There was no small talk. They had barely said a full sentence to each other and neither tried to make up for it by filling the space with trivial conversation. He drove and she watched him, the music blaring.
She was utterly transfixed with him. Her eyes were drawn to him as if it were a magnetic connection, adoration and amazement shaping her green pupils. He did not notice and barely glanced her way, which she didn’t mind. Being around him was as natural as discussing business with one of her father’s clients and his attitude impressed her instead of offended her. She barely respected anyone, but his glance alone demanded it and she was willing to oblige.
Finally, she said, “Where are we going?”
“Some party,” he answered tonelessly.
“You don’t want to go to some party though, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Where would you really like to go?” she asked.
His gaze shifted towards her. “To a recording studio.”
She never stopped looking at him. “Let’s go there then.”
She didn’t question him when he produced a set of keys to the clearly closed down studio. They walked down dark corridors, passing empty offices and studio rooms. He didn’t bother turning on any lights; he knew exactly where he was going and she followed obediently. Kalika had been in a couple of studios in her lifetime and this one was just as the others had been. She was able to remove her eyes from the back of his neck for a second to gaze around her, taking in the feel of the atmosphere and the knowledge that behind those closed doors music was spawned from nothing, possibly music that she listened to, possibly music that millions of other people listened to. Her fingertips tingled with the creativity and power she knew they possessed. Just the touch of a button and a song was born.
Stopping, he opened one of the doors and walked inside, turning on a light switch as she followed. He went straight for the studio chair, pressing power for various machines and equipment and then sitting directly in front of the outboard. She sat down on the couch behind him, peacefully examining his concentrated features and the hands that stroked and pushed buttons and knobs.
It wasn’t until ten minutes later that he remembered he wasn’t alone in the room. Looking back, he questioned: “You don’t mind if we stay here for awhile and I work on this?”
“I don’t mind.”
Confused, his eyes stayed on hers, but then the expression vanished and he returned back to the board and forgot about her once more.
They stayed in the studio for three hours before he took her back home.
~~
The day was Tuesday, the time 4:15 in the afternoon. The floor was made out of black marble, the walls out of clouded glass, the ceiling a simple white. The receptionist desk and the chair he was sitting in matched the marble floor, the middle-aged woman behind the desk wore an all black outfit that matched as well and one was left to wonder if she had preplanned that, if that was a requirement of her job.
JC sat motionless, his eyes staring straight ahead.
“Mr. Chasez,” the woman said, her voice high-toned and squeaky. “He will see you now.”
Mr. Anderson was the president of RCA Records. His office was smaller than one expected, as was the man, both clad in cheap imposture items and cologne. Mr. Anderson was suffering from an epidemic of wrinkles and gray hairs, yet his teeth held strongly to the cigar in his mouth as it had been doing for the past twenty years, excusing the yellow tone his skin projected. His eyes were a faded blue that had mastered the art of forced friendliness.
He looked at JC without really seeing him. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair in front of the desk.
JC did. “Good afternoon Mr. Anderson.”
“Let’s skip the casualties and get right to the point because I’m running out of time. What is it you needed to talk with me about Mr. Chasez?”
“The producers for my group’s next album.”
“What about them?” He had asked it harshly, his eyes intending to intimidate the young man before him.
JC was not intimidated. “I had a meeting with them about a week ago to discuss song ideas I had for the next album. They refused to compromise with me and told me to talk to you about it.”
“What do you think I can do for you?”
“I want you to tell the producers that I want to work with them and I want more creative control over the record or I’d like you to find me new producers who will comply.”
Mr. Anderson removed the cigar from his mouth, which was never a good sign for the guest in front of him. “You’re from ‘N Sync, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“This is your second record?”
“Technically, yes.”
“You do realize the category of music you are in, don’t you son? You have to know how completely impossible and unrealistic your requests are.”
“I realize that due to the characteristics of my group, we have been unjustly placed into a category of music that is paid no respect because of our predecessors. I also know that it’s common belief that, because of my predecessors, I am not expected to have a voice or an interest in the kind of music I make. I’m here to show you living proof that the past expectations don’t apply to me and that I can do far more that just sing and dance, sir.”
His speech had not been disrespectful, but Mr. Anderson did not hear the tone or notice the expression on the face of the young man, he only heard the words.
“Look Chasez, there’s a formula here that must be followed.”
“I’m not some formula, sir, and neither is my group. We can provide your company something different in the market, we can break the mold and surpass the expectations we are required to meet if just given the chance.”
Mr. Anderson brought the cigar back to his mouth, then removed it again to blow a cloud of smoke into the air. “You’re under contract with us, isn’t that right Chasez?”
JC was slow to answer. “Yes.”
“Go back to the producers assigned to you and do exactly what they want you to. Make an album, make their album Chasez, and do it without complaint. You think because you’ve had success with one album you can take on the rest of the business? Well, you’re wrong. You’re just some kid who has a pin-up face and can sing, you’re not a producer. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I understand something.”
“Good.”
“Afternoon Mr. Anderson.” JC stood up without waiting for the customary declaration from Mr. Anderson that the meeting was actually over. He left the building normally, but instead of going to his car, he kept on walking.
~~
The office had not changed in her absence. The buildings were still as plain as ever, the typical running around and business meetings still occurred, and Rose was as she had always been, stopping by randomly to see if she needed anything, mothering her in a way. Sita forced herself to look at the window and saw the same streak of light entering it, as dusty as ever.
She did not know why that day in particular she had felt herself strong enough to face that room, to sit back at that desk and pretend like nothing there effected her, that the bus stop below had never been real. It was a test she was putting her own strength through and so far she was passing with flying colors. Not once had she been tempted to go to the window.
Now she sat at her desk with the phone resting between her shoulder and her ear, smiling. “Joey, we just saw each other last night. I don’t want you to get sick of me.”
“That wasn’t even anything formal though. It was just kicking back at your house with Justin and Karen. This Friday will actually be an event. Besides,” he added, “I could never get sick of you. Not even if I tried.”
“Have you tried?”
“Yes, but I called you didn’t I?”
She laughed. “How comforting. So, what exactly is this Friday anyway?”
“A party at Justin’s. There won’t be many people, it’s just a simple affair with close friends. Maybe JC will invite your sister. Have you heard anything about how their date went?”
“No, I haven’t spoken to Kal yet.” She leaned forward. “So I finally get to meet the infamous JC.”
“You sound extremely excited about that.”
“Oh, I’m thrilled. Especially since you describe him to be the reincarnation of Hitler.”
“I never said that,” Joey protested. “He doesn’t have a mustache, does he?”
“I stand corrected.”
He chuckled and then they both heard a low beep. “Hold on, call waiting.” He changed lines but then came back soon after. “I gotta go. Can I call you back later?”
“Sure.”
They said their good-byes and she hung up the phone, sitting back in her chair and grinning to herself. Over the past couple of days she had grown fond of Joey and she knew that he adored her to not extent, a certain safety in knowing that she had him. He was steady and safe; he was reassuring and fun. His carefree attitude towards life reflected the one she used to posses, the one she wanted desperately to hold onto. Maybe if she stayed long enough with Joey, she would be able to return back to how it was before…
Involuntarily her eyes looked at the window.
The day was almost over, she had survived, she had beaten that warm streak of light. Her confidence was riding high. With a triumphant air around her, she stood and found herself walking towards the window, not frightened or hesitant, but with the steps of a fighter who had faced her opponent head on and had defeated it. The final look out would be her reward, would seal her victory because she knew he couldn’t be out there. He wouldn’t be there. Nothing would be there except an empty bench and a sidewalk holding scattered individuals.
Grinning, she approached the window, seeing the sinking rays of a yellow sun and then the roof of the building across from her father’s, and then the street below. Her face sobered up quickly.
It couldn’t have been him. How? It wasn’t possible.
She blinked to make him disappear, but he refused to grant her that mercy. He sat still on the bench. The startling thing was that he had no CD player or notepad with him. His purpose was clear. He was waiting for her. Sucking in a breath that tasted of her own defeat, she turned solemnly and walked towards the elevators.
With a mixture of misery and exuberance, she forced her willing feet to carry her across the sidewalk, feeling his eyes watching her the entire time. She did not look at him until she was just a couple of feet away, the relief of the torture she had put herself through balanced out by the disappointing finality of the fact that there was no escape from him. Even if she were to never return back to that bus stop and see him again, it was finally clear to her that she could not forget him. Her heart wouldn’t let her.
His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You aren’t going to sit down?”
She took a seat next to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Another bad day. You don’t look as though you’re having a very good day either.”
“I was actually.”
Understanding entered his paralyzing eyes. “It’s because you’re fighting it.”
“Fighting what?” she asked. She was not confused over his question, she knew that she was fighting something. It was the what that she put the emphasis on. She needed an explanation of what was happening to her, she needed him to tell her why it had all started after she had met him.
“You can’t always expect the world to remain the same. You’re going to change, that’s inevitable. It’s just harder for certain people sometimes because they’re so used to the past that they refuse to see the future. The trick that most people never come to see is that when they do change and see the opportunity for a turning point in their lives, they choose the path that’s already been traveled instead of creating their own. You have to live your own life, not replicate the lives around you.”
She stared at him in complete bewilderment. “How can you know all of this about me?”
“How are you able to know that I’m having a bad day when constantly I’m told that my face is unreadable?”
His hand lay between them, close to her but not touching, but she felt as if he were touching her, that he was surrounding her. She felt herself shudder. “I’m not going to come here anymore.”
“Why?”
“There’s…there’s someone else that I’m seeing. I shouldn’t be doing this time him.”
“We aren’t doing anything.”
“Yes, we are. You should just find some other bus stop to write songs at.”
“I won’t do that.”
“Fine. I still won’t come here anymore,” she said, standing. His hand shot out and stopped her, grasping onto her forearm. Her entire body felt the contact, a jolt of electricity heating up the area he touched, as if that particular skin was more alive than the rest
He stood up and looked down at her with sharp blue eyes. “This has nothing to do with another guy. You’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of discovering more to yourself than you thought existed. Of wanting to be more than what people had expected of you. You don’t want the happy bubble around you to pop, but I’m telling you it has to. Open your eyes. You’ll see the bad things that stand against you, but you’ll also see clearly what it means to live.”
She shook her head defiantly, trying to dismiss everything he had said and the way his eyes watched her, a forcefulness in them that was attempting to make her understand what he was saying. She had to fight him. She couldn’t let herself fall over the edge. “My eyes are open and I see that coming here is utterly ridiculous.” Her voice sounded normal, like she was addressing just another guest at a party. “Now, if you will be so kind as to release my arm, I’ll be leaving.”
His eyes hardened, the blue turning into shocking ice, but he released her arm instantly and stepped back. “Good-bye then.”
Without a word, she turned on her heel and steadily walked back to the office. Her steps hit the ground without revealing her shaken state and she refused to look back until she had reached the gold plated entrance. She lay her hand on the door to push it open but couldn’t help herself from taking one last glance across the street, to at least have that image to keep in her memory.
He was gone.
~~
When Sita entered her home, she avoided the living room where she knew her mother was hosting guests. Normally, she would go in and make herself known, induce the usual light conversation and then retire upstairs to leave the older men and women to discuss matters they all felt were not of any interest to a young girl her age. This particular evening, she went straight for the stairs.
On the way down one of the hallways, she passed by a nanny who was carrying a small figure in her arms. A tiny, round head rested on the nanny’s shoulder while dark curls concealed tiny eyelids that were sealed shut. The princess of the household slept peacefully.
Sita stopped the woman carrying the precious cargo. “May I?”
“Of course Miss Sita.”
Carefully, the girl was transferred from one body to another, Sita handling her with expertise. She smiled at her sister’s face, forgetting for a moment the distress of her day while gazing upon the serenity that had yet to know the pressures of the outside world. Holding onto Lalita tightly, she started again for the room.
Kalika was not seated at her desk as Sita had predicted. Instead, she lay flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, sitting in silence. She did not lift her head when Sita entered.
“Kal?” Sita quietly called, wondering if her sister was sleeping. “Kal, are you all right?”
A blissful smile formed on the girl’s face and she nodded.
“Kal, what’s going on? What happened with your date?”
“Sita,” she suddenly sat up, “Thank you.”
Puzzled, Sita sat down, still holding onto the child. “Quiet. What are you thanking me for?”
“For him.” Kalika’s face glowed, and it never glowed. A light was shining down on her from some mysterious point up above and her green eyes sparkled, and they never sparkled. The once stone carving of her sister’s face was now a lit up Christmas tree of emotion.
“Kal, what did he do to you?”
“Stop acting so grave. What’s wrong Sita? You look troubled?”
“Kalika!” she quietly exclaimed. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s an incredible man.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing much. I watched while he worked in the studio for a couple of hours.”
“He made you go to the studio and watch him? How awful.”
“No, it was amazing. Watching him work was exhilarating for myself. You should see the passion he has for it Sita, you should see the extreme care he takes with his music, how much he loves it.” She sat back with a distant look in her eyes. “It was like watching him make love, in a sense.”
Sita took the liberty of blushing for her sister. “You have a very perverse way of looking at things.”
“Don’t be childish,” Kalika scolded. “I wasn’t talking about the act itself, but the emotion that’s derived from it.” She sighed, smiling to herself once more. “I must see him again.”
“Did he pay any attention to you at all? Did you serve a purpose in the evening?”
“No. He’s not one to talk much.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“He wasn’t mean though. He puts his music above all people and I respect him for it.”
“You shouldn’t waste your time on him,” she said, moving Lalita’s curls from the young girl’s forehead. “You’re beautiful and intelligent. He should at least show an ounce of interest in you as a person, he should give you the attention you deserve.”
“You’re much to traditional Sita. Besides, who are you to talk? In a way, you act the same way he does, except you give the boys free admiration that is meaningless to you. You give them attention but don’t really see them.”
“What a terrible thing to say!” But it was true and she knew it. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you want him to see you as greatly as you see him?”
“With him, it’s not necessary. You just have to meet him Sita, then you’ll understand. I don’t think there’s a single woman, no matter how beautiful, that could take his attention away from his music for even a second.”
Sita couldn’t believe it. Her sister never talked about a boy like she was, she never described her dates in such detail. The smile and light in her face showed no signs of fading away. Kalika was truly happy.
She smiled. “I can’t wait to meet him.”