The next day
Madeline sat alone at her laptop, warmed by the heat coursing through the trailer and happy she didn't need to be outside, where the group was taking more outdoor shots. The snow had built up in the last two days, leaving piles on the sides of the road that resembled the backbone of a sleeping Yeti.
She was restless. She flipped on the radio and listened as she looked out the window and tapped her fingers on the keyboard with the beat.
She stood up and looked in the mirror. "Mirror, mirror," she sighed. "Who am I and what am I turning into?"
She massaged the knot forming at the base of her neck and rubbed her temples as she stared at her reflection. She recalled how the last time she talked to herself in the mirror, Lance had appeared next to her. And that's what got you into this mess, you fool, she scolded.
The assignment looked less exciting every time she thought about it. She would open her laptop, only to stare at it for minutes on end. Detailed conversations were cataloged in her brain, but Madeline couldn't get herself to put them on paper. Guilt, she called it. Second thoughts, writer's remorse. But it wasn't all.
Every time she let her mask drop, he was there; making her laugh, asking personal questions. She was as vague as possible, knowing each nugget of information she gave him would bring them closer. But it was getting harder to be elusive.
She also noticed how her spine tightened when he put a hand on her back to guide her up the stairs. She realized that her eyes traveled from his blue gaze to his lips when he spoke. She also observed that he kept one eye out for her reaction, as if seeking her approval.
In the span of six days, he'd quickly closed the gap she'd initially established. Good for him; bad for her. Madeline felt so disoriented, straying from her original pretenses, that she wasn't sure she'd recognize herself when she emerged from this mess.
This assignment, she reminded herself as the deejay gabbed away on the radio, was given long before she met him. And regardless of how her relationship with Justin ended, she still owed her paper a story. Madeline had to honor her commitment. As terrible as she felt, she didn't see a way out.
Feeling the tension eating away at her, she stood up and paced about the room as the music filled her ears. She turned up the volume louder, hoping to drown out her woes.
The story, the video -- and Justin. She tried not to think about it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm not standing around here," Justin proclaimed as he stomped through the snow and pulled on the knit cap he'd stuffed in his overcoat. "It's way too cold; my legs are icicling as we speak."
"That's not a word, Justin," Joey chided, stomping his feet.
"But you got my meaning, didn't you?" Justin asked. "Therefore it has had the desired effect."
"I can't feel my toes," Joey commented, looking down. "I think they're ... they're .. cubing."
Justin stared at him. "They're what?"
"Cubing. You know, like ice cubes. Turning into blocks of ice." Joey grinned sheepishly.
Justin shook his head. "I will be warming up in a room-temperature environment, if anyone's looking for me."
He walked back to his trailer, enjoying the crunch of snow beneath his boots. He looked up at the trees looming above his head. There was about an hour of sunlight left before the sky would change color, Justin predicted.
He happened to glance up as he passed the left-hand trailer and stopped short.
Madeline was in the window, eyes closed, dancing to a slow hip-hop beat he could only partially hear through the walls.
I thought she didn't dance.
There was a freedom in her step he hadn't seen before, as if she'd shed her cool, high-strung exterior at the door and was letting loose in her own college-girl sanctuary.
Could this be the same sardonic, cynical person? he wondered as he saw her groove around the room. It was so un-Madeline, or so he'd thought. Comical, definitely ironic and highly entertaining.
Justin was fascinated, watching her movements, graceful and natural as she moved her arms about and sang along to the words. The way she tossed her head.
This was most assuredly not the intelligent but severe woman he met six days ago. Yesterday he'd seen more color to her personality; now she actually seemed herself. He saw that as layers disappeared, the character underneath seemed to fit more comfortably than her previous masks. And just as her impressions of him were misconceived, his perspective of her had altered as well.
A secret smile tugged on his lips.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I sit and think about everything we do / And I find myself in misery and that ain't cool / Hey now, I really wanna be with you the whole way through / Cause the way you make me feel inside keeps me confused
As I swing back from mood to mood it's not because of you / I never want you to be insecure / So won't you understand that I'm only in love / You're the only one I need / I'll be there for you when you need me boy / Baby don't you leave
Just one of dem days / That a girl goes through / When I'm angry inside / Don't wanna take it out on you
Just one of dem days / Don't take it personal / I just wanna be all alone / And you think I treat you wrong / Don't take it personal
--"Don't Take it Personal," Monica
Madeline laughed at herself in the mirror, as the stress of her load slowly melting off her shoulders.
The song belted as she moved in short, jerky steps about the room. I could be singing this to Justin, she thought gloomily, when the bomb drops on him.
She had turned her back from the mirror. Now whirling to face it again, she gasped. He had materialized five feet behind her, hands in his pockets and an amused grin on his face.
She stopped moving altogether, hands dropping to her sides. He's gonna laugh, she thought murkily. How humiliating. She moved to turn off the radio.
Justin prevented her by walking closer and dancing so comically that Madeline began to laugh. It was just what he wanted to hear. He wriggled and shook to her amusement, then held out his hand.
She hesitated for a second, then took it and let him spin her around, then began to mimic his comic steps. Finally, he moved behind her as they grooved in unison; left, left, right, right. Even though she didn't see his face, she'd turn her head once in a while and glance in his direction. Their bodies stayed a safe distance apart, but without words their strengthened bond was now obvious.
On one of her turns, she looked straight at him and smiled. At him.
Justin's heart skipped a beat.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He clasped an arm around her waist and brought his head close to hers, smiling down at the ground as she chattered on. She leaned into him, words producing cold vapors in the air. He felt sturdy to her, and she fell into easy step with him.
He said something funny and she laughed, and he raised his head quickly to see what her eyes would do next. This time they twinkled, and the lines showed up again at the corners of her eyes. He found himself looking forward to it and tried to joke as much as possible.
His grin, whether he looked at her or not, disarmed her. It was such an innocent mug, showing just the right amount of white teeth and slightly pink lips. Like a schoolgirl, she just smiled back goofily, enchanted.
Pretty much everything Justin Timberlake did now enchanted her.
"Cut!" Jeffrey yelled, breaking Madeline out of her reverie. They stood slightly apart now, but their arms still touched lightly, a gesture that didn't escape either of their attentions.
"That was good lovey-dovey stuff. Now put some humor in it. Let's improvise a little. Love can be fun, guys."
"I feel like I'm in therapy," Madeline commented.
This time he was in front of her, walking backward and chatting animatedly. He shuffled his feet and did a little jig, making her laugh even more. She mischievously looked up at the knit hat on top of his head that hid his curls from view and drew more attention to his sweet-cheeked face. Can I make it? she wondered, estimating the height difference. It had to go perfectly the first time.
In the middle of his sentence she jumped up and snatched the hat right off his head, pulling it down. His shock of curls was suddenly visible, and Justin felt the cold air shroud his scalp.
Madeline was running, waving the hat and laughing. Without hesitation he took off after her, as the dolly grips scrambled to capture the moment on film.
Although she ran as quickly as she could, Justin managed to catch up to her fast. He grabbed her around the waist with strong arms and swung her around in the direction of the cameras as she continued to hold the hat beyond his reach. He resorted to tickling her. Even with heavy sweater and coat, she shrieked and twisted until she toppled over, knocking him flat on his back as well. They lay in a heap on the snow, panting from exhaustion and laughter. She still had the hat in her hand, and turned on her side on top of him so she could bat his face with it.
"Cut!" the director commanded. Madeline looked up, suddenly self-conscious. She'd forgotten she was in front of a camera.
"I'm gonna have to ask you to do that again," he said. "I liked that a lot. I'll let you catch your breath first."
Madeline moved to sit up, but Justin, still lying flat on his back, yanked her back down. "I'm gonna get you, Madwoman," he attempted to sneer. "You lied. You dance and you run."
"Didn't say I couldn't, right? Let go of me," she pleaded, and dug an elbow into his chest as she tried to sit up. He groaned.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" she asked sweetly as he rubbed the spot she'd injured. She leaned her arms on him and rested her chin on one fist, looking down at his face.
"Somebody's out of shape," she quipped.
"I'm gonna toss you into the snow bank next time," he growled back, still breathing hard.
"Not if I toss you first."
"Anytime, people," Jeffrey's voice cut in. Justin suddenly lifted his head to sit up. The movement startled Madeline, who found his face inches from hers. A pause passed; she quickly jerked her head backward and scrambled to her feet.
Justin carefully dusted the snow off his jacket. "Hey," he called to her.
"What?" Her head shot up quickly.
"You've got snow all in your hair," he said, walking toward her.
She instinctively stepped back. "Oh," she said, and hurried to brush it off.
He shook his head. "You're making it worse," he said.
"Ah, the hair expert speaks again."
"Hold still." He dusted the flakes from her hair, then ran his gloved hands through it lightly to smooth it out. Her hair, now wet from the melted snow, was slicked back from her head.
When he styled her hair last time he stood behind her. Now, standing close and in front of her, Madeline realized how intimate this gesture looked. When he finished he said, "All better now," but kept his hands on either side of her head. As he brought them away, they drifted down her face, and he looked at her in a way that made her feel transparent.
Despite the cold feel of his damp gloves on her cheeks, Madeline felt flush.
"How's your hair?" she said casually, stepping away again and attempting to dry off her locks.
"It was well-protected until you came along," he said, giving her a funny smile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Muffled cries pricked up her ears as she returned to the left trailer. Tentatively, Madeline pushed open the door to see Emma quickly stand up from the futon and brush a hand across her face as she walked away from Madeline.
"Emma?" Madeline asked, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Emma sniffed, turning briefly to her and attempting a smile.
"You don't look fine."
She saw a Rolling Stone magazine open next to Emma on the coffee table, a glossy picture of the group visible on the spread. With one eye on Emma, Madeline reached over and picked it up.
"They love his eyes," it read. "They love his pained expression when he sings. And although the possibility of attaining 22-year-old J.C. Chasez is as far off as the stage is from the nosebleed seats in sold-out arenas he and the rest of 'N Sync play, his legions of fans speak of him like they would the most popular boy at their junior high or high school.
" 'I'm going to a meet-and-greet this June,' gushes 17-year-old Larissa McKenzie of Newton, Mass. 'And when I shake his hand I plan to lean in and give him a kiss. I don't care if I get carted off by bodyguards. Maybe there will be sparks, and maybe he'll seek me out.'
"Such is the pipe dream of many others. Chasez, along with 18-year-old Justin Timberlake, 22-year-old Joey Fatone, 19-year-old Lance Bass and 27-year-old Chris Kirkpatrick, have fans who are fiercely loyal -- and fiercely protective.
" 'I'm glad they're not dating anyone,' says 14-year-old Faith King of Richmond, Va., as she waits in line for tickets to their Wash., D.C. show. 'No one's good enough for them right now. There are too many money-grubbers who just want fame by dating one of them. I don't think she'd understand what their real personalities are.'
"King considers herself an expert, as do many others. Rumors fly about the Internet on possible love connections for the band members, who declare themselves single, and with every name comes an onslaught of scathing remarks and criticisms. Seems no one is likely to take the passenger seat of the boy band's romantic life anytime soon ..."
Madeline looked up from the reading at Emma's glum expression. "Is this upsetting you?" she asked.
"Yes. I mean, no, not really," Emma replied, propping her head on her fists as she sat back down. She looked up at Madeline, an ironic smile passing across her face. "It's just hard, that's all."
Madeline stared at the printed pages, then back to the girl. Realization sank in. Everything suddenly made sense.
"Emma, you're in love with J.C.," she breathed.
"Not quite," Emma responded. Madeline looked at her quizzically. Emma hesitated, then after a pause gave her the benefit of the doubt.
"We're in love with each other," she said simply.
Madeline's mouth dropped open. A mix of relief and fear crossed Emma's face. Finally someone knew. Emma nodded slowly.
"It's a secret," she continued. "I'm sure you know why."
She gave a small laugh as she wiped away a last tear, then looked at the younger girl. "We just started dating, so I've only had this kind of life for a couple months."
"So it's serious, then," Madeline said slowly.
"You could say that," Emma replied, pulling out her necklace from inside her collar. Next to her silver Tiffany cross dangled a small platinum band rimmed with a tiny diamond.
Madeline gasped and sat down next to her. "He gave that to you? Are you engaged?"
"Not quite," Emma said again with a laugh. "Not officially, I should say."
It was then that Madeline wondered why she never noticed the flush in Emma's cheeks.
"You seem happy."
"I'm insanely happy."
"Then why -- "
"Why am I crying over a 14-year-old's criticisms?" the forlorn -- and lovelorn -- figure sighed. "Because I'm human, I guess. I'm secure in this relationship and all that. But having to hide it -- being torn between wanting everyone to know how happy you are and wanting to keep my life private -- and listening to everyone else fawn over him is not an easy thing."
"Eventually it has to come out though, right?"
"The later the better," Emma said. "It'll be worse when they know. I don't know. Maybe we'll let it leak after the craze subsides, attention shifts to some other band. Or whenever we're officially engaged. Right now, though, everything is hush-hush."
She looked at the other girl, whose expression was contemplative. Emma patted her shoulder.
"I don't know why I just told you all this," she sighed furtively. "J.C. says I'm too trusting. But I dunno, it seemed right to tell you. I was bursting inside anyway."
She gave a smile and ran her hand through her black locks.
"Please don't tell him you saw me like this," she said. "I don't want him to worry."
Madeline was concerned. "Wouldn't he want to know if you're sad?"
Emma shook her head stubbornly. "This is my problem, not his. I just have to get over it. Promise me."
"I promise," Madeline said. "I'm happy for you guys. I really am. I think it's perfect."
"And you?" Emma asked, searching Madeline's face. "Things have warmed up between you and Justin, haven't they?"
Madeline was alarmed. "Warmed up?"
"You guys are a lot more cozy than you used to be."
"It's just acting, Emma," Madeline stated.
Emma stood up and tossed the magazine aside, checking the wall mirror to make sure her puffy eyes had diminished. She looked at Madeline.
"Maybe you should tell him that."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Madeline sat alone miserably under a tree, watching Justin walk along the side of a rural road, lip-syncing his lyrics. He looked more mature than his 18 years in a long black leather coat that reached his knees, and a turtleneck sweater. The director insisted he take off the hat this time. Justin wanted to warm his ears; Jeffrey wanted to show the curls.
She was sitting on a winning lottery ticket, Madeline thought with dismay. She knew something no other magazine, teen or otherwise, seemed to know. She'd wish for a narrative bridge for the story, and had found it in Emma.
I should be careful what I wish for. Why did I have to find out?
She liked Emma a lot. Despite their age difference, she felt treated as a peer, although Emma did provide an older-sister presence. In the short span of time, they'd grown close.
Madeline knew, without a doubt, that she could not write about J.C. and Emma's relationship. She would not. She would not do this to a girl she called her friend.
Madeline now truly wanted the story to go away. She had a gold mine in her hand, but was caught between the darned rock and hard place. Knowing what she knew would already sentence her to some wrath, no matter how she played it.
She'd called Nathan soon after her conversation with Emma, hoping he'd let her off the hook.
"Madeline," he said wearily. "The story is running Monday. We can't ask anyone else to write it, so if you don't do it, then there is no story. And it certainly won't win you any favor points with the other editors. It's very bad professionalism."
"Nathan ... there's no longer a story here," Madeline said. "Everything just seems pretty normal."
"I hate to sound harsh, but it's up to you," Nathan's tired voice answered. "You built this up and pushed for it. You back out now and your credibility is damaged. People will say you should have made sure there was a story there."
He paused. "I thought your skin was tougher than that. Don't tell me someone got to you."
They'd hung up without ultimatum nor resolution. But Madeline knew she couldn't write the story she originally started out with. Because of her friend Emma. Because of a guilty conscience.
Because of Justin.
She watched him now as he seemed to sing with regret, and wished he had turned out to be the spoiled, flirtatious jerk she'd originally perceived. But he'd slowly whittled down her concrete walls, and the soft core inside threatened to be exposed.
She couldn't let it. They'd forged a tentative friendship, and while Emma was a private figure, Madeline couldn't avoid writing about Justin. Therefore she could not be attached to Justin.
This was no longer a story, Madeline had remarked to Nathan. It was true.
It was now her life.
©1999 by Twinkiegurl