Chapter Seven: Runway from Hell
A Week Later
It’s only the beginning of my day but it feels like I’ve been here all day. Walking in, first thing in a morning to a collection of incompetent staff members can do that to someone. Thank the Gods that Barker has decided to grace me with her presence. If she hadn’t shown up when she did I would have probably strangled Mr. Rogers. I swear if his connection with People Magazine wasn’t so strong I would have canned him long ago. I’ve come to realize that men in this field, or any field for that matter, are like toilets. They are either dirty, unavailable, out of order or full of shit! Do I have to do everything around here?
Speaking of men, it’s ten thirty and I have yet to see my nine o’clock appointment. I haven’t even attempted to reach the assistant from hell because today is just not anyone’s day, in my book. Two weeks ago he came in here unannounced and uninvited and interrupted a meeting, anxious to have one himself. Then he shows up late for the correct meeting only to feel like a complete ass when he realized the meeting wasn’t only with me. He had Jive executives, Johnny Wright and myself waiting for over an hour. Very professional, Mr. Timberlate.
I haven’t seen him since that meeting and I’m hoping this meeting we have today is brief. I’m all for getting into Mr. Timberlake’s head any day but not today. Today I have camps, a complete staff full of morons and a headache from hell. Today, Mr. Timberlake better have the proper attitude.
“Are you listening to me or are you spacing out again,” Barker says to me with an annoyed roll of her eyes.
“I don’t space out, Barker,” I state confidently. “I’m listening to you, I’ve heard every single word you’ve said.”
“So what did I say then?” She should know better than to challenge me but she does it all the time, nonetheless.
“You said you were planning on going out tonight after the show and that I should come,” I say with a smile as I organize the paperwork I need for my meeting, which Mr. Timberlake is now forty five minutes late for.
“That’s not all I said,” she says and I smirk.
“You also said you invited Trace to the show and hoped I didn’t mind,” I say with a raised brow in question. “That was it, right?”
“Whatever,” she says. “I know that’s probably too close for comfort since he’s Justin’s assistant and stuff.”
“He isn’t his assistant anymore. Besides just because Trace agreed to go to the show doesn’t mean Mr. Timberlake is going. And if he did, I wouldn’t care either. This for charity, Barker.”
“I know but I know you and you don’t like mixing your careers and I didn’t want you to be pissed if I invited them.”
“Them? I thought you said you only invited Trace,” I finish up an email on my laptop and close the lid before looking at her. “And modeling isn’t a career, Barker. It’s a hobby.”
“A hobby that has gotten you all over the country,” she smirks. “So I may have invited both of them when I saw them at P.A.R.C. last night.”
“Mr. Timberlake was out at a club last night?” I question and my blood boils. He needed to be in the studio last night finishing very important tracks.
“Why the hell do you keep calling him that? It’s creepy, V.”
“It’s his name, Aundrea. What do you want me to call him?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe Justin? Just an idea.” She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “So what do you say? Come out tonight?”
“It’s Wednesday night, I can’t,” I say and she’s disappointed yet again. “I have meetings in the morning.”
“Alright alright, whatever I won’t ask again.” She seems to be okay with my response and gets up from where she was lounging on my office couch. “I have a fitting to go to for tonight but I’ll be free for lunch.”
“I’m sorry Barker, I can’t today. I have a million things to do before I leave on this thing,” I say and she responds by making a talking gesture with her hands.
“Yeah yeah yeah, heard it all before. I can’t believe you’re going on tour with Justin Timberlake, that’s crazy,” she says and she’s beyond excited. Why? I don’t know.
“It’s not crazy, it’s my job,” I say and I don’t mean to sound like a bitch but I have a bad case of PMS, sue me.
“Touchy touchy,” she says with a laugh. I can always count on Aundrea to not take me seriously. What a friend. “Anyway, I see Mr. Timberlake getting off the elevator. Wow,” she says and makes me look up to see what she’s talking about.
Mr. Timberlake is getting off the elevator but it’s not your regular Timberlake. It’s a Timberlake in a suit and may god strike me but he looks good. Really good. He’s opted to shave that damn hair on his face as well. He looks damn good actually.
“About time,” I say changing my line of vision before I am caught looking at the enemy by my best friend.
“You can’t say that he’s not fine, V,” she says with a smirk. “Look at him. You’re full of shit.”
“I can say he’s a lot of things and fine isn’t one of them,“ Okay so I’m lying but whatever. I’m not about to actually say it out loud. Hell no. “I’ve looked at him plenty of times, B. Every time I work out at the gym and hit the fucking punching bag, his face is what I imagine. Now get out of here, I‘ll see you tonight.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bitch? And a bad liar?” she asks with a laugh. I shrug and tell her I get that all the time and she makes a face at me and I can’t help but chuckle. She open the door to my office and waves her hand over her head. “See ya tonight!”
“Bye,” I say and instead of standing there looking at the man still by the elevators, I organize my things on my conference table.
Okay, so maybe I’ll see how that suit I picked out fits him. When I look up and look through my glass barriers I can see him. And the smitten little bit of attraction vanishes. I’m flabbergasted at what I see. Barker has made her way to the elevators and is standing in front of Mr. Timber-I’m gonna kill him-lake. But that’s not what is shocking me right now. The fact that Mr. Timberlake has brought his girlfriend with him has my jaw on the table. What the hell is this? What the fuck is she doing here?
Barker says hello to her, I’m guessing that because she has the fakest smile on her face as she shakes Ms. Diaz’ hand. Fucking gross! My day is hell! My dear best friend turns slightly toward me and she knows that I’m watching because her eyes bug out of her head. She turns toward the couple again and they don’t even seem to notice what she did, it happens too fast for the stupid blonds. But I caught it and my jaw is still on the table and I thank the heavens that I had the bright idea for the mirrored wall.
I can’t even explain the feeling that runs through my veins right now. The mere site of this woman makes me want to gag. Eventually I knew I would have to see her because of Mr. Timberlake’s unfortunate connection with her, but not today. Today just isn’t the day. At all. My blood is boiling and I realize I may be overreacting a bit but I could give a flying fuck right now. She need not to be in my office. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near Mr. Timberlake. Period. She’s a lying sack of shit who doesn’t know what she’s got. What does Mr. Timberlake see in her? She’s ruining his career too.
I watch as he strolls with her toward my office. My secretary grins at the both of them and I want to throw up. That bitch is gone by the end of the day! Mike, the beefed up bodyguard stands by the elevators and right now that’s probably the wrong thing because I’m about to be very aggressive with Mr. Timberlake.
I straightened out my suit jacket when I stand from my chair and I find myself taking a deep breath. I’m almost to my door when I see Mr. Timberlake smile at her and gag me please, kiss her lips. What the fuck? They are sitting on the couch outside my door and they are snuggled together like two sick fucking puppies. Grow the fuck up! He’s whispering something in her ear as I open the door, they don’t even budge from their sick display of affection. My stomach turns to knots and fuck it, I’ll say it. I’m hating every second of it.
“Mr. Timberlake,” my voice is giving no indication on how I’m feeling. I don’t even know how I’m feeling. Hurt? Shocked? God forgive me but maybe a bit jealous. Whatever.
They apparently did not hear me come out of my office because Mr. Timberlake jumps out of his seat as if he got caught with his hands in the cookie jar. What’s his problem? I’m disgusted to see how couples have each other’s back when Ms. Diaz, eww, stands and extends her hand to me. Mr. Timberlake is still staring at me like a deer caught in headlights and I look at him questioningly. Meanwhile, Ms. Days of fucking sunshine has her hand still extended. I’m obviously not shaking it, put it down bitch!
She does put her hand down and clears her throat. This is probably another gesture of some couple’s handbook or something because that wakes up Mr. Timberlake. This has all happened in a span of three seconds it seems, my head is spinning.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she’s actually talking to me. Who the hell told her she could do that? Oh, I forgot, she’s Cameron Diaz, America’s fucking sweetheart. Fuck that! He looks at her at the revelation from her and I know that whatever she’s heard about me didn’t come from him. Another check mark next to Ms. Bomars’ name on my shit-list.
“You’re late Mr. Timberlake,” I say and his face turns sour. Good.
“And you’re being rude,” he says shrugging and I want to slap him.
“Not more rude than being two hours late, I assure you.” I still haven’t acknowledged the open mouth idiot standing next to him. She’s about to say something too, I know it. But I’m not giving her a chance to do so. “Have a seat Mr. Timberlake, Ms. Diaz can wait outside.” I’m halfway in my office, when I turn around and I see him mouth that he’s sorry to her. What the hell is he sorry for? That she can’t come into a private meeting about him? Please! Give me a fucking break. Wasn’t she filming somewhere? What is she doing here?
“Excuse me, Ms. High and Mighty, if Justin would like me to be in the meeting, I believe he has the authority to do so.” Is she actually inside my office speaking to me like she’s lost her god damn mind? Seriously?
“Cameron,” he says and I smile. I have to give him credit because in the short time that we’ve interacted, he seems to know what’s coming.
“I can search and search all day to find that excuse for you, Ms. Diaz, but that would probably be the hardest task I’ve ever encountered. There simply isn’t an excuse for you,” Mr. Timberlake’s eyes nearly land at my desk at my words but he doesn’t say anything he’s simply standing there. Did he do this purposely? Did he bring her here purposely? No, that can’t be. He wouldn’t have the slightest clue. “If Mr. Timberlake had any say in whom I have meetings with, Ms. Diaz, I wouldn’t be here, now would I? This is why I’m the Director and he’s the client.”
“I must be hearing things, Ms. Mendez,” she starts to say and I’m sure she knows what my proper name is but she wants to fuck with me. Okay bitch, go for it!
“Martinez is the name,” I say as I take a seat at my desk. I don’t miss the fact that Mr. Timberlake follows me there with his eyes. He really should concentrate on the red faced girlfriend to his right instead of my legs.
“I must be hearing things because you weren’t making an offensive remark at me,” she’s stepping it up, isn’t she? At me? Don’t you mean, toward me? Moron!
“Is this really necessary?” Mr. Timberlake is looking between us and I actually feel bad for him, for a second and then I’m over it.
“Let me tell you what isn’t necessary, Mr. Timberlake,” I say as I cross my legs. “Let’s start with the unnecessary fact that you are late yet again to a meeting that only benefits you. The unnecessary part your girlfriend plays in this meeting. And let’s not forget the unnecessary fact that we’re having this conversation. Period. This meeting is in regards to your career, not Ms. Diaz‘ career. In the future I would appreciate and demand that only people closely working with your career are involved in these meetings. Is that understood, Mr. Timberlake?”
“You’re just one big ball of joy, Ms. Whatever. I don‘t know what your problem is with Justin and I being together but I suggest you get over it. I‘m not going anywhere. ” She’s talking again? She’s not going anywhere? Please! This time her arms are crossed in front of her barely there chest. “It truly is a terrible pleasure to meet you.” She smiles at me with that big ass smile she has and turns to her boyfriend. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” she says before kissing his cheek. You’re leaving my office, now aren’t you bitch?
“What the hell just HAPPENED?” Mr. Timberlake is raising his voice at me and I stare at him. Don’t go there, Mr. Timberlake. “You have no right to treat people like you do, I don’t have to put up with this bullshit. I walk in here and you attack my girlfriend? THAT’S THE PROFFESIONALISM YOU CLAIM TO HAVE!?”
“Last time that I checked, Mr. Timberlake, I wasn’t hard of hearing. Please lower your tone,” he’s apparently expecting to have a blown up argument but he should really know better. I do more damage in soft spoken words. “And attack isn’t probably the best choice of word in this situation. At least not toward me. Your girlfriend walked in this office without being invited, did she not?”
“That was only after you refused to shake her hand. It’s offensive and rude. But I forgot that’s all you’re about, isn’t it? You like to crush people emotionally and laugh about it. You’re sick.”
“Take a look at this Mr. Timberlake,” I say as I pick a photo from the stack on my desk. I place it on my desk and point to it. He looks at the picture and rolls his eyes. It’s a photo taken of him at a hotel in Canada a few days prior, where he refused to sign autographs and take a picture for two fans . Two! “Tell me Mr. Timberlake, is that offensive and rude? Did you feel like umm I don’t know. Like you didn’t want to?”
“What’s your point?” He asks as he takes a seat on one of the chairs across my desk.
“The point is Mr. Timberlake that you are two hours late and when you show up with an uninvited guest to a meeting, I don’t want to socialize. I want to have a MEETING.” Is he actually angry that I didn’t fall in love with his stupid girlfriend? Fuck you!
“Bullshit!” He says and leans back on his chair. My chair! He adjusts his pencil tie, loosening it a bit. He’s soo not sexy. Because he wrote that song with Tim last week doesn’t mean it’s true. He’s not bringing anything back but a fucking headache. Headaches aren’t sexy.
“Excuse me?” What the hell does that mean? Is he trying to call me out?
“I can search and search all day, Ms. Martinez but finding an excuse for you would take a lifetime,” he smirks at me and I want to slap him.
“Cute, Mr. Timberlake,” I say and I smirk back. “While you think I am bullshitting, you might also like to know that your tour schedule has been finalized.” I say handing him a folder with the information for his tour. The one that I am unfortunately joining.
“Right to business, huh?” He asks and shakes his head. “What is wrong with you? You walk around here, hell everywhere you go, acting like your shit smells like fucking roses. You‘re not that hot, Vanessa!”
I laugh and he’s looking at me weird. “First of all Mr. Timberlake, let me verify something for you. My shit does not smell like roses, but damn near close to it. I AM the SHIT,” I lean across my desk and I smile sarcastically at him. “Second of all, I never claimed to be hot. You did!”
“What?!” He says shocked. “I’ve never said that, don’t flatter yourself. You seem to do a lot of that.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Timberlake. I don’t have to because you seems to flatter me to pieces,” I’m being sarcastic again and he’s getting annoyed. Well that’s what you get, Mr. Timberlake. “You can look over that paperwork and let me know of any small and I mean SMALL details I can change for you. The dates are set so I don’t have to tell you that those can’t be changed. Any questions?”
“Why did you bother getting all those things I asked for that night at the studio?” Well that’s unexpected to say the least. I was expecting the continued bitching he’s known for.
“You asked, Mr. Timberlake,” I simply state before turning to my laptop and lifting the lid.
“I asked?” He sounds surprised.
“What is it that you’re not understanding about my response, Mr. Timberlake?”
“I asked, so you got them for me?” Umm yeah.
“Yes,” I say and turn to look at him. He’s leaning closer to my desk and I can smell his cologne. He smells good. I turn to my laptop again.
“Simple as that?”
“What is the purpose of these questions, Mr. Timberlake?” I say with a raised brow when he stands.
“I asked for something and you got it? It doesn’t add up.”
“What doesn’t add up?” Now, I’m curious as can be. I look up at him and I can see the perfect way the suit fits his shoulders. For once he’s not wearing those damn sneakers he always wears. He’s not sporting a sweatshirt and bags under his eyes. He looks like a man. An attractive man that smells like heaven in my office. The situation I’ve put myself in. Fuck! “Kills me to say, Mr. Timberlake but you are who you are and you do seem to get what you want. You simply caught me in good spirits. Besides, I was proving a point to you.”
“The point was noted and thrown in the garbage, V,“ he says and damnit if his eyes don’t get sexy when he says the letter. It’s a fucking letter! Who does that? Who says the letter v with sex written in their eyes. “So what you’re saying is that all this time, all I had to do was ask you for something and I get it?”
“Now, don’t get carried away, Mr. Timberlake.” I say with a bored expression. I honestly can’t fucking act any other way because my nerves are on ends. I’m feeling like that night at the radio station and I couldn’t sleep that night. Damnit! “Once in a lifetime thing. If you didn’t grasp it at the moment, you won’t get another chance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. You can see your way out.”
“You’re a bitch,” he says with a shrug. Not even the nice Roberto Cavalli suit makes his mouth cleaner. What a shame.
“Likewise,” I say with a smile and wave to him as he exits the office and I can‘t help but mumble to myself. “Fucking asshole!”
Eight Hours Later
Charity Lingerie Show
Downtown Los Angeles
What I hate the most about these things in the preparation of it all. I know I have three changes and they all require special attention, for some reason. Why do I always get stuck with the theme inspired ensemble? Why can’t Barker get them? She can walk better than I can, she’s the model. But now, I get fitted for the special piece, it doesn’t fail. I hate it.
I’ve been doing these shows for years and while I may complain to everyone backstage, I’m happy to do it. Tonight’s show is to benefit children’s hospitals across the country and it’s the instant gratification I get from volunteering my body, so to speak, that I enjoy the most.
When Barker and I were in high school we got in trouble for cutting my brother’s dogs’ hair. My brother was being a jerk at the time, I don’t even remember what he did to us. My parent’s had the bright idea that it would be up to my brother to decide what our punishment should be. He chose what he thought would be the worst possible punishment for us. He made us volunteer, work for free. I was devastated. I had to work? For free? No way! But my mother being the person that she is, took us to volunteer at a fashion arts school. Needless to say, we’ve been volunteering our time and looks to as many charities as we could. Joke’s on my brother, that dog was ugly anyway!
Barker is getting her make-up done across the congested backstage area and I’m standing around in my six inch heals. The designer hands me what looks like cotton balls at the gay pride parade and calls it some kind of scarf. It’s actually hideous but it goes with the lingerie I’m wearing. It’s a little chilly back here now but I’m dreading the beginning of the show. We’ll all be back here sweating our assess off in a few minutes, I assure it.
“That’s cute,” Aundrea is standing next to me now, wearing a very pink ensemble with a white boa and the revealing thongs to go with it. She looks great as always and as the make-up artist comes over to her to add more powder to her face for good measure, I realize once again why I don’t do this professionally. It’s annoying! Everyone’s in your face. Your boobs are being manhandled and put into tight corsets. Your feet are crammed into shoes that are too small. You hair is tease the hell out and the look lasts about thirty seconds, depending on the length of the runway, then you do it all over again. It’s also exhausting, I much rather have to deal with the Mr. Timberlakes’ of the world. Speaking of which, I haven’t heard from him since he walked out of my office this morning. I would have expected a list the length of this runway of things he’d like to change about that tour.
But he’s probably busy with his big mouth girlfriend!
“It is a pretty cute one,” I say in regards to her remark about my attire, or lack thereof. “I could do without this thing,” I say wrapping the stupid cotton ball scarf around my shoulders. “You should see the other ones I’m wearing later. I’m stealing them, I swear.”
“Girl, don’t be stupid,” she says with a laugh. “Like they even give you a chance to leave it on when you step off that runway. They basically start stripping you and you can’t do a damn thing about it,” we laugh at the true statement as we enjoy the rare quiet moment before the show.
Aundrea is one of the first to be on the runway so our conversation about my other get ups, ends abruptly. Before I even line up where I’m supposed to be, the designer comes to me with some adjustments. He has two blue hearts in his hand along with a little teddy bear patch. He squirts some kind of fabric glue on the bear and presses it to my lingerie bottoms. The two blue hearts that he still had in his hands get glued to the tops of my gold shoes. I look like a piece of candy, and oddly I feel a bit trashy. All for the kids, I guess, since the first setup is inspired by kids apparently. Like kids can actually wear this little get up! The stage is decorated with lots of toys and candy coincidentally and I fit right in. It’s show time!
The moment I step onto the runway I know something’s wrong. Someone’s watching me. Yes, I understand that there are thousands of people staring at my assets at the moment but I can feel a set of eyes on me. I don’t falter though and because of the bright lights, music and congestions of half naked women on the runway, I don’t see the end. The runway is covered in glitter and I wonder who thought of the idea of having us walk on an endless runway covered in this shit.
The shoes I’m wearing fortunately hold me up and they seem to actually help with the walking on this stupid glitter. As I approach the end of the runway and take my cue, I see who’s eyes are the ones I felt. Mr. Timberlake, Cameron Diaz, Trace and a blond chick that looks familiar are on the first row. Is that the girl from Reba? The flashes go off as I stand there with my pose and I can’t help but look at Mr. Timberlake. He’s sitting directly in front of where I am. His jaw hangs to the damn floor, what’s his problem? Never seem a woman in lingerie? I doubt that.
My pose lasts about ten seconds but it seemed like I was standing there forever. I’m doing what the designer asked of me and when I turn around I flirt with the crowd, winking and blowing a kiss. Unfortunately, the crowd was Mr. Timberlake and his entourage. When I’m walking back down the runway towards my quick change I pass Barker, who smiles at me. She’s so beautiful, I love my sister.
What happens backstage at one of these events is incredible. When my foot lands off the last step, it’s a fucking blur. I’m pulled over to the make up area and I’m completely stripped. I swear if they weren’t all gay men, I would probably file charges of rape. The colorful attire I had disappears and I am instructed, very sternly, if I may add, to step into a little black number. I love this piece and I swear, I’m getting it. I get a little white feathered boa to go with it. The shoes are the cutest black slip-ons with white bows that complete the look. The designer tells me the jewelry is a loan from Jacob and that I should be very careful with it. Umm okay! Do they really think I even have a chance to loose it? I‘m not on the runway for ten minutes, it‘s barely fifty seconds.
Again when I step onto the runway, I get a sudden feeling of discomfort. The lingerie isn’t enough material to be the cause. But when I approach the end of the runway I’m again forced to focus on Mr. Timberlake. He’s still sitting there, looking uncomfortable. Ms. Diaz gives me a death glare and suddenly I get the urge to kick her in the jaw. I’m on a runway so acting on impulse isn’t going to work. I was directed to strut at the end of the runway, so I did. Ms. Diaz doesn’t find the show amusing because she whispers something to Ms. Bomar who I notice is now sitting next to her. Ms. Bomar gives the same stupid jaw dropping look her cousin did. Yes bitch, it’s me.
While Ms. Bomar and Ms. Diaz rudely have a conversation when they are supposed to watch the show, Mr. Timberlake says something to Mr. Ayala. I can clearly see when Mr. Timberlake mouths the word DAMN over the loud music. Ms. Diaz is so involved in her conversation that she misses her lovely boyfriend, checking out the merchandise. Pay attention to your man, Ms. Diaz. You wouldn’t want someone to snatch him.
When I make it backstage again, it’s a bit on the slow pace because the designers and the charity people are giving speeches. I have about five minutes before I have to go out again in my final change. I get to actually sit down briefly for my hair and make-up. When I say brief, that’s what I mean, about a minute’s worth. Trust when I say that it’s a blessing because like I mentioned, it’s an exhausting job.
Barker comes to me and complains about her shoes and the wedgie the bottom of what she’s wearing is giving her.
“How is it possible that this thing is small on me now? I just tried it on two hours ago and it was perfect.” She says pulling at it.
“Two hours ago you hadn’t shoved down three burritos,” I laugh.
“Shut up, you ate too!” She says with a chuckle.
“I had half of one. I told you, you’d be bloated but you didn’t listen. You’re the professional here.” I say with a shrug as my hair is curled then combed then curled again. Damn indecisive hair stylist. I‘m about two seconds from doing it myself. How hard can it be to have my hair down? Seriously?
“You look like you‘re wearing a wedding gown.” She says about my final number.
“This is the one I really want,” I say in a hushed playful voice.
“Going to be hard walking out of here dragging that long ass white lace train behind you, V.” She says in a hushed voice making me laugh. “Justin will like it though.”
“What?” I ask in shock. What the hell was she talking about? Justin will like it? She doesn’t get a chance to respond to my current shock because she’s whisked away to her cue. Justin will like it? Where the hell did she get the idea that I would actually care what that man liked?
I have the runway to myself until the designer steps on and walks the length of it. Suddenly I’m nervous. Why? I don’t know. Well, I do know and it’s because of what Barker just said. Why wouldn’t he like it? Why do I care? I mean what’s there not to like? It’s a beautiful lingerie and not for nothing, but I do look pretty good in it. Why wouldn’t he like it?
I’m asking myself a million questions as I strut down the runway. I can see people ooing and aahing as I make my way. But I’m not satisfied. He better like it!
If he was uncomfortable before he looks as though he’s going to fall off his chair. Ms. Diaz and Ms. Bomar are nowhere to be seen, and neither is the Reba girl. Mr. Timberlake and Mr. Ayala are both sitting there, applauding. I give my best pose and smile when I get to the edge of the runway and I stop for the cameras. Mr. Timberlake is still applauding and I notice the suit he’s wearing is another one of my selections. It’s a completely shocking turn-on. What the hell?
Although the lights are bright and the audience seems to be darker than where I’m at, I can see his blue eyes. If I have to admit something is attractive about Mr. Timberlake, I would have to say are those eyes of his. He’s not smiling or remotely looking amused. He’s simply looking at me and applauding the designer as he steps on the runway with me. Our eyes connect for a milli-second before my cue to exit arrives. The show’s over.
It takes about an hour to wind down from the show and dress and by this time, I’m really exhausted. Barker rushed out here to meet some friends of hers so I don’t have to wait around for her. Since I’m the last one of the girls to leave, one of the beefed up security guards walks me to the elevator leading to the private parking garage and I thank him tiredly. I can’t believe how tired I am as I start walking toward my car. I put my gift from the designer, my white lingerie, in the backseat neatly. When I turn I am face to face with a set of blue eyes.
“Holy shit!” I say holding my hand to my chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” My nerves become on end, a very unusual feeling for me and I feel a bit intimidated. I’m never intimidated. Period. But suddenly the situation I’m in ensues the feeling. The parking garage is empty except the two cars we’re in and I’m wondering how I missed the black BMW next to my car.
“I parked here,” he says coolly and actually leans on the side of my car. I just had it waxed, Mr. Timberlake! But I don’t say anything, just look at him. What the hell is wrong with me? I must be more tired than I thought. “Working late?”
“Excuse me?” I ask and he’s staring at my legs. A creature of habit I see. I’m wearing a pair of jean shorts because I’m still a bit hot from being backstage and a pair of Barker’s flip-flops. I can’t say I look the greatest at the moment.
“Are you always the last one out?” He asks curiously and he folds his arms over his chest as if the conversation was going long.
“What business is that to you, Mr. Timberlake?” I say and I close the open door to my car and look at him. He’s changed his clothes and is now sporting the signature t-shirt and jeans. Unfortunately he still looks just as good as he did before. I hate him.
“So not only are you a Director of Public Relations, you’re also a lingerie model?” He says with a raised brow. Is he drunk? He’s going from subject to subject and I’m too tired to keep up.
“Are you asking or figuring out the obvious out loud?” I ask. I need to get out of this situation because right now I’m out of character. I’m tired and not feeling like myself around him, so there’s no way I’m sticking around for this shit. I can’t. I refuse to do it. I’m not attracted to him, and that’s my final answer. “Good night, Mr. Timberlake.”
“Oh, no you’re not leaving me like this again,” he says and I notice his glossy eyes. He has been drinking! And what does he mean, leave him like this again? Huh?
“Leave you like what, Mr. Timberlake?” I ask and he’s holding my door closed. What is he doing? “What are you doing?”
“Leaving me all fucked up in the head,” he responds with a shrug. “Fuck it, just leave.”
“Have you been drinking, Mr. Timberlake?” I ask and I’m worried that if he was, he was about to drive.
“You know,” he says pushing off of my car. “You think you’re hot shit and one of these days you’ll learn not to fuck with people’s heads like you do. I think it’s going to go bad, one of these days, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Timberlake I believe you’re confusing me with someone who gives a damn about your theories,” he’s aggravating me just by standing there. “Why don’t you go ahead and use your theories on your girlfriend’s acting career? Don’t for one second think you know me.”
“What is your fascination with my girlfriend, Ms. Martinez? You’re sounding, I don’t know how to say this,” he says pretending to ponder his words over. “A whole lot of jealous, maybe.”
“Exactly what does your girlfriend have that I would be jealous of, Mr. Timberlake?” I’m actually curious about what his response is going to be. “And don’t go flatter yourself telling me it’s you, because clearly there is nothing, and I mean nothing, to be jealous about.” I say looking at him up and down with a bored expression on my face.
“It’s simple really,” he says and I have to hold my ground when he steps in front of me. My left hand is on my hip and my right is holding my keys as he stares me down. He smells incredible and it’s sickening to think so. God, what is it with this guy? He actually gets closer to my face and instead of the alcohol on his breath that I’m expecting to smell, I smell the mint gum he’s chewing. He hasn’t been drinking, after all. “My girlfriend has,”
“Your girlfriend has what, Mr. Timberlake?” I ask and I find myself whispering. I roll my eyes and it’s a weird feeling when someone else’s eyes are inches away from yours.
“Orgasms,” he whispers and looks into my eyes. What the hell is he trying to do? Seduce me? Please. He can’t seduce me. The tingly sensation down my spine means absolutely nothing. I’m fucking tired. Yeah, that’s fucking it. He’s not shit!
“Again, Mr. Timberlake I think you’re mistaken me with someone you think you know,” I say stepping back and opening my door. I need to get the hell out here. “Whether or not I have orgasms has nothing to do with you or your theories. And for you information, I do have orgasms. Multiple ones.”
“You’re a bad liar, Vanessa,” he says as he holds my car door open. “You’re also a fucking tease!”
“What?!” I say and I can’t believe my damn ears. Is he serious? I get out of my car and stand in front of him. “Explain that to me, Mr. Timberlake, because right now that seems highly interesting to me.”
“My girlfriend also has the ability to give me what I want,” he says with a shrug and this time leans against the side of his own car. “I can go on and on about what my girlfriend has and you don’t.”
“Tell me, Mr. Timberlake. If your girlfriend has so many thing to offer, why the hell are you in a dark parking lot waiting for me? Why are you here? Where’s your precious girlfriend, Mr. Timberlake?”
“I parked here,” he shrugs. “I left with Trace earlier and I had to come and get my car. You happen to be coming out at the same time.” Does he think I’m stupid? He was here waiting for me. Right? Why else? I mean, why not?
“Don’t fool yourself, Mr. Timberlake. Whatever it is you think you’re going to get from me, clear it out of your mind. It’s not happening. Not tonight, or ever. So get back in your car and go back to that girlfriend of yours who you think has more orgasms than I do.” So I’m thinking one thing but saying another. Another sign of my tiredness, I guess. Do I sound jealous?
“The flattering of yourself has really got to stop, Vanessa. Clearly there‘s nothing, and I mean nothing, to be flattering yourself over.” He says the words but his eyes betray him when I get into the car and his eyes go to my legs. It’s unnerving. And quite honestly, exciting. A completely different feeling than when I was on the runway tonight and all those people were looking at me. Completely different.
“You have rehearsals tomorrow, Mr. Timberlake,” I say turning on my car and reaching to close my door. “Try not to be late. AGAIN.” I close the door to my car and slowly drive out of the parking lot. I look in the rearview mirror against my own will and I find him looking in the direction of my car. He puts his hand to the back of his neck and rolls it. He looks stressed and I feel horrible.
“Another lonely night, Vanessa.” I say to myself as I make a left onto Sunset.
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
