Chapter 1: The Meet Cute

Monday, April 3rd, 2000.

Rebecca smoothed down her skirt as she entered the elevator. She turned, pressing the button leading down to the basement. She lightly shook her torso with tension, preparing herself for what laid in “The Dungeon” as the normals on the marketing floor called it. A tense few minutes passed and the elevator doors opened, a black sign with gold letters spelling out “Maintenance” with an arrow pointing to the left and “IT Department” with an arrow pointing to the right. She proceeded right. A torn piece of paper stained with coffee rings warned in blue sharpie, “Warning! Danger awaits those who enter, take this!” followed by a crudely drawn penis dangling from a single brown tab of tape on the door to the IT Department. She covered her hand with her sweater and took hold of the door knob, twisting it as she pushed the door open.

“Sorry, there’s a visitor,” the peroxide blond receptionist mumbled into the receiver of his phone. “Hi! I’m Lance, welcome to the IT Department. How may I help you?!” Lance said with as much enthusiasm as a morning children’s television presenter.

Rebecca was taken aback. “Um, hi...I’m Rebecca from Marketing. I’m here to pick up the new website guy.”

Rebecca suddenly felt like Snow White when she was in the forest with all the eyes peering out at her. She took in a nervous breath as she looked around the room, acknowledging the others in the department. In front of a room labeled “SERVERS” in bold red marker was a short, dark-haired guy in a Alice Cooper T-shirt hunched over the discoloured keyboard of a computer she would’ve sworn was from the 1830s if she didn’t know that all computers at the company headquarters of “Bryant’s Retail Holdings” were only 5 years old, maximum. The man, Chris Kirkpatrick according to the name plate resting against a slave Leia figurine stated, bared his teeth and gave out the kind of hiss a 4-week-old kitten gives out. Next was the empty desk of Joseph Fatone, or Superman, as the red sharpie scrawled across his name plate would say, if it wasn’t covered with a post-it note with Clark Kent scrawled across it. And finally, the wunderkind, as everyone called him: Justin Timberlake, the 19-year-old computer genius with a blond Afro who was said by many to have graduated high school at 16, and was the IT Department’s newest hire at 18 after a 2-year computer maintenance course done at the local community college. Sitting with Justin was the one who Rebecca assumed was the new website guy. Dressed in a well tailored business suit, with his dark hair was slicked back and he had just a hint of stubble on his face.

He stood up, tucking his grey tie against his stomach as he buttoned his suit jacket. “JC Chasez...” He held out his hand to introduce himself.

She looked down at it. “Yeah, I’m Rebecca. You’re supposed to be up on the 5th floor with everyone else in Marketing.”

An awkward silence fell over them, only to be interrupted by a burly man with dyed red hair bounding through the department door. “Who wants breakfast?”

The elevator ride up to the 5th floor was tense between JC and Rebecca. He bit his lips as he discreetly looked over her. She stood a fair few inches shorter than him in the modest heels she was wearing. The long sleeves of her blouse were rolled up, and her pencil skirt had the same pattern as television static. Her auburn brown hair was tied up in a high, but loose ponytail, with small tendrils of curls falling around her face. Finally, as he could not help but notice, were her piercing blue eyes and soft, natural pink lipstick. He quietly sighed as she stared down at the elevator’s carpet.

“How long have you lived in Bloomington?” he asked.

“All my life,” she responded in a curt, but hushed voice.

“So…” He searched for things to make small talk about. “Did you go to college at Illinois State?”

“Um…yeah.” She nodded. “I started working in the Bea’s outlet in northern Bloomington, and the company reimbursed some of my school fees as part of their managerial program.”

“So, Miss Bea pretty much owns your ass?”

She snickered. “Actually, Mr. Bryant to be exact. Bea’s Baby Boutique was started by Simon Bryant in 1973 as an off-branch of Bryant’s department stores. With some inspiration from Bea Arthur, of course.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels. “I wondered that.”

“Have you met Mr. Bryant yet?”

“I’ve met a Mr. Bryant. Colin, I think?”

“Yeah, Colin in HR, Simon’s brother.”

“How many other Bryants are there around the company?”

“There’s a few. It is a family business, of course.”

“Oh, we call that nepotism in the real world.” He held the elevator door open for her as she stepped out. “How many others do I look forward to meeting?”

“Well…” She flashed him a sly smile. “You’ve already met two, but you’ve got a fair few to go.” She strode ahead of him. “You’ll know us when you see us.”

The 5th floor of Bryant’s Retail Holdings was laid out with the same layout as the four floors proceeding it. Except for a few large, frosted panes of glass acting as room dividers, the main space of each floor was taken up by islands of four desks. The only two rooms properly separated were the Head of Department’s office and a small break room spotted with small round tables, each with four chairs.

Rebecca took the small brown paper bag out of the fridge in the break room, placing it onto a small butter plate. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat alone like she always did at lunch.

As Rebecca unceremoniously unwrapped her egg salad sandwich from its cling film prison, JC confidently strode into the break room and gazed at the picked over muffin basket by the coffee maker. He took the last one and made himself a mug of tea, sitting across from Rebecca.

“Hey,” he greeted her.

“Hey,” she replied.

He took a seat across from her, tearing a tiny satchel of honey with his teeth before he stirred it into his tea. “Do you always eat alone?”

She looked around, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess.”

“Is there a specific reason?”

“Not really. I haven’t really clicked with anyone in the department.”

“So, I was going over the new catalogue to see what kind of designs could be used for the Bea’s Boutique website, and I saw that it was designed by a Rebecca Bryant, only she had two ‘Bs’ and only one ‘C’ instead of the traditional 1 ‘B’ and 2 ‘Cs.’ I was wondering if she’s another Bryant Industries Bryant?”

Her eyes glazed over as she sighed. “No, she’s me. A fun game of mine is to go over the new catalogue and see how many mistakes I made and how long it takes me to completely die inside.”

He chuckled. “What percentage are you up to?”

“I’m pretty much dead and gone considering I not only misspelled my own name, but overlooked the typo a good few times.”

“So, are you just randomly assigned to designing the catalogue, or does it run deeper than that?”

“No, I’m actually a graphic designer. Degree in graphic design at Illinois State.”

“So, art school kid?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll show you my setup a bit later.”

“I think I’ve already seen it. Are you the Blueberry iBook with the graphics tablet?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s not hard to miss, a bright blue and white laptop whilst everyone else is using company standard IBM desktops.”

“I mean, there’s a few people who use their own computers. I mean, look at Chris in IT.”

“That’s not Chris’s computer. That’s the...” He paused for a moment. “It’s the computer Chris uses to oversee the servers and the company network.”

“Then why hasn’t it been updated when every computer in the company has? I haven’t seen that style of computer used by Bryant’s since I interned as my dad’s assistant when Darla was last on maternity leave in ‘96.”

JC shrugged his shoulders. “I have as much of an idea why it hasn’t been updated to a newer model. He probably has reasons, though.”

JC approached her desk later that afternoon, faintly knocking the surface to get her attention. “Hello, again.”

Rebecca removed a set of headphones from her ears. “Hey.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Oh, just an old Beethoven symphony that I loaded onto the computer so I have something to listen to while working.”

He sat on the edge of the desk. “Cool, cool. I think we might be put on the site together, like I do the coding and stuff and you’d be in charge of keeping the site in line with the motifs of the company…” He rotated his hand. “And stuff.”

She turned to him, freezing as his crotch entered her line of sight. She swallowed as she completely registered the large bulge straining against the linen of his grey trousers. She looked up at him, a knowing smile on his face. She quickly turn away, blushing. He knows that I saw his penis, she thought to herself. He caught me looking at his penis and now he knows that I know that he has a penis. A big penis. HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW HE HAS A BIG PENIS! I HAVE TO WORK WITH THIS GUY AND HE’S GOT A HUGE COCK AND HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW THAT HE HAS A GIGANTIC COCK AND I AM GOING TO DIE!

She tried to carefully regain eye contact with him without face-planting her line of sight back into his massive dong. She panned her sight until she only saw a little of his form and panned up, focusing on his face as she tried to make a meek but ladylike smile.

I am a complete lady, she tried to tell herself. I am a sexually innocent lady who doesn’t know what a penis is and doesn’t know that he has one. He’s smooth down there. He’s basically a Ken doll to me, she tried to tell herself as she almost grimaced into a full and embarrassed grin.

“There is nothing I want more than to work with you, Mr. Shaz-ay—“

“Sha-zay,” he corrected her.

“Shaz-ay. I look forward to our project together.”

He stood up. “Cool. I’ll see you later, I guess. Also, it’s Sha-zay.”

She nodded and awkwardly waved him goodbye.

She took a deep breath, refusing to move her line of sight until he was out of it. I AM GOING TO FLING MYSELF IN FRONT OF A MOVING TRAIN! she screamed internally.

Rebecca saw JC again on her way to the parking garage.

“Can you hold this?” he asked as he handed her a motorcycle helmet.

“Um…yeah.” She watched as he took of his suit jacket and folded it up neatly and then removed a leather jacket from his satchel bag before he placed his suit jacket into the bag.

He zipped the leather one up, smiling as he took the helmet back. “Thanks for that.”

They started to walk to the garage. “Where do you live in Bloomington?” she asked.

“I’m currently living out of a duffel bag in a Holiday Inn about 10 minutes away from here, but the guys in IT say that I can move into their share house whenever I want. I was thinking of going over there tonight.”

“Isn’t their share house just Justin’s mom’s place?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s only until I get on my feet. It’s going to take me a bit to save up for a security deposit for an apartment. Where’s home base for you?”

She pointed vaguely west. “I live in a studio about 5 minutes from here.”

“Want a roommate?”

“Uh, no. The only person sleeping on my futon is me.”

She stopped by a beat-up red hatchback. “This is me.”

He pointed towards a black motorcycle parked near a green dirt bike. “I’m over there.”

“I guess I’ll see tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ve already got some ideas for the site. You know Baby Bea?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The baby from the old Bea’s Baby Boutique print ads. With the blonde curls in the old, white baby buggy.”

The colour drained from her face as she remembered her very early modelling work. “From the ‘80s?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean Baby Becky?”

He realised her claim to fame. “No?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, as the great-granddaughter of the company’s founder and Bryant’s famous ‘70s sock model, you can see why I ended up as Baby Becky.”

“Do you still go by Becky?”

“No, mostly Rebecca. I think you know why. Everyone in Bloomington knows Baby Becky Bryant of Bea’s Baby Boutique and Bryant’s department stores…I mean anyone who was aware of local advertisements in the late ‘70s, early ‘80s.”

“Over in DC, we just knew her as Baby Bea.”

“That’s it, I am building a time machine and going back and growing up in DC,” she joked.

He made a small chuckle. “You would’ve liked it.”

“If you say so.”

They stood in silence for a small moment. Instinctively, they started to hug, only to stop when they realised what they were doing, JC giving her a firm handshake instead. She bit her lip as her heart started racing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she almost whispered.

“I look forward to it. Bye.”

“Bye.”

She watched as he walked over to his bike, putting his helmet on and lifting the visor. He climbed onto the bike, jumpstarting it before he waved and slowly pulled out of the garage, flipping his visor down before he rode out onto the street.

She let out a long exhale, a thousand thoughts running through her head. She unlocked her car and got into the driver’s seat. She drove home, her head elsewhere as she parked her car, walked up the stairs to her apartment, unlocked her door, and sat on her futon, the only thought in her head what her father always said whenever he recounted the photoshoot where he met her mother.

“When you meet the one, you know.”