The dim lights and the flickering flame of candles are the only sources of illumination in the small room. It’s late in the night, but a shadowed figure sits upright against a large control board, hands stretching out to mess with the switches every so often. He swivels quickly in the chair, rapidly jotting down something in an old tattered notebook. Almost in a daze-like trance, he turns his attention to a small set of knobs, turning each one.
“Justin? I thought you would be gone by now man,” a voice says from behind.
He slowly punches down on a few more buttons, and turns his head.
“Hey Ray.” Smiling at his friend, he simply shrugs, “Something came to me.”
“Well look, Trace gave me a call earlier, asking if you wanted to go with us to the club tonight. Supposedly all the Laker girls are going out for some sort of party.”
Justin didn’t say a word, his eyebrows furrowing at the piece of paper before him.
“So you coming or what?” Ray asked.
Finally, turning to face him Justin nodded, “I’ll be there man.”
“Alright,” He exchanged handshakes with Justin, “We’ll pick you up before midnight.”
Justin smiled, as his friend left the room. Sighing, he looked down at the blank page that seemed to be staring right back at him. Finally closing the notebook and tucking it under his arm, he made his way around the small room to turn off the power, leaving the studio quiet and empty.
Through the dark and rain-slicked L.A. streets his Porsche raced, like a silver bullet cutting through the night. As he pulled up to his multi-million dollar mansion, he fought the urge to run over about thirteen pesky photographers blocking the gate.
Entering his home he threw his stuff on the large plush sofa, and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. The blinking light from the answering machine began to annoy him. Eight new messages.
Crashing down on the couch, he titled his head back as he listened to them.
“Justin? Hey it’s Henry. You know, from People magazine. We were wondering if you knew when you could reschedule that photo shoot for us, because we haven’t heard from your people yet. Just thought that you might know a thing or two, since it is your schedule and all. Well alright, just give us a call back. Bye.”
Knew his schedule? He couldn’t even tell the difference between night and day anymore.
“Hello Justin, this is Miari Lenton from MTV. I’m sorry to be calling your home number; it’s just that I was appointed to do so by your publicist since she said you haven’t given her your quote yet about the upcoming album. We have thousands of emails everyday from people all over the world who are dying to hear how it’s coming along. If you could talk to her about that, we’d really appreciate it. Okay, thank you very much. Have a good day.”
Justin took a long gulp of his beer, and closed his eyes. It seemed like everyone needed something from him these days. Couldn’t there be somebody who just wanted nothing?
“Aye man, it’s Trace,” he smiled. Finally. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”
He grunted, and ignored his friend’s request.
“Justin, it’s Mom. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days so I was beginning to worry. I was gonna call your cell phone but I knew you’d be in the studio and I wouldn’t want to interrupt you,” she said in a sad tone, “I’ll hear from you soon? I love you, bye bye.”
He returned to the kitchen, dumping the rest of his drink and tossed the bottle in the trash. Leaning against the counter, he allowed the machine to go through the rest of the messages.
“Hi Justin. It’s Katie… we met at Bungalow 8 a few nights ago? You told me to give you a call and I was wondering if maybe we could get together sometime soon. Okay, just call me when you get the chance and-”
Frustrated, he yanked the cord off the hook, not able to listen to it any longer. He checked the time, deciding to squeeze in a quick shower before his friends arrived.
The hot water streaming down his back was able to ease his tense muscles. He lathered up the shampoo through his hair, and let the soapy mess travel down his body.
It had only been a month since he began working on his first ever solo record. A month since he first hit the studio without the guys in tow. A month full of missed nights out on the town, a month full of sleepless nights working, a month full of down right stress.
And there he was. A now single twenty-one year old man, putting together what he believed would be his long overdue forthcoming as a solo artist. He had come too far, he knew, to turn back now.
He shut off the water, and tried himself with a fluffy towel. Turning the light on in his room, Justin was amazed at how… untouched it looked. Almost as if no one had ever slept in his bed, or even touched a single thing for that matter. It made him question whether he was overdoing it with his work.
Changing into dark baggy jeans, a white dress shirt and a leather jacket, he was ready to go. As he sprayed on some cologne and checked his hair, he made a promise to himself to have a good time. Two honks were heard from outside. He smiled, picked up his wallet and keys, and headed outside.
He didn’t want to think anymore. All he knew was that tonight was going to be a night spent out with the guys. And whatever was going to happen would be welcomed with open arms.
***
The three men entered from the back door of the club and headed straight for the VIP section where already awaiting them were bottles of expensive champagne and as Trace promised, the Laker girls.
“Hey fellas! Glad you can make it out tonight!” Chad, the club owner said. “Whatever you guys need, we’re happy to give.”
“Thanks, man,” Justin nodded, patting the man’s shoulder.
“We’ll catch up later, alright? Oh, and drinks are on me!” he laughed, disappearing in the crowd.
Ray led the pair to the corner of the room, where he poured them some Cristal. Raising their glasses, Trace decided to make to toast.
“To a night out with the guys,” he said, “Let’s just have fun and live it up.”
They laughed and clanked their glasses together. Ray felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. He nearly fainted when he saw the beautiful woman standing before him.
“Hi,” she smiled, “I’m Sabrina.”
She was about four inches shorter than him, with long black hair, dark silky skin, bright brown eyes, and a shiny white smile.
“Hey,” he stretched his hand out, “I’m Ray. Nice to meet you.”
“I don’t usually do this but… do you wanna dance?”
Ray turned to his friends with wide eyes and they gave him the thumbs up. Excitedly, the young woman hooked arms with him as they walked together to the dance floor.
There were so many people there that night; they moved like the waves of an ocean. With bodies pressed up so closely, moving in rhythm with one another, which was understandable since it was hard to really carry on conversation with the music pumping so loud.
“Shouldn’t you be out there too?” Trace asked Justin.
“Should? Why ‘should’?”
“You’ve been so busy lately and I just figured you could use a dance or two with somebody. Take a look around,” he pointed to the crowd, “there’s a whole new batch of girls out there Justin. Just because you’re not completely healed doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.”
“Who says I’m not having fun? I’m having fun. Lots of it,” he replied, “In fact fun is what I am all about tonight.”
“Don’t tell me. Show me,” Trace crossed his arms. “Why don’t you dance with somebody?”
“This is that reverse psychology stuff you’ve been reading about huh?”
Trace nodded.
Justin swallowed hard, but was determined to prove himself. “Fine.”
Balling up his fists, he slowly walked over to a small table surrounded by women, and decided to approach one with highlighted dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
“Excuse me,” he leaned closer, “but if you don’t have anything better to do I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me. I’m Justin by the way.”
She smiled, setting her martini down. “Gina. I’d love to.”
Taking her hand, he pulled her out from the VIP balcony to a lit up dance floor, smiling slyly at Trace. The crowd cheered as Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” filled the club.
“So what brings you here tonight?” she asked, moving her hips to the beat.
Justin had to stop himself from staring at her to answer. “Just wanted to have some fun.”
He saw her nod, wondering if she was going to give him a “good time.” Lord knows how many offers he got on a daily basis, especially when he’d hit the club, but he was never going to be into that. Plus she didn’t seem the type to do those kinds of things. But surely, she had to know about his big break-up with Britney; it was all over the place. So would she want to take that to her advantage and lure him in?
“… and to see the Laker girls,” he joked, as she burst out laughing. “Is that really fun?”
“Being a Laker girl? Sure, I guess. Better than being some crummy old pop star,” Gina said, playfully nudging him in the arm. She tiptoed so he could hear her better, “Am I talking too much? Would you rather just dance in silence instead?”
“No, no. I like this actually. Makes me feel better, getting to knowing the person who keeps stepping on my toes.”
She looked at him with exaggerated shock as he grinned, and pretended to leave. Not really thinking about it, Justin grabbed her arm quickly, causing their lips to collide.
Surprised, he pulled back, cursing himself once he saw a few cameras in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” he shut his eyes, covering his forehead. “I… I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just-”
“It’s okay,” she said, patting his shoulder, “it was an accident.”
“Look, I think I’m gonna head out of here, if that’s alright?”
For a moment a feeling of sadness arose within her, but by the look on his face she knew he needed to be on his way. “That’s fine. It was nice meeting you. See you at a game maybe?”
He nodded and thanked her, and found Trace at the bar posing for pictures with a few young ladies.
“Trace. Man, I’m gonna be heading out now-” he tried to leave, but Trace snatched him by his jacket sleeve.
“Wait, where the hell are you going? We just got here.”
“I know but-”
“Justin, Trace, smile!” A man said, and automatically they did.
“Something happened and I just really don’t feel right being here right now.”
“Why, is she here or…?” he asked, scanning through the many faces.
“No, I just really need to get going. I’ll take a cab home so you and Ray could stay here.”
Trace rubbed his right cheek in frustration. “Alright man, whatever.”
Justin figured he could just explain tomorrow, if and when the photos would be published. Wasting no time, he walked out of the club where even more photographers were waiting to catch a glimpse.
“Can you guys move, I’m trying to get a cab here,” he said, shielding away from the blinding lights. Everything seemed to be white, and all he could hear were voices.
“What happened in there?”
“Did you get into a fight?”
“Look over here!”
“Can you tell us about you and Britney?”
“Is this your first night out since the break-up?”
Angrily, he charged through the crowd to stand at the sidewalk, waving his hand in the air until a taxi pulled up. Quickly, he got inside and told the driver where to drop him off. Looking behind, he could see the paparazzi running towards him.
“What are we waiting for?”
“Buckle up,” the driver, a chubby African American man instructed.
“Sir, I promise I will but we need to get moving or else someone might get hurt.”
“And you son, will too if you don’t buckle up. We ain’t going nowhere until you do,” he said firmly.
Justin found the buckle and clicked it into place, and the car took off. He sighed, and threw his head back in relief and confusion. As he watched the buildings and city lights pass by through the window, he thought about how fast-paced his life seemed to be getting. He thought about how he always seemed to freak out over almost every little thing. He thought about how that night, and why he couldn’t just let lose for a change.
“Something weighing you down boy?” the driver said, locking eyes with Justin through the rearview mirror.
He would have ignored him, but Justin knew that was impolite.
“Sort of.”
“Well, what’s the matter? I know from all them fools that was chasing you back there you must be famous or something. But don’t worry, I’m not going to tell any of them Us Weekly folks or whoever,” he said, waiting at a red light.
Cautiously, Justin tried to find a way to tell his story without revealing too much.
“I’ve just gotten out of a relationship,” Justin said as the man chuckled, “I uh, I’ve been too caught up in my work to really focus on the other important things in my life. But what am I supposed to do, you know? When everybody is setting such high expectations of me like they are, how am I supposed to deal with that?”
“Don’t give a shit.”
“What?”
“Look at all the Greats… Ray, Stevie, Al Green, Marvin, Michael, Whitney, Janet.... they didn’t give a damn whether people was gonna like they music. They did it for themselves; it came from within their soul.”
“Well how do you do that when you don’t know what’s in your soul?”
“You do,” he slammed his hand down on the wheel, causing it to honk. “You always gonna know what’s in your soul, son. Always, always, always. Now, what I think is that you’re speaking of your heart. You don’t know where your heart’s at.”
“It’s not that easy,” he mumbled.
“I know it isn’t but you’ll get there. Just hold on to your soul, hold on to your self, hold on to your loved ones, and it will be okay.”
How could this man know that, he thought. He sounded so sure but Justin just wasn’t convinced. For the rest of the ride, he sat in silence, analyzing the man’s words.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to his home. The driver stared at it in amazement and whistled.
“Son, with a house like that, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, I’ll tell you,” he picked his teeth. “Betcha got a pool and all that fancy junk, huh?”
Justin didn’t want to answer, in fear that he’d seem like a show off.
“Well boy, I got somewhere to be. You’re my last ride of the night,” he said, checking his watch.
Justin patted the man’s shoulder, and handed him a hundred dollar bill, way more than his cab fare.
“Keep it,” he said simply.
The man looked to him with surprise. “I can’t take all this money, son.”
He tried to give it back, but Justin refused. “No, really. Take it.”
The man thanked him, and turned to face Justin, who was smiling in the back seat.
“I hope everything works out,” he said, returning a smile. “Just remember, hold on to your soul. And don’t be foolish.”
Justin registered the words into his head once more. “I guess then I shouldn’t tell you that I left a really beautiful Laker girl back at the club.”
“Boy, you betta get your ass up outta my cab before I knock you in the head,” he shouted, as Justin hopped out. “You are a damn fool to be doing that.”
Laughing, Justin leaned into the driver’s window, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Ain’t a problem,” he said with a wink and started his engine.
With a final wave, the cab sped off, and Justin stood there in the middle of his driveway until it disappeared into a tiny speck in the night.
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