A breeze blew through the room, snaking up my bare back and stirring my hair. I stretched, and instead of feeling warm skin and a thick head of hair I felt cool sheets and an empty pillow. I sat up, confused. And cold. I glanced around, realizing JC was out on the patio with the doors open, an early morning wind blowing through the room. The curtains, sheer and light, flapped around the sides of either door. JC stood out near the railing, in sweat pants and a t-shirt, leaning on to the railing, on the phone.

I crawled out of bed, wrapped myself in a blanket from the bed and stepped outside, grimacing against the cold stone of the patio. The wind whipped his hair around, making it stand up in the back. He ended his call and straightened, starting a luxurious stretch. I reached up and smoothed the hair at the back of his head. My touch startled him and he whirled around, a look of relief on his face when he found it was me.

“You scared me.” He bent to kiss my lips once, twice, three times. Something I could get used to. “Good morning. Why are you wearing a blanket?”

“I’m cold,” I said, shivering. “You have the doors open. You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I got a phone call.” He turned me around and pushed me toward the doors. “Come on, it’s chilly out here. And you don’t have any shoes on.”

I stumbled back indoors, wrapped in the blanket. He closed the doors behind us and latched them shut. “It’s cold today! I can’t believe it.”

“It gets cold here. People don’t think it does, but it does.” He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him. “Come here, let me warm you up. Take that off.”

I sat next to him, leaning up against him. “Warm me up, first. Then I’ll take it off.”

“I could warm you up by taking it off.”

“I knew you would offer that. I’m actually tired. Later, though?” I tipped my face up to his and he dipped his head to brush his lips against mine.

“It’ll have to be much later. I have a session today.”

I sighed. “Such is the life of a record producer. Working on Sundays and everything. When do you have to leave?”

“Not for awhile. I have time for breakfast,” he said with a wink.

“Hint. Hint.” I stood and removed the blanket from around me, stretching.

“Oh, but if you’re gonna tease me—“ He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me toward him, laying back on the bed so I fell on him. He bit at whatever skin he could get his teeth on, while I giggled hysterically. He rolled me over, grabbed my face and planted a hard kiss on my lips. “Get up, put some clothes on. I want to show you something.”

“What, the kitchen? I’ve seen it.”

“No, smartass. Get up, come on. Come downstairs.”

I threw on a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt and hopped down the stairs, looking for him. The scent of coffee, a fragrant blend, wafted through the air. I found him in the living room, leather bound book in his lap, sipping on coffee, his eyes glued to the flat screen TV, watching a cable news show.

“What’s up?” I sat next to him, a leg curled under me. He set his coffee down on a coaster and picked up the book in his lap. It was a photo album.

“I wanted to show you some stuff.”

He flipped through the book slowly, giving background behind each photo. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, his parents when they were younger, childhood photos of him, Tyler, and Heather were all painstakingly fastened in the book and well taken care of. Some photos, like the now famous one of him with a bright smile despite missing teeth and sparkling blue eyes, I had seen time and time again but still made me swoon. I had seen a few forbidden pictures of Heather but none of her with her brothers. She and Tyler looked exactly like and with JC between them and towering over them, his hair and features dark, their hair and features light, it was obvious that he didn’t match the rest of them. From experience, I knew that matching had nothing to do with the love of a sibling-- my brothers had blonde and light brown hair and brown eyes but meant the world to me and they would defend me to the ends of the earth if they had to.

He flipped a page slowly, and a woman that looked like a young, female version of JC was on the following page. He had to know that a few photos of what people suspected was his birth mother had surfaced, so I’d seen her before but never that close.

“I saw pictures of Regina so I figured it was only fair that you saw pictures of my mom.”

“Yeah. Uhm. I’ve seen a couple of very small photos of you with her. From… a long time ago, I guess. But this is recent.” I couldn’t help but stare at her and note all the ways JC looked like her. It had to be like staring into a mirror—much like looking at Regina, and photos of her, was like seeing myself.

“Do you call her ‘mom’?”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t want me to. I have a mom. She knows my mom, so. No.”

I nodded, flipping the pages through photos of her with her other children, and JC with them through the years. They did all look alike, but the sibling connection was missing. The loving arms around each other and knowing smiles and close hugs. He looked uncomfortable and stiff in some of them.

“Does Regina want you to call her ‘mom’?”

“When she’s drunk, that’s all she talks about. How I don’t call her mom and she’s not my mother and I’m not her daughter and…” I sighed. “I’m glad your situation turned out better.”

“Me too. But you got lucky, like I did, ending up with a great family that loved you and raised you. And you turned out okay. I think.”

“I think, too.” I closed the book and slid it over to his lap. “Thank you for sharing that. It means a lot to me that you did.”

“It’s right here, if you ever want to look at it again,” he said, sliding it between other books in the bookcase and came back to the couch. “Do you want to go to my session with me? See me work?”

I wanted to say yes, screamed to say yes at the opportunity to sit in a studio with him. “Oh. Well. I don’t want to be a distraction. I mean, I’d love to, but—“

“But nothing. You can come. I don’t mind. This kid is an unknown and I’m just a guy that writes songs. No big deal. You wanna? You can be my lovely assistant.”

I grinned, knowing my smile was annoyingly wide. I didn’t care. “I wanna.”

“Good. I think you’ll like it. But we have to leave in a bit. You making breakfast, or what?”

“Oh! I forgot, I was going to.” I pushed myself off of the couch and felt an appreciative pat on the back of my thigh as I walked past.  

###

“Okay, so take verse two again, from the top and try that breathing thing I told you.” JC watched for signs that the tall, lanky young man with the big voice was ready. When he gave the signal, JC pressed a button and sat back, watching and listening, then sitting forward, making a note, an adjustment, nodding his head to the beat while a beautiful, melodious voice poured out of the speakers.

I curled up in the corner of the couch, trying hard to be invisible, not to move, not to speak, in awe of him at work. He had such an ear for the tiniest change in a line, a crackle in a voice, anything that was off. He was encouraging but pushed hard for a performance the artist would be happy with.

“Okay, come on out. We can work on the next part,” he said. He turned to check a setting and his eye caught me in the corner. He winked at me and then turned back to work with his artist, going over the bridge of the song and working out how it would end. The song was a last minute addition to a debut album that would be out in a few months. I was curious to hear what the finished product would sound like.

Watching JC work was like watching a painter paint, a sculptor sculpt. He took this timid, too thin, insecure young man in his hands and worked him into a forceful, confident crooner belting out notes left and right. I crouched in my corner and hid my grin, listening to the final playback. The kid turned around to look at me, a wide, proud grin on his face. “This guy’s amazing, huh?” I smiled and nodded, agreeing with him. “He sure is.”

JC zipped the Master CD away so it could be mixed, shook hands with the young man and walked him out of the studio. I felt free, then to stand up and look around the small room full of expensive electronics, flashing bulbs and computer screens.

“Don’t touch anything,” I heard behind me, and then arms around my waist. I leaned back against him, enjoying the feeling of him close to me, warm lips on my neck. For the first time I thought about leaving the next day and my heart sank. I could stand in that spot forever with him. I put all thoughts of leaving out of my mind. I could deal with it later. Or in the morning.

“I wasn’t going to touch anything. I’m keeping my hands to myself.”

“Good girl. But as my lovely assistant I need you to help me shut down. So, flip that switch right there. The red one.” I reached and flipped the switch he indicated and a few lights stopped blinking on the board. His chin on my shoulder, he pointed at buttons and switches and I turned them all off, until the board was dark and the screens were off and the only light was the dim overhead fluorescent lamp.

He turned me in his arms, then and brought me close, saying nothing but brushing his lips randomly against my cheek, my neck, my shoulder, swaying slightly. We both took deep breaths and let them out slowly, enjoying the silence of the small, closed in room.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, stepping back, gliding his hands along my jacket until he held both hands in his. He released one, wound his fingers between mine and led me out of the room into the bright hallway. “Hit that light right there, sweet girl.” I flipped the switch and the room behind us was dark. The door swung closed silently and we walked down the hall, back toward the car.

We stopped for dinner at a neighborhood diner, nondescript and quiet, but they recognized JC as a regular and sat us near the back, in a booth in a quiet corner.

“Hungry?” He smiled that gorgeous smile that made his eyes crinkle up in the corners.

“Of course I am,” I joked, browsing the menu. “I had fun, today. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“No problem, glad you enjoyed it. It’s not always that easy. The newer artists are fun to work with. They kind of don’t know what they’re capable of, so…” He shrugged and unwrapped a straw, dipping it into his iced tea, sucking down a mouthful.

“He sounded great, I thought. I want to hear the final version, though. So you take it now and… do what?”

“Has to be mixed. The voice and the track.”

“And do you get to pick who mixes it?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, if you’re a debut artist, the label will pick. So I need to check and see who I’m supposed to send the Master to.”

“The process is fascinating. So, does it change when it’s you behind the microphone?”

“Drastically,” he said, laughing, throwing up his hands. “I don’t like being controlled. Being told who I can work with and who I can’t. The label sends their ‘notes’ or whatever. If you’re a good little artist you obey.” He shook his head, took another swallow of tea. “I’m not a good little artist.”

“I heard you were a little pissy over Schizophrenic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Heard that, did you?”

I blanched and closed my eyes. It had been such a nice day; I did not want to end the trip by having to apologize. “I’m sorry, JC, just… rewind. I’m sorry. Tell me about recording Schizophrenic.”

He stared for a few seconds, his eyes intensely focused on mine. Then a smile broke. “Scared ya, didn’t I?”’

I wilted against the seat, wishing I could laugh but I couldn’t, quite yet. “Don’t do that. That was assholish. You know I’m sensitive to that, I always think I’m going to say the wrong thing and make you mad. Don’t play with me, about that.”

He reached across the table, covered my hands in his, laughing harder. “I’m sorry,” he said, between giggles. “Okay, I’ll stop. I won’t do that again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He regained control and I started to smile. “Fucker.”

“Whatever. So, Schizophrenic.” He pinched his nose and sniffed, staring at the faux wood grain of the small table. “Looking back, I guess I was a little difficult, but… all I wanted to do was record an album. For fun. And I felt like they were sucking all of the fun out of it. I wanted to put it out because it was something I wanted to express, a part of me that people hadn’t heard before. I don’t know, what was the reaction to it?”

“Well,” I said, my expression pained. “You saw record sales. I know a lot of people who never knew it was out. And then those that got it and—I’m not going to lie—didn’t like it. I was one of them. It was a big, big step away from ‘Nsync and I wasn’t ready. No one was. It grew on me, though. It grew on a lot of people.”

“Kind of like a mole,” he said, scrunching up his nose.

“No. Not like a… you’re silly.” I tapped his hand and sat back as the waitress came to take our orders.

When she left I asked, “What about Kate?”

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Kate was me being a good little artist and doing every fucking thing Jive said do. Just to get it out there. Everyone was like ‘JC you gotta play the game a little’. So I played the game a little.” He shrugged and held up his hands. “I got nothing out of it. Same as Schizophrenic. Absolutely no label support. I was done, way before I left. And I hated to leave, you know? My label was shitty, but I had one.”

“And now?”

He blew out a breath, flapping his lips and rolled his eyes. “Now? I just want to make tunes. I don’t care how. I don’t care with who. Label? No label? Whatever, man. Just let me record and release, however I need to get it done. You know?”

I nodded, eyeing him. Proud of him. Hoping for him.

###

I wheeled my suitcase to the steps and set it there, setting my laptop case next to it. It was just about time to go and while I really hated to, I was anxious to get home and try to push the Qwest deal along. I had to know if LA was going to become my second home, soon.

“You need me to drag that down for you?” Tyler stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me, hands on his hips.

I smiled sweetly. “Please.” He trudged up all three flights, grabbed the luggage by its carry handle and swung the laptop over his shoulder, thumping back down the stairs.

I walked back to the bedroom where JC was slowly lacing up his shoes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take a cab?”

“I’m sure. I just don’t want you to go at all, is the thing.”

“Aww. We’ll see each other in a few weeks, though.”

“I know. That still involves you leaving.” I followed him down the stairs, gave Tyler a pat on the shoulder and walked out to the car where he was already sitting in the driver seat. “Did you get everything?”

“I don’t care,” I said, swinging the door shut, snapping my seatbelt into place. ”If I left something, bring it with you. Let’s go, I’ll miss my flight.”

He turned the key in the ignition, pressed the button for the door to slide open and turned to me, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. “You’re getting bossy.”

I leaned over and kissed him, then pulled back and winked. “Learning it from you, sweetheart.”

“Good girl,” he said, laughing, pulling out of the garage and down the street, toward the highway.