The street was occupied mainly of office buildings. They were tall with many windows that barely anyone inside looked out of. There was no time to stop and look out to see what kind of weather was presented that day; work had to be done and business never stopped for sunshine or rain. Each building was unoriginal and would not leave a memorable mark on any one of the drivers and passengers that drove by them on that busy street, if they were to actually take notice and look at them. There was only one that could have possibly stood out, because as the others were made of ordinary plaster and boards, this building was made out of brick. Inside, on the top floor of this establishment, resided the office of Rama Perne.
Across the street from the brick building was a simple bus stop.
Sitting on the bench that made up this bus stop was a man with brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a set of headphones on his head that were attached to the portable cd player resting next to him and he had a notebook resting in his lap that he was concentrated on. He was not waiting for a bus.
JC had no idea why he enjoyed coming to the bus stop to write songs. Certainly the traffic of the cars racing past him did not help his creative process, although he drowned out the noise by the music coming out of the headphones. It was strange, but from the first time he had taken notice of the solitary bench and sat down on it, through the midst of so much heavy activity and rushing, he was able to find peace.
He was undisturbed by the surroundings. No one had ever stopped and recognized him because of the simple fact that no one expected him to be there, plainly in view of the world, sitting on a bus stop. Rarely he found time to come there, but he was there often enough so that the bus drivers had grown used to his face and did not stop for him.
Normally he would come if he had just finished the music to a song that needed words. He would transfer the music onto a compact disc and bring it with him to the bench to listen to and figure out what needed to be said. He would bring out his notebook, he had tons of them at his plain, inexpensive apartment, and jot down words that came to mind when listening to the music or memories that he felt he needed to write about. Whatever the music provoked within him he would write and shape into a song. He had written and created many songs that, he hoped, would be on the next album.
The song from the night before had been completed to his satisfaction and now he was on the bench listening to his final masterpiece and writing quickly onto the notebook. He never looked up, when he was in that state of mind he barely remembered the movement happening right in front of him or any other movement happening anywhere. The music was all that was real and nothing else.
That’s why it was strange when, right in the middle of a sentence, he felt the need to glance up. It had come out of nowhere, like a slap in the face, and had ruined his train of thought. Confused, he forced his head to tilt slightly and saw the brick building before him, a building he hadn’t been aware stood there. His eyes didn’t stop at the sight of it but kept roaming up, to the top floor, and stopped on one of the windows.
In that window a girl was watching him.
~~
Sita had been sitting at the canopy desk for over three hours straight.
The office was not of anything specific. It was the central core to all of Rama’s investments and businesses that were scattered around in various places along the East Coast, the beating heart of his enterprise. The workers, gofers, executives, and secretaries buzzed around constantly. The day was never long enough in that building.
Sita was not required or even needed to be there, but when she came, everyone was glad to see her. They passed her desk and looked at her with admiration for the loyalty she obviously had for her father, but saw the work she did as just a cute gesture of a loving daughter. It was mostly busywork she handled, although she was qualified for far more, but her father enjoyed having her around, going to her for advice more than his business associates. She didn’t mind and did her work happily.
One of the secretaries, a short, plump woman with bright red hair and rosy colored cheeks approached her. Her name was appropriately Rose. “Sita dear,” Rose said. “You’ve been sitting there for so long now and have barely lifted your head from those papers. Why don’t you take a break?”
Sita smiled and shrugged. “I don’t really need one, thanks.”
“Oh, but it’s unhealthy for a girl like you to be sitting in one place for too long. Why don’t you stretch, at least?”
“Very well, if it will make you happy.”
Rose smiled gaily and waddled back to her desk to resume her own work. Sita stood up, astounded with just how sore her legs were from the lack of movement, and started moving around. She wandered past desks and people on telephones or huddled closer to a computer, faces far to close to the screens. Her eyes blankly looked over faces, registering life around her, but not really seeing anything. A tall, thin window, its shades drawn up, caught her attention and without realizing it, she began walking towards it. A pale yellow ray of sunlight shone through, particles of dust making the light seem as though it was moving and, if she reached out her hand, she could touch it.
Then she was in it, feeling the warmth of the sun touch her skin. She looked up at the sky, squinting her eyes at the glare of the yellow globe and then turning them downwards, towards the cars passing below her. None of it had a profound effect on her, she just smiled because it felt like the right thing to do. And then she saw him, a still figure with brown hair bowed beneath her, writing in a notebook. Her smile faded fast.
There was nothing that should have disturbed her about the man. He was simply sitting and writing. He was nothing unusual, nothing differentiated him from the rest of the people below, but then again, something did. Besides the movement of his hand, every other part of him was motionless, undeniably statuesque, especially in comparison to the traffic next to him. Even from the distance between them, she felt the invisible hand of his presence on her, of his every breath, and for the first time in her life she felt as if she were really seeing someone, really looking at an individual. He was the most realistic thing she had ever seen.
For that very reason while looking at him, knowing that someone like that actually lived, it made her incredibly uneasy about herself. She didn’t understand why she felt these things, or why suddenly she felt as if someone had waken her up from a long, deep sleep where she had been dreaming of beautiful things and was now suddenly opening her eyes to the emptiness of her life. Never before had she felt so unimportant or weak.
Then his head lifted and he was looking directly at her.
His eyes were sharp and hard, blue daggers but with a soft tip because along with a coldness was a burning passion and love for something Sita had never known. She wanted to look away, she knew how improper and embarrassing the whole thing was, but the blue eyes had captivated her and taken her gaze hostage.
“Sita?”
In a painfully reaction, her eyes tore from those below her and looked back to see Rose standing behind her, a questioning expression on her face. “What were you looking at?”
“Uh...I wasn’t looking at anything...” Her voice sounded lost and confused, which reflected the shape of her face.
“Did you want me to get you something, like water or coffee? Sita you look flushed, why don’t you sit down?”
“No...I’m fine...I...” Her head shot up, as if she had just made some great decision, and she started towards the elevators. “I’ll be back in a little while Rose.”
“Sita!” Rose called after her. “Sita, where are you going?”
She quickly ran to the elevator and pressed the down button, a chaotic urgency running through her body. The car was empty and she slammed her finger onto the lobby button then to the ‘close elevator door’ button. She couldn’t remember the elevator ever going so slow. With hurried strides she walked the length of the lobby, past the receptionist desk, and burst through the gold plated glass doors which stood as the entrance.
On the sidewalk she calmed down and a car speeding by providing a gust of wind that blew her long black hair behind her and cooled down her cheeks. The urgency slipped from her and she slowly walked over to the crosswalk and waited for the little man trapped in the tiny, square box to appear. Then she crossed the street and began towards the bus stop.
Nothing about him had moved except his head, which was now turned slightly to the side, his eyes watching her approach him. He did not seemed surprised to see her, which confused her even more. When she stood next to him it was strange how she felt no introduction was needed. She gave one anyway.
“Hello.”
If anyone that knew him had seen his next actions, they would have died from total shock. He removed the headphones and put the notepad to the side. “Hi.”
She didn’t notice the extremes of what he had just done. All she knew was that now that he was so close to her, his aura was entrancing her even more, making her feel things she could not explain and did not recognize. Everything had always hit the surface for her, but just the air surrounding this stranger was digging deep within her, making her feel keenly aware of her own flesh. She should have been scared, she was scared, but her curiosity as to what exactly was going on and who this strange man was, overruled her commonsense.
She smiled pleasantly. “I’m sorry for intruding your privacy.”
“You aren’t.”
She continued on as if he had said nothing. “It’s just, I was looking out of the window up there,” she pointed, but he didn’t look. It seemed ridiculous to say such a thing since he very well knew that she had been watching him, but she went on. “And I saw you down here, writing and such, and I was just curious as to…what you were writing. Do you mind if I take a seat?”
“Go ahead,” he said, moving over. She sat down. “I was just writing down random thoughts.”
“Is that a journal of some sort?”
“No. Just notes.”
“For what?”
“A song I’m writing.”
Her next question was stupid and she knew it. “You write songs?”
“Yes.”
She smiled and he smiled too, the sight making her feel incredibly giddy. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Not at all.”
“Would you like me to leave you alone now?”
His eyes searched her face and she felt that for the first time someone was actually looking at her. “No,” he said, his voice a little awed, as if he had stumbled upon a strange revelation within himself. “I’d like you to stay. Do you work in that building?”
“I guess you could say I do.”
That’s when each made their first mistake, their first choice. The statement was left in the air, an evasive sentence that could have, should have been questioned further or added onto. But she had decided not to say anymore and he had made the decision not to divulge further into her questionable response. The conversation continued.
“Why are you sitting here? Are you waiting for a bus?” she asked.
“No. I just come here to write songs. It’s peaceful.”
She smiled and said, “You must be seeing something I am not.”
“Yes, I guess so.” He paused, letting his words linger long enough so that she knew he was speaking of more than just the bus stop. “I don’t know what it is about this place that gives me so much inspiration. It’s almost like with all the moving cars and people I can hear the music better and words just come to me.”
“Are you very successful at your work?”
“I suppose so. That’s never mattered though. I don’t need money to tell me that I love making music.”
He was the first person whom she had known that dismissed the idea of money. She had never been terribly curious about anyone, never needed to inquire into their lives, but she wanted to know him, everything about him. “You obviously feel very strongly about it.”
“It’s why I wake up in the morning.”
Just like Kalika she thought and then she suddenly remembered the world around her. She looked sharply at the building and knew her father would be looking for her, that she had been away for to long. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She stood up and began walking back towards the crosswalk. “It was nice meeting you.”
He said nothing but remained watching her until she was safely gone into the building. Then he put his headphones back on and returned to his notepad.
~~
Later that night, Justin Timberlake leaned against the bar, observing the crowded club before him with a sly grin slowly spreading onto his face.
His eyes held a shade of arrogance in them, but that was overlooked by his charming and playful smile. He was a person that enjoyed living, everything about his life he loved, everything about others lives he loved. When he looked upon the people dancing he saw individual play things, toys for him to entertain himself. He was not cruel, he did not look down upon people, he merely enjoyed the power he had over them. He took advantage of his high position in the world, of the status in his very name.
Justin had a hobby. He would meet various people, or various people would go out of their way to meet him, and he would try to see if he could change the course of how their life was going. Sometimes for the better, occasionally for the worse. It was nothing drastic, just a little shove here, a slight push in a certain direction. He was young, he liked having fun with his peers, it gave him a great sense of power. He was not coldhearted. He had a genuine interest in everyone he met. There was just something about others that fascinated him, about life in general, about the different choices people made and how he could influence those decisions so easily.
As his gaze roamed over the different faces, picking the ones he thought he’d like to meet that night, he stopped short on a girl on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. She was the most stunning creature he had ever seen, and not merely because she was beautiful. Her eyes were blue, lighter than his own, but reflecting the same arrogance, the same observing look at others around her. In her face he saw his own, an equal, a female version of himself.
He disliked her immediately; he wanted her instantly.
Leaving his position at the bar, he pushed past the dancers, heading straight for her. She noticed him coming and her face told him that she too recognized the similarities between them and also felt that instant attraction yet hatred for him. By the time he had reached her she was glaring.
“What do you want?” she asked rudely before he even had a chance to say anything.
“What makes you think I want anything from you?” he said in the same tone.
“You came all the way from the bar over there to talk to me. You must want something.”
So she had noticed him before he had seen her. He smiled. “Just to ask your name.”
“It’s Karen.”
“Would you like to know mine?”
“The famous Justin Timberlake. Yes, I know who you are, don’t look so surprised. I’m not a fan, it’s just difficult to live in Florida without knowing who you are.”
“I had know idea I was so popular.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I never said it was a good thing.”
He knew he should have been offended by her, and in a sense he was. But at the same time he wanted to dance with her. “You want to dance?”
At first he thought she would reject him for sure, but instead she grinned and sighed, as if his question was expected. “Very well slick.”
He took her hand and they made their way to the dance floor.
~~
Sita lay in her bed, looking through her French glass doors that led out into a large balcony, displaying the garden below.
Throughout the rest of the day she had been oddly quiet. At dinner her mother asked her if she was feeling well and insisted that she sleep early. She couldn’t stop thinking of the man at the bus stop. The affect he had on her had long since faded, but a portion of how she felt watching him through the window lingered in her mind. She thought of herself as ridiculous for the way she had acted, trying to lessen the seriousness of the moment as she did with everything else, but this time it didn’t work.
Who was he? What was it in his eyes that she had seen that had caused her to feel as if she were empty? Why was she suddenly so tensely aware of the world, aware of him? It was as if he had shaken her perfect balance, the harmony that she had felt her entire life now seemed false. She had seen everything in such a wonderful haze but he had come along and cleared her vision.
There was no question or inner doubt of the absurd reaction she had with just the sight of him. It was absurd but it was real. He was real. And she had to see him again. It wasn’t even an option not to, she had to see him.
Closing her eyes, she thought about the next day and how she was very much looking forward to going to the office.
~~
JC was sleeping when Justin burst into his room unannounced.
Although he had his own apartment, he would still go back to his old room in Justin’s house. He didn’t like the cold feeling and bare rooms of his place and preferred the unique smell and feeling the house brought him. He slept better in that room.
It was around 4 in the morning when he was shaken awake. “Justin,” he tiredly said. “What do you want?”
Justin’s face was a pure smile, an excitement in his eyes JC couldn’t remember ever seeing there. “Something has happened. Something amazing happened when I went to a club tonight.”
JC rubbed his eyes, now sitting up. “Well, what was it?”
“It’s a she. A girl JC.”
“You aren’t serious, are you?”
Justin was now pacing energetically around the room. “God, you should have seen her. She’s beautiful. Absolutely incredible looking. She’s got this attitude that’s just…indescribable.”
“If you can’t describe her then it obviously wasn’t worth waking me up for.”
“No, you don’t get it. She’s just like me! It’s eerie how similar we are.”
“Then you must like her a lot,” JC said sarcastically.
Justin stopped suddenly. “Are you kidding me? I hate her!”
“Wait…what?”
“She’s so snobbish and plainly rude.”
“Are you going to see her again?”
“Of course!” Justin exclaimed. “I wonder if it would be to late to call her up.”
“Justin, what are you on?”
He ignored the comment. “I’m going to call her.” He rushed out, as quickly as he had entered, shutting the door behind him. JC shook his head and slipped back into bed, falling asleep instantly.
~~
It was the first meeting with the producers for the upcoming album. JC alone went since he was the one who had requested the meeting, a blind faith in the music sheets that he carried leading him through the halls of the busy studio building.
Inside one of the rooms two men waited, each in their mid thirties, wearing the customary jeans and shirt with the logo’s of their favorite bands of the 70’s. One was tall and round, his neck hidden under the molds of flesh that covered it, a fuzzy black beard sitting on his chest which matched the color of his balding head. The other was shorter and much leaner, his hair long and tied behind him. Tattoos and piercings littered his body and he looked like a vintage rock star. Neither of them seemed excited to be there, which they weren’t. It was just another album, another pop project to add to their vast list which included some of the biggest pop albums to date. They did not research the group, they did not care about what songs were chosen, if the songs fit the group or not, they were just there to make an album, hand picked by RCA.
When JC entered the room they did not see him as a musician and they did not respect him. Each just exchanged a glance, wondering why this punk kid wanted to meet with them.
JC was totally professional and shook each of their hands without so much as a smile. “Good morning gentlemen. My name is JC Chasez.”
“Todd Dove,” the fat one said.
“Dan Davis,” the other said. “What was it you needed to speak with us about Mr. Chasez?”
They all took a seat, Dan and Todd sitting in a plaid couch while JC sat in the studio chair. “As you well know, we will be working together on my group’s next album. I just wanted to run by some ideas with you and songs I’ve come up-“
“Hold it,” Todd said. “You mean, you think the songs you’ve written will make it on the next album?” The two men laughed. JC did not.
“Yes,” JC said. “Why shouldn’t they?”
“That’s not the way it works kid,” Dan said.
“Explain to me how it works then, if you don’t mind.”
Dan sat up. “We are the producers, not you. We pick the songs, we pick the arrangements, not you. Your group is just the talent, the voices, the picture plastered onto the cover. I don’t know how you got it into your head that you served a greater purpose in this whole process, but you don’t.”
“Besides,” Todd added, “The idea of someone like you writing songs for your sophomore album is unheard of.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” JC kept his eyes on both of them. “You seem to both have underestimated me before even meeting me. I want to produce, I want my songs at least considered, and I want more creative control on this album. We can work together and make great music.”
That’s when it became clear to the two older men that they were not looking at another random punk kid. His clear blue eyes stared unwavering at them both, in them a spark of something they had lost along the way or maybe never had at all. He was determined, his jaw set, and yet not in a disrespectful manner, which did not bring comfort to either minds. Instead of looking at JC’s passion with acceptance and ease in knowing that there was promising youth in the music industry, they saw him as a threat.
“Who do you think you are?” Todd snapped. “We don’t want to work with you, you’ve never even produced anything in your life. What makes you think you’re any good?”
“I know I am.”
“You’re just some pop singer.”
“For now.”
“Look,” Dan said. “We don’t make up the rules here kid. We were assigned to this project and are going to do things our way, unless told otherwise by our superiors. If you have a problem with that, why don’t you take it up with the label then?”
“Thank you very much.” JC stood up and started towards the door. “It was nice meeting you gentlemen. You’ve helped me a great deal.”
When he had left, Todd turned to his partner. “What in the world was that?”
“I have no clue. But I can tell you one thing right now. That kid is never going to make it in this business.”
~~
JC did not look upset. He did not look angry. He walked to his car casually, entering it and closing the door, as he would have normally done. But once inside he sat still, his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on an unseen object in front of him.
He tried to look at things from Dan and Todd’s point of view but could not. They worked following a tradition, a pattern that others before them had set. He wanted to change it all, to change the rules, and let the world hear the music he was capable of and the sounds that should have been playing on the radio. He could not understand the ways of other producers. All he knew was the work he craved and all he heard was the music in his mind. He could not conform himself. There was only one solution. Make others see his vision and look past the stereotypes they had labeled on him.
Absently his head turned and his gaze was transferred to the passenger seat where his portable CD player and notebook rested from the day before. He thought suddenly of the girl from the window, which was foreign, not because of her specifically, but that he was thinking of anyone at all, especially due to the set back he had just experienced. When he thought of her, he did not picture or even remember the specifics of her face, or the color of her eyes. Instead, he recalled what he had seen in her eyes. It was as if he had looked into a steam covered window and seen a sleeping giant of something that could not be labeled, except to say it was amazing and yet clearly ignored or undiscovered by the owner.
Then he looked away from the items and turned on the engine to start the car.