Hi, yet another long gap between instalments but you know the excuses by now :o)
This is all completely fictional and bares no resemblance to what goes on in my life, nor those of any celebrities mentioned herein.
Comments -- svjsr@hotmail.com
Sans Vous, Je Suis Rien -- Part Eleven
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I woke with a wide yawn, the type that almost pulls the muscles in your face. The winter sun was already well on its journey across the sky I noticed through the window. Justin must have opened the curtains. I knew instinctively that he wasn't in bed with me; the familiar and soothing sound of his breathing was absent from the room, replaced by the sounds of cooking that echoed up the stairs from the kitchen. I rolled over to look at the clock.
"Eurgh" I complained to myself, "11:20am." I struggled against the heavy duvet and managed to throw it off and climb out of bed. The house had that central heating warmth to it and the air caressed my skin. I knew Justin had been playing with the thermostat because there was no way I would have set it so high. I located some clothes to cover up my dignity -- a t-shirt of Justin's and some running trousers that must have been his too (I always thought sportswear was the most hideous thing in the world for anyone to dress in).
"Heya" I croaked as I swung around the kitchen doorframe and beamed at Justin who was standing over the cooker poking at something in a pan.
"Morning..." Justin grinned back as he enveloped me in his arms and kissed my forehead, "just" he added, noting the time on the clock. I gave him a playful jab in the side that caused Justin to jump back to his previous place by the cooker.
"What are you cremating?" I enquired as I glanced over at a pan on the cooker before fishing in the fridge for something to drink.
"I'm cooking you breakfast" Justin replied, stressing 'cooking' before leaping across the kitchen to butter some freshly charred toast. I glanced into the pan to see some baked beans slowly congealing to the sides.
"Your beans are burning" I pointed out as Justin buttered toast behind me.
"Shit!" Justin exclaimed, quickly grabbing the pan and stirring like mad.
"D'ya need a hand?" I asked, placing the carton of grapefruit juice I had removed from the fridge down on the counter.
"I wanted to cook you breakfast" Justin moped to himself and his beans, "but looks like I can't manage that".
I laughed gently.
"You don't have to try and impress me with your culinary skills."
"If I was tryin to do that d'ya think I'd be cooking beans?" Justin laughed.
"Well they look like they're done" I smiled, finishing off buttering the lightly charred toast. I glanced over to see if Justin was ready to serve his beans to find him staring at me like a lovesick puppy. "What?!" I laughed.
"You're just too great," Justin said, "I love you so much Darren."
"I love you more Silly." I replied sticking my tongue out at Justin. After a minute we had our breakfast of beans on toast sorted and were sitting at the breakfast bar eating away.
"Have you got any plans for the next week?" Justin asked me.
"Only a few interviews and stuff. All the album launch media blitz is starting to kick-off." I wished Justin was going to be there for me to come home to during that time. I know that I was just going to get stressed beyond belief by running all over New York for 10 hours a day to do photo-shoots and answer the same questions over and over for days on end. Justin, of course, had to go back to his own life and tour. I realised with a jolt that we had less than 24 hours together before he jetted off back to Lance and the others.
"Hopefully it won't get too bad" Justin offered. I laughed under my breath.
"Justin, I'm a foreign, gay male, doing pop, who 'hangs out' with Nsync, releasing his debut album in the run-up to Christmas; exactly what form of media isn't going to want to interview me?" Justin laughed too.
"Well, if they hassle you too much just give me a call and I'll set Joey on 'em." Justin grinned at me, which caused me to grin right back. Those pearly whites of his always provoke a smile out of me, no matter what mood I'm in.
For just a second I had one of those moments when everything feels perfect for you to say something. Normally I wouldn't have run with that feeling, but Justin's presence drew up something inside me that I hadn't felt for a long time; not since...
I bit my lip.
"Justin..." I said quietly and with purpose.
"Yeah" he replied looking back up at me, a soft smile on his face. Picking up on my serious tone he stopped smiling and put is cutlery down on his plate.
"The reason I tried to kill myself wasn't just 'cos I was raped, it was because my parents were trying to force me to admit what had happened to me." I kept his gaze despite my eyes filling with tears at the memories.
Justin's jaw dropped wide open. My mind slammed on the brakes for a moment as I tried to figure out why I had just said that. I tended to resist letting my mind run away with itself. But after shocking Justin, and myself to a certain degree, I thought I might as well make the most of the situation I had created.
"When it happened I broke my arm remember?" Justin nodded, staring at me wide-eyed, "well after I finally got home on my fucked-up ankle my mum called an ambulance and I ended up in casualty. All I told the doctors was that I'd been in a fight, but they spotted in the bruises on me and I think one of them suggested to mum that it might have been more than a fight."
"Shit" Justin mumbled.
"Well, basically I refused to tell them anything once they started hinting at the rape, I even started to claim there wasn't even a fight. I guess I was in denial."
"Oh God" Justin mumbled as he reached across and took one of my hands in his. I gave him a smile to let him know that I was not about to go off on one over all this.
"It all got a bit mental at home; mum wanted me to admit it, dad was hinting that I should forget about it all. He never really got used to the idea of a gay son. Mum and dad used to argue about me all the time. Then they tried to confront me over it and with everyone angry dad said that it only happened 'cos I was gay, and that I had effectively been asking for it."
"That bastard!" Justin exclaimed before quickly shutting up and looking at me to make sure he hadn't just offended me.
"Yeah" I agreed with a twang of sorrow in my voice, "By saying that, dad effectively told mum the marriage was over. They just stood there and argued over what he said for about 10 minutes before I got pissed off enough to do something. And, well, I think I grabbed the nearest sharp thing and slashed my wrists right there in front of them both; the ultimate 'call for help suicide attempt'." I refocused on Justin; his cheeks were streaked by a dozen or so tears, more than had fallen from my eyes. He pushed back his stool and walked around behind me before wrapping his arms around my chest.
"I love you." I whispered, shortly echoed by Justin.
I stepped down from the patio area outside the house and onto the frozen mud that was the garden. Justin and I were wrapped up to the nines in scarves, hats, coats and gloves. We had spent the previous couple of hours after breakfast lying on the couch together, kissing for some of the time, but mainly just resting in the comfort of having the one person on Earth you care about most in your arms. I think we both needed the closeness of the other to think over what had been said at breakfast. I knew that it barely scraped the surface of that whole era in my life, but it had made me more aware of the many layers of emotional issues that lay beneath it and I took the time to reorder my head a bit. I knew what I had told Justin would be deconstructed in his own way over the next few days, I don't know if he figured out just how much there was left to emerge, or whether he thought that was it all.
Eventually we decided that lounging around together on the sofa wasn't the best way to spend the few hours we had left together, so Justin had suggested a walk in the garden. Such a suggestion could only have come from Justin; a guy neither familiar with the New York winter, nor with my laissez faire gardening technique.
"Hey" Justin exclaimed from a few feet away, "something's actually been growin' here." I walked over to see what he was talking about, and true enough, there was a small weed that had been growing in the Somme-like ground, that was, until the winter had seen it off.
"Hmm," I mumbled, "I can grow shit."
"I know Sweety" Justin purred with self-deprecating humour causing me to giggle somewhat inanely.
"You'll see. I'll have a great big fuck off garden here someday, unlike that patch of swamp you got down in Florida." I laughed, ducking away from his playful punches.
"Heeey!" Justin complained, "I paid top dollar for that 'patch of swamp'." We grinned at each other, before Justin placed a kiss of love on my lips, the warmth of his emotions penetrating every part of me for a brief moment before he pulled back. "Come on, let's go explore." And with that Justin stomped off down the garden like an over-excited two year-old with me in tow behind.
"I don't think I've been here before" I thought to myself out loud.
"You've not been here before?" Justin parroted with disbelief.
"Not that I can remember" I replied, "I always thought the garden finished back up there." I waved my gloved hand to the row of trees that I had assumed marked the end of my land. We were in a kind of mini-woodland, unlike the garden nearer the house it had clearly never been cultivated or manicured; instead the trees leant about as if you were in a natural piece of wood. I presumed the plot had been left over from when the area was developed originally and that the people who tore down the previous house here and built mine had never touched this little piece of nature.
"You know," Justin said with the kind of authoritative/ominous tone that makes you want to stick your fingers in your ears. God, life would be simpler if that was a solution to problems. "We need to have a talk." I could tell he wasn't exactly looking-forward to it either.
"About what?" I said, attempting to feign ignorance. I kicked at a sod of mud with the toe of my boot. I knew perfectly well he wanted to talk about the state of 'us' and if indeed there was one. We had never talked about 'us' since I had split us up; so I guess, technically, we still were not together.
"About us" Justin stated, apparently not realising I knew precisely what he meant. "I need to know just where we stand before I head back on tour." He said it almost apologetically.
"Yeah" I agreed, "we certainly need to define 'us' a bit more. I understand completely, since I undid all of what we had." I felt one of my usual pangs of guilt over the situation I had put us in that Sunday morning back in the UK, except this time it opened out to form a chasm with me teetering on the edge. I was mildly disturbed that being 'on the edge' of some emotional breakdown was familiar (unsurprising really) but more so that it was almost comforting -- perhaps I was getting too used to some melodrama being acted out in my head. 'Oh well' I thought to myself 'no time right now to self-deconstruct.' Justin wandered a little further before he started to talk.
"You know, I do want to be with you" His voice was laden with emotions that both conveyed the love he had for me and the hurt I had caused by telling him we would never work.
"Yes, I know you..." I tried to reply, but Justin cut me off. I decided the least I could do at the moment was let him speak; after all, he had let me speak on the Common back home.
"But I can't cope with gettin' close if you're not gonna tell me shit and just bottle all your thoughts up inside you." Justin turned to face me, his eyes welling up, "You told me we'd never work. You said I wasn't good enough."
"No, I didn't Justin," I said, barely louder than a whisper in the hope that any emotion would be too quiet for Justin to hear. "I said I wasn't good enough for you."
"So what's changed then?" Justin demanded, but in a voice without anger, and filled with love.
"I realised I wasn't trying" I stated simply.
"What d'ya mean?" Justin said matching my quietness and stepping towards me.
"Like you said; I wasn't telling you shit, I just kept things inside until they snapped and caused me to. I just thought that would happen all the time, once I dealt with one thing another came along, and all the time I'd be leaning on you as a crutch."
"But you've told me everythin'..." Justin said, wiping a tear from my cheek.
"No, I haven't." Justin gave me a quizzical look, so I elaborated, "I've told you most of the story, but not the stuff I feel about it. I'm not even sure what I feel about each part."
"But surely you went through it all with a counsellor after you, erm, tried to..."
"Kill myself?" I finished for Justin.
"Yeah, that" Justin looked a bit sick at the thought. I suddenly realised it was going to be something he'd have to come to terms with as well as me.
"I lied to him" I broke Justin's gaze, ashamed that, despite not knowing him then, I had not tried harder to be the man he deserved. "I never admitted the rape to him at all, and I lied about why I tried to commit suicide."
"And he didn't realise?"
"Of course he did, he just didn't care; no one cared about me then." I let forth a kind of self-deprecating laugh.
"Well, you know that's one thing that's changed." Justin said drawing me into a tight embrace.
"I know," I said smiling as Justin's lips gently kissed my neck. He released me after a minute or two and gazed into my eyes; god, how I loved his face. I cupped his cheek in my hand and allowed my lips the pleasure of kissing his for the brief moment before he parted them and we both allowed our tongues to take over. We stood, wrapped in each other's arms and tongue, connected in that way you only can be through a kiss of love. My mind emptied of all my worries, almost as if Justin had taken them all away. All I could focus on was how much I cared for the man I was kissing, how much more he deserved from me, and how much I had let him down. I felt a tear fall from my eye, but not because of how I had acted like a nob, nor due to the pain it had caused Justin. Instead it was a tear of joy and thankfulness at Justin having enough love in him to forgive me so easily. I thanked every deity I could remember for having let me end up here, in Justin's arms.
Justin broke the kiss and pulled back enough to be able to focus on me. The mist of his breath still warmed my face. His gloved hand rubbed the tear from my face, and his eyes asked for an explanation.
"It's not a bad tear" I smiled; I knew he was worried for me and that was all, "I was just thinking how lucky I am."
"Damn lucky" Justin joked, grinning from ear to ear. I shoved him playfully lest he get too smug.
"Come on," I said, "it's so cold out here I can't feel my ears" I laughed.
"Yeah, my balls have retreated to my armpits I think" Justin joked.
"Oooh..." I said with mock sassiness, "they so better not have."
"You got plans for 'em?" Justin grinned
"Yes," I smiled back, preparing to run for it, "and they might make friends with Mr Kitchen Knife if you don't stop being so smutty boyo" and with that I ran off before Justin recovered from the shock of my joke.
I ran into the house just as Justin leapt up onto the patio. I knew I couldn't out-run him; my only hope was to get to a room and lock myself in, or face up to Justin's version of justice, i.e. being tickled until I either wet myself or apologised (something that worried me, since I'm remarkably stubborn when pressed). I bounded up the stairs, Justin only a few steps behind me, and then darted into my (our?) bedroom in an attempt to reach the en suite and the lockable door. But my plans were foiled when Justin managed to tackle me as I ran around the corner of the bed.
The force of the tackle sent us both down onto the bed, with me under Justin. For a second or two we just lay there, catching our breath, and then Justin decided to stick his freezing cold hands up under my shirt. Justin's gloves were clearly bought for the fashion value and not for keeping his hands warm at all as I could have sworn there was no heat there at all. I screamed manically as Justin proceeded to tickle me with ice-cold fingers. By the time his fingers were warm enough not to bother me so much Justin was tired and I was crying floods of tears.
I lay there on my bed; I had squirmed so much as Justin had tickled me that the bedding was all over the place. Justin was propped up on his elbows, still lying over me. I looked up at him; his cheeks were rosy in the way only possible from being out in the cold too long. I grabbed his hat and pulled it off as he leant down and unleashed the most passion-filled kiss I had ever experienced in my life. His hands, still under my shirt, caressed my chest as we both struggled to loose the multiple layers of clothing we had on.
A couple of hours later we lay under the bed sheets, the chill from outside replaced by post-orgasmic heat. Justin lay with his arm across my chest; his heavy breathing against my shoulder and neck told me he was sleeping, though rather lightly. I simply lay there, looking at the point where the ceiling met the rather garish plaster freeze that was at the top of the wall. I was too lost in my thoughts though to notice just how ugly it was.
'Shit,' I repeated in my head for the umpteenth time, 'you just had sex'. I knew I hadn't technically been a virgin since the rape, but I didn't count that as sex simply because it was an act of extreme violence, not one of complete love, unlike what I had just experienced. 'I'm not a virgin' It sounded a bit odd in my head, especially since virgins were supposed to be pure and untouched, but ever since the rape I had felt there was a dark, impure part of me lurking inside. Now however all I had was the dull feelings associated with the physical side of sex and the intense mental lingerings. Yet my mind was drawn away from this happy place; Justin had done what Pete had done, been where Pete had been -- physically I felt similar to what I had done as I stumbled out of the trees after Pete had left me. True my arm wasn't broken, nor was my ankle twisted and Justin had been far from violent, but just the vague similarities brought back another host of memories from that night. My breathing changed, becoming faster and shallower, my previous calm deserting me faster than rats do a sinking ship. I knew I was on the verge of a panic-attack; I just had to get out of that bed. So I shoved Justin's arm off me as tears of fear leapt from my eyes, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and started to stand, but before I could get halfway Justin grabbed my shoulders, pulling me back down onto the mattress. I yelled at his sudden touch and struggled against the force of his arms, I think for just a moment I thought that Justin was Peter.
"Darren!" Justin's concerned voice cut through my mind like a knife. Almost instantly I calmed down, recognising the touch as Justin's, soft and guiding, the exact opposite to Pete's bruising harshness. "What happened?" Justin spoke peacefully be my ear, his hand hooking my hair back behind my ears in an attempt to calm me further.
"I just, kinda freaked out I think." I said once I had got enough of my breathing under control to muster a reply. "The, erm, whole, sex thing, it..." I trailed off, not wanting to admit to Justin that my mind seemed incapable of discerning him from a violent criminal.
"It brought back memories of your rape." Justin supplied. I nodded; noting that for the first time Justin had said 'rape' without a crack in his voice.
I knew that I had said 'rape' without welling up, or my voice cracking, but that was simply because in the past I hadn't truly admitted it to myself. Even now I was just scraping the surface of my emotions, and look what it lead to. "I'm sorry." Justin apologised sounding absolutely gutted. I could tell he was thinking he had been too violent, or not reassuring enough, or not caring, etc.
"Hey" I said, looking him straight in the eyes, "It wasn't your fault." I paused to check that Justin was taking what I was saying in, "And it won't be the last time something brings back a memory, or causes me to go off for a bit." Justin looked rather worried for a moment, "I'm not planning on letting it rule me, but it's no one's fault when it happens, and certainly not yours."
Justin leant forward and kissed me briefly in between two of the sweetest smiles I'd ever seen grace his gorgeous features.
"It's almost dark you know" Justin said, noting the distinct lack of sunlight beyond the glass of the bedroom window. I lolled my head over to view the evidence myself. We would have to leave my house before the sun rose again, and before it climbed too high into the sky he'd be whisked away from me.
Chapter Thirty
The telly quietly buzzed away in the corner of the room, it's flashing pictures ignored, it's noise going unnoticed. I stared out of the large window in my living room, out and over the patch of mud the estate agents had described as a 'garden'. My eyes were drawn down to the trees at the edge of the mud where Justin and I had walked. The mud shone gently with the first dusting of snow. I shivered at the sight and pulled my arms around me closer, wishing that they were Justin's. It was only 10am, and the house was still cold from the night (I had turned the heating off once Justin had left to try and get the place back to a more British temperature). I had been up since dawn.
Slowly I turned away from the window and wandered back over to the couch on which I'd spent most of the morning so far, reminiscing about the time Justin and I had spent on there only a few days before. It sat on its own in the middle of the room positioned such that it faced just to the left of the television to make it look like I didn't spent most of my hours at home sitting on it watching the idiot box. It was a furniture island on the cheaply carpeted floors. The small amount of other furniture I had stood close to the walls, but the vast size of the room dwarfed everything but the couch. How I hated that couch.
Vaguely disgusted at my own laziness I decided to head on past the lonely sofa and see what I could occupy my mind with in the kitchen.
I pushed open the door with rather too much force, causing it to smack into the wall. I winced, imagining the damage to the plasterwork; then remembered that I didn't care.
I scuffed my feet along the floor and I walked amongst the cupboards and appliances, trying to make myself realise I did want to cook something, especially since I hadn't eaten for a day or so now. With distain I regarded the washing up left over from the final meal Justin and I had eaten together before he left to rejoin his tour and band mates. In my mind I didn't want to wash those dishes because it was the only physical thing I had to remind me of Justin, except the slip of paper he had given me with the details for the tour. I stared at it for a minute, pinned up above the phone, the margin notes made in Justin's distinctive script.
I remembered the face he'd made as he wrote them; it was one of happiness and joy. He was clearly very excited about getting back out on the road and doing what he loved most; performing. I had to settle for second place, which was fine for me because there was no way I'd try and force Justin to give up his passion for music and performance. I think I'd just about have done anything if I got to see him smile for a second.
I pulled the fridge door open, struggling against the magnets, only to reveal that the grand sum of its contents stretched to half a cucumber (now somewhat mouldy) and two eggs. I shut the door with a force befitting the disgust I felt at science for not having designed the self-filling fridge by now. I wandered over to the window, considering going out to do what the scientists should have got the fridge to do, namely to shop for food. I decided that I couldn't face going out just to get milk and bread in weather as cold as it appeared, so I resolved to have a day out in the city in order to try and cheer myself up a bit and pick up something that kind of approached food (i.e. a take-out) on the way home.
Thirty minutes later I stepped out of the front door of my house, wrapped up in scarf, hat, gloves, and a long coat. I got into my car and promptly removed them all as I could barely move to drive. I reversed the car off the drive, mentally reminded myself to drive on the right (a kind of odd thing I do every time I drive in the US, just to make sure) and put the car into first (for some reason I never learnt to trust automatic transmissions) before heading off into New York. I parked my car in the record company's car park (one of the more useful perks of celebrity) and headed out onto the streets, plastic in hand.
I stepped out of yet another designer shop with nowt more than the carrier bag I had acquired about 4 shops ago, and it only contained a new belt. Unsurprisingly I was worried that retail therapy was not working, maybe I wasn't as gay as I had thought. I took a turn down a less up-market street and entered an independent music shop.
I loved this shop; the manager had a policy of never selling anything in the charts, so the only pop music that was in the shop was Mariah Carrey. I had discovered it during my pre-fame days in the city; it had been one of the places I had gone to get warm during the jobless days since my tiny bedroom/apartment seemed to always be colder than outside. The shop's music policy meant no screaming pre-teens to annoy me (and, hey, they usually annoy me even when they don't even recognise me). It was your typical music place; large, rather industrial looking with a multitude of CD racks. I wandered over to one section and started browsing through the hundreds of CD's I'd never heard of before, despite spending many an hour in there about a year back.
I picked up yet another album I wanted and was attempting to add it to the stack I was already carrying whilst walking around the corner of the long CD racks. I shadow fell on me but before I had a chance to look up I walked right into the source of the shadow sending the piles of CD's we had been carrying to the floor (which was thankfully carpeted to reduce CD breakage).
"Shit" I exclaimed under my breath, "I'm so sorry" I fell to my knees instantly to rescue the CD's, not thinking to look up at who I'd wandered into (as any true music fan would).
"Are you ok?" came a faintly antipodean accent from the bloke that was soon kneeling beside me.
"Yeah." I answered quickly, grabbing my CD's with a haste caused by embarrassment. "Are you?" I glanced up to see if he was and my mind went blank. Before me knelt some vision of beauty; he had dark hair that looked like he had spent many, many dollars and hours on, he wore a longish duffle coat and a stupidly long striped scarf and his piercing blue eyes screamed of Justin's.
"Yeah, I'm fine" came his reply, bringing me back to Earth with a thud. We were just kneeling there, looking at the person we had just walked into, our CD's, so lovingly picked out, lay forgotten on the floor.
He was the first to break the mental deadlock:
"I'm Shane." he said, flashing his teeth in the second sweetest smile I'd ever seen (the sweetest being Justin's).
"Hi" I said, knowing full well that if I didn't say something I'd end up with a very stupid-looking grin on my face, "I'm Darren."
"Well, I knew that" Shane said with a slight laugh that made that smile come within a whisper of Justin-status, "You're the new gay icon, and this time the icon's actually gay."
I laughed; I never thought I'd become an icon of anything more than public hatred.
"You're playing some club in town next month sometime aren't you?" Shane asked.
"Erm..." I racked my brain, trying to dig out my schedule for early December. I knew I was supposed to play some gay venue in New York in the days before the album launched, but I couldn't remember anything other than that, so I settled for a non-committal response, "Yeah, I think I am."
"I'm surprised you haven't been mobbed to death" Shane commented as he picked up the rest of his CD's and stood.
"Why?" I asked as I did the same.
"'Cos there's a 50 foot billboard of you up in Times Square. You must have seen it?" Shane said, laughing when he saw the confused/blank look on my face. "It's fucking huge. Doesn't do you justice though." I blushed.
"My arse must be the size of a small house!" I exclaimed laughing.
"Well, not as big as your house I bet; it'd have to be a pretty damn big billboard for that" Shane smiled. The 'Stalker' alarm went off in my mind.
I raised an eyebrow at Shane as he walked past me to the tills. I turned and walked with him, curious about what the comment meant. Shane clearly thought I had missed the 'joke' and proceeded to explain it.
"Well, you are a star aren't you?" I nodded slowly, "And your house is fucking huge, right?" I nodded again, getting Shane's joke. He rolled his eyes at my slowness prompting me to playfully elbow him as we walked.
"So, what do you do then?" I asked, trying to even out the knowledge-scores.
"I'm a designer." Came the reply.
"You can't be old enough" I laughed, "Surely you'd have to be a graduate for that?"
"I'm 24" Shane said with a grin, "Though flattery will get you everywhere."
I made a noise approximating a high-school giggle.
"Are you done?" Shane asked indicating my pile of CD's.
"Yeah, I think I should really leave before I pick up anymore." I half-joked, because I knew given long enough in that shop I'd managed to spend more money than Mexico did in a decade.
"Cool" Shane said in his accent. It was nice to hear something other than the usual American drawl, though I still longed to hear Justin's voice. "D'ya wanna go grab a coffee or something after this?"
"Sure" I replied; first because I did quite fancy getting to know Shane better, and secondly because I was still freezing and a hot drink might stave off frostbite for another hour or so.
We headed over to the cashiers, making small talk in the queue. Once we had paid for our stuff we found ourselves standing on the pavement in the slush-ice that the snow had been worked into by the pedestrians and salt spread upon it.
"I think there's a coffee place just round that corner." Shane said, indicating before setting off with me by his side.
"What kind of designer are you?" I asked as we crossed the street.
"Interiors mainly," Shane replied, "I work for a company that does pricey pads like yours"
I made a disbelieving hum, "I don't think they even got a gerbil to design my place." I laughed.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Well, there's too many rooms, and they're all either just boxes or huge complicated spaces. Plus it's bloody miles from anything other than suburbia. Basically it's for a middle-aged family, not me."
"I guess you'd rather have a smaller place closer in then?" Shane asked, holding open the door to the coffee place we had arrived at.
"Yeah, well, I'd rather have someone to share it no matter where it was." I said as I passed under the heaters above the door that were set to 'neck-scorch' levels. "It's the emptiness of my place that gets to me above all else."
"You've not got a room-mate then?"
"Nope; not allowed one unless sanctioned by the record company and then they'd have to sign a billion and one contracts and agreements." Originally this fact had rather pissed me off, but now I was so used to my company being a bastard to me it didn't seem to be a particularly large problem on the ever-growing list of things they did to piss me off.
"That sucks" Shane exclaimed, his accent shining through more than usual for a brief moment. "No boyfriend either then?" His voice became a little more interested than it already had been.
"Erm, kinda" I replied, averting my eyes from his and pretending to browse the muffins and stuff they try and tempt you with as you queue.
"'Kinda'?" Shane quizzed.
"I'll tell you when we sit; it's a long story." I said, kind of lying, but only to avoid having to admit to having sex with Justin Timberlake in front of the other members of the queue and the coffee guy. Shane nodded, clearly understanding my need for a bit more privacy over the matter. "What d'ya want?" I asked, looking at Shane.
"Erm, just a coffee, black, and a brownie please."
"What can I get you?" The coffee guy asked; I had an oddly patriotic moment when I yearned for some proper courtesy in shops; a nice heartfelt 'How can I help Sir?' wouldn't go amiss.
"A black coffee, a vanilla latte and a couple of brownies please." I replied, fishing around for some notes in my pocket. Before I managed to locate much more than a couple of coppers Shane had produced some cash and paid. "I was gonna get this." I tried to explain.
"I know, but I got there first" Shane replied, grinning as he picked up the plate with his brownie on and moved down to the end counter.
"But I can afford it."
"How do you know I'm not some multimillionaire?" Shane countered.
"I don't, but I'm the celeb'" I laughed.
"Yeah" Shane agreed, but in that tone that implies a 'but'.
"What?" I laughed at his response.
"You're right, you are the celeb'" Shane said smiling, "But you don't earn as much as me I'd bet"
"You'd have to be pretty far up the interior-designer hierarchy then" I smiled.
"Ever heard of Watts and Bakerson?" Shane said in response.
"Of course; that's the company that does all those loft places downtown." I stated, as if any fool would know it.
"I'm Shane Bakerson"
I wish someone had taken my photo at that point, because my chin practically rebounded off the counter.
"Wow" was all I could say to start with. "Ok, I concede" I laughed, raising my palms in defeat. Watts and Bakerson were often in the NY Times, usually because they'd just sold another place for a new record amount.
Our drinks arrived at the counter and we moved over to a seat near the back, partly to avoid being recognised from the streets and partly to find a space in the crowded shops.
'Must be Thanksgiving shoppers or something' I thought to myself, not entirely sure if there was such a thing.
"So" Shane said excitedly once we were sat, "tell me all about your partial- boyfriend."
I smiled at his description.
"Well, we're more official than not" I tried to explain where I pictured Justin and I to be at right now.
"Ah, I see. So? Who is he?" Shane smiled
"Erm, you realise you can't go telling people this?"
"Of course I realise stupid" Shane laughed, "I've done very personal bedrooms for celebrities, I'm used to keeping schtum."
"Ok" I said, preparing myself to take in the response. "It's... Justin Timberlake." I said rather quietly.
Shane sat there for a bit, clearly trying not to yell out 'Justin Timberlake!!' to the entire coffee house.
"You're going out with, erm, Justin?" Shane dropped the surname to try and keep eavesdroppers uninterested.
"Yup" I answered, trying not to get that 'I'm in love' smugness.
We sat for a moment in silence.
"Is there a Mrs Bakerson?" I asked to break the conversational deadlock.
Shane laughed out loud, causing a woman at the table behind him to glance in our direction to see what the noise was about.
"What?" I asked, trying not to laugh myself.
"I'm gay!" Shane managed to say without turning any more heads.
"Oh" I said, feeling rather stupid all of a sudden.
"I thought you'd have figured"
"Gaydar by-pass I'm afraid." I laughed, "Justin made me have it to stop me checking out other guys."
We both smiled and returned to drinking our coffees.
"So you guys met when you were touring with them?" Shane asked.
"I thought you didn't follow my career." I laughed.
"Like I said, 'gay icon', besides, it was splashed all over the news."
I smiled, kind of embarrassed that so many people would even be bothered enough to care what I was doing.
"Yeah, we met on tour." I said, finally answering Shane's question.
"But we didn't really get it together until the wedding..." I stopped, realising I had just exposed a 'band secret' and was now technically in breach of about a dozen clauses and contracts.
"Wedding?" Shane asked, "Oh, you mean his and Brit's"
"How did you know about that?" I exclaimed. I had always been told that the wedding was a secret before it happened, and after the catastrophe that it turned out to be I didn't think it would have been made public in any way.
"Tabloids" Shane laughed, "it was rumoured that there was some wedding planned, but it was called off for some reason, now I know why."
"You so cannot tell anyone" I stressed.
"I know, I know. Not like I would anyways."
"And just when do you get time to read the tabloids?" I asked jokingly.
"Well, I'm a millionaire, you think I would work a job that needed me to be on the go all day?" Shane replied equally humorously.
"It's alright for some!" I smiled, "I've got to start whoring my ass around all the radio stations, TV channels and magazines just so my album gets a good first week sales."
"Is it really that bad?" Shane asked.
"Well, only around released dates. I think for most of next week I'm doing nine to seven with magazine work, 'cos u have do them ages before the release, so they have time to print."
"Hey, are you free a week Monday?"
"Erm..." I thought, reaching into my pocket for my electronic diary. "What kinda time?" I asked, having managed to get the right page up on screen.
"From about eightish?"
"Evening, yeah?"
"There's another eight now?" Shane laughed. "A friend of mine is having an exhibition open down near the Village. Would you like to go with me?"
"Oh, yeah, cool" I smiled. "I'm free."
"Great" Shane grinned.
"What kind of exhibition is it?"
"Photography" Shane replied, "My friend Anna, we went to college together here, she does photos now."
"I don't know anything about photographs." I said in a half apologetic tone.
"I think most of the people at exhibition openings know next to nothing about them." Shane looked at me and realised his joke hadn't really solved my mini- stress. "If anyone asks your opinion on one just say something like 'reminds me of the work of the later modernists' or some other waffle like that. And always gesture using a glass of champagne."
I laughed.
"Sounds about as shallow as the music 'critiques' I get about my stuff."
Shane grinned. We finished off in the coffee shop before heading back out onto the streets. We both had nothing planned so we decided to do a spot of shopping together. Shane lead me to some street I'd never found before that had some of the most fantastic clothes shops I've ever seen. I couldn't have imagined a better way to spend my time other than with Justin
Chapter Thirty-One
I lay in bed, relishing the warmth, solitude and quiet for a moment. My day had begun 16 hours before at 6am when I had dragged myself out of bed and into the shower in preparation for another day of media thingies. A car picked me up at 7, and from 7:30 until midday I had 3 interviews with three different magazines. Each one lasted about an hour, in which they asked the same questions as the one before, and then I had to sit in a car whilst some suit sent by the record company bitched at me for giving 'incorrect' answers to questions, or for not being nice enough, or for not laughing at the interviewer's piss-poor jokes. I didn't even know who this guy was, he just turned up with the car everyday. Apparently he had been sent by the company to make sure I was 'presenting the correct image to the media', which basically was code for me not landing them in trouble for saying anything about any other acts, mainly Nsync.
Lunch was a sandwich and a coffee in the car between the last interview of the morning and some photo shoot over at a posh restaurant someplace. Why I couldn't eat there and get something a little better than a soggy salad sandwich that looked like someone had sat on it I had no idea, but then I didn't really have any idea about a lot of the stuff that I was doing. I could see what the record company was doing; by completely overloading me with appointments they were hoping I couldn't spend the time or energy in exercising my right to decide whom I was interviewed by. At 3pm, and about 50 outfits later I was driven away from the photo shoot and across town for the interview that was going to go along side the photos. Shane called during this interview. No need to say that when I got back into the car the suit went on at me for being 'unprofessional' until we got to the next place.
And so it had gone on until about 9pm when the final appointment of the day ended. As I had climbed/fell out the car outside my house the suit handed me a schedule for the next day. As per usual, I was too bloody tired to focus on it, let alone attempt to read it and I had just let myself in and gone straight to bed.
RIIIIIIIIING
RIIIIIIIIING
My eyes shot open.
RIIIIIIIIING
I reached over to the bedside table and found the phone handset. Clumsily I pressed the little green button and pressed the device to my ear.
"Hey" came Justin's voice through the earpiece.
"Hi" I managed to croak out.
"Oh, were you asleep? Should I call back tomorrow?"
"NO!" I said rather sternly, attempting to make myself more awake than I felt. I reached over with my free arm and turned on the lamp. Looking at the clock I noted it was just after 1am, Justin would only call at this hour if he'd been performing. "I really miss you." I said trying not to think about the thousands of miles that separated me from Justin at that precise moment.
"I miss you too," Justin said, sounding rather emotional. "I really wish you were here... or that I could be there."
"I know; I wish it too."
A few seconds of silence passed between us.
"How was your day?" I asked Justin, trying to get us away from the usual depressing 'I miss you' conversation. "How did the concert go?"
"Oh, the concert was great" Justin said, perking up instantly, "Except Joey fell over his own feet. " We both laughed.
"Was he okay?"
"Everything except his ego." Justin laughed. "And Lance had lunch with Steve"
"Oooo"
"They're getting really close you know"
"I told you." I said with jocular smugness. "But they're still 'just friends' I take it?"
"Of course, you know Lance, he won't say anything until he's really sure of himself"
"How is Steve?" I asked, feeling the pangs of missing who, until the last week, had been my only friend from New York.
"Oh he's doing great" Justin said, "He sends his love to you." I smiled at Steve's thoughtfulness, or Justin's if it was just him sensing how much I was missing Steve.
"How's everyone else?"
"JC's good, Chris is doing fine from what I hear."
Chris hadn't spoken to Justin since he had gone back over a week ago. It seemed to me that the group was once again divided along the wounds I had caused; Lance, JC and Justin on one side, Chris on the other with Joey playing go between. At the moment it seemed as if Joey was more on the same side as Justin, which left Chris out on his own.
"Is Chris still ignoring you?" I asked, knowing full well he would still be.
"Yeah" Justin said in a voice that was surprisingly unbothered. "He's not talking to any of us really anymore."
"Not even Joey?" I asked, getting a bit worried about the situation.
Chris and Joey had been on pretty good terms since I first met the group and from what I saw Joey was the one really trying to hold the group together anymore.
"Well, I think Joe might have tried to have a talk with Chris about it all."
"And Chris, being the stubborn bastard he is just walked off?" I said, filling in the blanks.
"Effectively" Justin said, now with a touch of worry in his voice. "It'll all sort itself out though."
"Yes" I agreed vocally whilst my mind was screaming 'Nsync are over and it's your fault' to me.
"How was your day?" Justin asked after a few seconds.
"Oh, just the usual; interviews, interviews, photo shoot and then more interviews." I tried to laugh about it, but couldn't even force it.
"Just a few more days though" Justin said, trying to reassure me, "mom said you're welcome to spend Thanksgiving with us all".
It had been planned that I would head down and spend about a week with the tour before it paused for a few days around Thanksgiving. I hadn't made any plans to mark the day -- being British it held no special meaning, except I would get one day without some irate and underpaid record company grunt giving me an ear-bashing down the phone. On hearing about this Justin had asked his 'mom' if I could spend it down with all his family, which I could tell was going to be interesting, since non of Justin's family knew he was gay, let alone that we were 'together'. I had agreed to go, mainly because it meant I got to spend a brief amount of time with Justin before the whole media circus began once more for the album launch, but also because I knew I'd need a break in order to face it all.
"They want me to do a video next week." I stated rather glumly. This effectively meant I was only gonna get a few days over Thanksgiving to spend with Justin before I had to be back for the media-circus of the album launch.
"Next week?" Justin exclaimed, his voice mirroring the emotions I had expressed when I was told.
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Justin."
"It's not your fault, no need to apologise." Justin said. "We'll just have to reorganise stuff, no biggie."
I knew he was trying to play down what he knew it meant. I could now realistically only spend three days with the tour before I had to be back in New York to answer the same questions over and over and over with a TV camera in front of me rather than a tape recorder.
"You've got a few interesting things coming up though, right? Like that gig in the city? Plus you're going to that photography thing on Monday."
"Yeah, that should be fun, or at least interesting." I managed to smile.
After our shopping spree together, Shane had invited me back to his for dinner and we'd had a great evening just watching trashy films, drinking and laughing until we were so tired we'd fallen asleep together on the sofa. The day after we had done brunch and a museum in true New York style. Since then we'd had lunch together two days back and, of course, he'd called earlier in the day, and with typical timing, during that interview as well, which lead to a few more boyfriend related questions from the interviewer than usual.
"You and Shane seem to be getting on really well." Justin said. I was worried where he was going to go with it for a moment. "I'm glad, with Steve away you'd be pretty lonely if it weren't for Shane."
It was true as well. Justin's spurious phone calls and my occasional calls/lunches with Shane were all I really had to keep me going.
"Have you thought anymore about that solo album?" I asked Justin. After this tour Nsync were officially taking a break to pursue solo projects, in Justin's words it was a break to 'let everyone cool off'.
"Yeah, I think I'm gonna go ahead and do it, might as well, it's either that or sit on my ass for a year."
I laughed.
"All I've got to do is get a record deal." Justin said with a touch of trepidation.
"Oh, come on, you're Justin Timberlake (tm), every record company on this planet will be clamouring to sign you"
Justin laughed sounding very embarrassed.
"Thanks" he said rather sheepishly.
I felt a yawn welling up inside me and tried to stifle it.
"So..." Justin began, "What stop on the tour d'ya reckon you'll be able to make?"
"Errr..." I broke off my answer as the yawn won me over.
"Oh, shit, you're tired" Justin said apologetically. "I'll let you get back to sleep."
As much as my heart wanted to argue with him and stay on the phone for the next few hours, my head knew that I couldn't manage a cohesive conversation without half a dozen more hours' sleep.
"Okay," I agreed hesitantly, "Speak to you soon"
"Yup, love you"
"Love you too"
And with that Justin hung up leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"Don't you just love the subtle juxtapositioning of both classical and modernist elements in this one?" A rather condescending voice commented from my left. I turned to find some suited New Yorker waving his hand towards the photograph I had been looking at. I returned my gaze to the photo which was of some classical columns with some nasty modern sculpture beside them.
'Come on, think of something intelligent to reply with' I desperately stared at the nametag; Art Museum 'damn, nothing there!'
"Well, I think the photographer isn't trying to do that." I said with great hesitation.
"Really?" the man replied, "What do you think it's about then?"
"Erm..." I knew I was one poor comment away from being sneered at. "I'd say she was attempting to highlight the continuity, rather than the differences." I winced, waiting for him to laugh me down.
The man looked at the photo once more and slowly nodded. I decided to leave on a high note.
I was at Shane's friend Anne's photo exhibition. It was 10pm Monday night and I was already quite drunk on the free champagne; apparently Anne was well known enough to be able to afford such extravagant openings. My eye caught those of Shane who was standing on the other side of the spacious room. He was talking to some more suited men, no doubt past/future clients of him and Watts. Shane smiled when he noticed me looking at him; I smiled back before taking another sip (or more accurately gulp) of champers.
I had gone, partly because I had already told Shane I would, but mainly because I wanted something to distract me from the feeling that Justin was miles away, having a great time without me. Fair enough, he did call on occasions, but we'd been apart for the best part of three weeks now (thanks to that stupid video I was to start shooting in a day's time) and he'd only managed about five phone calls, usually when I was either asleep or in an interview. Basically I had gone out to get drunk enough to fall asleep without clutching my pillow and thinking of Justin.
The night had been relatively dull. Of course I knew no one except Shane, and for most of the evening I had been left to my own devices, which basically meant I ended up 'enjoying' the free drink a bit too much. I realised I was at the stage of drunkenness when you have to try a little bit too hard to make yourself appear sober. A few more glasses and I would be at the 'everyone look at me; I'm drunk!' stage. I vowed not to drink anything after this glass.
Four glasses of champagne later I stumbled into the toilets and aimed myself at the sinks. I splashed my face with water before looking up at my reflection -- I looked like shit, and drunk shit at that.
"Hey!" Shane exclaimed as he walked through the door, "You havin' a good night?" It seemed as if he was about as drunk as me.
"Erm, yeah" I mumbled, attempting to get my hair back into the right sort of messy.
"A bunch of us are gonna head over to Alex's for a real party, d'ya wanna come?"
I had no idea who this Alex was, nor whom the 'us' would be, but before I had time to think, the alcohol had spoken:
"Sure" I grinned, wrapping my arm around Shane's shoulders.
I must have fallen asleep in the taxi on the way to Alex's because the next thing I remember is Shane leading me by the hand up some steps and into a typical New York building.
I could hear the noise from the party on the street, but once inside I realised it wasn't all that big -- only about 20 people or so. There was someone DJ-ing in the corner, thankfully the music was just dance, so no complicated tunes for my inebriated brain to think around.
I walked into the kitchen, propelled by Shane's hands on my arse, where we got ourselves something to drink. I steered clear of the punch after having tasted some Shane got himself; I was pretty certain you could have be charged under the chemical weapons act for possessing a glass full of it. I opted for a classic vodka and that fizzy liquid someone handed me.
The air was heavy with the heaviness of tobacco smoke, but with a hint of something else. That 'something' was quickly resolved as some stranger passed me a joint, which I took a drag from before passing it on to Shane.
Within 30 minutes I was smashed enough to start drinking the punch; my memories got somewhat patchy after that.
More and more people seemed to be turning up and soon the apartment was jammed full. Several guys and girls were dancing topless in the room with the DJ. Throughout the rest of the smallish apartment small groups of people coalesced out of the crowd. I found myself in one with Shane and some other guys. An endless supply of joints seemed to be appearing and being handed around our little group. I can't have been pacing myself very well because I remember heading to the bathroom attempting not to vomit on the people crowding my route. I pushed the door open, rushed over to the sink and vomited. When I raised my head I realised I wasn't alone in the bathroom; a guy was fucking some girl in the bath just to my left. My head swam and I vomited once more before leaving the room, making sure to shut the door behind me.
I found my way back to the group I had been sitting with, but found my seat had been taken by some new guy, so I simply sat on Shane's lap and swung my arm around his neck to support myself. He grinned at me and handed me a drink he'd fetched for me. I downed half of it before smiling back. My memory seems to go on pause for a while after that.
Next thing I can recall is some of the group I was sitting in snorting stuff off a DVD case. One of them offered me the rolled up note -- I declined as politely as I could manage since I could barely hold my head up. I realised Shane was kinda sucking or kissing my neck and I shrugged my shoulder to get him off which caused me to spill most of a drink I didn't realise I was holding.
An image of Justin flashed through my extremely drunk mind.
Another drag on a joint, and more missing memories.
When I resurfaced Shane had his hands all over me. One was in my groin, the other on my back, under my shirt. I managed to get them off me, though it took a fair bit of doing as every movement I made threatened to make me fall onto the floor. He leant in a whispered in my ear:
"You're fuckin' sexy, you know?"
I felt a bit queasy once more and attempted to stand. Shane's grip on my arm prevented me from going anywhere. I almost fell over as my legs gave way beneath me but Shane's grip made sure I fell back into his lap. An image of Pete flashed in my head. I almost yelled out from the shock of it. The thick party air felt as if it were suffocating me. I started to sweat but my brain couldn't get my body to do what it wanted it to, i.e. run out of that room and that apartment. For a second I could have sworn I saw Pete standing over by the decks with the DJ. I knew I was heading into a panicattack; I needed something to get me calmed down. Seeing some guy was still snorting shit in front of me I grabbed the rolled up note and managed to get half a line up my nose before my mind went blank.
RIIIING
RIIIING
Blearily I reached out to the bedside table and recovered my mobile phone. Opening my eyes just enough to see the buttons I pressed the green one and stuck the phone to my ear.
"Darren?" a familiar voice cut through my fragile head
"Lance?" I mumbled hoarsely fighting back the urge to vomit.
"Where are you?"
"I'm in bed" I replied, trying to ignore the felling that a small rodent had crawled into my head during the night and died there. I realised I was naked -- I never sleep naked, so I knew I must have been mightly smashed when I had gone to bed, which would also account for the startling lack of memories from the previous night.
"Well, Steve and I are outside your place and we've been ringing the doorbell for five minutes." Lance sounded rather pissed off. My brain clicked into gear -- surely I would have woken if Lance had been ringing my doorbell. I forced my eyes open; the sunlight blinded me. I turned my head away from the source of the light and waited for my eyes to adjust before reopening them.
"Are you gonna come and let us in?" Lance inquired rather agitatedly.
I managed to open my eyes and focus just before I was going to say 'yes', but what I vocalised instead was "Oh fuck!" as the hangover from hell was forgotten. I now realised that the reason I hadn't heard my doorbell was that I wasn't in my own house; I instantly knew where I was though, because in the bed next to me lay a dormant Shane, naked as I was.
End of Part Eleven
Remember -- any comments; send them to svjsr@hotmail.com