Chapter Twelve

NOTE: As I have said in the "Dev’s So-called Nsync" section, the guys’ schedule isn’t the way it is in reality. In my stories they follow MY schedule. This chapter deals with the release of NSA. While, I’m not putting an exact date on it, it DOES occur later in the year than it did in real life. Think late spring/early summer. Got it? Good. Please read on :)

“Chris, seriously, quit it. I know what you’re trying to do,” Justin shook his head.

“Curly, this is valuable advice that could effect the rest of your life,” Chris persisted, pushing the younger man back to sit on the foot of the bed. “I mean, think about it, man!”

“You are just trying to scare me, and I don’t want to hear it,” Justin countered, moving to stand up again. “This is something I’m going to do now matter what you say.”

“Then just hear me out. This could quite possibly be the scariest thing you’ll ever do in your life. You should have all the information. So, think about it,” Chris said pushing Justin back down and beginning to pace in front of him. “What is the helmet really for, anyway? I mean if something goes wrong… can you “kinda” make it? I’ll tell you one thing. If that parachute doesn’t open, that helmet will be wearing you for protection.”

“Chris, skydiving is something I’ve always wanted to do. We have a six-hour gap in promotion and this is what I’m doing with it,” Justin asserted, pushing past the older man and out of his bedroom. “We’re leaving for Chicago tonight and I haven’t talked to Regan in three days and I really don’t need you trying to talk me out of the one thing that might give me a little perspective right now.”

“Fine, kid,” Chris breathed, melodramatically, following Justin down the stairs of his Orlando home. “I’m just trying help. Has the thought crossed your mind that if you need to jump out of a plane in order to gain perspective, maybe you have a few more problems to work through than a tough schedule and unrequited love?”

The only response Justin gave was his seldom-used yet eerily effective glare. This time though, the only effect it had was to cause Chris to fill up the silence rather than take the hint to leave it alone.

“Anyway J, you haven’t seen Regan in almost two weeks, as far as you can tell, she and that Jack guy are together— which in my opinion could have easily been avoided if you’d have just spoken up at one of the fifteen thousand opportunities you had to do so— and in case you haven’t noticed, there’s something a tad more important to be worrying about right now. Unless of course the release of the album really doesn’t matter to—”

“I will seriously hurt you if you don’t stop babbling,” Justin sighed. He wasn’t as annoyed as he’d have like his older friend to believe and, as such, wasn’t quite able to instill the fear a warning should have. By now they were sitting in Justin’s living room, waiting for Justin’s friend, Trace to come and pick him up. While leaping out of a plane wasn’t a traditional celebration for the realese of an album, Justin was looking forward to it as much as he had to the Tuesday before when No Strings Attached was released. What he really needed was a large dose of adrenaline , or as Regan had called it when he told her of his plans the week before, “The only drug you can score by scaring the shit out of yourself.”

“Knock, knock,” a voice came from behind the two.

Chris and Justin looked up to see JC, striding lazily into the living room.

“C’mon in, C,” Justin smirked. “I always thought the door bell was over-rated, away.”

JC lifted his eyebrow at Chris who answered, “Not to worry, Jace. Justin is just attemping to make everyone think he’s pissy, when in fact he’s just bummed about not having seen Regan when were up in NYC this week.”

“I see,” JC laughed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, I have something to tell you guys that will definitely cheer this kid up.”

“I’m not bummed—”

JC interrupted Justin’s protest with a raise of his hand, before continuing. “I have a number for you guys to digest. How does 1.1 million sound to you?”

“1.1 million what?” Chris raised an eyebrow tentativly as Justin leaned forward in his seat.

“Albums sold,” JC grinned.

“Oh man!” Chris exclaimed, jumping to his feet, pulling JC into a hug.

“I know it’s crazy!”

“Wait a sec, wait a sec,” Justin shook his head, confused. “The week’s not even out yet? How do they know the totals already?”

“Justin, you’re not hearing me,” JC grinned. “1.1 million in the FIRST DAY!”

Justin’s brow wrinkled and he looked toward the ceiling as if what his friend was saying made no sense. “Wait, the first day?”

“The first day,” JC nodded slowly, his infectious smile still plastered on his face.

“Holy shit!” Justin exclaimed, leaping out of his seat and hugging his two friends.

“Ok, that’s probably not the best thing to say at the interview tonight when they ask what your reaction was, ok Curly,” Chris laughed.

“1.1 million…” Justin mumbled in disbelief, his trademark grin irrepressably plastered on his face.

“Is this a private celebration?”

“Trace!” Justin called to the young man who’d just come through the front door.

“What’s up buddy? Good news?”

“Yeah man,” Justin nodded excitedly, grabbing his wallet and keys from the coffee table. “I’ll tell you on the way. I'm so ready to jump out of a plane!”

“Mommy, no! That’s not how it’s supposed to be!”

“Well, than how, baby?”

“I want the grass to be blue!”

“Honey, why do you want the grass to be blue?”

“Because I never seen blue grass.”

“Good, answer,” Bridget shrugged picking up the blue crayon. Five mintues later, the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” Mae announced, climing down from her seat at the kitchen table.

“Wait for mommy, Mae,” Bridget groaned, following behind her and sweeping her up into her arms. “Who could this be, huh?” she whispered playfully to her daughter.

“What’s taking you so long in there?!” Regan’s distinctive voice came through the front door.

Bridget rolled her eyes and unlocked the three latches that adorned the door jamb. “What happened to your key, brat?” she asked as she opened the door.

“Forgot,” Regan shrugged. “Hey Piglet!”

“Regan!” Mae giggled, uncerimoniously leaping from her mother’s arms to her aunts. “Come see what we drew!”

“Sure,” Regan smiled, walking through the front hall. “Guess what I read this morning, Bridg.”

“Two-headed baby born in Brooklyn?”

“Close,” Regan smirked. “No Strings Attached sold over a million records on Tuesday. Looks like they’ll be breaking that record by week’s end.”

“Yeah, I know. JC called this morning,” Bridget smiled, holding the kitchen door open for Regan.

“Oh,” Regan said in a tone Bridget couldn’t quite place.

“What’s that ‘oh’ mean?”

“Nothing, I just figured—”

“Justin would’ve called you if JC had time to call me?”

“Well,” Regan started, sitting Maeve on the counter, “yeah.”

“I’m sure it’s not personal. JC called me at the crack of dawn this morning and said that he was the first to find out. Maybe Justin didn’t find out until later in the day and by then they had other commitments.”

“You always feel the need to rationalize, Bridg,” Regan shook her head. “I think you think I’m more invested in this boy than I really am.” She reached across the counter to grab and apple when her eyes widened in memory. “Shit,” she spat under her breath. “He was supposed to go skydiving today. I forgot to call him and wish him luck.”

“Nooo,” Bridget giggled. “You’re not invested in Timberlake at all.”

“Whatever,” Regan huffed, pulling her cell phone out of her purse to check for messages. There was only one and it wasn’t from Justin. She held the phone up to her ear and listened, ignoring Bridget’s knowing glances.

Regan, it’s Dr. Boland. I was wondering if we could move up tomorrow’s exam to tonight. I have paper work to do at my office in Lincoln Center and it turns out I have a meeting in the morning with my collegues from Bellevue at the time we’re supposed to meet. I’ll expect you between 7 and 8 in the PT room, if you can make it. If not, call my service in the morning and set up a new appointment. Sooner is better than later.

“Who is it?” Bridget asked from her perch next to Mae.

“Dr. Boland. He wants me to come in for my checkup tonight instead fo tomorrow,” Regan answered, less than thrilled.

“Something wrong?” Bridget asked, concerned.

“Not that I know of,” Regan shrugged. “I feel fine. My ankles feel stronger than they ever have.”

“You seem to still have some reservations about all this,” Bridget guessed correctly.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be completely okay with anyone injecting something in to me that I don’t completely understand. He explained it all, but it’s pretty much beyond me,” Regan said pulling her self up onto the counter on the other side of her niece.

“Mae, sweetie, if you run to mommy’s room you’ll find a new box of crayons I bought after school yesterday. I think this picture needs some tropical colors,” Bridget winked at her daughter.

“Okay,” Mae squeaked, hopping down to the floor running off to her parents room.

“She’ll be there for hours,” Bridget laughed lightly as soon as her daughter was out of ear-shot. “So, is there anything you want to talk about?”

“This doctor has been nothing but kind and courteous and respectful and helpful and… you get the point. But I still can’t seem to relax when he touches me. It’s like some kind of mental block and it scares me. It’s obviously not normal for a person to have a phobia of people with an M.D. at the end of their name. It’s just weird and I have no idea where it comes from. There’s this nagging at the back of my mind that makes me think that there’s something there I just can’t bring up that can explain everything. It makes me think it’s not just ‘one of those things’. There’s a reason.”

“I’ll be honest, Regan. I’ve been telling Mike for years that you should be seeing a therapist or at least talking to someone about this,” Bridget said, extending her hand to cover one of Regan’s.

“I think about it too, every once in a while but I don’t know what therapy would do for me,” Regan shook her head. “I’m not crazy, just scared.”

“Well therapists help people overcome all sorts of things. Maybe one could help you remember what triggered your fear,” Bridget reasoned.

“I just don’t have the time for it. We open in three weeks and almost everday of that is filled with rehersal or apointments with Boland or—”

“Regan, time has always been your excuse to do nothing but dance. Ballet has been your excuse to bail out everytime you have an opportunity to have something else in your life. Ballet isn’t life. It’s just ballet. And you know very well it doesn’t last long for anyone. You need to start making time to heal yourself- mind and body- or I’m not sure you’re going to have a life to fall back on when this is all over.”

Regan digested her best friend’s words, keeping her eyes downcast. She knew the truth of them, and to Bridget’s surprise, she didn’t object in any way. She simply nodded and checked her watch for the time.

“No, that’s no good for me, Jeremy,” Aaron Boland shook his head, leaning back into his brother’s chair at lifting his feet onto his desk.

“Aaron, I’m sorry but I can’t afford to finance this little venture anymore,” Jeremy folded his arms over his chest, locking eyes with his older brother. “Finish things up with the Costelloe girl and then I’m out. You need to find some other source of capital unless you think she’s the one that’ll prove your little experiment is medically viable.”

“Jerry, that’s exactly what I think. She already ten days past where the others were when they tanked and she’s still going strong. Some time in the not to distant future, our names are going to be household names and in a hundred years they’ll be reading about us in text books. All you have to do is have the tiniest bit of vision. Immortality comes from greatness, not fame. In ten years, the only thing ballet will remember about you is that you ran a pretty good company for a while. I’m talking about legend, here. We’ll revolutionize injury medicine forever.”

Jeremy had to admire his brother’s passion, though his tactics were more than questionable. “We’ll see how things turn out with Costelloe, and then we’ll talk. I’m heading home. If you want to join me and Beverly for dinner, you’re more than welcome.”

“No, no, I have some work to finish up,” Aaron shook his head, knowing he’d won. His little brother had always trusted him completely and with a little help from an impassioned speech, he was downright suggestable. Even if Regan Costelloe wasn’t the proof he was looking for, Jeremy would be there with his checkbook, regardless.

“Okay, we’ll see you for brunch, Sunday then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ten minutes later, Aaron was sitting patiently, staring out the window of his brother’s office admiring the view basked in the late evening light. The last remnants of the sunset streaked the pavement and bounced off the closley-set buildings. A knock came a few minutes later.

“Come in!”

“You are never going to believe this one, Doc,” Kyle said strutting confidently, yet somberly into the office.

“So there was something to be found?” Aaron inquired cooly, turing in his chair to face the young man.

“Yes, and it’s pretty big. The P.I. said it was completely legit, too. No holes in the story.”

“So what are we talking about here? Did some inept whiskey-saturated pediatrician from Limerick drop her on her head as a toddler?”

“Bigger,” Kyle shook his head, handing Boland the folder he was carrying.

Boland's eyes widened as they scanned the pages. “Jesus Christ, no wonder she flinches every time I go to take her temperature,” he mumbled. “Well, at least now we know it has nothing to do with us so it can be dealt with. This might even come in useful if something goes wrong. I don’t think money will shut her mouth as easily as it did the others.”

“Aaron, this is serious stuff we’re dealing with here. I didn’t sign on to exploit a young girl’s childhood traumas. I’m thinking about the long run here. If we have to ever answer for what we’ve been up to, this is going to make us look like monsters.”

“Relax, Kyle. Our girl is doing extremely well. With a little bit of luck she’ll become our spokesperson rather than another failure in the case file. Plus with that little prick, Salinger, working to calm her fears, this little tid bit of information may be something we never need to use. Trust me. Have I ever let you down?”

She laid, propted up against a pile of pillows, ingnoring the TV, playing loudly in the background. Through the partially parted blinds of the window beside her bed, she could see the full moon breaking through the parting clouds in the night sky. She contemplated calling out of work, the same way she did every night. The schedule was killing her: school all day, work all night. Sleep was a luxury she couldn’t quite afford yet.

She sighed heavily, rolling out of bed and walking toward the bathroom of her tiny one-room apartment. She’d made the decision she always did. She’d drag her tired ass into work like she did night after night. It was just nice to think she had a choice in the matter every once in a while.

She washed her face quickly and brushed her hair, before pulling on the black skirt and white blouse she could only afford to wash twice a week. She flipped off her TV and flipped on her radio as she searched for her missing shoe. The sounds of Brandy’s “Sittin’ Up in my Room” filled the room. She noted that the song was a little old to be playing on city’s Pop station, but shrugged it off.

“I have but one concern, that concern is you. Till I’m with you, here’s what I’m gonna do,” Sully sang softly along with the radio. She threw worn clothes left and right, searching for her shoe, mentally noting that she had to buy some repectable clothes the next time she had money to spend. She reminded herself of that everyday when she got dressed for class. It hadn’t happened in almost a year and a half.

The song faded out to the familiar sound of DJ banter. It wasn’t until she found the rougue sneaker under her bed that she really paid attention to the voices on the radio.

“So you guys have got to be pretty excited. A record going platinum in one day is a big deal.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. I took a little but if time for to sink in.”

The voice was distinctive and one she knew very well. JC, she thought, a warm smile spreading across her face. So, they’re in town, again.

Sully didn’t really keep track of their travels. Truth be told, she attempted to avoid the information at all costs. It made it easier for her. Last time she heard them live on the radio she had to stop herself from ditching class to catch a glimpse of them leaving the radio station.

“Well, last time you guys were in town, you were on tour. What can your fans expect of the No Strings Attached tour?”

“The first time around, we didn’t have a whole lot of material so we had to improvise a lot to give a good show. We’ve been throwing ideas around for this tour for a while and all I can really say is, it’s gonna be a trip. You’ll just have to see it for yourself.”

He was smiling. She could see it very clearly in her head. Justin had a smile that could stop people in their tracks. She always teased him that he’d make great used-car salesman. No matter how much time had gone by, his image never had the chance to deteriorate in her memory. She saw his face everywhere. She wondered if it had been easier on him since he didn’t have to see her everytime he turned around. She hoped so.

Despite the fact that she was already late, she sat on her bed and listened intently until the interview was over and then made her way down the street to the diner. She apologized to the previous shift’s waitress who had to wait for her show up and tied a tight knot in her apron. She went about her business, thinking this night would be no different than any of the hundreds she spent there before. She was wrong.

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