Hello Nifty readers!! I am currently writing 'Something Like Justin' (can you see a pattern emerging...?), which is like my main project at the moment, although my actual, first story was this one. The chapters are shorter, although I'm posting a few at a time, and as of writing, there are sixteen, though this is bound to increase. It's kind of obvious that it's like the prototype, even if in this story I don't even bother to distance myself from the love interest whatsoever!! Anyways, this story is much less concerned with description and plot twists than SLJ, also being quicker to the action etc. I really hope that you like it (and tell me if you do or don't).
Disclaimer: I do not know any of the celebrities mentioned nor does this story mean to imply anything about said celebrities; sexualities, personalities, etc. are all created for the purposes of this story.
If you don't like reading about homosexual relationships, sex included, please leave now and find something you do like!!
Building Dreams
Introduction
Many times I have looked at my life and felt very lucky. I am an architect and this blessing allows me to do the very thing that drives me: create spaces and places. I do not do things that I am not comfortable with and have no qualms about voicing that discomfort. This factor seems to have helped my art and I have established a firm reputation for myself. For a while I was the flavour of the month and acquired influential friends, who in turn introduced me to the world of celebrity. I did a few public appearances over some controversial project and received a fair few commissions from celebrity opportunists, eager to be seen providing sustenance for my career.
Chapter One
I was returning home from walking my dog one regular English morning in February, when the postman handed me the usual wad of envelopes. I made a pot of tea and settled on my favourite chair to sort through the jigsaw of correspondence. My cavalier King Charles spaniel, Perry, made himself a nest on my lap. Lazily stroking his ears and head, I tossed aside the boring, administrative envelopes, searching for something interesting. I found it. It carried a par avion stamp and it was designated as being from the USA. Though America is not my idea of the best place to work, the oddity of such a destination prompted me to tear open the seductive flap.
A crisp, white, single A4 sheet fell into my waiting palm. The request was brief but tantalising.
"Dear Mr Barrett
Mr Justin Timberlake and Miss Britney Spears have requested your services in designing their new home in the district of Los Angeles CA. Please contact the below persons to confirm your decision."
There were a collection of numbers and email addresses underneath and the signatures of the two pop stars and their respective agents.
I sat back in my chair and took a moment to think the proposition over. It seemed a very cold and professional way of asking for my services and the tone left an awful taste in my mouth. However, the challenge of penetrating this barrier tempted me beyond any flimsy administrative security that was employed. I hurried to my computer to begin the tennis match of emailing.
After a few serves, deuces and match points, I received details of the brief. I was expected to design this building in England and to mail it to the project manager in California. The expectation heated my blood to white. I telephoned the "agent" I had been dealing with in America and began my verbal onslaught.
" I don't think you understand, Mr Fuller, that I don't work like that. I like to be at the site, talk to the clients about what they want..."
"But we have sent you all details of the site and a list of the requirements of Mr Timberlake and Miss Spears. I do not see what flying you here will accomplish."
" I need to get a feel for the place and determine the real needs of Mr Timberlake and Miss Spears."
"You have a list." Mr Fuller said impatiently.
"This is like a shopping list. I am not a supermarket, Mr Fuller."
"But you are being paid for the job."
A brief silence passed between us as I attempted to calm down. I really wanted this job, but knew that I had to clarify how much they wanted me.
"Mr Fuller, a relationship needs to be established between the client and the architect in order to produce the best possible structure. If I am to be denied that relationship, I have to refuse the offer made to me." I had highlighted the order of play and the rules. I waited anxiously.
"I suppose we can arrange something, although I warn you that Mr Timberlake and Miss Spears are very busy people and I cannot guarantee their cooperation."
"Well, let's hope that they understand the need."
"Certainly."
I shook myself after the receiver rattled back into its cradle. Perry raised his eyebrows at me, looking at me expectantly and wagging his tail. I sighed and scooped him up to my chest, lounging in his predictable nature.
Things happened surprisingly quickly succeeding the phone call. I was soon sent a BA ticket to California and further information of hotel accommodation and a conference date. I took Perry to the Singh's house before I left, knowing well that he'd enjoy the company of Mrs Singh and her warm kitchen far better than the hostilities of quarantine. After a farewell to my neighbours and family, I raced to Heathrow with speedily packed suitcases.
I arrived in America to face an extremely long table and about twenty people, all playing some part in my clients' financial or administrative entourage. I was briefed for what seemed like ages, exposed to an enormous amount of flipcharts, legalities and marker pens until I was allowed to breathe.
"Anything you would like to ask now Mr Barrett?" Questioned Mr Fuller, who was now revealed to be a particularly unpleasant man, complete with the PR façade. He smiled broadly, displaying his lineout of manicured teeth, smug in his apparently faultless presentation.
"Mr Fuller, I'm not sure if you've forgotten but I expressed the need for a client-architect relationship. Forgive me, as my memory is poor, but I cannot remember being introduced to my clients."
"As I said, Mr Barrett, Mr Timberlake and Miss Spears are very busy people, but have given their complete trust in my expression of their wishes."
"Mr Fuller, an extra person does not make for a prosperous relationship."
"But surely you can comprehend the situation."
"We all must make sacrifices for our dreams, Mr Fuller. I would expect that my clients understand this too, and be prepared for this requirement. If they do not make sacrifices, I do not waste my time on them. I have a reputation to keep, Mr Fuller, and do not wish this to be destroyed by the poor efforts from your side of things."
The throng was silent for a moment, until whispering began amongst the suits. They finally surfaced for air.
"Mr Barrett, you have your wish. I will arrange an appointment with one of the clients, as I cannot promise both." Mr Fuller said reluctantly.
"Well, it's a start, I suppose."
Chapter Two
I was relaxing that evening in the very spacious bath in my hotel apartment when I was roused from my dream state by the flat, electric song of the telephone. I reached for it and answered with a tired "Hello".
"Mr Barrett?" Mr Fuller's nasal singsong plastered the insides of my brain, "I do hope I haven't disturbed you?"
"Of course not. I see that you don't keep to office times Mr Fuller, but then I don't have an office, do I?"
"All in time, Mr Barrett." He said hurriedly, "My reason for calling is that I've organised a meeting for you, which you so physically requested. However, if it can wait until tomorrow..."
"No, no, please, Mr Fuller, I am eager to hear of it." I hated myself for sounding so enthusiastic. "Tell me, whose number is up?"
He supplied a polite laugh; "You will meet Mr Timberlake at a venue in LA, around tomorrow lunchtime."
"One for Nancy Drew." I commented dryly.
"The information is limited for security reasons you understand." He paused, "If you could be in your hotel tomorrow morning, you will be contacted with further information."
"Thank you Mr Fuller."
"Until tomorrow, Mr Barrett?"
"Until tomorrow." I responded.
Whilst preparing to go to bed, I phoned room service to bring up a society magazine. It was duly delivered and I quickly flicked through it, searching for my clients. They were firstly pictured arriving at a film premiere, linked arms and eyes aglow with the flash of the cameras. Britney wore something expensive, designer and flattering, in keeping with the current fashion. Justin was more reserved in his clothing, but still managed to look handsome and assertive with his natural good looks and posture.
I found myself wondering what they were like as people. Of course you can read the interviews, listen to the songs, study the autobiographies and judge the admissions of people who support them, but the media tornado and PR shell often hides the true person. Celebrities, I had found were a mixed bunch. Some were genuinely nice, but then, those were usually the ones whom celebrity had infected by chance, not those who had tried every needle possible to gain that fix. Just imagining how it would feel to be constantly loved and adored as an image by people who have no idea of your real personality goes near to what happens to these people.
Anybody who has been forced to put on a constant display to ensure the adoration of others has some idea of the effect, even though the celebrity skin may be raised for longer. Either it beats you down, or you use the self-displeasure as ammunition for your own assertion, ultimately making it difficult to ever be loved.
I slept fairly sound that night.
The morning broke my reverie and I eventually found myself encaged in some fashionable coffee house on some fashionable street. I twisted the corners of my shirt. I had been told to dress casually, but stylish, so that the meeting would seem informal to the paparazzi so they would not show too much interest. I had scrutinised myself in the mirror earlier, estimating exactly what Mr Timberlake's opinion of me would be. I scolded myself for being so immature as I spent too much time on dressing and preening myself deliberately for Mr Timberlake's pleasure. Not that I assumed he would take any pleasure in looking at me, but a boy can dream.
I delicately sipped on my coffee, expecting my company to be fashionably late. The drug ambushed my senses, causing my feelings of unease to lessen slightly, and allow my thoughts to wander. I looked around the establishment at all the designer suits, shirts, dresses, skirts, socks and shoes. The stench of "appearance" hung heavy over the round tables.
My future approached.
"Mr Barrett," hollered Mr Fuller, his voice thick with false alliance, "I'm so glad you found the place!"
I smiled broadly, trying to show my complete disbelief of his familiarity.
"Oh, I was well directed."
Justin wore a pair of shades, hiding his eyes from me. He was dressed in skater/punk that seemed his usual garb encapsulated in the plastic gloss of magazine pages. He looked at me briefly, before looking about him, scanning the sparse greenery that surrounded the site.
"Err, Justin, this is Mr Barrett, the architect." Mr Fuller informed the man, his voice filled with sugar.
"Yeah, right," Began Justin, taking my hand, "Nice to meet you Mr Barrett."
"Please, call me Chris." I smiled as warmly as possible, "Mr Barrett sounds like a headmaster."
"Principal" Mr Fuller explained quietly to Justin.
"In that case, call me Justin." Justin reciprocated. A beautiful smile formed on his lips as he looked directly into my eyes, removing his shades. After an instant it was gone, being replaced by his evident boredom.
I took a while to explain my role, albeit mostly to Mr Fuller as Justin seemed disinterested. After I had finished my piece, I ventured,
"Aren't you going to order?" My eyes focused on Justin.
"Mr Timberlake has a commitment after this and coffee stains are a bitch to remove, Chris." Mr Fuller replied.
"It's Mr Barrett." I said icily to Mr Fuller. I had no plans in familiarising myself with him. "Sorry, but stains?"
Justin stretched his lips back and pointed at his pearly white teeth. I nodded my understanding. I found myself smiling at his strange expression and he smiled back.
"So, anyway, Mr Barrett, what is it that you want to ask Mr Timberlake?" Mr Fuller interrupted our private exchange. I looked from Mr Fuller to Justin slowly.
"Justin," I began, getting his attention, "Can we rearrange this?"
His face screwed up in confusion.
"Why?"
"No offence Mr Fuller, but I feel as if you're restricting Justin in some way."
"Justin needs me to assist him."
"See, there you go again." I said hotly.
"Okay," began Justin, "Let's do this another time."
"Justin," Mr Fuller intervened harshly.
"Fuck off, alright?" Justin said with intimidation, "I want to sort this out with Chris."
Furious, Mr Fuller abruptly rose from the table and walked to the door.
I laughed,
"So, you can tell him where to go?" I smiled at him, "I'm impressed."
"You don't know how often he brings me close to saying that." Justin laughed, leaning forward.
"It's amazing to hear you speak, let alone rid yourself of that glove puppet."
"Well, I think it's really the other way round." He said seriously.
"Don't fret, you may just turn out to be like Pinocchio." I said jokingly, but wishing it inside.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" He asked hesitantly.
"What like washing my hair?" I flirted.
"There's this place I like to go to. It's a bit false, but then, hey, we're in LA."
"Mr Timberlake! Are you asking me on a date?" I smiled, "What will Britney say!"
He looked downcast, smiling briefly, "Around nine?" he suggested.
"Sure. I look forward to it."
I found myself bizarrely excited the whole of the following afternoon, waiting for my "date" with Justin to arrive. I chided myself with a reminder that it was business. That's all. I found myself smiling again. Frustrated, I took a trip down the high street, consoling myself that even though I may have the intention of buying clothes that I think would impress Justin, it was purely a business manoeuvre.
Chapter Three
I looked doubtfully at the piece of paper I had unfolded from my pocket. Justin had given it to me as directions to the place we were to meet. I sighed and strolled to the doormen. The venue towered above me with all its neon glamour and glass elitism.
"Hi!" I said in my most light hearted, friendly, approachable manner.
"Good evening." They replied politely, "You know that this is an exclusive place sir?"
"I do now." I muttered, "Do you have a list?"
"Sorry?"
"You know, a list of names; who can get in?" I asked expectantly.
"We don't need a list of names." They boasted "We know the clientele, and charity shop dressed Londoners it isn't," One of the doormen mimicked an awful cockney, "Sir."
"Look, I'm here to meet Justin Timberlake." I tried desperately, "Is he already here?"
"You think we give that sort of information out to just anybody?"
A stirring occurred in the depths of the club behind them. Justin's noble features materialised from the throng and darkness.
"Chris! I wondered where you'd got to!" He shouted, eyeing the two doormen carefully.
The doormen shifted their eyes away from me and quickly allowed me through.
"You get some trouble from those?" Justin asked.
"A bit." I shrugged.
"I'll talk to the manager..." Began Justin in an offhand manner.
"No," I cut across him, "They do a very good job of protecting you." I smiled slyly, "They wouldn't even let a looker like me in!"
He laughed and we found ourselves at the bar. I looked in wonder at the display offered to me. The richness of it made me feel quite out of place.
"May as well enjoy it." I thought.
"What're you havin'?" Justin asked warmly.
"You decide." I commanded him, "It's more fun that way."
He shouted something at the plainly dressed girl behind the bar. We prised ourselves from the polished surface of the bar and fell upon a fairly secluded table. I shifted myself into a seat and he did likewise.
"So," I attempted, "Is this the place for celeb spotting at the moment?"
"I guess so." He said after a little thought, "Although it's starting to lose its magnetism. They'll move elsewhere soon."
"Fickle them famous people, don't you think?" I joked.
"Not about everything." He answered with a smile. His smile then changed to his more icy expression, rebuilding the walls. "So, the house."
"Yes," I said, trying to mould my mood to a professional one. "I'm not really sure why you want this house."
"What do you mean?" He bellowed, "Keep out the rain and shade us from the Sun. Our own little piece of land to raise the family and put the cows to pasture." He chuckled.
"But where's your other half in all this?" I said with concern, "I get the feeling that she's not going to be much part of this."
He looked ashamed for an instant and then became more determined.
"Look, what we want is an impressive mansion in the hills that we can sell off for more than it cost to built, to get it drowned in camera flash, stretched on the pages of the fashion magazines and contribute to rumours about our 'relationship'." He ended with quote marks.
"So this isn't really going to be lived in by you at all?" I formed the question slowly.
"Well, I'll visit occasionally, so that paparazzi can see me going in and out, but not in a kind of permanent way."
"Why the hell have you asked for me then?" I accused him with my eyes.
"For the credibility you bring. And for your tremendously good company." He smiled mischievously.
"How dare you insult me like that?" I retaliated, "I don't design Disney lands, okay?"
We both laughed at that last phrase.
"You're getting all arty on me." He directed towards me.
"Sorry, it's just I've worked hard to get where I am and I don't like being asked to change my ideals which I have stuck by for so long."
"Don't be sorry," He smiled warmly, "I think it's adorable."
I looked levelly at him for a while, slightly unbalanced by his last comment. He regained his reserve, the bitterness forming again on the features of his face.
"Jeez Nancy Drew! Can't a guy express emotion without somebody else falling in love!" He rolled his eyes and looked away from me.
"In love? There's certainly been something lost in the translation!" I screamed.
"Between where? Gay and straight?" He said pointedly.
"Who I fuck doesn't come into this!" I nearly drowned the noise of the club with my response.
"Even if it's me?" He choked his cynical laughing.
"I don't go for vacuums of personality." I said tartly.
"Then there's no problem then." Justin ended the discussion.
"I'm going," I started to get up, "There's obviously no point in me putting in any effort when it isn't mutual."
I stormed out of the club, hearing the sighs of the dirty men in the bushes with their eager lenses.
Chapter Four
The next few days passed away. I tried to interest myself in every pleasure going that could drain my clients' resources, selling myself the childish resolve that I would bleed them for every cent I could get as my more metaphorical wounds bled more rapidly each day. I found myself wanting the near-human sigh of Perry as I returned to my hotel room, craving that little piece of normality and reassurance in this increasingly hostile and weary country. Spending enough time in LA allows you to see that the glitz is just a cheap veneer, peeling at the extreme corners.
Once again I tried to calm my emotion with a bath. It made me feel guilty using all the water for such a selfish goal, but my migraine told me that it was justified. As I was just feeling my skin dissolving into the depths and my bones flexing to the small waves my breathing generated, the phone destroyed my peace.
"Hello." I said rather coldly. A brief silence followed.
"Chris?" The voice was instantly recognisable.
"Justin." I sighed.
"Did I disturb you?" He asked cautiously.
I chuckled to myself.
"Everybody asks me that." I explained.
"And did I?" He was being very careful. I could hear the hesitations in his voice.
"Well, yes." I changed the phone to my right ear, becoming more comfortable, "I'm having a bath." It sounded slightly foolish after I'd said it for some reason.
"Sorry." He said.
"I can always run another bath. Any road the water's still hot."
"No, no." He stuttered slightly, "No, about the other night."
I was quiet then. I'm not known for being good at talking things over.
"It's fine," I ventured, "Let's forget about it."
"No, you're still hurt," He said sharply, then more subdued, "I can hear it in your voice."
"So what do we do about it?" I argued, "You obviously don't care about the very thing that brings me here and judging from what you said, I'm not wanted personally either."
"Whoa, I never said that I didn't want you here." He reasoned, "Sure, I don't have any real interests in the building, only as publicity, but that doesn't mean I don't want you here."
I didn't respond. I just settled into the waters and thought.
"Look, do you want to come over? It's my night off." He half- laughed, "My only night off." He paused, "We just need to sort out this shit."
"Fine." I answered coldly.
I rethought my decision earlier that day about how LA was so ugly as I drove through the night-shadowed streets, interrupted by the gaudy blasts of street lamps. The night poured velvet on the streets, painting over the cracks and beautifying their faults.
I met Justin at the small airport on the outskirts of town.
"Where are we going?" I asked bewildered.
"To my place." He explained, "I live in Orlando."
I mouthed an "Oh" and followed him and the necessary people to the small plane. I took a double seat and he took the same across the aisle from me. I gripped the edge of my seat as I heard the pre-flight mutterings of the pilot, then looked across at Justin, who was staring at my posture.
"I don't fly a lot and I get a bit anxious." I excused my actions. He unbuckled himself and jumped into the seat beside me.
"There you are, now I'll die as well as you." He summarised lightly, causing me to laugh.
"Not helping." I offered, although his proximity supplied great stability.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when we touched down. Justin smiled at my obvious elation at being on terra firma, pulling me out of the metal prison and towards a car. After a very short drive, which seemed pointless to take by car, the chauffeur (oh yes) swung into a dark driveway with huge gates that parted as we turned. After we parked, Justin leapt from the car and motioned for me to follow him,
"Come and meet the house of Justin!" He laughed manically and began sprinting to the door. I followed like the humourless old crust that I am.
"Okay," I said, "I think I'm ready." Bracing myself.
He guided his key into the door and opened it for me to enter. I stepped inside the dark hall and the door slammed shut behind me. I jumped slightly and turned around.
"Hah, ha, ha!" Screamed Justin in the worst possible imitation of a mad scientist, "Now I have you forever!"
I looked at him, unimpressed.
"And what does a boy have to do to get a drink around here?" I said in the best Deep South possible, shifting my weight to one leg. Justin smiled and I realised that I had already become seduced into playing his games.
He switched on a few lights and showed me to the kitchen. It was vast.
"Are you a serious cook?" I asked, fingering the row of steel utensils hanging off the wall.
"Nah, I go as far as toast if you're lucky." He began, "I eat out mostly."
I let my gaze wander over the minimalist, but fully functioning kitchen.
"So all this is for,"
"The cameras." He said shortly, "But as I think you've come to realise, most of everything about me is for the cameras."
"Even yourself?"
"Hmm?" Justin questioned, trying to figure out how to work his own kettle.
"What I can see on the television, in interviews, is that all put on then?"
He turned around, leaning back on the worktop.
"Well, there are things we can't say, and things that we are advised to say, so I suppose some of it is false." He grinned, "But I'm 100% genuine!"
"Seriously, you've had no surgery?" I asked, maybe too eagerly.
"Not cosmetic surgery." He shone his teeth at me again, "Like I said, 100%."
I nodded my head slowly, thinking it over. I found myself looking at him again when he turned to make coffee, tracing the curve of his body under the disfigurement of the fabrics. I forced it from my mind quickly, knowing too well what sort of trouble I could make for myself.
"Do you want it here and now?" Justin voice broke into my privacy.
"S-sorry?" I stuttered, bemused.
"Coffee?" He waved the steaming cups at me, "We could go in the lounge." His face then moulded into the adolescent one that I had only just come to notice, "Let's go to my room! It'll be like being teenagers again!"
Quite disorientated, I went upstairs with him, turning into his bedroom complex. It was huge, comprising of a massive closet (or walk in wardrobe, depending on where you're from), ensuite bathroom in which lived a huge bath, shower room, wash room, dressing room (adjacent to the closet), personal lounge and, finally, the actual bedroom, accessed through an opening from all other rooms. I began my assault on the place.
"My God! I've found another world!" I gathered one of the towels in my hand, "A world with bad taste, but still a world!"
He laughed at my display, chaperoning the increasingly unbalanced mugs to the bed. My eyes glanced at the lounge area to one side. Why not there? I hung around the entrance to this little corner of the very personal set of rooms as he lay down on the bed, positioning the mugs on the small cabinet at his side.
"Aren't you going to sit down?" He offered, smoothing the covers with his hand.
I inched my way to his side, lifting the mug to my lips.
"What is this?" I asked him.
"Instant."
"No, I mean, what are you trying to do?" I placed the mug down.
"Can't I invite a friend round for a drink?" Justin made a baby grimace.
"Friends?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Okay, okay, I know I acted really stupid and said things that I didn't really mean." He widened his eyes "Forgive me?"
I scrutinised him carefully.
"You know you can't always get out of problems like that."
"Like what?"
"By avoiding them." I looked away, "I know; I've tried."
A silence began building itself block by block between us, creating a huge void in the room, if only of noise and not of emotion. Justin seemed to suddenly inject himself with enthusiasm.
"So! Let's do the introductions all over again." He sat up to face me. "My name is Justin Timberlake from the musical band N Sync. But, as my friends do, please call me Just."
"Well done." I said, clapping lightly, "Is that all?"
"I thought it could be a progression from both sides."
"My name is Christopher Barrett from the architectural firm of Jughead. But you can call me a number of things, as my friends do, including Chris, Christophe, Chris bee or bitch. The last is my favourite."
Justin chuckled.
"Okay, bitch, I'm linked with Britney Spears in the media, although, in truth I'm kinda single at the moment."
"Oh, at the moment?" I laughed, "Should I check in thirty minutes?"
"Depends on how much I like you." Justin flirted and laughed. I glanced at the time on my watch that caused another outburst from him.
"Man, you're insane!" He giggled.
"Ooh! Dude-speak! Aren't I the lucky one?"
"Shut up!" Justin threw a pillow at me. "So, what about you?"
"Sorry?" I questioned.
"Single or attached?"
"Single at the moment. You know the rest." I laughed.
"I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee. My mom and dad split when I was young and now I have two sets of parents. We moved to Orlando when I was fourteen. A couple of years later I joined my band." Justin laid back. "We toured and promoted ourselves in Europe to begin with, especially in places like Germany and the Netherlands. We had built a good, European fan base when we returned to the USA and fame and fortune followed shortly."
"It can't be that simple." I debated.
"Well, no, obviously, we had voice coaching, image consultants and bitch choreographers. Oh, and we were restricted doing some things, like going to the wrong parties, dating the wrong people and eating the wrong foods."
"Sounds like paradise." I said sarcastically.
"Well, you don't see the world in front of you," Just confessed, "You see the paradise to come; the life you will have when you've attained enough success and wealth to practice your own ideal of life."
"And when will that be?" I asked quietly.
"Soon." Just prayed.
I lay down beside him, fixing my eyes on the plain ceiling.
"So, is Eden close for you?" He asked softly.
"Physically? I'm not sure, but I'll give him a try."
Just smiled and pushed into my side. He twisted himself so that he faced me. I mirrored the action, feeling his breath on my nose and cheeks.
"Is it close for you?" He repeated seriously.
"I don't think anyone is truly happy, except just before they die." I paused, "When they've learnt all that they've ever learnt and done all they can. They are the closest to Eden."
Just brought his face to mine and brushed my lips with his. We pressed together and indulged in the sensations spreading like a forest fire through our skin and mind. He pulled away and lifted himself from the bed.
"Chris! What-what are we, you doing?" He faced away from me, "God, I can't deal with this. Just...just go."
"Sorry, Just!" I pleaded, not sure what I was sorry about, "Please, calm down! Getting angry just makes it worse."
I stood beside him and my hand gripped his arm supportively. He roughly drew away from me.
"Look, don't touch me. Just go somewhere not around me, all right? I'll get someone to take you home in the morning."
I could see the tension in his body. Upon leaving the room I looked back, seeing him in exactly the same position.
Chapter Five
Diffused sunlight assaulted my eyelids, rousing me to waken. I yawned, and then groaned, settling into the soft bedclothes I had cocooned myself in, my memory slowly shunting back into operation. My head folded as I remembered the current problem. I had wandered the first floor aimlessly last night, searching for a guest room. I finally found a bed and dropped into it, my mind exhausted by all my inner debating. That bed now existed in disarray in the unbiased eyes of the Sun. I gingerly made my way downstairs to search for Justin.
The kitchen, now blushing warm in the kisses of the sunlight, lay open to me in all its superior style and wealth. The pearly smooth mugs that had been pressed against our lips the night before now resided upside down on the draining board, resplendent with their moist sheen. A folded piece of paper lounged on the pale table, the uppermost fold, just hanging between ascent and descent, scrawled with my name. I broke the spell of its balance.
"Chris
I've got a few things to think about before I next see you. Here's a number for a car who will take you home. I'll call you when I'm ready.
Just"
I allowed my finger to run down the rigid edge of the paper, considering the words that had been given to me. At least he left the possibility of allowing me back into his life. I found myself feeling greatly relieved at this. Reaching for the telephone and dialling the given number, I folded the note smaller and slid it into the tight pocket of my jeans, hugging my thigh.
Five days passed in isolation. I began to sketch down ideas and modify these, based mostly on my own artistic desire, but inflating the need to excess. However much I tried to wrap myself in the paper fibres, I found myself ostracised from my work and a foreigner to my designs. I constantly felt bored and incomplete as I scratched the paper surface.
One afternoon, exhausted from trying to break into this boundary surrounding my project, I decided to go to bed. I mildly enjoyed getting undressed from the constrictions of my clothes and slipping my warm body beneath the initial icy coldness of the sheets. My mind continued to be active even as my limbs began to feel heavier, processing all the worries I had about what was happening at home, the difficulties of the current project and Justin. I let my hand trace lightly down my side and I could feel myself becoming aroused as I painted the mental picture inside my head of my previous encounters with Justin, conveniently forgetting the arguments. I focused on the roundness of his bottom lip, the secrecy of his eyes, the sweeping curve of his bicep, the swirls of dark hairs on his forearms crisscrossing like intricate fretwork. I began to lazily smooth my fingers to the shaft of my penis and gather my testicles in my palm, reaching a finger lower and lifting my hips so I could rub my anus. My breathing became more deliberate and deeper as I remembered the firmness of his lips when we kissed, the warmth of his breathing and the aqueous blue of his eyes. Virtual hands started to run over the increasingly sensitive skin stretched over my convulsing form, gripping my thigh and pulling at my sides.
The phone screamed at me persistently. Assured that it would not relent, I grudgingly tidied eroticism to the far corner of my mind and retrieved the cordless from my bedside. Burying myself into the welcome embrace of the bedclothes, I blindly offered a drawn out,
"Hello?"
"Hey." Justin.
Still in semi-consciousness, I sleepily said,
"I was just thinking about you."
"Really?"
I cleared my throat, waking up fully,
"Yes, I've been putting down a few ideas."
"That's good." He said, "Right?"
"Hmm.... I suppose, I'm just not getting into it." I breezed over my difficulties.
"Listen, I think we should meet up."
"Is that a good idea?" I questioned, "After last time..."
"This will get in the way of your work. It is already." Justin argued.
"Where and when."
"On site, if you can find it."
"I'll try."
"Can you make it before sundown?" He asked hopefully, "It's just I'm short on free time at the moment."
"Well, I'm not doing anything else."
"I take it that's a yes."
"See you later."
"Later."
I left early in case I got lost, but, surprisingly, I found the site easily, entailing that I arrived while the Sun was still illuminating the World harshly. It was quite remote, positioned on the hillside with massive conifers densely bordering the site but breaking at the end to afford a panoramic view of the city. I had been informed of this on paper but had never been exposed to it in the carbonic flesh. I vaulted myself over the existing rail fence that provided a hopeless barrier to the current meadow that was unsuspectingly in danger of being skimmed from the nourishing soil to be replaced by a cocktail of cheap and quick concrete and stone.
I stroked the tense blades of grass as I strode through the vegetation, looking for a suitable meeting place. I could hear the busy sounds of the armies of insects marching along the network of stems and leaves on their needle like limbs, probing the path with fidgeting antennae. The heat wafted scent of the sweet, coarse grass and the syrupy nectar of the frothy blooms dominated my nostrils, encouraging me to lose myself to indulging the secondary senses. I lay down near the huge, creased trunk of a lone tree in a small clearing in the high vegetation, able to see the entrance to the site, therefore able to be seen from the entrance. The delicious warmth on my skin, the faint, invertebrate orchestra and the consuming odours polluted my mind beyond control and I gently fell asleep.
The liquid cornered world of my dreams was violently sucked from my brain as I woke with a start. Focusing on the World splintered by my sleep-filled eyes, the darkness around me relented slightly to allow the few feathery lights of candles. A rich, red blanket stretched away over the grass before me, the sharp highlights of glass pricked onto it. A bottle, no a few bottles, and a few glasses formed in my comprehension. And Justin. Just to my side, but it was him. His eyes flickered up to my face and smiled.
"I was wondering when you'd wake up." He chuckled to himself. I narrowed my eyes and then rubbed at them.
"I... (Yawn) I must look shit." I ended up laughing lightly. After sighing, I asked, "So, have you been here since sundown?"
"Umm... Well, no. I was a bit late." He apologised, "Work came up."
"Well," I considered, "That was the best sleep I've had for ages, so I'm happy." I shrugged. Casting my eyes over the apparel before me, I said quietly, "So what's all this in aid of?"
"Huh? Oh, I thought maybe we could make a night of it." He gestured towards the bottles, "And it's kinda an apology for my tardiness."
"I almost wish you'd make more mistakes if this is how you make up for it." I joked.
"Depends on the mistake..." He mused.
I was soon prostrate on the welcome blanket, my cumbersome trainers discarded in the darkness and a bacardi stained glass balanced precariously on my belly. My eyelids felt heavier, as is always the case when I drink, and my lips seemed ever more ready to fall into smiles. Justin lay in a foetal position a foot from me, his frame parallel to mine. The conversation had been cultural small talk for the past hour or so; my taste in music, his taste in music; my favourite films, his favourite films; my favourite clothes, his favourite clothes. The conversation drained into a period of silence, both of us, reassessing our environment; him, the blanket and shadowy grass; me, the clear sky. I absent-mindedly began to murmur the words to "Something Like You"- one of Justin's songs. He joined in, singing loudly,
"You must be heaven sent, I swear, 'cos... Something happens; when I look at you I forget to speak. Something happens; when I look at you my knees feel so weak. Could it be true this is what God has meant for me, 'Cos Baby, I can't believe... That something like you could happen to me...."
"I didn't know that you knew any of our songs." He interjected with surprise.
"I've got the album." I simply stated. He sat up sharply.
"Why didn't you say before, when we were talking about music?"
"I just didn't need to, I suppose."
"What do you mean? Didn't need to? You were talking to me. It's my shit."
He was angry and then I realised I had changed the relationship with the admission. Now, I was the fan, whereas before, I was a professional acquaintance with little interest in his fame and profession. He seemed to feel betrayed.
"Look," I began carefully, "I'm guessing you feel different about, well, me now." I sat up myself to face him, "But, I'm an adult, you're an adult, and I know the difference between the musician and the human. You know. I understand that there is the public image and the person."
He still looked doubtful.
"So you're not a fan then?" He asked with guarded hope.
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm a fan, but I like quite a few of the songs."
He smiled,
"That's okay then, 'cos I like quite a few of your buildings."
We laughed and then became quiet, our eyes locking into one another's.
"You know, I asked for you." Justin said slowly, looking down at his glass.
"Did you?" I began with maybe too much enthusiasm, then, began more off-hand, "No, no I didn't. Why me then?"
"Hmm..." He teased as if he hadn't thought about it, "Probably because I'd seen some of your work and I liked it."
"You've already seen my work?" I asked excitedly, becoming bitter "Oh, well, I suppose Fuller showed you who was going to design your next PR stunt."
He furrowed his brow and his eyes seemed to darken.
"Sorry," I said with feeling, "I'm just having problems with the set up."
"Actually," He ventured "I saw Heaven Bleeding and wanted to know where most of it was set."
"Oh, that film!" I cut in, "I was so pleased they used my building. The hospital. Right? The film is so good."
"Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, I found out it was by you and did some research. Then I decided to engineer a meeting, so I could meet you."
"Huh?" I burst out with disbelief "To meet me? Why? I mean, the World-beloved pop star wanting to meet the nobody architect?"
"Come on!" He screamed, "You're not nobody! You are World- famous. Even better, you are World respected! I don't have that!"
"Sure you do." I smiled "Whoever says you aren't is just jealous."
"However, I wanted to meet you."
I smoothed my hand over the velvety surface of the blanket.
"It didn't seem that way when you did meet me."
"I was a bit disappointed about the circumstances and I was having a bad day." He explained "Sorry."
"That's okay."
"I just hate this whole pretence thing! I mean, I knew you'd be offended when you knew that this house was going go unused." He refilled our glasses, "You never know, maybe I'll find someone to use it with." He stopped the trickle of pungent alcohol "What do you think?"
"Ooh, maybe I should have some coke as well." I said gingerly.
"No!" He laughed, "I mean- no, don't worry about it. It was nothing."
"Wait. What do I think as regards to your finding someone?" I looked him up and down and shook my head with regret, "Sorry, I think you've got no hope."
Justin laughed again, then quietened down; a reflective smile graced his lips as he began,
"You know, I'm starting to dislike living alone."
"You don't like the independence?"
"Sure I do," He reasoned, "It's just sometimes, you feel as if you just need to hear someone else breathing and know that they are there for you, and that you are there for them." He eyes seemed moistened by held back tears.
"Yeah, I understand what you mean." I agreed in a whisper. "It'll probably sound really stupid, but I'm missing my dog, Perry."
"Wow, you have a dog!"
"Yes, I'm so used to hearing him sigh and moan at me that it feels strange to walk into my hotel room without him greeting me."
"You still in a hotel?" Justin asked, surprised, "I thought you'd have got something more..." He thought for a while, "Homely by now."
"It's very comfortable, almost too comfortable." I confessed.
"Hey!" Justin said cheerily, "I've got an idea! Why don't you come live with me!"
"No, I couldn't possibly," I began.
"Why not! It'd be great! You could get your dog over then. What's its name?"
"Perry, but it's impossible."
"Fuck impossible! I could get him over here. Come on. It'll be fun. If you lived with me, it'd help your work too, 'cause you can, like, find out what I need from a home and shit like that!" Justin grabbed my hands, ecstatic with his idea.
"But I would be scrounging." I argued
"No you wouldn't," He brushed it off "Anyway, if you feel that bad about it, you can cook and iron my shirts." He laughed and I joined him.
"Actually," I started, considering the offer, "I've really missed cooking."
"It's sorted then." He chuckled, "Just remember to iron my shirts."
The trees, massive and black against the star pricked sky, seemed to draw closer to us as the candles burnt slowly towards the dry earth. The World appeared to fall into inexistence beyond the reach of our square of fabric.
"It's getting colder." I said, hugging myself tightly, "Maybe we should leave soon."
Justin looked up and suggested,
"We could sleep out here," He looked out over the grey, black and blue stretching away from us down the slope, "It's so beautiful."
"But the candles are nearly out and we've got no sleeping bags or tent."
"Tent?" Justin laughed, "You've forgotten this is the USA. It never rains." He jumped up, smoothing down his thick, ribbed pullover "We could build a small fire for warmth and light. That'll keep the squirrels at bay."
I laughed and pulled myself up to help him gather dry wood for the fire.
After half an hour, we had acquired an admirable pile of twigs and some heavier branches, all now cracking and popping within the grasping fingers of fire. We relished the abundant heat, pulling the blanket to a safe distance from the flames but close enough to get as much warmth as possible. The glasses were refilled with whisky and we sat side by side, I tentatively sipping at the fiery, amber liquid, Justin seeming to easily drain the glass.
"Don't you like it?" Justin asked
"No, It's not that. It's just I don't drink whisky often and it takes some getting used to." I giggled, "Anyways, I've drunk enough already. I don't want to be taken advantage of. Sorry." I said quickly, biting my bottom lip. Justin laughed
"It's okay. We have to laugh about things, right?"
"Yeah." I smiled weakly, and then shivered.
"Are you cold?" Justin asked with concern, glancing at my thin shirt and trousers.
"I'm okay. I'll just sit closer to the fire."
"No, no don't." Justin lightly pleaded. "We can huddle together. I'll get my jacket, it's just by the tree." He began to dissolve into the darkness. He returned shortly, insisting on draping the jacket over my shoulders, then, once seated beside me, placed his arm on my shoulder and pulled us closer together. "Nice and cosy." He muttered to himself.
"Thanks." I downed the last of my whisky and coughed, my eyes watering. I laughed at myself, and turning my head to speak to Justin, noticed he was already looking at me. "I think this'll take a lot of getting used to." I confessed, shaking my empty glass, "So, pour me another."
My eyes began to close with increasing frequency and I was losing my hazy battle to keep them open.
"You tired?" Justin asked with a slight slur to his voice.
"Hmm." I mumbled, feeling my head dropping onto my shoulder.
"Lay down and I'll pull the blanket around us." He commanded.
I silently followed his instructions, letting him reach over my body to wrap the blanket over me as I closed my eyes. He lay down beside me, pressing his front to mine and holding me to him once again. I could feel his breath on my nose and cheeks, and gladly sensed the weight of his arm on my body, and I could his short hair prickling on the fabric of the blanket and the softness of his lips on mine. My eyes reluctantly flickered open, my mind split between hoping that it was a dream and hoping that it was real. I pulled back, as Justin moved to kiss me again. He opened his eyes.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" I asked with a slightly drunk confusion.
"Mm," He smiled, bringing his hand up to my face, "Don't you want me to kiss you?"
"Well, yeah." I whispered, "But why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to." He giggled, "And I'm sorry about being a nasty Justin before."
"This won't spoil anything will it? Like last time?"
"No, now, hush." He softly kissed me again.
End of posting
More to come
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Kris