraging the path to be used for recreational purposes. The designer had obviously created the area with the hope that the path would be used and enjoyed.
The walk only took several minutes, ten at the most. The pathway opening suddenly, rather dramatically to the studio.
The building was a stark contrast to Justin's house. There was no attempt to soften the building with plantings. It was squat and severe. Completely functional in appearance, yet it had a compelling beauty all its own. Its darkened glass contrasted dramatically with the metallic girders and beams that crisscrossed the building.
Justin led us to a recessed and barely noticeable steel door. Pausing only briefly to enter a security code in a digital pad, he quickly opened the door and motioned me in.
"We'll stop at security before we leave and get you your own code so you can come and go when you want," he said as led us down a hallway.
The inside was decorated in soft pastels. Walls painted in mute colors, inviting introspection, and plush furniture offering comfort.
"Kara," he said stopping to knock at an office door, "got a minute?"
"Of course, sweetie, what's up?"
"I wanted to introduce you to Dylan and Chad. You'll probably be seeing them around, keep an eye out for them will you?"
Standing up and coming from around her desk, Kara held out her hand to shake my hand. "Hi, I'm Kara Thompson. Mr. Manners here has problems with social conventions. I'm Justin's PA."
She was a lovely blonde. Probably mid thirties, but it's hard to tell after a certain age. She wore wonderfully out-dated horn-rimmed glasses that sat low on her nose. Her clothing matcher her glasses, pieces out of time and they suited her nicely. She seemed the stereotypical librarian, with hair in a bun, pencils behind her ears, and a look in her eye that suggested she would brook no nonsense.
"Dylan Carlton," I said shaking her hand, "PA?"
"Personal Assistant. He grunts I run," she explained, smiling fondly at Justin.
"Please," he objected good naturedly, "who are you trying to kid. He's gonna learn real fast that you and Helen are really the ones in charge around here."
"Only an illusion," she maintained waving off his suggestion, "Jesse's the real boss around here, aren't you cutie?" She asked as she bent over to kiss his cheek.
"Angie with Sharon?" Justin asked.
"Yep, want me to take the boys down?"
"No, that's ok. I want to show Dylan the facilities. I'm sure he'd be more comfortable seeing the place and meeting Sharon before he leaves Chad with her."
"Better hurry up, Joe's been bellowing for an hour."
"Let him know we'll be with him in five, please."
"Come on Dylan, I think you're going to like this."
The offices were open and spacious for the most part, and noticeably empty. There didn't seem to be many people working today. I wondered briefly if the place ever filled up. I doubted it. I didn't think Justin would want that many people around.
Pointing towards a door, he said, "That's the day care center, but I wanted to show you this first." Pushing another door open dramatically, he motioned for me to enter the room.
It was empty. I examined the room in confusion glancing at Justin for a clue. His smile was blinding, and he was obviously proud and pleased about something. I began examining the room again, desperate to understand the motivation for his mood.
It had wonderful wide windows. In fact, the entire outer wall was window, almost ceiling to floor. The floor was uncarpeted -- bare concrete. The walls were white and reflective. It really wasn't much of a room, even if it was spacious and well lit.
You idiot, I thought to myself, Spacious, well lit, natural light, concrete floor -- he's offering you a room to use as a studio.
"Justin?" I asked wanting to confirm my guess, "you'd let me paint in here?"
"Let you," he laughed, "You should have heard the bitching when I shuffled offices so I could empty this one for you."
"It's perfect isn't it?" He asked his happiness barely contained.
We talked a few moments about what I would need to bring over to make the room into an effective studio. His enthusiasm for the room was contagious; I was as excited as him by the time we left and made our way slowly to the day care center.
Watching him stop and chat with the staff allowed me a few more insights into his personality. He seemed to honestly care about the people that worked for him. Taking the time to dredge up personal bits of minutiae about each person and their family, he had wonderful interpersonal skills and it totally confused me.
"Justin, can you explain something to me?"
He looked at me briefly, smiled encouragingly, and said, "Sure. What's up?"
"I know you can't believe everything you read about a person in print. But the stories about you paint you as a diva. Unapproachable. The reports I've read or heard suggest you don't allow people to talk to you directly; they have to go through an intermediary. And frankly, what I've seen just doesn't jive with that. You're great with other people. Why would they report something like that?"
He blushed slightly, "It's kinda true."
"It started as a bit of misdirection. I figured if I fed the media stories about me it would help to deflect any questions about Jesse."
"Paparazzi are like vultures, I thought it would be smarter to feed them juicy stories I'd created. Keep them for looking for some on their own. It seems to have worked."
"You don't care about how it makes you look to the public? Your fans?"
"Of course I do, that's why all the rumors have been pretty tame for the most part. No one can talk to me directly; I have to have the best hotel suites available, there must be mirrors over the bed. Really in the scheme of things they are pretty tame."
"I'm not ashamed that I've tried to manipulate the press. I think every public figure to some degree or another engages in manipulation. If we didn't, there'd be a lot of public relation managers out of work. And maybe I'm kidding myself, but at least my reasons weren't selfish. I did it to protect Jesse."
"And I'd do it again."
We stopped in briefly to tour the day care facilities, and to introduce Chad to Sharon, the day-care manager.
She was quick to assure me that she was capable of dealing with small children, and informed me proudly of her master's degree in child psychology and elementary education.
She was amazingly over-qualified for the job, and I wondered how Justin had managed to convince her to work for him. The room itself was outfitted with a stunning variety of groundbreaking educational material and equipment.
Chad bonded with her quickly. Following Jesse easily, he went to investigate. I'll admit I felt a twinge of jealousy at the apparent ease he exhibited as he abandoned me.
Justin grabbed my arm and carefully ushered me out of the room. Moving silently and as unobtrusively as possible to minimize any fuss the kids might have put up at our departure. Steering me confidently down the hall, we finally made our way to the studio.
"Bout time you got here Timberlake, if I'd had to track you down again, my size 13 was going to be buried up your ass!"
The voice was loud and deep, booming and resonating off of the walls. I examined Joe intently after Justin introduced us, trying to reconcile the voice I had heard coming out of the person standing in front of me.
He was perhaps 5'4", thin as a rail, with coke bottle glasses. His hair was greasy, long, and pulled back into a tight pony tail, so tight it appeared painful, so greasy it was hard to tell what color it should be.
He had one of the worse cases of acne I had ever seen, his face a veritable minefield -- waiting patiently for him to make one wrong move so it could explode in pockets of pus and goo.
He was a kid. I don't mean he was around Justin's or my age, I mean he was a kid. Sixteen -- there was no way he could be even a day older!
"Justin, head into the recording booth. I'll show Dylan here where he can listen and watch."
The studio opened up into two recording booths. One set up for vocals, the other apparently for instrument and vocals. I watched as Justin headed for the vocal recording booth, and then followed Joe into the other.
The room had some beautiful keyboards, a few guitars, a bass, and some drums. Joe explained quickly that most of the instrumental tracks were recorded here. He had midi, synthesizers^Å a lexicon of technological equipment relevant only to studios.
He must have noticed my eyes glazing over, because he chuckled. "Don't worry about understanding all of it, dude. You can see what Justin is doing through that window there. The rooms are soundproof, but I'll leave the speakers on so you can hear. He won't be able to hear you, so don't worry about making noise."
"If you need to leave the room, please wait until you see this light turn green. Ok?"
"Thanks Joe. Will it hurt anything if I decide to play around on the keyboards?"
"No, that's fine. Could you not adjust the settings? I have them set for violin and piano for something we'll be working on later."
"Sure," I agreed.
As he left the room, closing the door behind him, I noticed for the first time exactly how quiet it was. You get used to the background noises that surround you daily, but those didn't exist here, and it was mildly unsettling. I breathed a sigh of relief when the speakers came on and I heard him and Justin chatting.
"Joe, let's try it with the upbeat tempo first," Justin said.
The music that started was polished. It was trademark Timberlake. I'd heard it on his last two solo albums, so was pretty confidant I knew what was coming. A driving dance beat, some rap mixed in confidently with a catchy melody, beat box and voice synthesized to create a techno hip-hop blend.
I was wrong.
Justin's words and melody clashed with the driving beat painfully. He sang of secret passions and unrequited love. Soulful bluesy lyrics intermixed and savaged by the heavy base line. The dichotomy of styles was painful, at points causing my teeth to ache. I winced at the disharmonious sounds coming from the speakers as Joe tried to blend, adapt, and tweak the machines under his control.
He really was talented. Perhaps even the genius Justin believed him to be, but even he couldn't get the sounds to mesh smoothly.
"Justin," Joe said finally, stopping the play back, "it's not going to work. Let's slow it down and try it with the ballad, ok?"
"Play the ballad once, please Joe. I haven't heard it since we recorded the instrumental tracks."
The music that started was as removed from the previous playback as was possible. I closed my eyes listening to the soothing dulcet tones of the piano. The baseline was muted, a thread of melody and counterpoint that meandered throughout the song.
I heard Justin begin humming, his voice blending flawlessly, dancing and lilting beautifully. I began to see a visual representation of the song. A knack I'd developed over the years.
Music visualization had comforted me over the years. The scenes and pictures that I'd created as I listened and played music had become my reality. It'd helped me to escape my pain and loneliness. The fear I'd felt after my mother's death.
And as my mental picture developed, I fell into the pattern I'd fostered over the years. Adding bits of mental imagery that would represent sound, instrument, or melody. These bits of added flotsam added to the music substantively, and I was able to transpose the changes. Visually to music. Music to painting.
It was why my paintings were unique. They were a physical representative of how I saw music.
I opened my eyes as the song ended, blinking furiously as I worked to shift my universal paradigm.
The song was beautiful, almost perfect. I allowed Justin and Joe's discussion to fade into the background. Looking at the keyboards, I smiled contentedly at the keyboards, turning them on and playing until I discovered the one that had the violin setting.
Call it a gut feeling, but I thought Justin's song needed strings. It would give it a symphonic feel, and should bolster his voice nicely. Frustrated that I couldn't fiddle with the controls and settings, I contented myself with the way the keyboard was programmed and began playing.
By the time Justin and Joe were ready to record, I'd managed to work out an accompaniment that I was happy with. It hadn't been that hard for me to deconstruct Justin's song. I didn't have photographic memory, but if I'd created a mental image of a song, it was child's play for me to reverse engineer the tune.
As the playback began, I started playing. Gradually adding sweeping sound-scapes, I played effortlessly, highlighting and enhancing Justin's voice. I listened closely to the lyrics, memorizing them as Joe asked him to re-sing a section.
Finally, I joined him, changing his song dramatically.
In my world it was no longer a lonely man singing of unrequited love and secret fantasies. Now it was a majestic duet. He sang to me. Our voices were perfectly suited, my baritone with his tenor. And it gave his song a depth and meaning I'm sure he'd never considered.
I'd noticed that he and Joe peeked in at me occasionally, but I blanketed myself with the certainty that my room was sacrosanct. There was no reason for them to turn my speakers on, so I could sing and play with no restrictions.
I wasn't able to let go of the music, to step back into reality when Joe suggested Justin take five. Turning the other piano on, I began to play both. Combining them fluidly in a song I'd composed.
I started hesitantly, as I made the mental adjustment necessary to change landscapes and dimensions, to move from Justin's world to one of my own creations.
I selected a song that was similar in scope, an epic ballad that spoke of missed opportunity and love lost.
And I played passionately. Loosing myself in the music, looking on fondly at the world I'd created, slipping into my own private dimension as one would a favorite pair of slippers -- naturally, seamlessly, juxtaposing the visual world with the musical reality.
As the notes left my fingers, as the lyrics flowed, I slowly managed to shift my perspective. Coming to the end, I paused briefly as I shrugged mentally and re-engaged my senses.
Justin was still in his recording booth and the light Joe had pointed out earlier was shining red. I considered ducking out as soon as I could so I could get some of my art supplies. It was almost habit by now to try to get down on paper or canvas the constructs I created during a musical session. My fingers were literally itching to draw the scenes I'd envisioned.
I was chewing my nails absently, concentrating on exactly how I'd like the painting to develop when Joe interrupted my reverie, "Justin," he said over the speaker, "Your boys are here. Why don't you take Dylan to your office and I'll finish this mix. This one is good. I think you've just recorded you're next number one."
I watched as he absently flipped switches. The light turned green, and Justin and I both left our separate rooms and entered the control booth. "It's not turning out exactly like either of us imagined," he said. "I think I've almost got it. Should be just a few more moments. I'll make a CD of it and bring it to your office as soon as I finish."
"So what did you think?" Justin asked me as we began our trek towards his office.
"It was fun to watch, seeing the way you guys interacted. It really is a collaborative process isn't it?"
"Definitely. What did you think of Joe?"
"How old is he?"
Justin smiled at me mischievously, "Thirty-six. Hard to believe isn't it?"
"Seriously? The guy looks like he should be in high school."
"He gets that a lot. He's probably lost more than a few jobs because of how young he looks. But he's certainly talented. And we work well together."
"I think he was right about your song. It sounded much better as a ballad."
"Yeah, looks like he wins that one. I really wanted it to be up tempo, but he's probably right, the lyrics just didn't suit."
"Justin! Have you seen this?" Lance demanded as we entered his office.
"Hi Lance, Guys this is Dylan. Dylan these are the guys -- Josh, Chris, Joey, and the guy yelling and waving the paper frantically is Lance."
Lance blushed nicely as he joined his friends in greeting me and shaking my hand. But it didn't deter him, once the niceties were over; he turned his flashing green eyes back to Justin.
"Have you seen this?"
"Could you be a bit more specific? I've seen millions of pieces of paper."
"It's a copy of a legal document. A document Jive is planning on filing Monday. They plan on taking you to court demanding reparations for breach of contract. You've failed to deliver a single from your upcoming album and a single for a new artist."
"Jive is suing you?"