Summer in the middle of Los Angeles, Justin had to admit, was a little bit disgusting. The heat was annoying at best and the smog obscured views that even on the greatest days were mediocre. Okay, that was a little harsh, but it was days like these that made him miss Memphis more than anything. Los Angeles’s one saving grace, the ever-present breeze, was nowhere to be found today, and coupled with the disastrous audition for a new potential movie, Justin felt a tad less than fantastic. And so, as he walked through the doors of his agent’s office, into the gloriously empty, air conditioned lobby, it was a shock, but also pleasant surprise to find a new receptionist. At least, he was pretty sure she was new. He could only really see the top of her head, which, judging by the rich brown color of her ponytail, made him almost positive she was not in fact, the normal receptionist.
And she was young, thank god. The receptionist before had been very, very old. So old she often had him repeat his name a few times before she could understand what he was saying and more often than not he resorted to writing whatever he needed down just to save time. The second thing Justin realized as he walked closer to this new, mystery receptionist was that she could cuss like a sailor without hesitating, or, apparently, looking to make sure the lobby was empty. Her eyes were glued to her computer monitor, her mouse moving in rapid but miniscule jerks. Everything was silent save for the clicks and taps made by her mouse, and then, without any hint of a sign, she spoke, or rather, she yelled.
“Mother fucker,” she says, slamming her mouse on the glass table of her desk before rolling her neck. Her eyes flit annoyed from the screen to the ceiling and then, finally to Justin. He can’t help but grin as he watches, she really is completely oblivious. She glances at him once seeming to not register he’s there at all, and then in a blink of the eye, she’s on her feet, nearly knocking her chair over in the process. Her eyes are wide and frantic but she doesn’t say a word, which gives Justin time to observe her fully. Her eyes are striking, big and beautiful and a funny shade of hazel that he supposes may change depending on the colors around her. Her neck is slender but not particularly long, and he notices when his eyes follow the line of her pencil skirt, she’s barefoot.
“Hi,” he says, like he’s talking to a skittish animal, a little worried she may bolt if he speaks too loudly. “Sorry to freak you out, um, I’m here to see Gary Welch?” He shoves his hands in his jean pockets, hoping some how it’ll calm her down.
The mention of her boss seems to snap her out of whatever daze she was and as quickly as she stood up, she sits down again. “Right. I’m so sorry, right, of course you’re here to see him,” she says, the phone now tucked between her shoulder and ear, her finger poised to press a button…if only she could remember which one.
“It’s the white one, to your left…yep,” Justin supplies, watching as this new receptionist buzzes him in.
“Right, of course, thanks, okay, you can go right on in.”
Justin nods his thank you, giving her one last smile before stepping through the oak door to his left.
As soon as the door clicks shut Elise lets her head fall into her open palms. Did that really just happen? Did Justin Timberlake just walk in the lobby and witness her say the m-f word? Over minesweeper?! Elise groans out loud before quickly covering her mouth with both hands, all she needs is some other incredibly famous client of her boss to come strolling through the front doors while she’s groaning like some teenager who got caught texting in class. Elise runs through their encounter again in her head, wanting to die a little more with every passing second. Did she really stand up? What even was that?
“Oh, God…” she whispers, looking down at her bare feet under her desk. Not only did she stand up when she saw him, like he was some general, but she did so barefoot. Quickly, she slides her pumps back on, ignoring each toe screaming in protest.
“Oh, God…” she groans, louder this time, as she counts how many times she said the word right. Four? Had she really said it four times? In the span of what, thirty seconds? Elise shakes her head and tries to laugh. If it had been anyone but her, she would have found this situation hilarious. She never thought being near famous people would shake her like it just did, in fact, in order to get this job, she swore it wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even call herself a fan of his, it’s just that he caught her off guard and it’s only her second week, and she had almost beaten her minesweeper record.
Minesweeper, she thinks with a sigh, always causes problems.
----
As Justin walks into his agent’s office he discovers any and all trace of his bad mood has been replaced by a sort of bemusement for the receptionist’s attitude towards him. It’s been a long time since a girl who was obviously affected by his celebrity managed to be so utterly charming.
“You seem to be in a better mood,” Gary says, shuffling a few papers on his desk, not bothering to look up to greet Justin. “What changed?”
Justin gives a non-committal shrug as he says, “Nothing, really,” before plopping into one of the plush leather chairs in front of his agent’s desk.
Finally looking up from his desk, Gary surprises Justin with a smile. “Well I got a call from the casting director. You got the part.”
Justin barks a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, “You’re joking. After I read they didn’t say a thing. I literally dismissed myself.”
“Well you must have done something right. They want you back on Wednesday for a chemistry reading and the read throughs start next month.”
Justin could feel whatever sort of weight from his poor audition lifting from his shoulders. He laughs again, he can’t help it. In a matter of minutes every bit of his horrible day is washed away, leaving only one more question left in his head.
“Who’s the new receptionist?” It spills from his lips before he can really stop it. Justin doesn’t understand his curiosity about her but for some reason he has to know.
Already back to shuffling papers and circling or crossing out random bits of text Gary barely looks up. “Who, Elise? I knew her mother a long time ago, hired her as a favor. I think she goes to UCLA. Just moved here from Hawaii…” Gary trails off, his brows furrowing and the quick shuffle from paper to paper stalls and Justin senses his time to leave.
“Thanks man,” he says on his way out, not waiting for an answer before shutting the door behind him.
He finds the receptionist–Elise–right where he left her, only this time there’s no cussing and no bagels, only the low murmur of an old rock song from the 80s playing overhead and the quiet tap of her fingers against the keyboard.
“No more minesweeper then?” Justin asks as he leans over her desk counter to see her computer screen and watches as Elise jumps like she’s been electrocuted, but this time manages to stay in her chair. “Do you always do that?” Justin adds half sorry and half amused.
“How’d you know I was playing minesweeper?” There’s no pause this time, no awed hesitation that sometimes happens when people realize he’s addressing them. Only the natural and immediate curiosity that Justin finds both refreshing and off-kiltery.
“I heard you cuss,” Justin says, in that persuasive, I’ve done it before tone that people use to express obviousness. “That was clearly an I just lost minesweeper ‘mother fucker.’”
Elise laughs, Justin smiles, and he notices for the first time the natural rasp in her voice. It makes him want to get her to talk more.
“No, but really, I just figure that’s the only game on your old ass PC that could make someone cuss like that.”
Elise laughs again, a little louder and Justin’s smile widens, like he got what he wanted.
“Sorry about scaring you earlier,” he adds, “I didn’t realize you didn’t hear me come in.”
A rosy blush paints Elise’s cheeks as she remembers those dreadful few moments, “No need to apologize. It was totally my fault. I just never thought you’d be so quiet on your feet.”
“I didn’t think I was.”
Silence descends, Elise unsure if it’d be rude to finish the email to her friend Megan and not positive on how to respond to his last comment. Thankfully, the phone rings and ends any sort of awkwardness and gives them both a reason to end the conversation. Justin waves with a smile as he walks out the front door, and as Elise waves back she wonders if she’ll ever be able to live that one down.
----
Elise’s apartment still smells like no one lives in it. She’s been in LA for almost two months, and the paint still smells like it was just painted. She falls into her armchair, the perfect, most comfortable place she can pretend to do homework in. Homework. Elise sighs as she pulls her copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy from the carpet, opening it to the marked page and begins to read. Elise gets maybe a paragraph in when the buzz from her cell phone sets everyone on edge, taking a deep breath before she answers, Elise closes her book.
“Hi, honey!” the cheery vice of her mother greets her from the phone, loud, ohh so very loud, even all the way from Hawaii. “Did your job go well today?”
Elise sighs, drawing a palm tree in he corner of her notebook, “Yes, my job went well, just like every other day since I started.”
“Oh, that’s so good, honey. I wanted to make sure you weren’t eating too many root vegetables; you know I was reading in women’s living and apparently, those aren’t good for your blood type. Try to focus on leafy greens.”
“Okay, mom, I’ll remember that.”
“And how’s school? What are you reading? A guide about what to do after you get your PhD in English?” She laughs but Elise can feel the hostile edge creep into her mother’s tone which signals their conversation is just about done.
“You know I was talking to your father the other day about your options after you graduate and I just don’t get why you want to study English of all things. You’re not going to be a professor, or a teacher. Why not study something a little more practical. Like business. Or communications. You’re beautiful but serious, the news channels would just love you!”
Elise closes her book and tosses it back onto the fluffy carpet of her apartment floor, there’s no way she’ll be able to read tonight, not after this phone call, she can feel her blood starting to boil. “Well, mom, it’s a little late for that, to be honest.”
“Yes, buggy, I understand that, but I was just thin-”
Elise’s mom’s voice fades into the background and a warm, raspy chuckle fills the receiver, warming Elise’s heart and agitating that tiny kernel of homesickness, even for her mother, Elise had buried deep within her chest.
“All this missing you gives your mother plenty of time to plan your future,” says the deep, warm tenor of her father.
“As if my future isn’t already pretty much mapped out,” Elise sighs, sticking the end of her pen into her mouth.
He says nothing, there really is no right response to that, only chuckles once again and over the crackly connection.
“Hi, daddy,” She starts over, pauses for a beat before whispering the dreaded words: “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, June bug, we all do. But I’m sure you’re learning a ton at school, UCLA is amazing, if I do say so myself.”
It’s Elise’s turn to laugh, “Dad, you wouldn’t need to say that to anyone. It’s written on your car, your clothes, I saw those socks you got, too.”
A smile is on his voice when he says, “Your mother gave them to me, what was I supposed to do.” There’s no smart answer for this, Elise knows, so she just laughs again, conceding to the fact that sometimes it’s best just not to fight her mom.
“How’s Matt? I haven’t heard from him in a couple days.”
“He’s fine, you know how he gets whenever there’s a good wave forecast. He’s been out in the surf since around five this morning.”
“Hmm,” Elise says, imagining the soft light of dawn reflecting off the ocean. Silhouettes of surfers far out on the beach dot across the horizon. It’s a beautiful view, even for Elise, who was never really much of a surfer, and she feels that small little ache of homesickness grow a tiny bit more in her chest.
“Don’t worry about your mother, Elise. I know she pushes your buttons but she just wants you to be happy. I’ve lost track of how many times she’s said she misses you.”
“I know, dad,” Elise says, amazed at the ease she feels after just hearing his voice.
“Well, dinners ready, Bug, we’ll call you soon, same next week, right?”
“Yep.”
Elise holds her cell to her ear until she hears the click of her parent’s landline, and then they’re gone. She heaves a sigh and pulls her text book back onto her lap and swears that the water in her eyes is just from those damn paint fumes.
