Chapter Nine: Let the show begin…
Sexyback Club Tour
Opening Night
I have to be honest with myself here, this thing has just barely begun and I’m feeling a bit intimidated. This feeling doesn’t happen very often but it’s there nonetheless. I arrived at the venue a little over an hour ago due to my extended stay at the office to finish up some things. I’ve been prolonging this day for the past nine days. I hadn’t been doing the best, mentally, these past few days but I’m good right now. I can’t blame anyone but myself for this. I’m the one that broke very strict rules I’ve set for myself, at work and in life. I’ve spent nine crucial days trying to concentrate on work, to no prevail because all of it was related to my current issue, Mr. Justin Timberlake.
I feeling beside myself and a bit out of control. What did I allow to happen? Why would I have allowed something so uncharacteristically of me occur? What was I think? I wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem. I’m not used to living my life this way. I acted like a two dollar whore and I hate myself for it. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m walking with my head down. As if. It was a rare moment of weakness for me and it will never happen again. Ever. I can’t believe I allowed it to happen in the first place. I give myself the speech I’ve been giving myself for the past nine days and keep telling myself that it was a blur in my life that is over and done with, as I leave the small dressing room of the venue.
I wasn’t surprised to see the line of people lined up around the corner of the place when the driver made his way to the backstage lot. His fans have been anticipating his return for a long time, that I knew. I really wish Barker was here with me right now, as I walk around staff members and crew, in the backstage area. I’m no stranger to these types of event but I’m still feeling a bit queasy. I know it’s not the fact that I’m backstage at a House of Blues and alone, that’s not it at all. It’s the fact that I’m heading toward one of the artists’ dressing room. I’m antsy, for crying out loud! What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m extremely disappointed in myself and I can’t stand it. I pride myself in being the best that I can be. I’ve succeeded in every aspect of my life, that is, until the day in which Justin Timberlake backs me into a corner and I fucking melt like a stupid whore. I’m the scum of the earth, even though I know I don’t look the part.
I really should have changed into some jeans before leaving the office instead of standing out like a swore thumb in this crowd. Another unusually uncharacteristic feeling, I thrive on being the center of attention. Not tonight, though. I get stopped by a few members of security on the way to the dressing room. I answer the questions that they have in intensive detail. I’m only prolonging this meeting as much as I can, I know. The longer it takes me to get in there and speak with him, the better. I haven’t seen or heard from him since that day, and I’m glad. Ms. Bomar has been oddly resourceful these past few days, I must say. I didn’t have to send a reminder to a reminder about anything, which is strange. I guess the little talk I had with her helped a bit. Or was it that she was trying to keep her cousin from seeing me? I mean why would she do that? She didn’t see what happened, did she? Oh my god!
My nerves are shot to hell but I’ve had to take acting lessons here and there for modeling jobs, so no one can tell, but I can. When I reach the door with a big gold star and Mr. Timberlake’s name on it, I knock. I can hear people inside and I adjust my white sweater and my laminate as I wait for the door to be answered. A long minute later, Trace answers the door and he’s laughing about something.
“Hey, Vanessa,” he says smiling at me. I guess Barker was right, he is kind of cute. If you like the boy next door type, which I hate. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m doing great,” I’m lying, I’m a fucking wreck. “I hear William Rast is coming along really well. Congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you very much, that means a lot coming from you,” he says and I don’t know if I should take offense to that or not. I don’t have time for this shit. He’s standing in the doorway with the door halfway opened and I’m wondering why he hasn’t let me in.
“Are you letting me in or am I standing here for my health?” I ask before he realizes that he hasn’t opened the door and chuckles. Barker was also right about him being a bit slow, I see.
“Oh shit, my bad,” he says as he steps back and opens the door. I wasn’t expecting to see Mr. Timberlake so quickly but I did. The door opens all the way and Mr. Timberlake is laying on a long couch with his headphones on. He’s stretched out, his eyes are closed and I can hear his headphones from where I stand. I should ask if that’s really a good idea but I can’t. I have other questions running through my mind at the moment. Like why Cameron Diaz is laying comfortably next to him? My face has to be flushed right now, it has to be because I’m hot. I really am. “Do you want me to wake him up?” Trace asks and I look around the room for something else to look at beside the two bitches on the couch.
The Reba girl who’s real name is Joanna, is sitting on the other couch and she smiles at me. I don’t have time to make pleasantries right now, so I smile back and look somewhere else, quick and short. The voices I heard was the loud television playing in the background, I believe Friday After Next is playing and I realize that I need to get out of here. “No, that’s okay. I can speak to him when he wakes up.”
“Are you sure? I can get him up,” Trace says pointing over his shoulder. He’s standing in front of me but he’s not tall at all and I can still see Mr. Timberlake’s face.
“I’m positive,” I say looking past his shoulder once again. I could honestly go over to the couch and pull her fake hair out. I’m beyond angry at her sight, I wasn’t counting on her being here. It adds to my already fucked up state of mind. “Have him come see…”
“Babe, your elbow,” Mr. Timberlake grunts a little, shifting so that Ms. Skins and Bones readjusts her body. What does he see in her anyway? She’s a bag of fucking used bones. Pathetic. She’s apparently dead asleep because he grunts again and opens his eyes. “Fuck.”
“Vanessa is here to see you,” Trace says turning toward him without giving me a chance to tell him not to. Shit!
“What?” He says and looks in the direction of the door. He sees me standing there and the look of complete guilt emerges on his face. He keeps staring at me like I have a big elephant’s nose on my face. Speaking of big elephants, there seems to be one in the room as our stare continues.
“Number one groupie?” I ask sarcastically and I know I’m in no position to starting an argument with this man. I can’t blame what happened entirely him, I’m not playing the victim at all. But the fact that his bitch is laying next to him brings the…well…me, out of me. I know the proper word is bitch but who is keeping tabs?
“What do you want?” He asks and gives Trace a look that I’m guessing means, why I was allowed in the room.
“I needed to brief you on the two interviews you have prior to the show but clearly you’re not available.” I say and look at my watch. “Please see me when you aren’t so…pressed,” I say looking at him. Ms. Surfer Chick shifts a bit making him scowl in pain. Fucking cow! “Sound check is in twenty minutes, Mr. Timberlake.” I say before turning and leaving the room and wondering if he’s going to follow.
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A hour later
“I promise I’ll be there,” I’ve been on the phone for the past ten minutes. It’s the only person I fear in this world. The only person I have one ounce of respect for. My father. “Yes, Daddy. Tell Mother, I will call her tomorrow.”
I have to promise to be at my niece’s birthday party a month in advance in order for him to let me off the phone. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world and it bothers me that the person that drives me to be who I am, doubts me. It’s the story of my life. My life with Raul Martinez, CEO of Latin RCA Records, Inc.
“Daddy’s little girl? I would have pegged you as daddy‘s hell child.” I hear coming from behind me. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there since my back was turned but he looks like he’s been there quite a while. Fucking prick!
“Do you normally listen in to people’s private conversations, Mr. Timberlake?” I say looking behind me as he steps completely inside the room. I would be a complete liar if I said he looked like shit. He’s wearing my personal favorite suit. Of course he doesn’t know that but he’s wearing it, nonetheless. It’s a simple gray charcoal number that I used to love on my dad. He’s opted to go with the purple tie tonight and the combination of the suit and the fresh white Jordan’s complete the look I had in mind.
“Not as much as you like to stare,” he says and closes the door behind him. “What are you looking at?” He asks as he walks around the couch I’m sitting India style in. What is he trying to do? This is not going to work again, Mr. Timberlake. Back off!
“I was simply looking at how much better I’ve made you look, Mr. Timberlake. You’re mother would be proud to see her child in a suit.”
“My mother is very proud, thank you very much for caring, Vanessa. And I am not a child, by any means,” He says with a smirk. “You would know that if you wouldn’t be such a bitch.”
“And why exactly would I know that, Mr. Timberlake?” I don’t know why I even bother to spend time arguing with this man. I really don’t. The calling me a bitch bit, is overplayed.
“Let me put it in lame model terms for you, Ms. Martinez.” He’s mocking me now and he leans against the wall to the left of me, looking at me. My composure doesn’t falter when I look at him in the eyes. I’m fighting a battle here, because he is gorgeous. “I’m like that great pair of shoes that doesn’t come in your size.”
That actually made me laugh out loud and he looks at me strangely. Is he actually using fashion jargon with me? I look at him ready to give him another piece of my mind, in fashion talk nonetheless but my smile fades quickly. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, at all. It’s the same look he gave me when he told me he hated me and put his tongue down my throat.
“Why don’t you laugh like that more often?” He asks and it wasn’t what I expected at all. I’m a little taken aback.
“What?”
“I heard you on the phone,” he says and puts both of his hands in his pants pockets. He looks as nervous as I feel and I’m pissed.
“Yes, we established that you’re not only a multi-million dollar business but also a snoop.”
“It goes without saying that what I said about you being a fraud still applies., he says and it pisses me of when people question my ability to do something. Anything.
“You don’t know anything, Mr. Timberlake. Not about me and not about my job.”
“I do know that I just heard you being a completely different person on the phone. You’re fake! If you acted just one second like the way I just heard you be, you’d have a lot more respect from people.”
“I have a lot of respect from people, Mr. Timberlake. Don’t get confused,” I say matter of fact.
“That’s not respect you get from people, Vanessa. It’s fear, which is something all together different. Open those hazel eyes of yours, smell the fucking coffee. You’re not making any friends here.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Timberlake. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to do my job. Period.” I say sternly. “Look in the mirror Mr. Timberlake. Take a close look at yourself and then come tell me that I should do things differently. I don’t need any friends, I have the ones I’ve chosen already. And I especially don’t want to be friends with you, Mr. Timberlake. This is business and to me, business is business. If you have a problem I suggest you jump off a bridge.”
“So tell me, Vanessa…”
“Do me a favor, Mr. Timberlake. Since we aren’t or will never be in good terms according to you. Refrain from using my first name. That’s strictly reserved for my friends.”
“So tell me, Ms. Martinez,” he says sarcastically as he takes a seat on the coffee table directly across from me. “Is having your tongue down my throat part of your business?”
“I would appreciate if you would move away from me, right now,” I say moving as far into the couch’s backrest as I could. “I thought I made that perfectly clear.”
“Why would I believe when you say you’ll kill me if I put my hands of you again, Ms. Martinez? You’re a fucking fraud. A liar,” he says as he places his hands on either side of my couch’s armrests.
“Speaking of lies, Mr. Timberlake. Isn’t your girlfriend here?” I ask as he leans closer to me. I can smell his cologne and for a brief second I close my eyes. When I open them, he’s right there. “I’m not a liar.”
“Well then kill me, Vanessa,” he says as he closes the gap between us and places his lips on mine. I can’t move. It’s happening again, I’m the fucking scum of the earth. I want to push him away but my hands are paralyzed and I can’t find them, let alone use them to push his soft lips away. Jesus! They are the softest lips that have ever touched mine. “After you,” he whispers against my lips. I guess he’s waiting on me to initiate the kiss. I’m not doing it. I refuse.
In my mind I’m telling myself that but my body is doing another because my previously paralyzed hand comes up to the side of his face and I kiss him. What the fuck am I doing, yet again? Am I crazy? When I’m seconds away from being lost in his lips, he pulls away. He stands and walks to the door without another word.
“Wha…”
“My girlfriend is waiting,” he says and walks out. MOTHER FUCKER!! Your girlfriend’s waiting? Hell no! He will not initiate my career suicide and decide to think about his stupid girlfriend! Son of a bitch!
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Later
The show’s about to start and everyone runs around backstage. I’m sitting in a room where two interviews just took place but I can see the chaos that is the backstage area. I have a headache and I honestly wouldn’t turn down a drink right now.
Mr. Timberlake did well in the interviews, even after one of the interviewers continued to sneak in questions about Ms. Diaz. He dodged the questions well and the person was momentarily distracted until it was too late to ask again. The interview lasted all of fifteen minutes and I could count how many times Mr. Timberlake acknowledged that I was in the room. None.
He sat there charming as can be, answering questions and joking around. But not once did he acknowledge that I was there. Not a glance. Not a word.
Not that I minded or anything. I much rather have a conversation with a potato than to talk to him, to tell you the truth. Every conversation I’ve had with this man has turned sour. I can do sour, very well. What I can’t do is these past two conversations we’ve had. Not the words but the actions that have taken place. I pride myself in keeping control but Mr. Timberlake seems to flip my world upside down. How could I allowed that to happen? No one remotely shakes my world, let alone, flip it. And it scares the hell out of me. It makes me act in ways that aren’t professional and morally correct. I can barely stand to be in the same room with him. So why is it that it angers me that he walked out on me earlier? Why is it that I didn’t stand up for myself and rip him a new asshole like I always did?
One thing’s for sure, I have a highly distaste for this man. I can do without him in my work load and in life. I can do without the Justin Timberlakes’ of the world, period, running around kissing executive business women. Especially those who don’t ask for it. I’ve barely showed him interest on his career, let alone thought about him in a sexual manner. Well, except that one day at the radio station, but I was legally exhausted. There’s a problem bigger than my distaste for him, though. And that’s the fact that I enjoyed every single second of his touch. I’m in trouble. Why is this happening? It angers me to have to admit it but I know why. I know why I can’t push him away and my resolve turns to shit. It’s because he is The Justin Timberlake of this world. The one and only. The fact that his lips on mine send me into oblivion, well that’s only half the battle.
“Will you be watching the show?” I hear coming from the door. I didn’t realize anyone had entered the room because of my own sickening thoughts. I’m already seeing the side effects of this idiotic mistake I’ve made. I’m spacing out at work. I’ve gone bananas.
“No, I’m actually on my way out to the hotel,” I say picking up my things from the desk in which the interviews had taken place a few minutes prior. “I hear opening night is always fun for your boyfriend. Enjoy it!”
“I’m actually on my way to the airport. I have an early shoot in the morning and I have to fly out tonight,” she says, which makes me turn to look at her. She’s leaving? On the opening night of his comeback? What kind of a fucking girlfriend is that? How supportive. I knew she was a lousy girlfriend. I knew it!
“I’m sure Mr. Timberlake already has enough support tonight, anyway,” I say with a shrug and she smirks at me. No she didn’t. “Overwhelming him with support from those he loves, might be drastic,” I say sarcastically.
“Listen,” she starts to say as I go past her toward the door. My head is jumbled with so much Justin Timberlake crap that not even the presence of Cameron Diaz can make it worse. Okay, never mind. I’m pissed. “I want to apologize for the way I acted in your office the other day.”
Is she apologizing? Why? I could give a damn if she’s sorry but I give her a fake smile and reply. “Sure,” I say, maintaining the fake smile. I hope she doesn’t think I’m going to apologize to her. I could slap the bitch for even entering my office. She’s lucky I was being nice that day. You don’t just walk into a black woman’s office, uninvited, let alone a Puertoriquen one. I have the blessing of being both, so I know.
“Well, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” she says and I laugh. Is she serious right now? Bitch? She must get her comeback lines from Mr. Timberlake while they snuggle after sex. Eww.
“Oh, trust me,” I say with a smile that I actually mean. “You have no idea how much of a bitch I can be. Have a crashing flight, Ms. Diaz,” I say before walking out of the room. Bitch.
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Two A.M.
I can’t sleep.
I spent two hours trying to work on paperwork that needs to be done, but I couldn’t concentrate. I tried watching TV and that didn’t work. I ordered room service, but I don’t think that’s going to help. I’m trying to relax in this hot bath, I drew for myself, but I can’t. It’s pointless. Before I turn into a prune for no reason at all, I start to get out of the gigantic tub in my hotel suite.
I can hear someone knock on the door, as I dry off the excess bubble bath suds from my legs. I throw my robe on and walk out to the room, releasing my hair from the messy bun on top of my head. It’s kind of chilly in the room and I grunt when I realize I didn’t turn down the air conditioning before getting in the tub. Now not only am I frustrated, I’m freezing.
I wonder who could be at my door at two o’clock in the morning. Did something happen? I didn’t hear from Uncle Johnny tonight which means the show went well. But then I remember that I ordered ice cream, that I don’t plan on eating.
There’s another knock and I take my time walking to the door. I’m paying high dollar, my own, to stay here, the least they could do is wait. This person is in for a rude awakening tonight. Don’t mess with me. When I open the door, I’m shock to find that it’s not only my ice cream.
It’s Mr. Timberlake and my ice cream.
He’s standing outside the door, his left hand in his jeans’ pocket and my vanilla ice cream on the right. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I can’t say anything although in my head I can think of a million things. He’s not showing any expression on his face at all. Not that stupid smirk he’s known for. Not a smile. Nothing.
“Late night craving?” he asks, holding up the cup. I don’t take the cup he’s extending to me but I do adjust the belt of my short robe. It’s not going to help my state of undress, I have nothing underneath it and I can tell Mr. Timberlake is aware of that.
“Last I checked you were a music artist not a hotel employee,” I say crossing my arms. The hallway is completely silent and it worries me. Mr. Timberlake and I are alone. “What are you doing with my room service?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks pushing the door opened wider and walking into the room. I back away from him and jump a little when he slams the door behind him. Unfortunately for me, the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress and I land on the bed in a sitting position. He drops the cup of ice cream on the beige carpeting and it splatters on my leg as it lands.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask looking up at him. He’s entirely too close to me and I can see his chest heaving uncontrollably. He needs to get the hell out of here.
“I’m providing the room service tonight, Ms. Martinez,” he says looking down at my ice cream covered foot.
“Get out of my room,” I say trying to cover my thighs with the tiny robe. “You wouldn’t want me to call security, Mr. Timberlake.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” he says with a shrug, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s looking down at me like he wants to attack me, it’s scaring me. I’ve never been in this situation and it’s scaring me for all the wrong reasons. I’m terrified. “It would only make your job hell.”
“Get out of my room,” I say again as I go to stand from the bed. It doesn’t work out quite the way I was planning because he pushes my shoulders with both his hands and I’m now laying on my back and he’s hovering over me. I can’t breathe. I can’t say anything.
“You talk too fucking much,” he says to me as his mouth comes down on mine. He lets his body drop down to mine and I can feel him completely. My robe is still conserving my modesty, I notice, because I can feel the satin material rubbing on my breasts. We’re both gasping for air but he continues to kiss the hell out of me. I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him.
Then he stops kissing me. He looks down into my eyes and starts moving down my barely covered chest. “Vanilla is my favorite ice cream, Ms. Martinez.,” he says as he trails his hands down my body. He’s standing over the bed again and gently grabs my left leg and raises it. “I’m sure you know that, though. Being that you know everything about me, right?”
I know my robe isn’t serving any purpose now because the small amount of material that covered me, is now resting wide open. I close my eyes and I don’t know if it’s of embarrassment or excitement. Does he expect me to answer his question? I can barely concentrate on breathing, what makes him think I can answer questions?
He doesn’t wait for my response, instead he goes to his knees in front of the bed and I feel his mouth on the top of my foot. His tongue cleans the vanilla ice cream off my foot with one lick. I can’t control the sound that comes from deep in my throat. I can’t handle this. I can’t do this with him. I hate him. I’ve decided this is not right and when I sit up to tell him to get the fuck out, he grabs my hips underneath the little material of the robe and drags me down toward him. My thighs are on either side of his face when I look down from the shock of it.
“Lay the fuck down, Vanessa!” he says sternly as he takes his right hand from under my robe and pushes me down. My body bounces on the bed and I don’t have time to kick his ass for pushing me like that because he says, “shut the fuck up,” and sucks me so hard, I scream. Jesus Christ! Where the hell did he learn to do this?
My breath catches when he nibbles on the ring I have. I can here him chuckle and if I wasn’t in a complete state of ecstasy I would ask him what was funny. He doesn’t stop his tongue and he squeezes my thighs, bringing me closer to him. I can’t contain the sounds of pleasure that come out of me. My eyes are closed and all I can feel is his very experienced tongue on me. He starts at the bottom, licking away all that is me. He licks his way up slowly, paying close attention to the place where he’s just inserted his finger. I’m losing my mind. My hands are on either side of my hips and are griping the thick comforter of the bed. He licks the crevice where his finger meets the most intimate part of my body and I have to keep from falling off the bed.
He doesn’t remove his finger from where it’s in but continues his small licks up to the ring piercing my center. I can’t take it. He knows what’s happening because he inserts a second finger and begins a rhythmic motion with them. His mouth is completely over my most sensitive area and he’s sucking and licking on that ring like there’s absolutely no tomorrow.
It happens in a flash and I let out a scream of pleasure like I‘ve never done before. My vision blurs and the only thing I can see are stars. His mouth is still on me and he’s sucking on me as hard as he can. He takes me in, licking and sucking and squeezing my thighs until I start to come down. Just when I think I’m able to actually move, he starts the process all over again. This time I’m so close and he doesn‘t have to do much, I moan when he makes a sound himself. The satisfied moan he gives makes me see stars and it happens again.
As I come down from wherever Mr. Timberlake just took me, I panic. What the hell am I doing? What just happened? What the fuck did I do? What have I done? Holy Shit!
I sit up swiftly causing him to sit back on his legs in surprise. He stands up from the floor and looks down at me. I don’t even think, I stand up and push his chest hard. His back hits the door and he closes his eyes momentarily in what I’m guessing is more shock than pain.
“GET THE FUCK OUT!!”
“Is that any way to thank someone for their services, Ms. Martinez?” He asks as he leans against the door nonchalantly. “You’re being rude.”
“FUCK YOU!!” I say because I can’t even stand right now, let alone argue. I just want him gone. I want him out of my room. Out of my face. Out of my head!
“My tongue already did,” he says with a shrug. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“GET OUT!!” I say picking up the ice cream cup from the floor and throwing it at him. The cup is made of a makeshift porcelain plastic so it bounces off the wall and lands across the room when he dodges it.
“Be careful, Vanessa. This is a multi-million dollar business you’re throwing things at,” he looks angry and if I cared, I would ask him what was wrong. But I don’t. I don’t give a shit what he’s feeling right now. All I know is that I want him out. Now!
“GET OUT!!!”
“You know, you do someone a favor and this is how they repay you,” he actually shakes his head at me, like I’m an ungrateful little child. The bastard.
“I don’t need your fucking favors, Mr. Timberlake! GET THE FUCK OUT!!”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Ms. Martinez,” he says as he unlocks the door. Leave! Get out! “You needed my services more than you’re willing to admit.”
“Get out or I swear to God I will call security,” I say angrily adjusting my robe trying to preserve my modesty. I realize it’s not going to matter now, since he’s seen what there is to see. At least what’s below my waist.
“Sweet fucking dreams, Vanessa,” he says as he opens the door and walks out without another word.
FUCK!
I throw myself on the bed and I’m so angry, I can only do one thing. I cry.
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I’m woken by the ring of the telephone on the nightstand next to my king sized bed. When I answer, a recording of a robotic woman indicates that it’s time for my day to start. I lay on the bed, snuggling under the comforter for five minutes before my eyes jerk open. I sit up quickly on my bed and I look around the room. It was a dream. I was having a dream. I shake my head and laugh out loud.
I’m an idiot.
I have to be, to think that what Justin Timberlake did to me was real. I wouldn’t even have allowed anything like that to happen. No way!
After a few minutes of laughing about it, I decide it’s time to get up. The subject at hand has three interviews and a photo shoot for his album cover today. Lots of work.
When I pull the covers and step out of bed, I grunt when my foot steps on a cup. It rolls to the wall with the pressure my foot has put on it and I freeze. The ice cream cup I threw at him stares back at me.
Who the fuck was I kidding?
It wasn’t a dream at all and I really am in hell.
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
