Holly Mitchell couldn’t believe how tolerant she was being. She stood impatiently in a nearly deserted recording studio waiting anxiously for the man sitting at the table in front of her, bending over sheets of paper that held no interest to her whatsoever. She honestly had no idea why she had even agreed to come there. She wondered still why she hadn’t walked out on him already.
The answer was so simple it made her almost sad.
JC Chasez was too good to let go. He was famous, he had money, and the fact that she had a chance with him, that he had actually asked her out was too good an opportunity to give up.
Or did I ask him out?
She couldn’t remember. She knew that it was she who had recommended a second date, but it wasn’t like she had to thrust it upon him, like she had to beg. He willingly agreed, although he acted less enthused than she had hoped for. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he only went out with her because it was something to do, to fill time with.
Looking him over, she was again amazed by how handsome just his profile was. There was something about him that made her undeniably attracted to him. Granted, the pair of beautiful, clear blue eyes that seemed to contain the very essence of his soul helped. As did his uniquely sensuously shaped mouth. But there was something more, something about him that one knew, when looking at him, he was an individual. He was special.
He had an aura around him that almost enhanced his personality; his own brand of air that surrounded him at all times. When he turned his eyes on her the sensation increased, like the air was an extended part of him. The body and hand gestures he used only added to the effect. When he was concentrated on something, or just lost in some thought, his face seemed so serious and yet so serene that it was hard to look at anything else in the room but him.
“Are we going to be here all night?” she asked.
He didn’t glance up from his papers. “Just another minute.”
It was starting to annoy her, how she was jealous of those papers. He never looked at her like he looked at his music sheets. He never talked about her like he spoke of his music. When he talked of a song he was creating, or maybe even a song he had fallen in love with on the radio that morning, there was intense passion in his tone. The person he was talking to could almost hear the music he was describing.
JC was absorbed in the music. He lived every moment waiting to hear it, to write it, to produce it, to create it, and to sing it. He could manage without it for a couple of days, it wasn’t like that was all he did. But the music is what it all came back to for him. It was his drive.
She tried to understand it. Although she had only known him for 3 weeks, she did want to be a part of his life and to know about the things he loved. But still, she wanted to do this while he participated, she wanted to know this by communicating with him and talking about it. He did neither. She could only watch and make assumptions of what he was thinking.
Finally, she got fed up. “JC,” she whined, “Please, I’m tired of standing here. It’s a Saturday night. Let’s go somewhere and have some fun.”
He stopped and turned to her. A sympathetic look entered his eyes and he nodded, putting his pencil down. “I’m sorry for keeping you here. Let’s go to that party.”
On the drive there, he spoke little, mainly one word answers, but she tried to pretend that it was normal. She couldn’t stand the silence, she had to always be talking, and so kept the conversation up entirely on her own. Sometimes she didn’t even think about what she said, she just talked, not even listening to herself. Of course, his eyes remained on the road and his hand created the only movement of his body as it lightly tapped on the steering wheel in time with the beats floating in from the car radio. She ignored it when he would, right in the middle of her sentence, turn up the volume to the music. She just convinced herself that he must have really loved the song.
The packed house with blaring music brought a smile upon her face. She had never felt so relieved to see a group of drunk people. She immediately jumped out of the car. JC stayed to finish the song he was listening too.
When Holly caught sight of him again it was half an hour later and she had just left a group of her friends. The entire event seemed to revolve around the 5 famous faces that mingled in with the rest of the crowd, as if special marks were tattooed onto their foreheads, warning people that these 5 were special and should be followed everywhere they go. Most of the girls complied too that invisible mark.
She stepped into the crowded kitchen and saw the tall figure with lightning blue eyes smiling as he discussed something with one of his groupmates, Justin Timberlake. Herds of girls surrounded them both, but they each acted as if they were alone in a corner of the room with no one around. Holly could see the transformation within JC, although it was only slight. He was more alive, it seemed, more aware of the world whenever the other members of ‘N Sync were within 10 feet of him. He didn’t hold onto his normal introspective, self-absorbed attitude. JC could be on a street in New Orleans during Mardi Gras and find the peace to sit and jot down words for a song without looking up the rest of the evening, but if one of the other four men came near him he would actually stop to listen to a joke they had just heard or a wild story they had to tell.
No one and nothing else could divert JC’s attention from his music. Only those other four men did he hold on a level anywhere near his music. She wanted to know what it was about them that let them into the secret world that JC lived in; she wanted to exist in his world too.
Approaching them confidently, she took hold of his hand as if he were a possession of hers that she was not willing to share. “Hey.”
His eyes turned downward first towards the hand she held and then to her. “Hi.” He said nothing else, returning back to his conversation with Justin. She didn’t care; he hadn’t let go of her hand. Contently she remained quietly by his side, receiving and distributing contemptuous looks to women who passed by. A feeling of satisfaction and even pride swept through her knowing that almost all the girls there were jealous of her.
Later, Justin could not avoid it any longer, and finally accepted an invitation to dance, leaving Holly and JC alone. This would be it, she thought eagerly. Now he had no choice but to talk with her.
“Are you ready to leave?” he asked.
Her hope deflated. “Well, all right.”
“Unless you wanted to stay. I really want to go back to the studio and one of the guys or your friends could give you a ride.” He said it tonelessly, as if he could care less either way, just as long as he was able to return to the studio.
She ignored that and pretended to hear a hint of anxiousness in his voice instead, anxious that she would go with him. “No, I’ll go with you.”
The drive back to her house was even more silent, if that was even possible. She had run out of things to say and had no choice but to let the quiet fill her ears, making her even more nervous about what he thought of her. She failed to see that JC barely noticed the change.
When they reached the destination she was almost afraid he would just drop her off and speed away the instant she closed the car door. Relieved, she was reminded again that although he was completely cold and distant around her, he remained a perfect gentleman and, without expression, got out, opened her car door and walked her up the simple granite steps to her one story home.
“I had a nice time tonight.” She didn’t know why she had said that since it was a total lie. But it was what people said, it was all part of the routine.
“Good night.”
To her surprise he was already turning to go and without thinking she desperately reached out to grab his arm and stop him. “Wait, JC.”
“Yes?”
“Uh." She couldn't bring herself to say what she desperately wanted to say without seeming to desperate. It was clear that he wasn't interested, probably never had been. There was nothing he wanted except to make music; no girl would ever compare. She let him go. "Nothing. Good night."
“Good night.”
He jogged back to his car without glancing back. When he drove off she knew he would not glance back to look at her in the rearview mirror, but she stayed standing outside of her door anyway until his car turned a corner, out of view.
~~
I’m a modern girl
But I fold in half so easily
When I put myself
In the picture of success
I could learn world trade
Or try to map the ocean
- Rilo Kiley
Contrary to popular belief, Sita Perne was not perfect.
When Sita entered the large ballroom of her father’s mansion, every pair of eyes in the room turned to her and saw a girl who had been born to live and be the universal definition of perfection. She was beautiful in a universal way, she was rich according to society’s terms, and her life sparkled and shimmered with undeniable potential and success. Failure was not a word that existed when looking upon this surreal individual.
But she was not perfect, no such thing exists, and this girl very much existed. If anything, she would have been considered flawless. Yes, maybe flawless, but never perfect.
And yet, her flaws mounted against her, an invisible stack high on her shoulders.
The adored figure walked through a sea of hungry eyes, eating at the sight of her and trying to soak in even a morsel of the magical substance that made up her presence. Business men looked at her and thought of Rama’s success in life and how she and her sisters were the epitome of it all, their wives looked upon her and thought of how outstanding Radha must have been to have raised such a magnificent being, their daughters looked upon her and saw a goal, a person they strove to be like, to mimic instead of seeing the true worth of who they were. Already each girl in the lavished ballroom had made a mental note to pick up the plain black dress that was officially in style because Sita Perne was wearing it. The sons in attendance gazed at her with a longing, heartaching realization that although they deserved everything in the world, none of them would ever obtain her. Except J.J. Richards, that is.
When Sita looked at all of them she saw nothing. All the usual faces would be there, all acting and playing the parts they always did, and nothing was out of the ordinary for her to see, but she did know that she was supposed to be glad to be there and so she smiled. That always was the cue that broke the silence that, for a single moment, reigned the room, and the party continued.
As she passed by the guests, the curious eyes saw her face as beautiful; no one saw her flaws and thought the same thing. Every eye that had gazed upon her viewed the exact same beauty, not one person had taken a look at her and saw something unique, saw her face as nothing more but a window to her soul.
But whether or not a soul was even present was a question in itself. Sita’s face went through the motions, but something was lacking, an important element that caused her to look more statue than human. She looked happy, her laugh was filled with joy, but her face was missing something that made her joy sound fake and her smile seem forced.
Kalika took the child in her arms and went searching for her mother and Karen had already been pulled aside by a group of young men whom she had been eyeing ever since she had entered the mansion. Sita was left alone. No one dared to approach her at first, all were much too afraid, although she had a reputation for being undeniably friendly.
It was a good thing J.J. feared no one. “Sita dear, it’s so nice to finally see you. Where have you been keeping yourself?” He pushed past guests and took her delicate hand and kissed it.
She looked at him and he had the sense that she saw nothing else in the room except him, that she was entirely focused on everything he had to say. He had always loved the attention. “Good evening J.J. I’ve been upstairs, of course.”
“Well I’ve missed you terribly.”
“You just saw me yesterday.”
He laughed but she remained peacefully staring at him. “Why, you’re right, I did. But we didn’t get to talk much, did we?”
“Father had a business meeting that I was running late for.”
“You’ve been accompanying him to the office a lot these days, haven’t you?”
“I like helping him out.”
“Yes, but Sita, you shouldn’t overwork yourself. Especially with such frivolous matters such as business, especially you being a girl at your age and his daughter no less! He can hire someone, can’t he?”
She had long ago gotten bored of J.J., but all he could see were her attentive eyes. “Yes, I suppose he could, but he enjoys it when I come with him and so do I. I hate to be rude, but you must excuse me so I can find my mother.”
She started to walk away.
“Sita wait.”
She stopped and looked back. “Yes?”
“You’ve still given me no answer for the invitation to the Opera I sent you.”
“Oh, that. When is it?”
“This weekend.”
“Yes. Sorry J.J., but I can’t. I’ve got so much to do these days. Maybe some other time.”
Another rejection. J.J.’s determination grew even stronger. “Yes, another time perhaps. Good evening Sita.”
Along the way guests stopped her and she talked with them, charming them even more with her perfect smile and pleasant humor, and then she moved on. She caught sight of her father surrounded by tall men with white hair smoking cigars and her sister, who surrounded herself with the same type of men, both speaking entirely of business. Her mother and Lalita were also covered by high-class women with jewels and luxury draped all over them.
It was when she was just leaving one group of people and heading towards her father that someone stopped her. It was her sisters friend, Karen. “Oh, hello.”
“Hi. This is an absolutely fabulous party, isn’t it?” the other girl said sarcastically.
Sita smiled. “Oh yes, one of the years best. Completely original.”
Karen rolled her eyes and said, “I know we barely know each other, but do you want to get out of here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Make an unseen exit and go to a real party?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sita said innocently. “Real party? Why, I can’t possibly leave my father’s event.”
Karen was confused. “But I heard that you…” She trailed off when she took notice of Sita’s hidden smile and the mischievous look in her eyes. She understood. “Maybe another time then?”
“Stop by on another evening,” Sita said, already walking away. “I’ll see if I can find time to make arrangements.”
Although they had just met that night, Karen Cooper already knew that she had just made a life long friend. With a smile she turned around and left the party.
~~
JC Chasez walked calmly into the studio, a tense yet relaxed expression set on his face, and breathed in a sigh of relief.
People found beauty all over the world, like the sight of snow peaked mountain tops set against a dusk, orange sky, or the waves of a clear blue ocean, or even the first glimpse of their first born child. The studio was JC’s beauty, the sounds the room could produce his source of life and energy. He habitated, ate, and slept in a room in Florida, but this was his home. When his alert eyes gazed around him he did not just see some room, but a place to create, an outlet for the jumbled thoughts that ran reckless through his brain, sounds that he heard all the time. He appreciated and loved this room more than most of the people he had met in his life.
Taking a seat in a familiar chair, his fingers traveled over the buttons and knobs on the large board in front of him. The outboard, a piece of machinery that had practically grown on him like another limb. He recalled the first time he had seen it, how it seemed like an impossible code, with so many functions and buttons that he thought he would never understand. Now it was like another language. It was to him what a wand was to a magician; essential for producing the magic that would come back to him through the monitors and speakers of the studio.
He preferred this, the solitude of the room over the company of people. It did not bother him like it bothered most others; this was where he wanted to be. If people thought it odd, eccentric, or even uncanny for a man his age then so be it. Others opinions were of no concern to him. There were only 4 other people in the world he actually recognized as existing, that he could actually spot in a crowd. Everyone else was just another face.
His long, slim fingers moved over the outboard lovingly, tenderly, and with just one push of a button suddenly the room was filled with the savoring sound of music. There was no such thing as too loud and he turned a large, round knob to an almost deafening volume. The sound flowed into his ears and he was no longer just a listener, but a hunter, searching through the notes and sounds to find any flaws or additions he wanted to add. The words he would think about later, now it was just about the music.
Before, in his youth, he had not sought out music. It had always been a part of his life, it had always provided a comfort from the world, a way to escape by listening to other people’s sorrows and love loss. Then he was thrust into a scene where he was introduced to the prospect of his own voice, of the magnitude and emotion he could put into a song by just opening his mouth. That was his release and when he sang he had no realization of anyone else around him, of the audience that was watching him. He just heard his voice and felt an indescribable feeling, a level of emotion and satisfaction he never thought could even exist. His path in life was clear to him. Music.
When he became successful with the four friends he had acquired along the way it was not a surprise to him. He was doing what he was meant to, he loved his work, why shouldn’t he be prosperous at it? He had coasted through the past year of fame and fortune with total ease and control, as if he had only mastered a technique he had been practicing for years. He became even more involved with music, it was now a lifestyle, like a strand of DNA within him that had been stirred awake.
Now he was faced with a challenge of coming out with a new album. He was aware of the sophomore jinx that loomed over them, but he did not fear it like most other artists. If it was a success he could care either way. This time he was going to defy all rules, he was going to go beyond the limits that critics and music industry big shots alike had set for him. He wanted more control, he sought out more creativity. He had accomplished singing; now he wanted to create and write. Vaguely he had announced this decision to his groupmates and they had reacted with a quiet shock but knew that they could not stop him. Whenever JC had something set in his mind, he got it, one way or another.
Some called him inhuman due to the fact that he barely associated with the rest of the world, that he locked himself in an empty studio, and that he was fine with that. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. They refused to recognize that he didn’t give a damn of what they thought to be natural and right; he was living as naturally as he could and doing the only thing that had ever felt right to him in his entire life.
As he sat in the studio, dissecting the music, a thought passed through his mind, remembering the meeting he had arranged two days from now. The thought faded quickly, like a visiting ghost, and he returned his full attention back to the outboard.
~~
The ballroom had emptied and now remained only three maids, working thoroughly to clean up the discarded cups and trash.
On the third floor, in a room as simple as the girl who had slept there most of her life, two sisters sat. The scene had happened often when Kalika still lived in the mansion. Sita would always come in and have late night talks, listening to the world through Kalika’s eyes. Kalika rarely spoke, and when she did it mainly pertained to business and money. But with her sister she opened up naturally.
Sita sat on the floor, rich white carpet cushioning her, and she looked up at her sister who sat comfortably on the bed. “Did you enjoy yourself Kal?”
“Yes. It was a successful party. Did you have fun?”
“Not anymore than usual.” It was a statement with no emotion attached to it.
“I saw you talking with J.J.”
“He often searches me out and talks to me. He’s becoming quite the bore.”
“Funny. I would have thought someone like him would have bored you a long time ago.”
Sita smiled. “I try to have a little fun with him. The next time he offers to take me somewhere I’m thinking of finally accepting.”
“Why?”
“Something to do.” Her eyes took notice of the room. The walls were bare, the furniture limited. There was a large bed, a lovely wooden dresser, a large, thin white desk with various papers, folders, writing utensils, and a black lamp resting on it, and a huge bookcase with volumes on business, the stock market, producing, and music. Nothing else was needed. It wasn’t just because Kalika no longer lived there, the room had always looked like that. She had never sought out material possessions.
“I think Karen was impressed by you,” Kalika said.
“She seems very interesting. Definitely someone I want to get to know. If that’s ok with you, of course?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
It was no secret that almost every friend Kalika had made eventually became another member in the club of worshipping Sita, as well as most of the limited boyfriends. It wasn’t something that bothered her, she knew that it was hard not to adore Sita and moved on, finding more friends for the moment. Sometimes she felt as though she was picking her friends just for the sole purpose of having them become better friends with Sita later on.
“How is college Kal?” Sita asked after the lapse of silence. “Seeing anyone?”
“No. I think I may just give boys up for a little bit. There’s just so much more to do and I can’t seem to find anyone else like me, to share my passions with.”
“You haven’t found anyone who likes producing?”
“I have. But why they are doing it is not the same reason that I am. I’ll talk with them and it seems as if they just want to produce music to hold the title of producer, not because they love it as I do.”
“I’ll never understanding how you can enjoy one thing, one line of work so much.”
“And I’ve never understood how you don’t have a dream, or a goal to reach. Sita, you are good at so many things, but there is not one hobby of yours that you want to make your life.”
“Why must I have one thing?”
“Don’t you seek a purpose in waking up in the morning?”
“Why must I have a purpose? I’ll still wake up, no matter what. Kal, you sound as if my life is so empty, but I see my life as fulfilled and complete. I’m happy with how things are, I don’t need to change the world.”
“Don’t you want any change at all? Isn’t there something about your life that you would like to change?”
“No.”
Kalika eyed her sister carefully. “Do you feel alive?”
Sita laughed, a carefree giggle that held the sound of youth in it. “You’re awfully philosophical tonight Kal.”
Kalika couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“All of this talk of life has gotten me tired.” Sita stood and prepared to leave the room. “You’re going back to school tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. I’ll come back in a week, maybe sooner. Going to the office with father tomorrow?”
“Yes. Good night Kal.”
“Good night Sita,” her sister mumbled, watching the door to the room close after her.