“I want to hear nothing else of hotel staying. It’s just ridiculous, expensive, and not homey at all. Now you can stay here whenever you want.” She tossed a brand new set of sheets at Callie, still in the package.

“Wash those and put them on the bed. They’re DIVINE. I got them in New York, insane thread count, so comfy. Ok. So.” Paula took a seat in the plush chair in the corner of the room while Callie unpacked.

“Talk. You know what I want to know and don’t be shy.” Paula laid on hand over the other on her knees and her expression was expectant.

“There’s nothing to tell, Paula.”

She huffed. “I don’t want to hear that bullshit. Come on, out with it.”

Callie turned around, a shy smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Well. He IS cute. Very cute. And very nice. TOO nice. The kind of nice where you don’t notice that he’s been asking questions and you’ve been answering them. He might know more about me than Curtis knows.”

Callie shrugged, and returned to unpacking. “But, there’s really nothing happening with him. He works hard. He’s very talented. I like his style and he’s bringing out a different side of me. We’ll see if Jive agrees when we meet with them.”

“You can seriously keep your hands off of him?”

“Yes, I manage to not jump him, Paula.” Callie turned around and grinned. “And it’s hard work, too. Did I mention he was cute? His arms are… oh my God. I can’t talk about this, I’m gonna start gushing and I hate when I do that.”

“Tell me! You’ve touched them!” Paula brought a hand to her lips and her eyebrows rose. She was ever the drama queen.

Callie shook her head. “You are too old to be acting like this. Yes, I’ve touched them. They’re amazing. He gave me a hug when I left his house yesterday. He’s just a beautiful man. But really… there’s nothing going on. Outside of him staring that one night, he doesn’t seem to be like… interested.”

“That’s nonsense. You’re hot, you’re young, and you’re single. What’s to not be interested in?”

Callie shrugged again and emptied her suitcase, then removed the sheets from their package. “Oooooohhhh. Big pimpin’. These ARE soft. I’d have bought you sheets, Paula.”

“I know you would have. But I can buy my own sheets. You have more than enough things to worry about than the sheets on my bed. But thanks.”

Suddenly tired, Callie sank onto the firm King Size mattress.

“You okay?”

Callie leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, dropping her head so it was nearly between her legs. Her voice was muffled as she spoke.

“It just doesn’t get any easier. Every year that passes I think I’m gonna hit some sort of big… mark in my career that will make me say ‘Yeah, Daddy would be proud of this.’ But every year, I feel like I’ve sunk lower and lower. I enjoy it less and less. I feel trapped and no matter what I do, I can’t escape it. And it’s 11 years today and I can’t even go visit his grave. I bet my mom won’t go up there.”

Paula got up and sat next to Callie on the bed, offering her hand. Callie took it and sighed heavily.

“I miss him, too. I miss being out on that stage with him, trying to keep up with him. Kids today think they know what show business is all about—Jive has you running here and there doing radio interviews and mall spots and award shows and call it work. No, no. Working was 8 shows a week. In heels. And a short dress. In a smoky club—“

“And better not complain!” Callie finished, laughing.

“Yeah you heard that a time or two, I know. Ah, Charlie. He was quite the character. And it was just so odd… one night he was there and he was on FIRE. Fingers flying, voice floating out over the speakers, full of energy. He was ON. And then the next day I got that phone call. It still doesn’t seem real. Every time I go home, I drive by the Club and expect to see his name on the Marquee—‘Come sit with Charlie, Thursdays Fridays, and Saturdays, 8 & 10pm’.”

“Time flies, huh?”

“It does. But Callie… and I tell you this all the time… Charlie was very proud of his little girl. Very. You could tap dance around crackers on the kitchen floor and he would beam as if you won a Grammy. What needs to happen is that YOU need to be proud of what you do, of what you write, of what you sing and YOU need to get out from under everything OVER you. Why you continue to fund Julia and James’ lifestyle, and employ a member of the family—well don’t ask ME to explain it. You’re being used, and you know it, and you’re pissed about it and do nothing. Charlie wouldn’t be proud of that.”

Callie released Paula’s hand and stood, gathering up the sheets to wash them.

“Times, they are gonna be changin’ Paula. I feel it in my bones. Something has to change.”

…

“You’re wasting my time, Producer Man. Billable hours!” Callie pointed at her wrist and tapped it.

JC nudged her with his elbow. “You didn’t look it up, did you?”

Callie blushed. “I…. did look it up, actually. I just don’t CARE. Can we work? Sheet music. C’mon.”

“I’m gonna assume you don’t know, if you don’t tell me and then I’m gonna have to tell the story, and you know I can’t tell a story in under an hour—“

“Ok, ok! Good LORD you’re annoying!” Callie sighed, and rolled her eyes, but was smiling. “There was already a Josh on the Mickey Mouse club, so in order for people to not confuse the two of you, you were called JC. It stuck. FOREVER. The end.”

JC gave her a sarcastic round of applause. “Good job! Was that so hard?”

“Ugh, it was such hard work, pressing the buttons on the computer on my own. I need to get a lackey for that.”

“Smart. Ass.”

“You know it. So you have homework, now.”

JC rolled his eyes and grinned. “Oh, here we go. What?”

“My real first name is not Callie. Find out what it is. By Thursday. Can we work now?” She lifted the lid on the piano and tapped out the intro to one of the songs they were working on.

His grin turned smug and he chuckled slightly. “Calpernia Joy Phelps. Is your name. Do I get extra credit?”

Her jaw dropped as she laughed. “For being a dork? That is SCARY!”

“No, what is scary, is having Calpernia for a first name. Ok?”

“My dad loves my name. Hush, Joshua Scott. Work? Billable hours? Producer Man?”

“Fine. We can work, now. Calpernia.”

Callie eyebrows shot up. “If you cherish all of the fingers on each of your hands, I sincerely encourage you to STOP calling me that. I’m serious. Promise me, JC. Please? I hate it.”

“I promise. I’m sorry. Let’s get to work. So… uhm. I got this back, today.” JC handed her a disc. She knew what it was without even looking at it – it was the background for ‘Let’s Start Over’, ready for her to record her vocals and then to be mixed.

Callie sighed, turning the thin disc over and over in her hands.  A few weeks had passed and the pain and embarrassment of the breakup were not so palpable, but she still didn’t feel like she could do the song justice, and not with Curtis planting people in her path to get her to admit to the press that they’d split. He would see it as she did not intend it, as a plea for him to come back. She hadn’t actually thought of him in days and wanted to keep it that way.

She handed it back to JC. “We can table this, right? For now? I’m just not ready to work on that one. I don’t know that I will be, anytime soon.”

“I didn’t think you would be, but I had to present the option to you, since it was done. This puts us behind, though so let’s work on the other ones so they can get them this week.”

The pair worked a very long, very hard day and well into the night. By the time Callie was pulling out of the driveway, the sun was peeking up over the horizon, but another song was complete and ready for the Music Director to look at and work with the band. The following day, she and JC would sit in on a rehearsal and listen to ideas while they ran through it for the first time.

Callie caught a few hours of sleep but was back up again before 10am. Head in palms, elbows on table, she stared at bland plate holding a slice of toast with peanut butter smeared across it. Paula’s slippers slap- slapped against the wood floors as she walked in from her den.

“You look like shit. Are you getting sick?”

“No. Just tired. We worked, all day yesterday. Like the sun was coming up when I left. That thing you say about kids not knowing what work is? Fuck You. I’m tired from SOMETHING and it’s not playing.”

Paula giggled and leaned against the counter, waiting for a new pot of coffee to stop dripping. “Producer Man is a slave driver, it seems. Good for him.”

Callie gave her a dirty look and flipped her off, then got up from the table and headed to the shower.

“You want your toast?” she called. Receiving no answer, she grabbed the slice and took a bite, then a sip of piping hot coffee. “She can make another piece,” she said, mouth full of peanut butter and coffee.

…

“Oh my God. Okay. No more all nighters. I’m sorry. You look like shit.” JC sat next to her in the empty rehearsal hall and gave her leg a pat. How he was bright eyed and smiling, even, was beyond her.

Callie glanced over at JC, slowly raised her fist to eye level and lifted her middle finger, then slowly lowered her hand and faced forward again. JC found this entire episode very amusing, but showed some sympathy and offered to get her a cup of coffee.

“Jason is bringing me a VAT of coffee. And a MAC TRUCK of donuts. This is gonna be a long day.”

“But fun, I can’t wait.”

Callie again turned her head in JC’s direction, a vein in her head throbbing. “JC?” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” He leaned in close.

“Can you turn your damn optimism down... just a little bit? It’s really bright and shiny and annoying today.”

JC hid a girn and nodded. “Sorry, it only comes in one volume. You’re not excited to hear your words come to life?”

“Yeah. Deep down. WAY down. But I’m cool and I don’t show it. Smooth,” she said, holding out her hand and imitating a smooth, straight line.

JC shrugged. “I’ll be excited for the both of us, ok?”

“Yeah you do that. I’ll catch up. Here’s Jason.”

Jason handed Callie the largest cup of coffee he could find and a bag from Dunkin Donuts.

“You look like shit. You get any sleep?”

Callie looked from JC to Jason and shook her head. “It’s no wonder neither of you have girlfriends. You’re so smooth. You don’t tell a girl she looks like shit. I always resemble a rare flower. Got it? Flower.”

Both men nodded and tried not to laugh. “Flower," said JC.  "Yes, Callie,” said Jason.

“Fuck you both,” said Callie, and stole away with her donuts and coffee.

Callie’s Music Director had been with her since the beginning. He’d worked with her dad a few times and when she called him six years ago, he jumped at the chance to help her career along and he’d been around ever since. Brian knew her better than she knew herself, and was always pushing her to do something different. He was happy to see someone else in the mix—and had LOVED ‘Let’s Start Over’. He was anxious to see what else was coming up.

JC and Brian were like two peas in a pod in short order. Callie sat between them and watched ideas volley back and forth, trying to keep up and retain what she actually thought she could pull off well. They met for a few hours with Brian and then the band started showing up for rehearsal, so JC and Callie sat and watched him go over the parts with each section.

“They pick things up super fast,” JC said, bobbing his head to the beat.

“Yeah they are really good. Which is great because I’m always behind.”

“You wanna hop up there and belt out a line or two? See how it sounds?”

“Let them get through it one time, first, JC.”

He turned to glance at her, surprised. “You scared to sing in front of me?”

Her brow furrowed, as if his question was ridiculous. “No. Scared of sounding like shit in front of you though. I’m not ready.”

“You’ll never be ready if you wait for it to be perfect. Hey, Brian,“ JC called. “Don’t you think Callie should try out a couple verses, see how it sounds?”

“Absolutely. Come on, baby. Clear out those pipes.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, setting down her coffee and trudging to the center, near the piano.

“From the top,” ordered Brian, and the band struck the beginning chords that Callie could play in her sleep by that point. From somewhere, her smoky, sultry voice appeared and rang out over the music through the first verse and chorus. The second verse was more of the same and the band hadn’t learned the bridge yet. Callie glanced over at Brian as the music faded, and he nodded, satisfied.

“Happy?” she asked, as she took her seat next to JC again.

“Very,” he said. “You have an amazing voice. I hear so much of your dad in you. Even when you rock out, it’s jazzy. It’s awesome how it blends.”

“Don’t suck up to me, JC.”

He paused for a beat. “I’m not. I’m totally serious.”

Callie tucked an errant hair behind her ear, embarassed. “Ok. Thanks. He’s my dad, of course I sound like him. You want a cookie for your amazing revelation?”

“You never came through on the last cookie you promised me.”

Her head whipped around to glare at JC. He had his arms spread out across the backs of  their chairs and he was very nonchalant. He gave her a large goofy grin and went back to bobbing his head to the music.

Callie bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from laughing. ‘How was he not offended by that? I’m such a bitch to him and doesn’t take the bait, ever! Fucker. Wait. That’s a good thing. So what do people call him when they hate him?’

“Callie? You in there?” JC waved a hand in front of her. She smacked it away.

“What?!”

He pointed toward the stage, “Brian’s trying to get your attention.”

Callie hopped up and joined him at the piano, going over the finer points of the bridge and how the song would end. Callie didn’t notice that JC had slipped out of the room until Brian called rehearsal over and she turned around to find him and his bag gone.

Much to her disappointment—well, she was disappointed. She’d grown to feel comforted by him and kind of liked sparring with him. And, she wanted to apologize for her comment to him earlier. She was tired and he was irritating her and she lashed out. She had no idea if he was mad, or just had to go, but she would find out and fix whatever was wrong.

She got voicemail when she dialed his number and left a brief message for him to call her back when he had time. Her phone rang out as she was walking into Paula’s. Callie dumped her bag onto the couch trying to find the phone before it rolled over to voicemail.

“Hey. Are you mad at me?” she asked as she picked up.

“Hey. No. Should I be?” She could hear people and music behind him and squashed any jealousy that he was having guests and hadn't invited her over.

“Well. I was particularly bitchy today. I realize that,  and I beat up on you pretty bad, and I’m sorry. I thought you might have been mad and left.”

“No, I had another appointment and you had it under control so I snuck out. I’m sorry, I should have told you I was leaving but you guys were on a roll and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, okay. Long as you weren’t upset.”

“Not at all. I mean, some days are just bad days. Today was a doozy but I figure I deserved it for keeping you up all night and it wasn’t even any fun.”

“Aw, it was fun. I mean, it didn’t suck.”

“Well, that’s all I ever want, is for people to be able to say that working with me doesn’t suck,” he said, laughing.

Callie giggled with him. “I’ll shout it from the rooftops; ‘working with JC Chasez doesn’t suck!’”

"Thanks for that vote of confidence. People all over the world will be calling me after they hear that. ‘I hear he doesn’t suck. I HAVE to work with him’.“

“My pleasure. Make sure I get a cut of your promotional windfall.”

“Of course. It’ll all be due to you and your glowing recommendation. Uhm, how are you feeling now? Better?”

“Shaky. I think I drank an entire coffee bean plant today. I’m gonna get a hot shower and crawl into a bed and not get out of it until our session Thursday.”

“Sounds like a plan. Sleep tight and see you Thursday.”

“You bet, and I’ll be in better spirits, I promise.”

“You better not be. I like you feisty. See you Thursday.” He hung up before she could ask him what that meant.

‘He likes me feisty? The hell?’

“Well hi, Giggles with Her Producer Man.” Callie turned to find Paula leaning against the door jamb.

‘Well hi, Nosy and Listens to People’s Conversations. Brian says hi and wants you to marry him.”

Paula let out a belly laugh and walked further into the room, kneeling onto a cusion on the couch.

“Ah, Brian. If I was ten years younger, blonde, big boobed and dumb as a stump, I still wouldn’t be perfect enough for him. He flatters me. Tell him I said hi, and meet me at the courthouse. So how was the day?”

Callie gave her a brief rundown of the progress and seemed happy with the rate that things were going and the quality of the work. “It’s amazing how we can be behind, but ahead. I don’t know how he’s keeping the schedule moving but he is. Whatever. I write, I sing, I play. Everything else is his job.”

Callie shrugged and glanced at Paula. Paula crossed her arms and stared at Callie but didn’t say anything.

“What?”

“You don’t fool me. You called him to apologize for being a bitch? Have you ever done that in your life? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Callie stopped to think. It did seem odd… but Paula didn’t understand the situation. To further confuse things, neither did Callie, really. Was it that he practically held her future in his hands? Or was it that she was trying very, very hard to not feel something more than a business partnership, not to have more than a working relationship with him?

“Paula, if you met him and knew how sweet he was you’d feel bad about being mean to him. AND he doesn’t ever respond to it. Today he tried to pay me a compliment and I was the meanest bitch EVER and he didn’t even flinch!”

“Maybe not outwardly.”

“Right. So, he disappeared, and I thought he was mad, so I called to find out what happened. He had another appointment and had to go, so he snuck out. He’s fine. But I’m exhausted, worrying about him being upset with me for the last four hours. It would totally throw off our balance if I screwed it up right now. I can’t afford that. ” Callie yawned and rubbed her eyes, stumbling toward the shower.

“I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me up till Thursday.”

“Yes ma’am.”

…

Late nights and long days kept Callie near the bed on Wednesday. She could have ventured out, but Paula had made her room so comfy that she didn’t really feel the need. The room was cool, bright, and comfortable, furnished with a large flat screen TV, a DVD player, a CD/AM/FM stereo, alarm clock, and a bookcase full of Paula’s Murder Mystery book collection. The room featured a large sized guest bathroom, so Callie didn’t even have to leave the room to visit the facilities. She did, however need to eat—Paula even had that covered. She dropped a tray near Callie’s door at breakfast and lunch and knocked to let her know it was there. Callie sat in her room and ate and read and watched TV and movies and left her dishes on the tray, which disappeared soon after.

By dinner Callie had a bit if cabin fever, and at the scent of chicken and mashed potatoes, she opened the door and padded down the stairs, taking a seat in one of the leather covered bar stool chairs that circled the perimeter of the kitchen.

“Heya sleepyhead. Feeling better?” said Paula, setting some iced tea in front of her. Callie downed it before she nodded to the affirmative.

“You know I’m gonna have a photo shoot for my album coming up, and you’re serving mashed potatoes?”

Paula laughed and shrugged innocently. “Hey, I’m done dieting to the size of an emaciated crack whore so I can look good on TV. The label isn’t telling you that you have to lose weight, are they?” Paula whipped around and glared at Callie.

Callie shook her head no. “No, just me. I don’t want to look like an emaciated crack whore. I just don’t want to look pudgy in my photos. I should be working out right now. I’ll have to call Rick next week and have him do a work out for me.” Callie dreaded it, but made a mental note to get in touch with her personal trainer back in Chicago.

At the mention of Rick, Paula turned, a bright, flirty smile on her face. “Oooh. Rick can come visit you!”

“You’re such a horndog. You want everyone in my life.”

“Just living vicariously. Everyone I meet is gay or 19.” She flipped off the burner under her potatoes and got out two plates from the cabinet.

“You don’t have maid service for dinner, Miss Phelps. Off your ass, fix your plate. I don’t want to hear any complaining about how many potatoes you shove in your face. And have some salad,” she ordered, pointing at the freshly tossed greens she’d just brought out of the refrigerator.

“Salad is for rabbits,” grumbled Callie, but dumped a generous portion into a bowl and had her dressing on the side.

They sat side by side at the bar, chatting and talking over dinner.

“So really. Producer Man. You like him, don’t you?” Paula took a sip of tea but her eyes never left Callie's face.

Callie's fork clanged onto her plate as she dropped it. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Yes, I like him, in the way that I like people who are helping me to not flop my third album, in the way that I like people who can read the label suits better than I can and can predict what they might be looking for better than I can. In the way that I like people who have talent and don’t mind sharing it and who bring out the best in me, stuff I never thought I would be or could be doing. So, yeah I like him, but sorry, not in the way you want me to. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Paula. You have me focusing on things that don’t matter, for the situation I’m in. Even if I liked him, he doesn’t like me like that and I can’t date him. I just don’t even want to think about it.”

Callie got up from her stool, raked the garbage from her plate and added it and her silverware to the dishwasher.

“Thanks for dinner, I’m going back upstairs.”

“STOP,” Paula ordered. Callie froze, then turned around.

“Come here.” Callie obeyed, glaring at Paula.

“What?”

“You spent… 1 minute, 32 seconds telling me how much you don’t like Producer Man. Me thinks thou dost protest too much.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I like him plenty. Just not the way you want me to.”

“It’s not a way I want you to. It’s what I see and you won’t admit to.”

Callie paced from one side of the living room to the other, running her fingers through her hair in frustration.

“Maybe you’re seeing wrong. And maybe there’s nothing to admit to. And even if there was, what can I do about it? Hm? Nothing. I have a career I’m trying to keep from tanking. I need to be recording, touring, performing, working. I have NO time for a man right now. So… even if I do think he’s THE MOST handsome man I’ve ever looked at, and he’s the nicest man on the planet, and he makes me do things I’ve never done before like CARE if I hurt his feelings… there’s nothing there. Even if there was something there, I’d squash it till there was nothing there. I’d hurt him, Paula. Bad. I can’t do that, to him.”

Callie paused and patted Paula on the shoulder. “I’m headed up for the night. Thanks for dinner, it was great. I feel 4lbs growing on my ass right now.”

Later that night, Callie tried to sleep, but she tossed and turned. Her conversation with Paula rolled round in her mind. With it rolled JC’s face, that incredible smile, those eyes, and not to mention the rest of him. Conversations they’d had were played and replayed and Callie looked for any clue she could cling to… she just didn’t find any. JC was friendly—very much so. But past the session where he’d been staring at her, he hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash in an inappropriate or suggestive manner. They’d become close the way friends come close, by talking, but he didn’t flirt with her. He didn’t touch her unnecessarily and he didn’t seem overly interested. If there wasn’t a reason to see or talk to each other, they didn’t.

Was Callie displeased that she could not find signs that JC wanted something with her? Wasn’t she the one who said nothing could happen, she didn’t want anything to happen, and she didn’t WANT to want anything to happen? So why, now, was she upset that nothing was happening?

‘You get what you ask for, Miss Callie. You asked for nothing, and you got it. Deal with it. And go to sleep, acting like some sort of lovesick puppy. You hate this shit.’

With that, Callie punched the pillow beneath her, rolled over and willed herself to sleep.