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Choices. They are made everyday. People change, lives are shattered or made stronger, and things are never the same or exactly the same. Decisions. They are made quickly but can weigh heavily and some remain unaffected, and some are as damaged as a scarred soldier from a terrible war, but still they must live on. With blood spilled, inside and outside, and worlds destroyed, choices are breaths of air that have the power behind the finger that pulls the trigger.
Nothing ever stays the same forever.
~~
We’re back in the present, an unusually warm September evening in New Orleans.
The club has readjusted itself around the two girls that had entered an hour earlier. They were surrounded by people, but they spoke mainly to themselves, sharing a secret no one else was privileged enough to hear. They had been to the club frequently in the two months that they have been in The Big Easy. The staff treated them as if they were veteran guests. The girls never had to wait in the line outside, they rarely ever paid for their drinks, although it was well known that each could afford to buy the entire club a couple rounds of beverages.
Then, the attention of the people in the club shifted slighted in another direction. A new girl had arrived.
“She’s here,” the blond said to her darker friend. The alluring friend looked in the direction of the entrance and smiled.
The new presence was one of the most well-known figures in the club scene of New Orleans and many other clubs that, as it was rumored, she had never even been to. She was unusual. She had an air of youth around her, mixed with a quiet almost as brutal as a punch in the face. And she did occasionally come with bruises. Her eyes were wide, always shining as if she were on the verge of tearing up. The color, hazel. She had a reputation for looking bored and showing up with men three sizes to big for her.
On their first night in New Orleans, the two friends had spotted the girl with hazel eyes and stopped a random clubber to inquire about her.
“Who is that?” the blond asked.
The young man looked at them curiously. “That’s Hazel Fairchild, of course.”
They had made it a goal to get to know Hazel Fairchild. Tonight, they already planned to make that goal a reality.
“She’s on the move,” the blond announced. They put their drinks down and pushed their way to the entrance, where Hazel had just escaped through.
Outside a crowd was circling the strangely poetic scene happening before them. The large man was gripping Hazel’s slim arm, shaking her violently, seething from every pore. In an instant, before anyone had time to react, he had hit her. In what seemed to be slow motion, the frail creature had hit the wet pavement beneath her, her golden hair spraying around her, a small flood of blond pouring onto the sidewalk. She landed directly underneath the glow of a streetlight, lying still in the circular beam of light that shone down. A pattern of red drops were scattered next to her that did not belong in the serenity of the view, unwanted ovals that tainted the scene.
Then the dark mystery girl was moving. “Get away from her!” she screamed, slamming her entire body into the giant man that stood above Hazel with a mocking smile. His smile faded the instant he hit the ground. With a snarl on his face he stood up and began stalking towards the beautiful girl who was kneeling next to Hazel, getting her exposed legs dirty.
He was stopped by a group of men who had decided to get a backbone at the last minute and protect the dark hared girl, outwardly looking chivalrous, inwardly all hoping that their heroic actions would win them a chance to at least talk to her. She did not look up except once to yell at her friend, “Get the car Karen,” and then focused back on the unconscious girl before her.
Seconds later a convertible came flying around a corner and screeched to a halt in front of the club. The blond jumped out, pushed a path between the onlookers, and ordered one of the men to carry Hazel into the back of the car. He did as commanded.
“Careful,” the kneeling girl whispered, holding Hazel’s head until she was safely in his arms. Then she jumped into the backseat of the car and he lay Hazel down, her head now on the other girl’s lap, beautifully refined hands moving hair from Hazel’s forehead. “Drive.”
The blond nodded. With a set of spectators watching after them, the car sped away, down the glistening streets of New Orleans.
~~
And the hardest thing I do
Is wake up without you
When everything falls apart
The emptiness leaves a mark
-Keepsake
A lot has happened in the year and a half since Sita Perne and Karen Cooper fled the state of Florida without so much as a word or a reason behind their departure.
‘N Sync went on tour, Lance went to the hospital, the group went to the MTV music awards, and everyone went to the courtroom. As far as the public was informed, ‘N Sync signed a new contract with Jive, breaking their former contract with RCA and Lou Pearlman. In the courts, none of the press seemed to take notice of the girl sitting in the back, wearing plain business clothes and a tired smile. No reporters ever made the connection that the lawyers representing the boys were also Rama Perne’s, the great tycoon of the East Coast, lawyers. There was no reason for anyone to look for a connection.
In March of 2000, a record-breaking album was released, and everyone’s suspicions of “Can they do it?” had been put to rest. In the album sleeve four songs were written and three were produced by a man named JC Chasez. The same man was also producing for other artists and writing as well, creating a name for himself in the industry. Often, he passed by two other producers who were slowly, but certainly, losing credibility in the business. They were Todd Dove and Dan Davis. They always lowered their eyes whenever they spotted JC.
Three days after the disappearance of the two girls who had entered the groups lives almost as quickly as they had departed, Joey Fatone heard a knock on his door. He had been staying in lately, sulking in the darkness of his newly furnished apartment and trying his best not to think of the only girl whom had ever captured his attention and heart. He couldn’t stop himself though. As much as it hurt, he loved to think of her.
When he opened his door, he found a crisp young man standing outside. “JC? What are you doing here?”
“You look like hell Joey.”
“I didn’t even know you knew where I lived.”
“I didn’t,” JC said, stepping past Joey, giving himself permission to enter. “Lance gave me directions.”
Joey, wearing meerly a red silk bathrobe over his week old pajamas, closed the door. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company at the moment.”
“I don’t mind.”
They sat down on the couch in his living room. They remained silent at first. Joey no longer felt uncomfortable around his friend. He couldn’t feel anything except the pain in his chest. JC waited patiently, unmoving. Finally, Joey spoke. “Sita’s gone.”
“I know.”
“You do? Justin told you, didn’t he? He’s handling Karen’s absence wonderfully. I wish I could let go as easily as he has.”
“He hasn’t let go. He’s just waiting for Karen to come back.”
“Yea, well I wish I had his confidence that they are coming back. I wish I had confidence that if and when she does come back, she’ll be coming back to me. I don’t think she’s coming back for me JC. Something happened to her. She was so different the last time I saw her.” Joey ran his hand through his unwashed hair and sighed. “It’s funny. I never thought I’d be like this. You know, a wreck. Life has always been so easy; I’ve never put much emotional attachment to any girl I’ve been with. But, it was like I couldn’t stop myself from caring about her. I think I was in love with her. I think I still am in love with her.”
JC said nothing, but somehow Joey felt better. He didn’t know why, but he could sense that in a way, JC understood and possibly even shared in what he was going through. After that day, Joey visited JC’s apartment more freely and JC sometimes came to his. To Joey and everyone else’s amazement, JC sought him out as a friend and Joey accepted it.
Lance questioned JC a couple of weeks later. “What’s the deal between you and Joey?”
“What do you mean?”
“You guys are acting like close confidants lately. This doesn’t have anything to do with guilt does it JC? Over Sita, I mean.”
“It doesn’t have to do with guilt,” he said tonelessly. “I help him by understanding his pain. He helps me by saying the things I cannot. Even though he doesn’t realize it, we have something in common.”
“You both miss the same girl,” Lance finished for him.
For the first week, after either leaving the studio or the warehouse that they were setting up for the upcoming tour for, JC would return to Justin’s home and sleep in his old bedroom, often retiring early without much explanation behind his tired eyes. He rarely spoke to anyone, which wasn’t unusual, except that that overpowering personality was off in a way no one could point out.
It was after that one week that he got the phone call. One night he could not sleep and so took a drive to the aqua apartments, the blue fortress that he had avoided since the last time he had seen her. When he walked in he could still smell her in there, an expensive perfume mingled in with a sweet, natural scent that was entirely her own. He lit the fresh candle on the cardboard and took out a sheet of crumpled notebook paper to begin working on his newest creation.
Then, the black phone across the room started to ring.
Curiously, he picked it up. “Hello?”
No one spoke on the other end.
“Hello? Who is this?”
He could hear nothing, but strained his ears anyway, waiting for some sound, something to confirm the suspicions that were bubbling in his mind. Finally, he just said it. “Sita?”
The person on the other line hung up.
The next night the phone rang again. JC had been waiting for it. “Hi,” he said quietly, addressing a living silence. He sat back, feeling a small heat coming from the candle next to him. “You’ve called every night since you’ve left haven’t you?” No reply. “You wonder if I’ve been thinking about you. Sita, the answer is yes. I was confused at first, but I’m not anymore. There’s too much going on right now and I don’t have time to be confused. I’ve been spending time with Joey, which I know you don’t want to hear, but I have to tell you this anyway. It’s strange how his thoughts mimic my own, but not to the degree that I feel. Does that make sense? Sita, tell me where-“
There was a click and then a dial tone. JC hung up the phone. He waited again the next night, picking it up the moment the first ring filled the air. His nights continued on like that. She would always call sometime after midnight and he would always be there to pick up. She never said anything, but to her, he spoke volumes, more than he had ever spoken to anyone in his life. He would say something amusing that had happened to him and he could sense her smile. He would tell her how much he wanted her and he could hear her heart skip a beat.
By the time the tour came up, he had given her his cell phone number. The first night, after the concert, while everyone slept and the bus rolled to the next city, JC sat in the back, talking to no one on his cell phone. He never looked tired the next day, not unless he had made a mistake and said something that caused her to hang up a couple of minutes into the conversation. He could have gone to the extremes and traced the calls to wherever she was hiding herself, but he didn’t. He waited for her to come back to him.
One night JC was sitting in his hotel room, Chris snoring peacefully next to him. He held the cell phone in his hand. “I’ve been writing a lot lately. I wrote this yesterday for you.” He put the phone down on the nightstand next to him, propping it up against the crystal lamp, and then reached for the acoustic guitar he had purchased weeks ago. He had been receiving lessons on how to play it from the musical director of the band, and now strummed the chords he had written for the song.
To see you when I wake up
Is a gift I didn’t think could be real
To know that you feel the same as I do
Is a threefold utopian dream
You do something to me
That I can’t explain
So would I be out of line
If I said I miss you
I see your picture, I smell your skin on
The empty pillow next to mine
You have only been gone ten days
But already I’m wasting away
I know I’ll see you again
Whether far or soon
But I need you to know
That I care and I miss you
-Incubus
Afterwards he picked up the phone and listened carefully, making out a couple of small, faint noises. She was crying. Then she hung up, leaving him alone in a dark room.
She called back the next night.
~~
“Where am I?”
Hazel Fairchild opened her eyes, but squinted them shut again. Her blurry eyesight revealed to her nothing, except that someone was sitting next to her and the cushions she lay on felt extremely soft and extremely expensive. When her eyes finally adjusted, she saw that a girl was next to her, cloaked in a midnight wave of hair and had emeralds for eyes. “Who are you?”
The girl smiled. “My name’s Sita. You’re in my house. My friend, Karen, and I brought you here after that guy you were with hit you. Are you all right? Would you like me to take you to the hospital? Karen isn’t here, but I have a driver at my disposal, and he can take us if you’d like.”
“No, no,” Hazel immediately protested, sitting herself up, cringing slightly at the ringing in her head. “I have this thing against hospitals. I’ll just go now.”
“Are you sure? It’s no inconvenience.”
“What?”
“It’s not an inconvenience.”
“Oh.” Hazel stood up. “I guess it’s not…one of those.”
“Inconvenience,” Sita repeated. “It means that it’s no trouble. It’s not a problem.”
Hazel looked confused. Then she shrugged the expression off and turned to leave. “Thanks for…thanks.” Sita remained seated as Hazel exited the room. After a couple of minutes, Hazel returned. “Uh, how do you get out of this place?”
Sita laughed, a sound that oddly enough made Hazel feel more welcomed in the lavished décor of the large mansion. “Come on,” Sita walked over to her, “I’ll show you out.”
Never before had so much expense and luxury surrounded Hazel. She gazed around the marble columns and stairways, the authentic New Orleans paintings and sculptures, the soft rugs and carpets, the porcelain vases, the chandeliers, and wondered if she should breath, hoping it didn’t taint the air that was filled with the scent of rosemary. The girl in front of her fit in perfectly with the rest of the house. She was beyond the description of beautiful and it looked like the house had been carved specifically for her.
As Sita passed by one of the room, she stopped. “Oh dear.” She looked back. “It seems as if my butler has already set the table for two this evening.”
Confused, Hazel peeked her head into the room and saw a long, glass dining table. There were plates of steaming food and two sets of dining utensils set out.
“I was hoping you’d stay and have dinner,” Sita said. “But, if you must go…”
Hazel looked from her to her grumbling stomach. She shrugged. “I guess I could stay. I mean, since it’s all set up and everything.”
Sita smiled. “Splendid.”
~~
During the next 6 months, the three girls were untouchable and unstoppable.
They went out almost every night. All the clubs welcomed them, none surprised that at last the three had joined forces. Each had a specific personality attached to them, an element of individualism shone through, and as a group they were inseparable.
Karen Cooper had not changed her ways. She had men kissing her feet, she had legions of girls who envied yet adored her, and therefore, had plenty of toys to play with. Anywhere she went, no matter how dull the people or the party, she could start a riot if she pleased. When Karen Cooper showed up to a club, everyone knew they would have a good time that night.
Hazel Fairchild remained as quiet as ever, although now her old friends saw her speaking frequently to Sita, and even smiling occasionally. She had given up the man who had hit her before, but for another man, equally as strong who hit her now, named Jared, nicknamed Goliath for his huge size. Every night Hazel managed, with no effort of her own, to make at least one new friend, and her popularity grew stronger now that she had the confirmed status of being best friends with Karen and Sita.
Sita Perne was a mystery to everyone besides Karen and Hazel. She showed up but kept to herself. Constantly she was asked to dance but she always declined. Whenever a man offered to buy her a drink she accepted, walking away the minute the beverage was handed to her to join Karen and Hazel. She was still adored, still viewed as perfect, but her ability to walk up to a group and charm them had been lost. She never walked up to anyone unless she found them interesting. Rarely did Sita Perne find anyone interesting.
She called her forgotten home once a week to talk to her father. She smiled when he told her of his new business deals and shed a tear silently when she heard of Lalita’s improvement in speech and art. Her parents would coax her relentlessly to come home, but she would always give the same response.
“I’m not ready yet mother. Maybe next month I’ll be feeling better.”
She never spoke to Kalika.
Late one evening Hazel had slept over at Sita’s mansion. She couldn’t sleep and had decided to go downstairs to get something to eat. On her way, she passed by one of the drawing rooms and caught sight of a figure sitting by the window, basked in a glow of moonlight. Sita sat still, her head resting against the window, a phone attached to her ear. Hazel waited for a full five minutes and never heard Sita utter a single word.
Sita didn’t know why she had called his apartment. She had gotten the number from a 411 operator and had called almost immediately, inspite if herself. It was a helpless convulsion of her hand, she had no control over the fingers that rapidly dialed the number. She had breathed a sigh of relief when he had not answered. To be safe, she only allowed herself to call him late, when she was sure he would either be asleep or away. She never expected him to answer.
Then he did.
After that first night, after hearing the sound of his voice, causing her skin to ache and her lips to tingle, she had vowed not to call him again. The next night, she called. She listened to him quietly, watching the moon outside of the window, smiling although her soul screamed out for her to stop the torture she was putting herself through. She closed her eyes and pictured him, the apartment surrounding him, the wall he probably leaned on, the candle that glowed on his skin. His voice felt like a caress, when he breathed she could feel it on her cheek. She would reach her hand out, sure that it would touch him, and then drew it back when she felt nothing but a humid air.
Countless times in one conversation she would catch herself from speaking. It was the only safety she had from keeping the distance between them. She knew the instant she opened her mouth and spoke, she would not be able to stop herself if he were to ask the questions that were inevitable. Everything felt inevitable. It was like her life had come to an abrupt halt and she was waiting for something or someone to come along and jumpstart it. She floated in a frozen lake of hopelessness and longing, waiting anxiously for the sun to come out and melt her free. She wanted so much to be free.
There was only one key, however, that could release her from the invisible prison, and it was held in the palm of her older sister.