Chapter Thirteen: Girl Interrupted
The Hamptons, New York
Midnight
I haven’t been here in six months and the minute my foot hits ground getting off the plane, I know why.
I feel like a weak person here.
I’ve never liked the feeling I get when the time comes that I have to come here. When I have to sit through dinners where I want nothing but to cry. When nothing I do is ever good enough.
I walk out of the terminal and instead of looking for my brother at the airport, whom I know will be late, I look for the closest bar. I need a drink because I know I’m in for a long weekend. I hate being here and know that it will take days to recuperate from it all. I wish this weekend would solely be about my niece but I know better. I know that the minute I step foot into the Martinez estate, I’ll become weak -- not a backbone in site.
I’m starting my second drink when my brother finally shows up. I don’t know how he manages to be the Regional Manager to fifteen stores and still be late to everything. He comes up behind me, where I sit on one of the bar stool and tugs my hair from behind. I know it’s him; he’s been doing that stupid shit since I can remember.
“You’re late, Loser,” I say and he gives me a big cheesy smile. I’ve missed seeing his annoying face and I smile at the idiot.
“Like you’re looking forward to being here anyway,” he says and manages to keep that smile on his face.
“Is it that obvious? I was trying to have a drink or two to relax my face,” I say pushing the glass of alcohol away. “Didn’t work?”
“You’re face is as ugly as ever, so trying to change that is nearly impossible,” he says and smirks at me when we walk out of the bar. “The happiness is in the eyes, alcohol can’t hide that. If anything it intensifies it. You should really consider plastic surgery, though, for the ugly face thing.”
“You’re so mature, Brian,” I say with a laugh that’s genuine. I love the stupid idiot. “Funny that you mention plastic surgery. Where’s Katrina?”
“Funny,” he says as we walk out of the airport toward his car.
“I thought so,” I say putting the shades that rested on my head over my eyes, although the sun isn’t in sight.
“Just try avoiding him, Nessa,” he states in a serious tone, when we get into one of my father’s Mercedes.
“Do you really believe that’s possible?” I ask and try to keep myself from crying.
“Don’t,” he says after a few minutes of silence. My brother and I don’t spend much time together, just having our regular weekly chats over the phone but he knows me. He knows when I’m so overwhelmed with emotions that I actually cry and he knows that Vanessa Martinez doesn’t cry. “It’ll be alright.”
“Yeah,” I say but I don’t believe myself.
When we pull up to the house, my brother’s wife comes to greet us. I know it’s forced because I can’t stand the woman and she knows it.
“How are you, Vanessa?” she asks with a fake smile.
“Wonderful,” I reply and return the smile but I don’t ask how she’s doing. I’m sure she’s fine. Who wouldn’t be, sitting at home spending their husbands money?
“It’s very disappointing that Aundrea didn’t come with you,” she says and I look at her with a smirk. She hates Barker more than anything, more than she hates me.
“Oh don’t be. She’s coming,” I say smiling as we make our way into the house. “She’ll be here bright and early. She wouldn’t miss Layla’s party, Katrina.”
“Of course,” she says and I don’t miss the roll of her eyes.
“Barker’s always down for a party,” my brother chuckles and his wife tells him to keep his voice down.
The house is quiet as I say good night to my brother and go straight toward my old bedroom. I’m glad I asked them not to wait up for me because it’s too soon. I’ve been working on some interviews and scheduling all day in California and I’m too tired to put on a brave face. I don’t want to be here with not even the knowledge of knowing Barker will be here in the morning. It comforts me.
I want to go straight to bed, so this weekend passes by quickly but I think a hot shower will cool my nerves a bit. It’s only a matter of seconds before the bathroom located in my room is steamed to perfection. I carry my phone and my bathrobe to the bathroom and within minutes I have the hot water spraying over my head. I do feel a bit better, now only if I could stay in here the whole weekend. I’m basically sleeping under the showerhead when my phone starts ringing. I ignore the ringing, thinking its Barker and I could call her back when I’m done.
The phone stops ringing only to ring again. Now I’m curious.
I reach out of the shower to a shelf I had installed outside my shower when I was a teenager. My cell phone is sitting there, face down, ready to fall off the shelf because of the vibration. Shaking as much water off my hands, I turn it to look at the screen. Barker’s face doesn’t appear on the screen and instead I’m looking at Ms. Bomar’s’ name. What the hell does she want at this time of night? I look at it for a few more rings and set it back on the shelf. I’m not answering her stupid questions tonight, or ever if I have it my way. If she can’t handle anything as simple as her job is, I don’t know what to tell her. I have enough to deal with; I don’t need nor want to fix Ms. I-can’t-do-shit’s problems.
I shrug under the water when I don’t hear the sound of my voicemail ring. Oh well.
I’m rising the shampoo out of my hair a few seconds later, when the phone’s shrieking sound pierces my sleepy senses. I don’t bother shaking the water out of my hand this time and I grab the phone and press on the answer button. I swear if the phone gets jacked up, she’s personally replacing it!
“What is it, Ms. Bomar?” I ask as I try to squeeze water and shampoo out of my hair with one hand. It’s nearly impossible and I’m pissed when a bit of shampoo gets in my eye.
Damnit.
“What took you so long to answer the phone?” I hear on the other end, but it’s not Ms. Bomar. The voice is a bit mumbled but I know who it is.
“What do you want?” I snap even though I don’t really mean to. I turn the shower off and step onto the bathroom rug. Suddenly, I feel exposed and I reach for my bathrobe quickly.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the night he left with Scarecrow at the hotel.
Purposely.
I don’t want to have to deal with this thing, that’s going on between us. I can’t even believe that I spoke of Mr. Timberlake and myself as ‘us’ in the first place. I know it’s nothing and probably lust on his part. I’ve seen the way he looks at me and the way he touches me; I’m not blind. I know that’s what it is. Lust. Plain and simple. I’m not stupid enough to get involved in something so stupid just because he is who he is. And kisses like he does. And goes down… Whatever, it’s nothing.
“Are you in the shower?” he asks and I can hear a bottle being set on a table loudly.
“What do you want?” I’m trying to put my robe on with one arm while managing to keep the phone in my ear. “Are you drunk, Mr. Timberlake?”
“Mr. Timberlake, Mr. Timberlake, Mr. Timberlake. Shut the fuck up!!” he says loudly and I have to take the phone away from my ear momentarily. Asshole.
“Fine,” I say and drop the connection before he said anything else.
I’m hoping I locked my door when I get into bed because I don’t want to get up to do it. And I hope that my brother acts like a grown man, and knocks before coming into my room. He’s such an ignorant child sometimes! The thought makes me smile and shake my head. Brian has always had the habit of coming into my room every morning and bounce like the ignorant child that he was, on my bed until I was up. Although annoying, it was always the highlight of my day when Barker didn’t sleep over. He wouldn’t do it then, and I still wonder if my brother had a crush on the beautiful twelve year old, Aundrea Barker, his sister’s best friend.
I let my wet hair hit my pillow and I don’t care that I will have a nice water stain in the morning. Right when I’m about to turn my bedside lamp off, my phone rings again. Quite loudly.
“Jesus,” I say and I reach for the phone on the night table. A number I’ve never seen is on the screen and I answer it thinking it may be important. “Vanessa Martinez speaking.”
“You didn’t answer like that before,” I hear and grunt. Asshole. “It’s kind of sexy.”
“What?” I ask myself more than him. Is he right out flirting with me? This has got to stop because I can feel my cheeks burn. Idiot.
“I said you sounded,” he starts to say.
“I know what you said, I’m not deaf, Mr. Timberlake,”
“Are you still in the shower?”
“What?”
“I guess not, I can’t hear the water running anymore,” he says and he must be lying down because his voice is faint, like he’s in bed. Oh, god! I hope he’s not trying… “What are you doing?”
“I’m hanging up, I’m not doing this,” I say and I’m about to press on the button when he speaks loudly again.
“WAIT!!”
“It’s almost two in the morning, Mr. Timberlake. Why are you calling me?”
“It’s only eleven, girl!” he says and he chuckles. I swear if I had panties on, I would have to change them. Fuck.
“I’m not in California, remember?”
“I know,” he says and I can tell he’s smiling. He must be drunk. “I meant it was eleven o’clock for me.”
“How enlightening,” I say sarcastically. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I just call a friend?”
“A friend? You must have the wrong number because you and I are NOT friends.”
“See, now that’s a real fucked up thing to say, Vanessa,” he says and he actually sounds hurt. “I though we were cool after that night at the bar.”
“There you go thinking again, Mr. Timberlake. Good night,” I say the words but again I don’t remove the phone from my ear.
“I don’t know why you’re playing hard, V,” he says and chuckles again, and I swear to God if I don’t hang up this phone, I’m going to regret it. “We both know you don’t want to hang up.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right,” he says in a whisper and I can’t help the butterflies that are not flying like crazy in the pit of my stomach. I can’t believe this shit.
“You’re wrong as always, Mr. Timberlake.”
“Which is why you’re still on the phone,” he says in a cocky way and even though he’s not in front of me I can see that fucking smirk of his that everyone finds sexy. Not excluding me.
“I’m hanging up now,” I say but I’m lying. I’m not so sleepy anymore. I’m actually kind of anxious.
“Don’t hang up the fucking phone, Vanessa!!” he says and I have to bite my lips from grunting. Does he have to sound so sexy when he says the word fuck?
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he says and I chuckle.
“Where’s your girlfriend, Mr. Timberlake? Is she gone already?”
“Are you going to give me what I want, Vanessa?”
“Would your girlfriend appreciate having her man trying to have phone sex, Mr. Timberlake?”
“So you do know what I want,” he says with a sexy laugh. I can picture it, unfortunately, to my mental health.
“Why else would someone be calling anyone in the middle of the night when they’re drunk?”
“I’m not so drunk,” he says and I roll my eyes. “So you’ve gotten these calls before?” he sounds pissed now, completely different tone of voice. I’m disregarding that fact, quickly.
“I’m really hanging up now, Mr. Timberlake,” and go to end the call.
“I want you,” I can hear him say and I freeze.
“Excuse me?” I ask snuggling closer to my pillow.
“You heard me,” he says cockily. “And you want me too, so why don’t you cut the shit and admit it. Everything will work out more smoothly if you did.”
“I don’t want you, Mr. Timberlake. If I wanted you, I would have you, trust me.” I say and my heart wants to beat out of my chest. The mere thought of ‘having’ him makes my mouth water.
“What makes you think you haven’t ‘had’ me already? I’ve seen the merchandise, Vanessa. Up close and personal, that’s gotta count for something. You wanted me.”
“You’re awfully full of yourself.”
“You’re awfully full of shit. At least I can tell you, to your face, well not to your face cause I’m here and you’re over there, but you know what I mean. I can say flat out that I want you. Can you say that?”
“No, because I don’t.” I really am full of shit.
“Lies. All lies.”
“Call it whatever you want to call it,” I say with a shrug and I’m glad he’s not here to see me doing that.
“Do you think about it?”
“What?”
“Do you think about me going down on you again? Sucking you and kissing you?” Oh my God! Help me!!
“No,” I say and cover the mouthpiece of the phone so that I can take a deep breath.
“That means yes,” he says with a chuckle again. “I think about it all the time.”
“What the fuck do you want, Mr. Timberlake? It’s late.”
“Put that Martinez bitch away, Vanessa. Where’s that hot chick from the bar? Bring her out to play with me.” I have to laugh at that and I cover my mouth so that he doesn’t hear me. Too late.
“There she is,” he says. “That’s who I want.”
“I’m only one person,” I say turning the other side and I find myself snuggling closer to the pillows on my bed.
“Can you work with me here? Can you stop being a bitch and just talk?”
“I’m not having phone sex with you, Mr. Timberlake,” I warn him.
“Why not?” he laughs and he doesn’t sound so drunk anymore.
“Because,” I say and I close my eyes in annoyance with myself. I don’t speak like this.
“Because is a word people say when they run out of excuses,” he says and I can hear him shifting on the bed. “But okay, just talk then.”
“You, just want to talk? I find that hard to believe.”
“So you do want to have phone sex with me,” he says and I’m quiet.
“Talk,” I say and he chuckles again. I’m glad he finds this amusing because I don’t. I think it’s uncharacteristically stupid of me. And he’s stupid. Period.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. You called me, remember?”
“How old is your niece?”
“One.”
“Is your brother younger or older?”
“Older.”
“Are you answering every question with a single word?”
“Yes.”
“You’re being a bitch again,” he says and sounds annoyed.
“Is that a question?” I laugh. He doesn’t find it funny.
“Do you miss me?”
“Do I miss you?” I ask and I don’t know how to answer that. Do I miss him?
“That was the question,” he’s sounding more and more irritated.
“Why would I miss you, Mr. Timberlake? Its not like we share a common bond.”
“What happened to the one word responses?”
“I can’t answer that question with a single word, Mr. Timberlake.”
“Why not? It’s either a yes or a no. It’s very simple,” he says. “I’ll go first if you want. Go ahead, ask.”
“Ask what?”
“Ask if I miss you.”
“Why would you miss me?”
“Why would I miss you? Because when you’re around I actually feel something. I’m not a constant machine at work. You piss me off. You turn me on. You piss me off again. You make me want to vomit at times in anger. And don’t forget, you piss me off.”
“If I piss you off, then why are you missing me?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Well that’s easy,” he says nonchalantly.
“How so?”
“You always want what you can’t have. You always miss the ones you want, when they’re gone.”
“Isn’t it the proper saying, always miss the ones you love?”
“Sure, but I don’t love you. Not in the least. At least not the person. I will admit to loving that ass of yours. And the…”
“Shut up.”
“And I love the way you taste,” he actually groans and I’m positive my sheets are now stained.
“Listen,” I start to say but he cuts my words off.
“No!! You listen!!” he says. “You know you want me to put my mouth on you again. You want my tongue to suck on your tongue, like I did before. You want me to lick and suck on your neck slowly and you’ll moan like you did in your suite that night.”
“Stop it,” I say swallowing hard. Oh God!
“I’m going to tease and suck on your tits until you’re writhing underneath me. You’d like that, Vanessa. Wouldn’t you? You’ll have me so hard when I kiss down your stomach and caress your inner thighs. Do you want me to stop, V?”
“I can‘t do…” I say and I want to commit suicide. Not only can I imagine what he’s saying to me, I can feel it.
“Touch yourself for me,” he whispers. “Rub on your nipples, Vanessa.”
“I shouldn’t do…”
“Shhh.,” he says making the sound. “Just listen. Are you touching yourself?”
“I can’t do…”
“Put me on speaker phone,” he says and like an idiot, I do. I place the phone on the pillow I’m laying on and close my eyes. When he speaks, I can hear him close to me, like he’s next to me. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Use both hands on your body, Vanessa. Pretend like they are my hands on you. Touching you. Caressing you. Now, imagine my lips on your thigh. Feel me. I’m trailing small kisses around your perfect and wet pussy. Are you wet for me, Vanessa? Touch yourself there. Do you feel me? I can feel you. You’re so fucking wet and all I want to do is suck you. Can I suck you? Will you cum for me? On my tongue? I can taste you. Mmm…” I’m completely gone. There’s no turning back now.
“Do you feel my tongue licking you? Tell me, Vanessa. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Don’t stop,” I’m out of breath and I can’t help it.
“I want to fuck you, Vanessa. Can I? Can I put my hard dick inside of you?”
“Oh…yes,” I’ve completely lost my mind.
“Can you feel it? I’m rubbing my head on your clit, do you feel me? You feel so good and hot. It’s going to feel so good. It already does,” I can hear that he’s talking on speakerphone as well for the first time. I can hear some rhythmic movement and I know he’s masturbating as he talks. I moan. “Yes, moan for me, Vanessa. Let me hear you.
“I’m sliding in,” he moans and my inside walls convulse with spasms. “You’re so wet. And tight. God, I don’t know how much longer I can contain myself,” he moans again.
Oh my God!!
“Oh God,” he says and I’m so close to exploding, it’s insane. “Do you feel this dick sliding in slowly? Can you feel me sliding out excruciatingly slow? You feel so fucking good. Oh God…”
I lose it when I hear him grunt and I know he’s climaxed and the big dilemma is that I’m there too. I thought that when he put his mouth on me that night, that it had been the biggest and most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had. That night doesn’t come close to how I feel right now. I’m seeing stars.
We’re both quiet for what seems like ages. Catching our breaths and letting reality sink in.
“Vanessa,” I can hear him say. I go to respond but I don’t know what to say. “Vanessa?”
He says my name two more times and I don’t say anything, I just press the power button on my phone.
I don’t know what to say.
----------------------------------------
Next morning.
Ten AM
I must have been more tired than I thought because I never sleep this late. I’m in my bathroom getting ready with my back turned to the door. My face lights up when I feel tiny hands wrap around my leg. I turn and see that my niece is now looking up at me with a big smile on her face.
“Hi, Princess,” I say lifting her into my arms. She’s grown since I last saw her about a month ago, and it saddens me that I hadn’t seen her since. I’m bathing her in hugs and kisses when my brother came in.
“I knew she would be up here,” he says standing by the door.
“She goes up the stairs now?” I ask and he shakes his head.
“Yeah, she’s like her aunt. Always trying to find out what’s at the top,” he chuckles.
“That’s right,” I say and laugh when Layla hugs my neck. “Did Barker get here yet?”
“She’s downstairs with mom,” he says and grabs Layla out of my hands. “Come on trouble maker, let Titi finish putting her face on.”
“Shut up,” I say and push his shoulder. Layla finds it hysterical. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Dad’s staying for breakfast,” he states and looks at me.
“Okay, I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Say bye to Titi,” he says and I giggle when Layla waives too me. She’s too cute.
“Let me get her,” I hear Barker say from behind my brother. I’m finishing my make-up but I can see Barker come around my brother and reach for Layla.
“Don’t be teaching my daughter all that crazy shit you two are into,” he warns pointing at her and then at me.
“Oh because cursing in front of her is a great lesson to learn?” Barker asks and places her free hand on her hip defiantly.
“Shut up,” Brian says and I have to shake my head at the two.
“You shut up,” Barker says like a child.
“You shut up,” he says and he’s trying to keep a serious expression but I can see the smile coming. He’s such a moron.
“Both of you shut up,” I say as I go past them into my bedroom.
“Nice to see you too, V,” Barker says following me out of the bathroom.
“I’ll be downstairs,” Brian says walking toward the door.
“Who cares,” Barker says sticking her tongue out at him. He chuckles and walks out.
“What time did you get here?” I ask as I put a pair of shoes on.
“At five thirty or so,” she says playing with my niece on my bed. “Had to take the red eye flight.”
“How was Texas?”
“Same old stuff,” she says with a shrug. “You doing okay?”
“So far,” I say because I know what she’s talking about. “I got here late last night, so I haven’t seen anyone.”
“Mom is downstairs making breakfast.”
“Making breakfast?” I ask looking at my hair one last time.
“Well, supervising the breakfast making I should say,” she says grabbing the baby from the bed. “your sister-in-law is down there too, trying to kiss mom’s ass as much as
possible.”
“She would be,” I say as we leave my room. “And she’s your sister-in-law too, Barker. Don’t try to put that off on me.”
“Whatever,” she says as we make our way downstairs and toward the back of the house, where the kitchen is.
Barker goes to the family room with Layla while I put on my best attitude and enter the kitchen.
Here’s the moment I’ve dreaded for six months. The dysfunctional family breakfast. I haven’t seen my father yet, so I know a conversation about how I’ve fucked up is inevitable. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to please him, I always end up short. Always have, since I was a child. Always. I think I could land the record business’ largest contract and he would still find the tiniest loophole that I missed. And he’ll call me lazy.
I wish I could skip this whole weekend, to be honest. But I can’t. I wouldn’t do that to my brother and niece, they mean too much to me. But family breakfasts are never any fun, not even when my brother and niece are around. My fondest childhood memories include the time when I met my best friend and when my bother and I ate breakfast alone.
The Martinez’ special breakfasts are mandatory, that is, unless you’re on your deathbed. But even then you need a doctor’s excuse explaining why you weren’t able to be in the presence of Raul Martinez. The head of the Latin division of RCA, runs the family like he runs his business: a tightly oiled machine with no room for squeaky wheels.
And no matter how hard I try or work, I’m always the squeaky fucking wheel.
Raul Martinez expects us to dress properly for all means, especially breakfast. Sweatpants and a t-shirt are not acceptable. I make sure to look in the mirror outside the kitchen before entering. I’m dressed accordingly with my gray slacks and lavender blouse. I’m glad that breakfast is still being prepared and that everyone slept in this morning. Once can never be late in the Martinez’ home. God forbid.
When I open the swinging doors to the kitchen, I can see my mother is looking over the stove and she has a cell phone in her hand. As always. The woman lives with that thing attached to her ear. She tells our cook, that she needs a plate of wheat toast and continues her phone conversation.
“Of course not, Sarah,” she says and I roll my eyes. My mother is the whitest black woman I’ve ever come contact with. “We will meet at the club tomorrow. Yes, Darling, I will be there.”
The cook turns when she realizes I’m standing by the door and she does this little bowing thing she’s done for years. I may be high up on my horse sometimes but I still find it unnecessary to bow in the Martinez Residence. My mother’s demands on staff are completely bogus and obnoxious, just like her.
“I will call you later tonight, Darling,” she says and turns to say something to the cook again, but she sees me. “Helloooooo, Darling.”
“How are you mother?” I ask when she’s done hugging me. She looks up at me from her five foot four stance and smiles.
“Same old stuff, honey,” she says making sure her hair is in place after the hug. “Have you seen your dad? He’s been wanting to see his daughter.”
“I’m sure,” I mumble when she tells the cook that she wants waffles made for Layla, as well. How much can a one year old eat?
“I hear you have a new job, Darling,” I’ve hated that word since I could remember. It’s her way of showing affection, and it’s my way to throw up in my mouth.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good for you,” she says and pats me on the back like a fucking child. I want to go home.
“What time is breakfast, Mother?”
“In five minutes,” she says looking at her watch. “You should get everyone in the dining room. You’re father should be down here in a few minutes.”
My taste buds are watering suddenly and I realize that I’m starving when a tray of eggs is taken to the dining room by one of the cook’s assistants. Although I constantly watch what I eat, nobody on the planet cooks better than our housekeeper slash cook.
It’s not until everyone is sitting at the table that my father finally shows up. He smiles at me and I kiss his cheek before taking my seat across the table from Brian.
“Nice of you to come see your family, Vanessa.” he says and sits down. He’s still smiling as he kisses Layla’s head and pats Brian’s back. “You’re supposed to look after your sister, son.”
“I do,” Brian says and shrugs. I cringe because he’ll probably pay for being rude, later.
“She hasn’t been home in six months, son. That’s hardly looking out for your sister.”
“She’s a grown woman, dad. Get over it,” Brian says cockily and smiles at my mother when she gives him a death glare.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I say and he waves my response away. I can’t win, with him, I swear.
“So, Vanessa,” he begins, placing his snowy white napkin on his lap and reaching for the platter of waffles. “Johnny tells me you’re settling in nicely at WEG,” that was all he said, which was my cue to expand his statement. But I honestly don’t know what to say. Struggling for an answer, I finally come up with something.
“It seems to be working out,” I respond. “I’ve been doing most of my work with Justin Timberlake; which you know, I’m sure.” My brother’s wife, Katrina, perks up. What the hell for?
“I love him,” she says excitedly. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at this moron. She’s lucky we’re at my parent’s house and having breakfast, she really is. Barker kicks me under the table and contains her laugh. I’m about to eat here, I mean, I get enough gushing about him from the peons around him. Speaking of…“Is he as nice as he seems on TV?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I toy with my plate of eggs and grab two slices of bacon from the dish Brian hands me. I’m not even hungry anymore. “No,” I answer. “In fact, he might be the biggest pest I’ve ever encountered,” I’m not lying, he really is a pest. He will be, I’m sure, when the time comes that I’ll have to look him in the eye after last night.
My brother chuckles. “Sounds like there’s trouble in paradise,” he so succinctly says. Understatement of the fucking year. Of course, I wouldn’t dare say something like that at the table.
“Paradise is not what I’d call working with Mr. Timberlake. More like a nightmare, actually.” Why oh why did I say that? My dad picks up on my tiny complaint and immediately starts in. Great, Brian!!
He pops a forkful of waffles in his mouth. “Look,” he says, pointing his now-empty fork at me. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed on with Johnny. Don’t be embarrassing me, you hear? Do your job the way you said you would and when it comes to artists, grin and bare it. Lord knows I have to do that every day.”
I sighed. Why did everything have to be about him? I could be talking about my menstrual cramps and somehow my dad would find a way to make him the important part of the story. This is my life. “Daddy, I’m not complaining “ I’m just telling the truth,” I say, spearing the piece of bacon on my plate and biting harshly on it. “I believe I’m in this for the long haul but you can understand when to call a spade, a spade.”
He snorts. “That’s what you said about working with Naomi Campbell and look what happened there. You wasted your time for four years,” he points out ever so helpfully.
I bristle. “She was abusive and crazy.”
My mom steps in. “Vanessa, darling, don’t antagonize your dad. He’s only trying to help you.”
I roll my eyes and catch my brother doing the same thing. He knows exactly what I’m going through. I’ve always received the brunt of my father’s displeasures but Brian was always there. Always comforting me.
Instead of responding, I stab at my bacon forcefully. No matter what I did, or whom I was working for, it never measured up to my father’s standards. Barker has repeatedly said to ignore him and concentrate on my career. She’s always told me that I couldn’t live my life based on gaining his approval, but that’s hard to do when all your life you’ve been waiting for a pat on the back. Just one. One time. Something to let me know he saw how hard I work. I’m glad I haven’t held my breath on that one.
I might as well ask him for a million dollars “ in fact, I’d have a better chance of getting the money from him than a compliment. It’s funny; my brother doesn’t get the same scrutiny that I do. Brian works a nine to five, making half my salary and I’m the underachiever. Go figure.
My father knows firsthand the stress that I go through dealing with artists and my staff. He knows, yet he doesn’t find one ounce of sympathy for me. Babysitting fifteen to twenty so-called stars isn’t easy; everyone wants a piece of your time and you’re constantly stretched thin. You’d think he would appreciate what I do. But he doesn’t.
Dealing with Mr. Timberlake and the things he has made me do is hard enough as it is.
And those things aren’t part of my job, it’s personal. But I can’t have anything be personal. This is my career; a shitty one according to my father but it’s mine. As shitty as it may be, I take care of what’s mine to the best of my abilities. I try.
He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of our meal and the subject is changed to the party this afternoon. I don’t say much, concentrating instead on how miserable I feel. Maybe I should look into another field of work. Maybe then my father will be proud. Maybe.
My mother, brother and Katrina rush off to the country club where the party will be held, as soon as breakfast was cleared, and the baby is down for a nap. My father says he has work to do at the office and that he would see us at the party, I feel relieved.
“That wasn’t so hard,” Barker says as she throws herself on the bed in her bedroom. It’s across the hall from mine and she will probably have her own room at my parent’s until she dies. She is part of this family as much as I am. I sit in front of her computer to check my emails and she grunts. “No work, V.”
“I have to check my emails, Barker,” I say as I enter my WEG password on the necessary fields. “Lay off a bit.”
“Sure you do,” she says throwing a pillow in my direction. “Let’s go get in the hot tub.”
“No thanks,” I say as I trash countless spam emails.
“You’re not going to be like this all weekend, are you?”
“Like what?”
“Like you always are when we’re home.”
“I’m fine,” I say closing the window where almost two hundred emails stared back at me. I don’t want to work. “Dad was fairly harmless today.”
“He did seem to be in a good mood,” she shrugs. “When I came in this morning he said that the last photo shoot I had was horrible and that I should retake them.”
“Which ones?”
“The Calvin Kline ones.”
“They were kind of horrible, B.”
“Yeah, I told him I thought the same thing,” she laughs. “Dad’s such a maniac, I swear. He‘s funny.”
“So, you keep saying,” I say and lay next to her on the bed.
“What’s up?” She asks turning on her side to look at me.
“Will I ever get his respect, Barker? Will I ever walk into this house and feel happy? I can’t stand this feeling,” I can’t help getting choked up when speaking of him and I hate myself for it. Big girls don’t cry! Nothing I do is ever good enough, B. Nothing. Brian can marry the first crazy bitch he meets and he’s congratulated all the way to the isle. You’re not even his real daughter and you get more admiration that I do. Why? What did I do, Barker? Why does he hate me so much? It was a common mistake. Am I not allowed to make a mistake in my life?”
“Stop beating yourself up for living your life, V. Dad loves you, I know he does. But I can’t explain something that I don’t know. I don’t know why he says the things he does. Why he nit picks at you or why Brian and I got away with more things. I don’t know and I’m sorry,” she says and gives me a comforting smile. This is becoming routine for us.
“What happened with Jared was your lesson to learn, Vanessa. You’ve been beating yourself up over this way too long, Babe. You’ve let dad transform you into a mini him.”
“That’s not true,” I say wiping the lone tear that has escaped my eye. “I’m nothing like him.”
“You’re kidding, right? You must be,” she says laying her head on her folder arms and looking at me. “Vanessa. Listen. You walk around with a dick up your ass. You talk down to people at work, and wait, before you say anything. I know you don’t mean to but you do. You’re always working and take yourself too seriously. That is not the Vanessa I know and love. The woman that has walked around day in and day out for the past five years is the exact replica of dad. You are him. Which is why I think maybe, that’s the problem. You think too much alike. You’re your father’s daughter.”
“Thanks for the speech, but that’s not true,” I say sitting up Indian style on her bed and grabbing a pillow.
“Have you taken a close look at how you treat people sometimes, V? Like seriously,” she sits up and we are facing each other on the bed like we’ve always done since we were kids. “You’re not very nice.”
“Oh thanks, Aundrea,” I say and look toward the other side of her room when tears make their way down my cheeks. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“Would you rather I lie and say that Dad is the only reason you’re miserable. You know I won’t do that. You know I’m always going to be honest with you. And the truth of the matter is that you’ve cooped yourself up in a world where dad rules everything you do. You let him get to you so much, you’ve become his twin. You’re not truly that person that walks around being uptight all the time; I know that for a fact. I know you like the back of my hand, Vanessa.”
“It’s my job,” is all I say.
“And you’re very good at your job, Vanessa. But that’s all it is, a JOB, not your LIFE. You’ve been mixing your personal life with your career since the whole Jared situation. You can’t continue to do this to yourself. You’re living your life trying to make dad happy. What about you? Who’s going to make you happy? I mean besides me, of course,” she smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back.
“You’re stupid,” I say and she shrugs.
“Maybe, but you love me,” she toys with the remote for her TV and looks at me.
“Seriously. Forget about what dad says, Lord knows I do. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this. So what that he was right about Jared. So what that Naomi was a bitch. So what? Who cares? You’re the highest paid employee of one of the largest entertainment companies. Enjoy that, Vanessa. Don’t let Dad take your experiences away from you. He tried when Jared came in the picture but you stood your ground. Why can’t you be like that again?”
“But he was right about Jared, Barker.”
“So what? It was YOUR lesson to learn. Have you been listening to me? It’s your life. That’s the moral of this conversation, Vanessa! Forget everybody else, even me, and just enjoy your career and your life. Don’t let it govern everything about you. You’re strong and you can run your career however you want to. But you have to stop being a bitch when it comes to living your life. I know you can do it, I know you can.”
“Have you been reading self help books on these long flights you’ve been taking this week?” I ask and she throws the remote at me. “Stop calling me a bitch, Bitch!”
“You’re my bitch, though,” she says with a laugh. “Speaking of bitches, Justin could be yours if you’d stop and smell the roses, once in a while.”
“What?” I ask looking at her like a deer caught in headlights. “Do not bring him into this conversation.”
“Why not? I don’t know what the big deal is, V. He’s gorgeous and he’s obviously interested. Why not? Have fun.”
“I will not have fun with him, Barker,” I say and I find that I’m blushing. Jesus Christ, I can’t even mention him without remember about last night.
“Why? Because he has a girlfriend? I’m all for being faithful to your girlfriend or boyfriend, I really am. But he doesn’t even seem like he likes her, let alone love her. She’s kind of a hag.”
“You’re only saying that because I hate her, Barker.”
“Alright, you’re right. But I honestly think that relationship has seen it’s last days. I was talking to Trace on Wednesday and he seems to think that it’s over.”
“What?” I ask in shock because I really am. They’re breaking up? Why? “Why?”
“I don’t know, Trace didn’t know either. He said Justin’s been kind of to himself and not talking much.”
“Isn’t she on tour?”
“Cameron left yesterday, I think. At least that’s what Trace said.”
“We had sex,” I say and I throw my head back against the headboard and cover my face with the pillow.
“Who had sex?” she asks curiously.
“Me and him,” I mumbled underneath the pillow.
“Huh?”
“Justin and I,” I say again.
“What?” she asks again and I’m annoyed. I sit up and look at her and squeezing the pillow.
“We had phone sex last night,” there. I said it.
“WHAT?!! Are you kidding me? You?”
“Oh, what is that supposed to mean?” I saw sitting up and looking at her with a raised brow.
“No, I mean. You? Panties in a wad Martinez, had phone sex?”
“The sarcasm doesn’t help here, Barker.” I say lying back down to look at the ceiling.
“Who said I was being sarcastic? Calling a spade, a spade, is what you told dad earlier?”
“Shut up.”
“You had phone sex with Justin Timberlake? Why?”
“Why? I don’t know, it just happened. He called…”
“No, I mean why phone sex? Why not the real thing? You already have something going on, I don’t care what you say and how much you deny it. I know you, and Trace knows him. I mean he already gave you oral treatment, girl. Phone sex blows, no pun intended, of course.”
“Shut up, Barker.”
“Why? You know I’m right. Just jump the man if he wants it that bad. And besides, I think he’d be good for you.”
“What?”
“In every sexual meaning of the word, of course. You haven’t had sex in I don’t know how long, V. You have to admit that having Justin Timberlake be willing to stop the drought is pretty hot.”
“Since when are you on Team Timberlake? Can’t you see that this is all wrong? My career is wrong. My father’s love is noninsistent. My mother is a sell out to all black women in America. My brother is married to a bag of tricks. I had phone sex with a client. And now my best friend is losing her fucking mind. Everything is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”
“Cry me a river,” she says as she makes crying gestures.
“And now you’re quoting him,” I say getting up from the bed. “This weekend is the fucking pits, I swear.”
“Will you shut up,” she says standing from the bed and walking toward her closet. “This weekend is what you’ll make it. Stop crying about the great life that you have. Because you forget to notice how good you have it.”
“Oh, yeah, because my life is a bucket full of roses, Barker.”
“Look at it this way,” she says with her hands on her hips. “You could be Cameron Diaz.”
“For Pete’s sake, shut the hell up. Eww,” I cringe and she laughs.
“Enough serious bullshit,” she says looking through her closet. “What are you wearing? And did you bring that white floral dress of yours? I want to wear it today.”
“I didn’t bring any of my stuff. I figured I’d grab something out of the closet here,” I say as I play with my hair in front of the mirror. Bad hair day. “Besides you have that same exact dress, why didn’t you bring it? I hate my hair.”
“Your hair is fine. Mine doesn’t fit anymore,” she says as she throws random pieces of clothing out of her closet and onto her bed.
“Are you calling me fat, Wench?”
“We both know you have a lot more junk in that trunk of yours, so shut up.”
“Whatever,” I say throwing myself, face down on the bed.
“Do you want to raid the liquor cabinet?” she asks standing over the bed.
“It’s noon, Barker,” I say turning to look up at her.
“I realize that but you need to have a shot of something strong to loosen up. You’re not letting me have all the fun with the snobby white ladies at the party. Something must be done.”
“I’m not drinking, B.”
“Would you like me to get a hold of Justin? Because you seem to be really loose when it comes to him.”
“Oh my God,” I say throwing a pillow at her. She laughs and it’s contagious enough for me to catch the giggles, as well. “You didn’t just go there.”
“I’m taking a shower,” she says throwing the pillow back at my head. “Find something for me to wear in there,” she says as she grabs her robe and goes cross the hall to my room. Why can’t she use her own bathroom?
“Why can’t you use your BATHROOM?” I yell out at her and she keeps walking.
“The pressure is better in yours,” I hear her say and she has the nerve to slam my bedroom door behind her. Crazy wench.
---------------------
Four Hours Later
We’ve been at the party for about an hour now and I’m on my forced third drink. Why is there alcohol at a one-year-olds party? It’s a kid’s birthday party, yet the entire ballroom is filled with ninety percent adults. I haven’t seen much of my niece since we’ve gotten here because she’s been taking a nap. I don’t blame the kid; I’d be taking a nap too. This party blows.
“There she goes,” Barker says from where she’s sitting next to me with Mrs. Johnson’s kid on her lap. “Fifth one. You owe me.”
“Put it on the tab,” I say with a chuckle. We’ve been watching Mr. Patterson for the past hour, counting how many shots of tequila he takes. While that may seem like nothing, Mr. Patterson just got out of rehab a month ago, Brian informed us. It’s sad to watch someone’s life spiral down but sometimes Barker and I find it amusing. Especially when we’ve been drinking ourselves.
“Go with your mommy, baby,” she says to the little girl who’s been attached to Barker since we got here. She watches her walk away toward her mother and Mrs. Johnson waives in our direction. “I don’t know what’s worse. Putting my size nine foot into size seven shoes or this party.”
“Yeah,” I say finishing my drink. “Figures mom would invite all the adults in the neighborhood that don’t even have kids. She’s mentally challenged, I swear.”
My cell phone starts ringing in my purse and before I get a chance to grab my purse, Barker already has it in her hand. I know who is calling. I’ve been ignoring the calls for the past hour since I turned it back on. Barker has been making her thoughts clear on the matter. She says I’m an idiot.
I’m not.
“Hello?” I’m trying to get the phone from her hand but she’s slapping my hands away, like I’m five. “No this Barker. I’m good, how are you? Good. Yes. Oh. Okay,” she says and I’m curious as to what he’s saying to her.
“Give me the phone, Barker,” I say through gritted teeth when the lady sitting on the table next to us look in our direction.
“Yeah, she’s right here. I’ll put her on. Nice talking to you,” she says and finally hands me the phone. I don’t out it to my ear, instead I end the call and drop it back into my purse. “Don’t answer my work phone like that, Barker.”
“Oh shut up,” she says smacking my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have hung up.”
“You shouldn’t have answered.”
“I don’t see why you don’t like him, or at least pretend not to like him. He’s really nice,” she shrugs and I want to smack her.
“Sure,” I say grabbing a champagne flute from a tray a young waiter walking by. “What did he want?”
“Oh, so now you’re interested to know why he was calling? Maybe you should have spoken to him. It is your job, isn’t it?” she says with a raised brow and I know she’s messing with me. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to him. I thought he was the scum of the earth. Why do you care what he said? Huh?”
“Was it work related?”
“You’ll never know now, will you?” she says with a smirk.
“Tell me, Barker.”
“Tell you what?” she asks laughing a bit.
“What did Justin want?”
“Justin? See, that’s another thing. I’ve been keeping tabs, and you’ve called him Justin twice today. You likeeeeee himmmm,” she says a little too loud and I’m embarrassed.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” I say trying to control the fits of giggles that are threatening to come out.
“Having a good time girls?” My father is standing in front of us and he’s not smiling. We’re drunk.
“Where have you been, Dad? You’re missing all the wonderful fun,” Barker says sarcastically. He smiles at her and shakes his head.
“Last one, Aundrea,” he says pointing at her cup with what I notice is a magazine.
“Yes, Sir,” she says saluting him and laughing. “What do you have there, dad? Tell me it’s a magazine we can borrow to pass the boredom.”
“We’re not bored, Dad,” I say and look at Barker. The last thing I want is for him to call us ungrateful little spoiled brats like the last time we attended a boring party. At least I was the one called ungrateful, I should say.
“I went to pick up your mother’s medication at the drug store and I came across this, Vanessa,” he says and I stiffen up when I hear the tone of his voice. He’s upset.
He places the opened magazine in front of me and I’m staring a set of pictures of Justin Timberlake. Mr. Timberlake is photographed pumping gas and giving the paparazzi the infamous finger. I skim through the small captions of the various photos and notice the negative things said about him.
“I made some calls and found that these pictures were taken yesterday. The magazine was so anxious to print they have two issues this week. What’s really interesting is that someone who is under you care, Vanessa, is being caught on film doing this.”
“Justin does what he wants, Dad,” Barker says and I wish she wouldn’t try to bail me out of this. She’s only going to make it worse.
“It’s your job to educate your clients in proper public behavior to keep things like that from happening, Vanessa,” he says to me while he points down at the pictures.
“I will take care of it,” I say closing the magazine.
“It wouldn’t have happened in the first place had you been doing what you’re supposed to, Vanessa,” he says looking down at me. “Rather disappointing, Sweetheart.”
“I’m…” I start to say but he puts his hand up like he doesn’t want to hear it. I want to cry.
“I have to find your mother,” he says and walks away without another word. This time I can’t stop the tears that well up in my eyes.
“Forget about…” Barker starts to say but I get up from my chair, grab my purse and the magazine. I need to go.
“I have to go,” I say and walk away.
This weekend is over.
-----------------------------
Author’s Note: I’d like to thank Blackchickfic for the editing and additions on this chapter that made my writer’s block turn into a circle of ideas. Thank you girl!
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
