Chapter Fourteen: Houston, we have a problem…
House Of Blues
Houston, Texas
Five Days Later
The walls are a shade of orange I’ve never seen before and it makes me wonder if the owners of this place are color blind. He or she would have to be because painting dressing rooms the shade of rotten oranges isn’t my idea of relaxation -- which is what I’m trying to do. The color is so annoyingly distracting that it gives me a fucking headache. And if that wasn’t enough, if going for the shitty ass color wasn’t enough, they placed a leopard print couch in the room. What the fuck were they thinking?
I have less than an hour until the show and I’m grumpy. I’m more than grumpy actually. I’m annoyed, irritated, tired, aggravated, sad, horny and really pissed.
I don’t know which adjective to deal with first and the walls aren’t helping. I know Cameron is somewhere in the building, wandering around with Rachel, I bet. Not that it would have bothered me any other day, but its not just any day. Today, is another day on tour, another day of ‘talking’ with Cameron, another day of ‘talking’ with my mother and hearing the negative things she says about Cameron, another day of record promotion, another day of autograph signing, another day of press. And another day of hearing about rumors that Cameron and I have broken up. The list is endless of all the shit that is going on in my life. Not to mention what today is.
It’s the fifth fucking day that Vanessa Martinez hasn’t answered her fucking phone!
I don’t know how Rachel has been getting in touch with her and I can’t necessarily fucking ask her. Not without her asking why I need to call Vanessa Martinez when I made it a rule that I didn’t want to speak to her unless it was positively imperative that I must. I can’t go up to her and ask if she’s talked to Vanessa without having her nosy ass questioning it. I don’t want to deal with that shit. I don’t want to have to deal with anyone’s shit, period.
Speaking of shit, I’ve really made my relationship a shit load of a mess. I don’t even have a fucking relationship anymore. Cameron is starting to hate me, I can tell. But maybe I’m starting to hate her just a little too. She thinks we can walk around and be friends but I can’t do that. I can’t look her in the eye and pretend that I wasn’t a shitty boyfriend. The guilt is too fucking much. At least when she’s around.
When she’s not around, I can set the guilt aside easily. Almost too easily, which brings me to the conclusion that I have fallen out of love with Cameron. Wanted to believe that maybe I had a screw loose or something, but I don’t think I do. We’ve just grown apart; I see that and understand that. I think Cameron sees it too but as a woman, I think it’s her confessed duty to try and work it out. That is if I hadn’t told everyone in the dressing room to get out a few minutes ago. Including her.
I need some time to clear my head, to relax in a rotten orange colored room.
The chair that I’m sitting in isn’t as comfortable as the leopard couch looks, so I move over to it. My comfort level rises when I stretch in it without putting any wrinkles in my shirt. The last thing I want is to have to do is change clothes five minutes before the show.
Annoyingly enough the stupid couch reminds me of a little camisole thingy Vanessa wore at one of the meeting we had in her office. Another reason to want to commit suicide. I can’t get her out of my fucking head! At all. I’ve tried. And every time I’ve tried I fail, because I dial her stupid number.
She pisses me off!!
I don’t even know what I’m going to say when I do speak to her. She left me high and dry, well not dry, but that’s irrelevant. The only reason I know she’s even alive at this point is because Rachel mentions something that she wanted her to do or tell me. All business.
She’s in LA again; I know that much and it annoys me because she’s supposed to be here. She was scheduled to attend the interview I had today, according to that calendar she gave Rachel. But she wasn’t there and Rachel said she didn’t hear from her either. Information Rachel volunteered of course.
And what bothers me the most is that she’s avoiding the inevitable. Why? What’s the purpose? It’s only driving me insane. And the more she fucks with me the more I want her.
Why can’t she just let me fuck her and get it over with? Everything would be so much easier.
I wouldn’t have to get drunk and have phone sex with her. I wouldn’t want to rip her jeans off her body. I wouldn’t have her in my fucking head twenty-four fucking hours a day. If she would just do what her body wants to do instead of resisting so fucking much, things would be better. But no, she has to be a bitch about it. She wants it as much as I do, I don’t see what the fucking problem is. She’s not going to get fired because first of all, no one will fucking know. EVER. And second she’s Johnny’s niece; he won’t fire her. And third, as hard as it may be to say, she’s good at her fucking job. My ass has never has such a squeaky clean image. Well except for the gas station pictures from last week but those are cleared up. Another reason why she should have answered my calls. How is she going to help my image if she has absolutely no contact with me? Although the type of contact I want with her has nothing to do with my image.
I’ve never had this problem and it’s killing my self-esteem by the fucking minute.
I keep telling myself that if we get this over with I can go on being single again and she would be out of sight out of mind. But hell, who the fuck am I kidding? I know that once I get it, I’m going to want it every second of the fucking day. She doesn’t know what she’s in for and I shiver at the thought. My dick has never been in such state, ever. The mere mention of her name makes my blood rush to my dick, and I’m instantly hard. I’ve had to switch from boxers to boxer briefs in fear of embarrassing myself. This woman is going to drive me insane with all this sexual tension. I swear it’s a medical condition because I’ve never felt this horny and angry at the same time.
The leopard print on the couch is almost as discomforting as the fucking wall and I’m better off closing my eyes and trying to relax that way.
The door to the dressing room opens and I don’t bother to open my eyes because whoever it is that was crazy enough to come in here in the first place will see that I’m chilling and know to get the fuck out. No such luck, of course.
“Justin, will you sign these for me?” It’s Rachel and she sounds annoyed, in contrast to the mood she was in when she left the room with Cameron. But not more annoyed that I am for being interrupted. Not that I was doing anything.
“Not now, Rach,” I say, my eyes still closed and I can feel her hovering over me. Fuck!
“Are you seriously too busy to sign a piece of paper?” Is she this annoying any other day? Why is it that I‘m noticing this now? Or is it me?
“What the hell is it?” I ask opening my eyes and looking up at her. She doesn’t have the usual smirks she gets when she knows she’s annoying me. She’s serious. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” she says and I know she’s lying. She places three sheets of paper on my chest.
“Where’s Cameron?” I ask sitting up and grabbing the paper from my chest.
“She’s across the hall, getting the royal bitch treatment, I’m sure,” she says grabbing a water bottle from the small refrigerator in the room.
“What?” I have way too much shit on my mind to actually try to figure out what the hell she’s talking about.
“She’s signing the other half of that statement,” she says pointing briefly at the papers in my hand and drinking her water. I finally look down at the paper in my hand and I find myself reading a media statement.
“When did you get this?” I ask curiously. I talked to Johnny two days ago when he called to tell me that the rumors were going strong about me and Cameron, but I didn’t think he was going to release a statement so soon.
“Vanessa,” Rachel says putting the cap back on the empty water bottle. “Who else?” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“She just sent you this? Why didn’t she send it directly to me?” I ask and throw the sheets of paper next to me on the couch. I don’t want to sign this shit right now.
“I don’t know, why don’t you just ask her? Can you just sign it so I can be done with her for today?”
“Just tell her you’ll fax it to her later,” I say stretching across the couch again. The sheets of paper scatter across the floor.
“Where should I fax it to? Her uptight ass has a number? Just sign the paper so that I can give it to her and she gets off my back and I can go back to the room?”
“Just fax it later or FedEx it or something, Rachel.” I say closing my eyes again.
“Do you not want to release the stupid statement? Why would I fax it when I could just shove it up her ass?” I can tell she’s irritated and I open my eyes to look at her. “Sign the sheet, Justin. Do this for me so that I can hand it to the witch and I can go…”
“You’ll hand it to her?” Hand it to her? She’s here?
“What?” she’s as confused as I am now. ‘What the hell are you saying?”
“Vanessa is here?” I ask sitting up and I don’t mean to act so anxious but I do because my cousin gives me a weird look.
“She’s across the hall with Cameron and Cameron’s PR. I thought I told you that.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say and suddenly the door opens and the subject at hand walks in. She looks at the papers on the floor and then looks at Rachel.
Jesus Christ! I’ve been obsessing over this woman for over five days and the moment I see her, I’m frozen in place. She’s wearing one of her signature suits, white with black pinstripes and I’ve never seen her look more perfect. Her skirt is fitting and the slit on her thigh gives me a peek into what I already know is there.
“Having a problem with the task, Ms. Bomar?” she asks Rachel as she stands there with a clipboard hugged across her chest.
“No,” Rachel responds and picks up the sheets of paper. “Justin was just about to sign them, right?” she asks looking at me.
“Sure he was,” she says and walks further into the room. Her legs look twice as long with that short skirt and I swallow hard. My mind is running wild. “Did you at least read the statement before dismissing it, Mr. Timberlake?”
“Rachel, can you give us a minute?” I ask and I can see the shock my request gives her.
“Yeah,” she says and walks toward the door after placing the paper on the couch’s armrest. She leaves the door ajar and I can hear Cameron laughing about something in the hallway. I can hear the Black-Eyed Peas faintly in the background and I know it’s almost time for me to be on stage. So much for relaxing before the show. I’m further from being relaxed than I was ten minutes ago.
“Where have you been?” I ask, looking down at my shoes because if I look up I’ll be looking at her legs. Not a good thing. And if I look at her in the eyes, I’ll be distracted and I’ll look at her lips and that’s not good either.
“Working,” she surprises me when she responds and I can feel the coldness coming from her. She grabs the papers Rachel placed on the couch and clips it to her clipboard and extends the wooden thing to me. “Ms. Diaz already signed, so I will assume you will as well.”
“You haven’t answered any of my calls,” I say and I don’t mean to sound like a scorned bitch, but I can’t help it. I’m pissed.
“You noticed,” she says and she still hasn’t looked me in the eyes. I look up at her and I see that she’s looking somewhere across the room and I have to smile when she cringes at the sight of the shitty color on the wall. “Will you sign in the highlighted areas, Mr. Timberlake?”
“Ugly color, isn’t it?” I ask, standing in front of her. She backs up a bit and rolls her eyes in annoyance and for the first time I realize she’s annoyed with herself. I don’t know how I know that but I do, nonetheless.
“The ugliest,” she says and directs a cold glare toward me. She conveniently places the clipboard in between us. “Sign.”
“No.”
“No?” she questions and her hand goes to her right hip. “Tell me, Mr. Timberlake, are you lacking communication skills with Ms. Diaz? I only ask because she didn’t have a problem signing the same document. In fact, she was quick with her decision to agree and sign the statement, Mr. Timberlake. And truth be told, I don’t blame her.”
“Why didn’t you answer my fucking calls, Vanessa?”
“Are you signing or not, Mr. Timberlake?”
“Are you answering my fucking question?”
“What type of game are you trying to play here, Mr. Timberlake? I can’t keep up with your bullshit, to be completely honest. I spent the length of my day yesterday devising a statement that Ms. Diaz’ publicist found just in regard to your relationship. So why is it that I get here a few hours ago and find that Ms. Diaz is still on tour? I don’t appreciate being mislead, Mr. Timberlake. I also don’t appreciate being rushed to get a statement out to the world only to have it be withdrawn before it’s even released! Care to explain the situation, Mr. Timberlake? Because frankly, I’m tired of guessing. Am I releasing the fucking statement or NOT?!”
“What the fuck do you think?” I say and step closer to her, making her step further away from me and closer to the ugly ass wall behind her.
“You don’t want to know what I fucking think, Mr. Timberlake?” she says backing away. Her eyes close briefly when her back hits the wall.
“Why can’t you say my name, Vanessa?” I ask and I’m so close to her, I can smell the caramel coffee she must have been drinking on her lips. “Why is it always Mr. Timberlake this and Mr. Timberlake that? Mr. Timberlake is my fucking father, Ms. Martinez.”
“You’re invading my space, MR. TIMBERLAKE!” she says and she actually pushes me back. Oh hell no!
“Don’t fucking misjudge me, Vanessa!” I say taking the step forward again. “You push me again and I’ll pound you to this fucking wall.”
“Oh, so now you’re threatening to hit me, Mr. Timberlake? I wouldn’t go there if I was you,” she looks nervous and I’m taken aback a bit.
“Did I say I was going to hit you? I don’t think so,” I say and I can’t help but brush my lips against hers briefly. She tries to turn her head but I don’t let her; I move her chin toward me with one finger. “And if I were you, I would stop playing games with me.”
“I’m not playing any fucking games with YOU,” she says and this time she pushes me hard enough that the back of my knees hit the couch and I almost fall over it. Oh double hell no! “Don’t fucking touch me,” she’s standing by the wall and she’s breathing hard, like she’s out of breath but she’s smirking at me like she wants to laugh. She thinks this is funny? How’s this for funny Ms. Martinez?
I regain my balance and I don’t care that the door is open. I don’t care that my ex-girlfriend is standing a few feet away. And I don’t care that I’m about to commit a huge mistake. There’s a dressing area a few inches to her left and although I don’t care about a fucking thing except Vanessa Martinez right now, I can’t do this without some type of privacy.
When I reach her I’m pleasantly surprised when she grabs me by the back of my neck and basically swallows me. I knew it!! I knew she wanted this!! My first instinct is to grab her right leg and lift it so that I can be close to her. The movement makes her moan and my knees threaten to give out from under me. My dick is pressed up against her thigh and the heat that I can feel through the thin dress pants I have on makes me moan.
Jesus God Almighty!!
Her hands are still grabbing onto my neck and she’s kissing me with such vigor that I’m the one that can’t keep up with her. This is crazy! And god help me, but I’m loving every second. I can taste the caramel in her breath and I’m not going to be able to have anything with caramel without remembering this. In fact, I think everything in my rider is going to include caramel from now on.
I can feel her nails dig into my neck and the action makes me grunt and lift her other leg against me. I don’t know when I moved and how but we’re behind the curtain of the dressing area and her mouth hasn’t left mine. My dick is now getting direct heat because her skirt is at her waist and I’m grinding into her like there’s no tomorrow. She moans into my mouth again and I can’t take this anymore.
My hands are on her bare ass and I’m wondering if she has any underwear on. I want to be inside her so bad that I’m nearly blowing a wad in my fucking pants, I swear. I have to pull my lips away from her before she swallows me whole, even though I’m enjoying it. She can do what she wants with me next time. And please trust there will be a next time.
There has to be.
My lips are on her neck and she’s panting, making me suck on her neck like a fucking blow pop. Jesus Christ!! I’m pretty sure I left a mark there and I don’t give a rat’s ass. I haven’t moved an inch away from her and my grinding motion hasn’t stopped. I can’t stop it.
When she reaches between us and I feel her hand fumbling for my belt, I’m lost. She can do whatever she wants with me, I swear.
Next time. She can take over next time.
“Oh no,” I whisper in her ear and I manage to hold her up against the wall with one arm while I lift the hand she was using over her head. “Still my turn.”
“I wasn’t aware that we were taking turns, Mr. Timberlake,” she says back and I can’t help but press into her hard. She grunts and closes her eyes.
“Don’t fuck with me right now, Vanessa,” I say squeezing her perfectly round ass. “You either stop me now or I’m not stopping until there’s nothing left of you.”
“So sure of yourself, Mr. Timberlake,” she says and I can see myself in her eyes. She wants it and the look that she gives me couldn’t be clearer. She’s gonna get it.
“Shut up,” I say and kiss her so hard I think I may have taken her last breath. This is serious. I don’t have to move much before her legs are wrapped around my waist and I hear her shoes drop behind me.
I reach between us with one hand while my lips are devouring her. I need to get inside of her pronto. Like yesterday fast. When I pry myself away from her far enough to get my hand in between her legs, she moans again. She is wearing underwear and when I rub the thin lace, I can feel the wetness through them. With my finger I move the lace to the side and I’m there, touching her. The ring that she has there is hot against my fingers and if I didn’t want to fuck her so badly, I would go down there and lick it.
Next time.
I let my finger and thumb rub teasingly over her and she lets out a whimper and I feel her come. I’m shocked and turned on further even more, if possible. It’s not.
“Now, who’s fucking with whom, Mr. Timberlake?“ she asks in gasps.
“Does that turn you on? Calling me Mr. Timberlake?” I whisper to her but I don’t wait for her reply, instead my mouth is on hers again. I’ve never been into kissing this much but I can’t keep my mouth from hers. She’s a fucking drug. My drug.
I unbuckle my pants with the same hand I used on her and unzip my pants in record time. Her legs keep my pants from falling down to my ankles but I’m so hard, that I’m busting out of my boxer briefs. I’m aggravated with the seven hundred buttons on the fly of my briefs but I get them undone with one hand. Why do they put buttons on these fucking things anyway? That’s not much easy access to pee, is it? Let alone trying to fuck someone as quickly as possible before she turns into a complete bitch and walks out on you.
“No way,” I say detaching my lips from hers, when she reaches down to grab me. Is she fucking crazy? She can’t fucking touch me right now. I’ll fucking lose it!
“You’re fucking with me now,” she snaps at me with a frustrated groan and I see the need in her eyes. I’m pretty sure they are mirroring my own because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly in my entire life. Ever.
My eyes stay on hers while the head of my dick replaces my finger in between her thighs. Oh. My. God.
The head of my man swells up ten times bigger than it normally is at the wet contact. I’m not even inside of her and I feel like I’m already going to explode. I close my eyes to try to calm my nerves and I let out a sound I didn’t even know I could make. She grabs the back of my neck again and pulls me closer to her. The motion makes my dick slide down her wet center and the head is RIGHT there. She sucks on my bottom lip and I don’t have time to react because she jerks away from the wall and I’m in.
Everything stops.
The music that was coming through the opening of the door is gone. Everything is silent. It’s like one of those moments in a movie where everything is in slow motion. Her walls contract around my dick the second I’m inside of her and I can’t move.
I hear the deep intake of breath she takes, she grips my previously wrinkle free shirt and her walls convulse around me. She came. I don’t know if I can handle this. This is too much for me. She’s too much for me.
And then I know this for sure because she says…
“Justin…” in a whisper. Holy mother of God, I’ve never heard my name said so beautifully. I’ve died and gone to fucking heaven. Or is it hell? Because something so sinfully satisfying has to be the devil’s doing.
I don’t know where I’m pulling my self-control from but I grab and squeeze her ass before pulling out slowly. The pleasure is excruciating and I throw my head back in ecstasy. She must have ripped my tie off because it’s not there. I only realize this because I can feel her mouth on my neck, driving me insane.
This slow shit isn’t going to work, I realize, so I slid in swiftly and she gasps again. She’s incredibly tight and I can feel the stretch when I enter her again. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her up against the wall, and keep my knees from buckling. I slide back out and when she bites my neck, I can’t stop myself.
I’m pumping into her like there’s no tomorrow; her hands are on my shoulders gripping the shit out of me. I can hear every moan that comes from her mouth because her head is on my shoulder as she licks my neck. I don’t know how long I actually lasted but it wasn’t long. Because when I feel her walls hug my dick for the second time, I lose it for real.
I come so hard, I think my ancestors felt it. I swear to God. And when I’m done exploding, she grabs my face from where it’s tucked under all her hair, between her shoulder and neck and kisses me. Hard. And for the love of God, she has another orgasm. I could try to think back to a moment when I got hard the second I came but I know better. Nothing’s going to come to mind. Except this very moment. I’m hard as a fucking rock. Again.
“Fuck,” I say when she stops kissing me. I’m still inside her and I would pull away but I’m actually scared to. Scared that it might be the only time I can get the chance. I’m confused because this feeling that is going through me isn’t what I had in mind. At all.
“Let go of me, Mr. Timberlake,” I hear her say and I jerk my head away from her to look at her face. What?
“What?” I ask and suddenly I’m not so hard. One of the legs that is wrapped around me, moves and I slid out easily. My hands are still on her ass, holding her up and she jerks my hands away until she’s standing on her own two feet.
The music that was obviously still playing in the background comes to full volume and we’re back in reality. And reality fucking bites because she moves around me, and grabs her shoes.
“Are you going to sign the fucking paper or not?” she asks as she leans against the couch to put her shoes back on. Is she fucking serious right now?
“What?” is all I manage to say as I readjust my pants and glare at her.
“I said...”
“I know what you just fucking said, I’m just having a hard time believing my fucking ears right now.”
“What the hell do you want me to SAY?” she yells and catches herself because she looks at the door for a second. “You want me to thank you for your wonderful work, Mr. Timberlake? Is that what you want to hear?”
“What!?”
“That’s it, right? Well here it is, Mr. Timberlake. Thank you very much, for not only giving me probably the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, but for ruining my fucking career. THANKS!!”
“Ruining your career? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?” She done piss me off. After sex, for God’s sake. What is wrong with this woman?!
“Sign the fucking paper, Mr. Timberlake!” she says straightening herself up as best she could as she stomps toward the door. “Make your fans happy, announce you dumped the fucking bitch!”
And she walks out of the room, slamming the door behind her loudly. What the fuck just happened?
Scratch whatever I said earlier; everything is NOT so much easier.
---------------------------------------------
Twenty Minutes Later
I’m late for my own show and I don’t give a damn. It is after all, MY fucking show. I run this. If I decide I want to take a shower five minutes before curtain call, then I will. And I did. I spent ten minutes under a cold ass shower and I’m still pissed.
I can’t even find the words to describe what I’m feeling but there are a lot of them, I know that much.
I got what I wanted, I won, right? So why do I feel like I just lost a big ass piece of myself. I don’t even know what it is. I should be smiling up a storm as I walk toward the stage behind Eric, but it’s nearly impossible.
“Why did you change clothes?” Rachel asks when I pass her on the hallway and the look that I give her lets her know that she should mind her own business. Wasn’t she leaving with Cameron?
“Here,” I say and I hand her the three sheets of paper, that jump started my unforgettable night. “Give those to her.”
“I think she left, though,” she says as we near the stage. “Have a good show, Justin,” she says as she always does before I perform, and I feel a bit bad about the way I’ve been acting toward her. I give her a smile as I’m handed my microphone and she waves at me before heading in the direction we just came from.
The Black Eyed Peas extended their show because of my unexpected delay and the crow probably hasn’t even noticed that I’m late. In spite of everything, I don’t like being late to these things and although tonight had valid merit, I still feel a certain type of way.
“WHAT’S GOING ON HOUSTON?!” I say loudly into the microphone and no matter how many times I’ve done this, I still get chills down my spine when I hear the response of the crowd. The real Justin Timberlake takes a backseat to JT, the performer. Leaving all the shit I have running through my head, backstage.
This is where I feel the freedom playing a role brings. This is my life.
I go my first number without having to do much singing because the crowd is absolutely crazy. They’re out singing me and I love every single moment of it. I’m halfway through my second number, a rock version of Cry Me A River, when I look into the crowd of about two hundred. I’ve been in my zone for a good fifteen minutes, interacting with the crowd and actually having a good time in spite of my fucked up mood. The area by the stage where the crowd is gathered enjoying the show is dark, I can barely see their faces. But on the far end of the large venue, there’s a lit hallway.
And standing, leaning against the wall having what seems like quite a conversation with Dre, is Vanessa.
My voice doesn’t falter and I continue with the show as if my fucking heart wasn’t at my throat. The feeling starts slowly. It creeps up the back of my legs as I go into a cover of Rehab. My eyes, I know, don’t give my line of vision away. Not one single person in the crowd knows that I’m watching the woman I just fucked a little over half an hour ago, smile sweetly at the soon to-be ex tour staff. Doesn’t Tim need a haircut or something? Jesus Christ!!
When I see her laugh about something that he says and she actually touches his arm, I loose it.
“STOP, Stop the music,” I say into the microphone and the crowd goes nuts, like hearing me talk is the greatest fucking thing in the world. “I’m feeling a little thirsty,” I say and when I look up from the crowd, I see that I have Vanessa’s undivided attention. Good.
I can see the shot girl walking by with a tray full of tequila tubes and she’s standing near the stage. She smiles at me like she wants to jump me and I consider that this might be a bad idea. But I do need to get some alcohol in my system before I call one of these two motherfuckers, more specifically Dre, out in front of all these people.
“Come’ere girl,“ I say in what I’ve been told is my sexy voice and the crowd cheers when the girl steps on stage and extends the tray out to me. I grab one of the tubes and I bow to her for effect, it works. While it may look like I’m lifting the tube of God knows what into the air toward the crowd, I’m not. The silent toast is strictly for Ms. Martinez’ benefit.
She’s facing the stage now, and Dre is talking to some other person I’ve never seen before nor care about. Good. I’m too far away to actually see her expression but I can feel the cold. Be fucking mad! See how you like them apple, Vanessa! Tonight, tonight is the way the cookie fucking crumples. You wanna fuck with me? Well then I’m gonna fuck with you.
The mystery shot was of Tequila and it burns the hell out of my empty stomach. Shit! I forgot I hadn’t eaten anything.
I talk to the crowd about the same old shit I’ve been talking about for the past six shows and Vanessa is still standing there. I wonder if it’s the first show she’s attended.
“I feel good tonight," I say when the beginning chords of Lovestoned is played by the band on my cue. "I'm sure you guys are hip to this already,” and I’m referring to the old songs I’ve been revamping for them since I jumped onstage. “But I'm gonna play some new songs for y'all. I hope you like 'em.” I say with a smile toward the crowd that makes the scream. I’m about to start singing but Dre, the fucking bastard, hugs Vanessa, entirely too fucking close. He walks away and I realize it’s a good bye hug, but I’m still fucking pissed. “And if you don't, fuck you!" I say loudly while lifting both my fingers in the air.
If the music wasn’t blaring, the crowd so loud and I couldn’t hear myself in my in-ears, I swear I could have heard Vanessa’s deep gasp. Fuck you, Vanessa!!
I can see her stand there with her arms across her chest as I start singing the song. “She looks like a model, except she’s got a little more ass,“ I try to switch my line of vision from her to the crowd at least every five seconds. I wish I hadn’t written this song. “Don’t even bother, unless you got that thing she likes….”
“I hope she’s going home with me tonight…” she actually moves closer but doesn’t cross the barrier separating the two areas. I can see her face more clearly now and I wish I couldn’t. I can see the realization in her face as I continue singing. “I hope she’s going home with me tonight…”
The feeling of her watching me is unbearable but I have to keep the show going.
“Those flashing light comes from everywhere, the way they hit her I just stop and stare,” and I do because I can’t help it. “She's got me love stoned, man I swear she's bad and she knows, I think that she knows…”
My usual solo freestyle dancing on stage continues and when I when I return my line of vision to her, I sing, “She shuts the room down, the way she walks and causes a fuss, the baddest in town, she's flawless like some uncut ice, I hope she's goin' home with me tonight…”
For the first time I realize that the crowd has been singing word for word with me. What the fuck? Someone leaked my shit? “And all she wants is to dance, that's why you'll find her on the floor, but you don't have a chance, unless you move the way that she likes,” I give the best impression of grinding on my microphone stand and look at Vanessa, “That's why she's goin' home with me tonight…”
I continue the song and start on the next one before Vanessa turns and leaves in the same direction Dre has gone earlier. Good. I didn’t want to continue fucking up my show just to piss her off. The rest of the show is a piece of cake because JT makes his presence known. Smooth like butta.
I couldn’t wait till it was over. Thank God it is because my acting abilities have hit rock bottom today. Rock fucking bottom.
“You’re not going out tonight, Justin?” I hear Cameron ask, as a group of us walk through the lobby of the hotel. I look behind me briefly but keep walking next to Eric toward the elevators. The last thing I want to do is go out, get drunk and end up doing something stupid. I’ve done enough tonight.
“Not tonight,” I say and I smile at her over my shoulder while we all stand by the elevators. Doesn’t she have a flight at midnight? “I thought your plane left at midnight.”
“It does, I have to get something from Rachel’s room,” she says and she continues her conversation with Rachel and Marty, who showed up at the show tonight.
The first elevator carries a few fans and they make a fuss when they see me. Idiots! Eric stands tall in front of me while the group of girls walk by us. My friends seems to be in a comical mood because before I get first dibs on the elevator, a bunch of them get on it, laughing. They tell me to take the fucking stairs for not wanting to party with them and the elevator door closes. Assholes.
“Assholes,” I mumble and I can hear Rachel and Cameron giggle behind me. I’m not in the mood.
“Speaking of,” I hear Rachel say as I stair at the digital numbers indicating what floor the elevator was at. Why do I always request the top floors? Now I have to wait till the party brigade get off so that I can go to my room and drown in my fucking sorrow.
“I still don’t think I recognize her from fashion shows, Rach,” Cameron says in almost a whisper and the words grab my attention. Eric is in my way, like always, so I step back a bit and follow Rachel and Cameron’s line of vision.
It’s Vanessa.
“I fucking hate her,” Rachel attempts mumbles under her breath when Vanessa, who is on her phone, walks by us.
I know Vanessa heard her, I know she did because she was right there when she said it. But Vanessa keeps walking past us, her head down and I know there’s no way she didn’t see us. She has dark shades over her eyes and she’s not saying anything into the phone. Something’s wrong.
Something has to be.
She wouldn’t have ignored what Rachel just said loudly for all us to hear. She just wouldn’t have. And the clear indication that something was wrong is the fact that not once have I seen Vanessa Martinez, Master of Public Relations, walk without having her head held high. Never.
And as we step into the elevator, I ask myself one question.
Did I break her?
To be continued…
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
