Chapter Six

I want to travel the world. I'm going to visit the Kremlin in Russia, Big Ben in London, float along the waters of Venice in a gondola, and see the ruins of Greece. I plan to spend a summer behind the wheel of my Ford Taurus with a few Bob Dylan CDs, a cooler full of diet coke, a camera, and to be completely cliché a copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I'll travel cross-country and experience life.

After all, this is the stuff that adults do.

My mother loves the idea. She talks about self-discovery and feeding the human soul with inspiration. It's a bit too Oprah for my liking, but if it gets those stamps in my passport, I'll go along with her. My father, however, is harder to convince. He wants details. He wants an organized agenda. Military men live by a clock and the infamous, "Why?"

"I plan to spend a semester in Europe before I graduate, dad."

"Why?"

"I want to see the world. I want to stand a foot away from the Mona Lisa."

"Why?" He repeated with an ambivalent tone. I could tell he was unimpressed.

I sighed in exasperation wondering how my father's blood could possibly be the same as mine. If I wasn't so much like Dana and if Dana didn't look like my father, I would be convinced I was adopted. I looked at him for a moment before answering, "Just to do it. I'm also thinking about traveling across the country in my car."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"It will be fun."

"Obviously you've never been to Oklahoma, Melanie Jane."

"Obviously."

At this point in the conversation, he put his paper down, folded it in half perfectly, and looked at me, "I suggest you plan this out a bit better before rushing into anything. It's important to have a strategy and a firm foothold on the ground. You need to cover your basics--where will you get the money to live, where do you want to go, and why do you want to go there."

"Yes dad," I replied, completely discouraged.

And people wonder why I'm so damn practical. Every time I dare to sway from the pragmatic and mundane, I hear this nagging voice in my head that resonates, "Why" at high levels. Logic and sensibility have been ingrained into my life since I was able to walk. It's a hard hurdle to get past and I realize that it overlapped into my love life as well. I have a real problem grasping the likelihood of things like true love and happily ever after.

Part of the problem was that I was never good at dating and I accept the blame for it. I was never really clear on how it was supposed to work or if it was really worth my time. I mean, according to my parents, they ended up married because my mother got sick of my father. "He wouldn't leave me alone. He kept saying things like 'I'm going to marry you' and I finally said yes to shut him up." My oldest sister, Meredith, went through lists of unsavory characters quicker than Pauly Shore made bad B-movies. Even my grandparents were no help. My one grandmother was married five times and still searching for the elusive soulmate while my other grandmother's parents chose her husband.

Do you see what I grew up with? It's a wonder with all these wonderful romantic encounters to draw upon, that I didn't end up living in a trailer wearing a muumuu while my beer-guzzling boyfriend bellowed for another chicken pot pie.

Everyone was convinced I hadn't met the "one" yet--the perfect Disney prince that would find me sitting in the woods singing with the birds and be moved by my amazing good looks. Whoever the elusive one was, he was going to have to put up with a lot and I knew that I would have to be as willing to deal with their numerous idiosyncrasies as well. I mean, I have a real hard time believing that Cinderella was forced to endure long talks about football and how it surpassed baseball as the American Pastime. And somehow I couldn't picture Snow White appearing on Jerry Springer because that Bastard Charming was rescuing other maidens on the sly.

No matter how much I liked the movies and the Cary Grant romances, practicality made me believe that it was highly unlikely. First, I never knew when someone was interested in me. I was utterly clueless to the stares and timid to the attention. Second, if a guy asked me out, I couldn't help but ask myself why. Within five minutes, while the poor fool was waiting for a response, the span of our potential relationship played out in my head from enamored looks to fights over the remote control to the disastrous ending where we no longer spoke. It never really seemed worth it to me.

So when Justin convinced me to spend my last evening with him, I was none too pleased to find myself in the middle of Justin's newest way to entertain himself.

I opened the door to Justin's house. His living room was empty, but the stereo was blasting "I Alone" by Live. I called out, "Justin?"

I hummed along with the music and yelled louder, "Justin, are you here?"

"In the kitchen."

As I made my way to the kitchen, I noticed the dining room table was set and called out, "Were you suddenly possessed by Martha Stewart? Why the hell is the table--" I stopped when I saw Justin stirring a pot and laughed, "I think I've walked into some alternate universe. Maybe the movie Sliding Doors has some validity in the real world. I didn't make that red light on Kirkman and I momentarily thought, 'Damn, if only I had made that light,' which, of course, led me to hypothesize about which me I am. Am I the me that made the light or the me that didn't?"

Justin chuckled faintly, trying not to let me hear him, before throwing an oven mitt at my head. He replied, "Don't drag me into the bad movie in your mind."

"You're one to talk. And Sliding Doors wasn't bad..."

"It wasn't good either."

I folded my arms and giggled, "You're saying that because you didn't understand the ending and people were snickering at you."

"I got the ending," he snapped. He observed my disbelieving expression and muttered, "I did get it, but it didn't make it any better."

"You of all people should have loved that movie," I replied. My eyes fell on a basket of rolls and I pretended not to be worried about this dinner attempt I was duped into. I continued, "...it's about how things happen the way they were meant to. If you tempt fate, it kills you."

"That doesn't make it any less stupid. When she didn't make the train, she had to continue supporting a jerk that was cheating on her. While her alternate version that made the train found true love only to get hit by a car and die. Why would that be a movie I like? Way too depressing for my tastes."

"Must I point out that she ends up meeting her 'true love' when she makes the elevator at the end of the movie."

Justin turned around and gave me an inspecting once over. He mimicked my posture, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter next to the stove. He grinned smugly, "Is this on the record?"

"Heh?"

"I mean is my little Laney Jane admitting that things like fate and destiny exist? I need to record this for posterity."

I groaned. I had walked right into this impertinent discussion. Even worse, I was the one who had brought it up. I stepped closer as if I could win the argument by merely establishing nearness. I countered, "I'm not saying I believe in fate. I'm pointing out that you believe in such ridiculous notions and I would think you would like a movie that deals with them."

Justin shook his head, "Well, it's because I believe in fate that I didn't like that movie."

"Why? Because people like you can no longer use destiny as your reasoning for doing idiotic things and tormenting the innocent people in your lives?"

Justin winked at me, "Like I need an excuse to torment you, Laney Jane." He started to stir whatever concoction was brewing in the pot. I watched his chest rise and fall with two deep breaths and he asked, "How did we get on this topic again?"

"Your cooking has thrown my whole world outta whack," I said. I peered over his shoulder. He was stirring lumpy, brown gravy that resembled liquefied bile. I pinched my nose to force the gag reflex away and my voice took on a nasally twang, "Is it supposed to smell like that?"

Justin rolled his eyes, pulled a roll out of the basket, and dropped it in my hands. I looked at him skeptically and he said, "Don't worry. I didn't make them. I bought them at the store."

I put the roll down momentarily while I dug through my bag. I pulled out the Good Will Hunting DVD and held it up, "I brought this over for later."

Justin glanced in my direction and shook his head, "Haven't we watched that movie a million times already?"

"Yes, do you remember the night before I left for school last summer? We watched DVDs and ate cartons upon cartons of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I was thinking we could make it a tradition of sorts," I replied.

Justin dropped the wooden spoon and crossed his arms, "A tradition? What I remember most about that night was that you gave me crap about My Best Friend's Wedding."

"Because we have the same argument every time we watch it."

"And I'm right and you're wrong."

"Wipe that smug grin off your face. You are not right. You are rarely right about anything."

"For someone trying to get me to watch Good Will Hunting for the millionth time, I would think you would be much more amiable."

"That's not very likely."

"Eat your roll, Laney Jane," Justin muttered. He picked up the spoon and began to stir it fiercely. He questioned, "So you wanted to watch DVDs tonight?"

"Well, it's more our style than a fancy dinner," I said, pointing to the dining room area.

I dropped my bag and picked at the roll before biting into it. I hopped up on the kitchen counter. I liked lessening the height difference between Justin and myself and it beat sitting in a booster chair. I asked, "What's with the cooking?"

"Dinner. I promised you dinner."

"I thought that meant you'd buy me a Big Mac at the local McDonalds."

"Funny."

"Seriously though, do you know how to cook?" I asked. I had never seen Justin cook before and I wasn't keen on being his guinea pig.

Justin placed the spoon back on the counter again, turned the knob on the stove down, and fixed his gaze on me. He had been acting strange for the past three weeks and I was beginning to wonder if he had left his brain in Hawaii. His head tilted towards the kitchen table where plastic bags were filled with food and he smiled, "I can cook, but I'm not about to prove it to you. Somehow I knew I would endure trembling hands and that smart mouth of yours, so I ordered out, but they make you heat your own gravy."

"All you're doing is reheating?"

Justin glared at me, "Yeah."

"You swear?" I replied. I slid off the counter, opened his refrigerator, and pulled out a diet coke. I called out, "Do you need anything?"

"Could you toss me my water bottle?"

I chucked the bottle over my head and turned to meet Justin's strange expression, "What?"

"What is with the outfit?"

"It's pants and a shirt."

"Exactly my point."

"Was I supposed to show up in a prom dress?" I asked.

"No, but--I did say wear something nice, right?"

"There is nothing wrong with what I'm wearing."

Justin folded his arms and huffed, "Laney Jane, this was important."

"Why?" I wondered. I looked at his outfit. He was wearing jeans and a sweater. Hardly dressed-to-kill. I asked, "Justin, are you about to come out of the closet? Do you have some incurable disease?"

"NO--Don't try to change the subject. I just..." Justin stopped mid-sentence, flustered by something and pouted, "I said dress nice."

"For dinner at your house?"

"Well, I wanted it to be a nice dinner."

"And it will be once you get the stick out of your ass."

"Laney Jane, I'm not in the mood for this. Did you know that those directions for the gravy were in French? French! I don't speak French...plus, I think they messed up our order, but I wasn't about to fight with the guy...And let's not forget that we both leave tomorrow and so far you've been less than helpful with my plan. I mean, if this isn't underway--nevermind. Just trust me when I say I'm not having the best day right now, okay?"

"I would never have known."

Justin took the roll from my hands and shoved it in my mouth. He laughed, "Now that is a nice look."

I spit up the roll into my hand and tossed it at him. He ducked as I reached for more rolls from the basket, "I think a nicer look would be one of these rolls wedged into your back."

"I disagree. That doesn't sound fun at all."

As I heaved another roll at him, a voice called out, "Justin?"

"In here, Dennis."

"Dennis" I mumbled under my breath. I looked at Justin briefly before my eyes moved to the dining room. The table was only set for two and suddenly everything made sense. The comments about my clothing, the dining room table set to perfection, and Justin's cryptic speech were clear. I was going to hurt him in a very meticulous and arduous manner.

A young man with blonde hair and blue eyes entered the room. He joined us and seemed confused by my presence, but he pretended not to be, "I almost forgot the security code that you had given me, but luckily I wrote it down. I brought some wine for dinner."

Justin patted his back and said, "Thanks man. Actually, I was about to explain to Laney..."

"Explain to Laney what?" I demanded, making sure my discomfort with the situation was obvious to Justin.

He smiled sheepishly, never focusing his eyes on me. He was definitely up to something. Justin's face was extremely readable and, if he was avoiding me, there was a reason for it. He shrugged in Dennis' direction and explained, " I got called into the studio at the last minute. Final touch-ups before the album goes to press and since we leave in the morning--"

"Oh, well, we can do dinner another time then," Dennis offered.

I nodded and agreed, "Another time works for me."

"NO!" Justin said quickly--too quickly for my liking. He waved in the direction of the stove and the dining room. He sighed like he was the lead in some Aaron Spelling show imparting words of melodramatic importance like "we could be hot together" and continued calmly, "I should be back in a few hours and there is no reason to waste this dinner."

Dennis looked at me expectantly as if I knew how to handle Justin. I wish. Eight years of friendship and I was still utterly mystified by the way his mind worked half the time. I divided my attention between Justin and Dennis and replied, "I've still got packing to do. Why don't you call me when you get done?"

Justin grimaced and grabbed my arm. He nodded to Dennis and said, "Mind if I borrow her for a second, Dennis?"

Dennis studied him with a baffled face as if to say "she's your friend, not mine" and replied easily, "It's fine."

"You can put the wine in the refrigerator and help yourself to a roll," Justin called out as he pulled me up the stairs.

I hollered over my shoulder, "Don't worry. Justin didn't make them."

Dennis laughed and I could hear him reply, "Good to know" as Justin tugged me into his room. He pointed to the desk chair for me to sit down and I suddenly felt twelve years old. It was eerily similar to the way that my father disciplined me. They even had the same stop-acting-so-stubborn-young-lady air to their posture.

"I'm leaving," I stated.

"No, you aren't. You wouldn't be rude to the guest."

"Your guest, not mine...funny how you didn't mention this guest at all the past few days," I replied obdurately.

"Dennis is Melinda's cousin. He's working for us this semester for credit from UCLA. He doesn't have any friends here yet and I thought it would be a nice gesture to invite him to dinner."

Oh, he was good. I was almost buying it. I leaned in and asked, "And you forgot to mention that you had to go to the studio?"

"It came up at the last minute. I fully intended to be here, Laney Jane."

"You are such a liar!"

"I am not."

"You are too."

"No, I'm not."

"Are--"

Justin threw his hand over my mouth and nodded in the direction of the door. He whispered, "Don't be rude. I'm trying to make Dennis feel comfortable around us."

"Setting us up is hardly the way to endear him to you, Justin. And, for the record, this is what I meant when I referred to tormenting people with idiotic undertakings to alter destiny to the Justin perspective," I said. I felt partially guilty that Dennis could most likely hear our argument, but I wasn't going to lower my voice or take on some saccharine-sweet tone which would only further encourage Justin's misdeeds.

Justin arched his eyebrows like the villain in a silent film without the mustache, "The Justin perspective? What the hell does that mean?"

"That you're a pest and I really hate you."

"No you don't," he replied frankly. I awaited some stupid comment or a plea of some sort, but he just sat down. His eyes ran over me before landing on the doorframe. He stretched his neck and kicked his feet, but he didn't utter another word.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and shot him a caustic glare. I quickly focused my attention on the painting on the side wall. It was a Picasso print that I had recommended. It was one of the paintings from his Cubist phase where things were distorted so that the onlooker could see what was going on underneath. I loved the idea of seeing beyond the surface--a table wasn't just a table. The paintings captured the essence of everything. I always wanted to be able to capture someone's essence.

It surprised me to see that Justin had actually listened to me about something. I'd always thought that I talked and nothing registered with the guy. I pointed and asked, "When did you buy this?"

"I told the decorator that you thought it would go well and she agreed. I think you're going into the wrong field, Laney."

"Yeah. I'm gifted," I replied wryly. I played with the corner of the maroon comforter and asked, "Why are you doing this? What is going on with you?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're a terrible actor, Justin."

"Laney, I swear, I don't have--"

"You're not fooling me..."

"I invited Dennis and then, while I was picking up dinner, JC called and said I had to meet him at the studio. It wasn't like I planned this," he replied. He reached out and grabbed my arm. I pulled away. It wasn't like I meant to; it just happened, like I was instinctively swatting a bee away.

"Laney, I know you're mad at me, but--"

"I'll have dinner with him, okay?"

"Really?" I couldn't help but notice the huge smile on his face.

"Yes. I'll do this tonight because I don't want to be rude to Dennis," I tapped my watch and added, "You've got an hour."

"I can work with an hour."

"Uh-huh...Lose the grin. When you grin like that I become convinced that I'm being conned and I hate that."

"You aren't. I have to go because--"

"...Because there are big problems at the studio. I bet there are."

Justin raised his arms defensively and replied innocently, "I'm not sure what you're implying."

I stood up and hit him in the shoulder. I shook my head, "You're full of it, Justin! This is it. No more of this. Do you hear me? Is it registering?"

Justin took my hand, "I'm not sure I follow."

"Well, you better follow me. Stop...setting...me...up!" I studied his face, making sure he understood that I meant it. He needed to stop whatever he was up to. I had endured an evening at the movies with Travis--a man obsessed with Betty Rubble from the Flintstones and an affinity for the words "yo" and "man".

Then last week, while I was out to lunch with Justin, I had to withstand Michael--one of Lance's business associates. Michael wore cowboy boots, chewed tobacco, and went on about the evils of the liberal movement in politics. He also had a proclivity for harping on his ex-girlfriend's eyes, her smile, her hair, her laugh and the air around him was permeated with Aqua net and Obsession for Men.

I wanted to kill myself.

So I knew the what. I knew about his plans to find me the perfect boyfriend, but I couldn't comprehend the why. Why was he a mad man obsessed? Why did he have this manic sparkle in his eyes whenever he caught me looking at someone of the opposite sex? At that moment, I would have given anything to have my father's ability with vernacular.

"WHY?" I would bellow, demanding a reasonable answer. No one said, "I don't know what you mean" to my dad. It wasn't done--like wearing white after Labor Day or admitting you watched Xena: Warrior Princess.

"Laney Jane? Are you okay with this?"

I gave him a steely-eyed glance, "Not really, but I'll manage."

"You know I love you for this."

"Uh-huh," I replied, walking towards the stairs.

"Laney?" he called out.

I turned, "Yeah?"

"Thanks for this. I really do--"

"You love me for it. I know."

"Laney, would you--later it will be you and me. We'll watch those movies and make it a tradition. How does that sound?"

"Well, if I don't run off and marry Dennis, I guess that would be fine," I paused, unsure of whether or not to bring it up. He had managed to steer clear of the conversation for the past two weeks. I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and the guy had his appeasing face on. I couldn't allow myself to be influenced by his appeasing face. I added, "We still need to talk."

"Oh right. That elusive discussion you keep bringing up," he shrugged and patted my back, "I guess we can do that too."

I made my way back to the kitchen where Dennis was twirling a spoon on the counter. I coughed and the spoon hit the ground with a clang. He picked it up and smiled, "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a guy?"

I sniffed the air, "Do you smell--" My eyes wandered to the stove and yelled, "Justin, your sauce is stinking up the whole downstairs!"

"Oh shit!" Justin hurried into the room and threw the pot in the sink, pouring cold water on it. He opened the window by his sink, trying to fan the smoke out of the house, and cursed, "Fuck it. You guys are going to have to make do without the gravy." Justin grabbed his keys off the table and continued, "The food is in these bags. It should still be warm, but Laney knows how to work the microwave otherwise--uh...I should be back in an hour. Dennis, I'm really sorry about this, but you're in good hands."

I didn't miss the you-tiger-you wink he gave to Dennis and I asked, "Dennis, do you need a drink?"

"A glass for the wine would be good."

"Okay."

Justin came over and kissed my cheek, "I'll see you later." Justin smiled at Dennis and then looked back at me again with this bizarre half-smile. It reminded me of those stupid teen movies where the guy gives his friend the well, well grin like he was Don Juan. It threw me off and all I could muster was a glare in his direction.

Justin shook his head and excused himself. I groaned inwardly when I heard the stereo start to play "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion. It was followed by the sound of the door closing. I peaked at Dennis who was sitting at the table with a bored glint in his eyes. I wasn't sure which was worse--the fact that I was listening to Celine Dion or that Dennis seemed about as intriguing as a fruit basket.

God, I hated this stuff. I wasn't the people-person that Justin was. You could leave him in any room, any place and he would befriend everyone there. I usually waited for people to strike up a conversation with me and I rarely (actually never, but who's counting) put myself in the position of having dinner with a stranger.

I handed Dennis the glass and went to pick up the bags. Dennis pushed my hand away and said, "I got that."

"Thanks."

He followed me into the dining room, placed the bag on the table, and took a seat. His hands ran through his hair nervously and he asked, "Is this what I think it is?"

"This is Justin being Justin. He likes to thrust people at one another and watch them flail about in chaos."

Dennis laughed, taking a sip of his wine. He jumped up and held my chair out for me. It threw me off. At least, Justin was getting better. This guy was at least polite, if still completely wrong for me. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I have to say I wasn't sure why Justin Timberlake would invite me over, but I think he and my cousin have conspired about this."

I emptied the contents of the bag, "What makes you say that?"

"My cousin is worried that I'm twenty-one and don't have a girlfriend. She doesn't realize that--well, she seems to think I'm too good looking to be flying solo," Dennis gulped down his drink and stared at me for a minute. He smiled brightly and added, "You're really pretty, Laney, and seem nice enough, but you aren't my type. I don't think my cousin gets that yet."

I smiled, "That's okay. I wasn't exactly prepared for this either."

"I could tell. You had a horrified look on your face when I entered."

"I'm sorry. It's--Justin has made it his new mission in life to find me a boyfriend."

"Do you think he could find me one?"

I nearly spit up my soda on the front of my shirt. I started to laugh. Dennis stared at me for a few seconds with an unsure expression before joining in. We sat there, surrounded by romantic candlelight and Celine Dion blaring through the room, and laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Justin's record remained untouched. His knack for finding the most unsuitable men to parade before me was remarkable.

The big idiot.

I picked at the chicken in the container and said, "This figures."

"It's nothing personal. I mean. You're really--"

"Pretty. I know. Different temperaments," I said. I passed him the chicken and admitted, "Would it be wrong to say that I like you much more now?"

He chuckled, "Would it be wrong to say that I wish you were Justin instead?"

I laughed, "Oh, that would be priceless. I only ask to have a front row seat for the cat fight between you and Britney."

"I take kickboxing classes. I could take her," Dennis dumped the contents of another container on his plate and mixed it with the chicken. He asked, "So what is Justin really like?"

"Annoying."

"Seriously."

"I am serious. He's annoying."

"But you're hanging out with me even though you didn't want to. The guy obviously matters to you."

I shrugged, "Are you tape recording this conversation to help inflate the boy's ego?"

Dennis pushed his jacket back and said, "No wires or recording devices."

"Good," I replied. I separated the food on my plate, keeping it from fusing together in a science experiment gone awry. Once I had everything on my plate in eating order, I said, "I guess I care about him. Justin used to be my next door neighbor."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Anything else to your relationship you want to share with a complete stranger?"

"No. Why does everyone assume that because a guy and a girl are good friends that they should jump each other's bones?"

"Well, that's a romantic way to put it," Dennis commented between bites of chicken.

I stirred my food around, "Yes, that's me. I'm such the romantic. I live in anticipation of the day that my life story is sold to ABC as the movie of the week starring Tori Spelling."

Dennis grinned, "We all need goals." Dennis studied me for a second--it was the type of look I saw at school in some of my classes. It was a look that said you are utterly clueless to something that I'm almost sure of. Everyone in my Statistics class used to look at me that way when I sat there dumbfounded in the back of our classroom. Dennis poured another glass of wine--his eyes still concentrated on me--and asked, "You really haven't thought about what it would be like to date Justin?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. He's my friend," I paused. The conversation was making me highly uncomfortable and I added, "Sometimes I think we barely make sense as friends. I could never see us having a long-lasting relationship-relationship."

"Why?"

"Because we're different--" I noticed him open his mouth and continued, "And before you say something like opposites attract, let me point out that no one really buys into that mentality. It's ridiculous. People watch too much Dawson's Creek. It's ruined friendships for the rest of us."

Dennis laughed, "Fine...but I think the lady doth protest too much."

I rolled my eyes, "Hardly..." I looked around the room and was suddenly hit with this horrific thought. I started to wonder if Justin was--I gulped and thought about the why again. Was Justin trying to set me up with random men because he thought I liked him? Like really liked him in a more-than-friendly-I-want-to-see-you-naked kind of way? It would make sense. He was pushing these guys at me like he couldn't wait to pawn me off on someone else.

And of course with my mind, I was immediately immersed in the wheres and hows with which he had come to draw such a conclusion. It was insane. I never even gave him a second look. He was usually too busy annoying the hell out of me.

I moaned when the Titanic song blasted. I stood up and asked, "Would it be okay if I turn this crap off?"

"Fine by me. I'm much more of a Broadway buff myself."

"Me too."

Dennis lifted his glass, "Laney, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

I clanked my glass against his, relieved for the change of subject, and said, "Won't Justin be depressed to hear that. Oh, there is some joy in my day."

Justin had lucked out. Dennis actually turned out to be a very interesting and funny guy. I didn't have to torture him to death for leaving me alone with the guy. I'll admit that dinner was entertaining, but my mind kept going back to what Dennis had said. Did I give off a vibe of "ooh Justin" without even realizing it? And why couldn't I stop thinking about it?

This didn't mean that Justin was off the hook. These questions in no way excused the ridiculous flock of men marched in front of me for the past few weeks. If he was really worried that I had developed a strange breed of crazy feelings towards him, he should've talked to me about it. At the very least, he could've picked guys that I would like. Did Justin know me at all?

You see all this talk about love and it still comes down to the same thing. While I may not be the steadfast romantic, I do believe that there is a guy out there that I can at least tolerate for long periods of time. It's not that I'm particularly fussy, but what I do ask for is apparently hard to find these days. I want a man who is independent, believes in himself, questions the state of the world, can quote Good Will Hunting from memory, and can keep me on my toes.

Not particularly fussy? Did she--not particularly fussy?

Laney Jane was making this impossible. Every guy that I introduced her to was too dumb, too smart, too cocky, not cocky enough, no sense of humor, had a bad laugh--people accuse guys of being picky, but Jesus Christ, Laney put everyone else to shame. Do you want to know the worst part? She was enjoying my frustration. When I returned home from the studio that night, she and Dennis were dancing around to some punk band. I had a minute of "I Rule" before Laney explained that Dennis had thought his date that evening was with me and he was highly disappointed.

I'm pretty sure my face was bright red and I actually stuttered. I had no idea that Dennis was gay. It wasn't like he had told me. I saw the RENT cast recording in his backpack and figured he and Laney would have something in common.

This was much harder than I thought it was going to be. I had expected to pick out a decent guy, Laney would lay eyes on him, and fall madly in love. Not only would she have a boyfriend that traveled like I did, but she would also be so grateful to her best friend (me) for helping her discover true love that she would never doubt our friendship again. I even had the soundtrack to this story planned out. It was perfect.

Well, it was perfect in my head. Things weren't working out exactly like I thought they would. I was going to need a secret weapon, an ace in the hole or something. I needed someone who had allowed herself to be snagged by a great guy. So I did what any relatively smart guy in my position would do...I went to my girlfriend.

"Does this mean you aren't going to give this up?" Brit asked. Her eyes were fixed on the passing streets of New York as our limousine made its way back to the hotel. She was recording songs for her new album in New York and we were there for the next few days for publicity before heading overseas.

I would be gone for a month and I needed to convince Britney to find Laney a boyfriend in that span of time. I wanted this settled before March came and I had no time to sleep, let alone set Laney up. I had to move quickly. Laney had sent me this long email about the talk that I kept avoiding and some other things too. Other things? What the hell did that mean? Anyway, she wanted to get together when I was in New York and work it all out.

That was not a good sign. I was not about to have a talk about Hawaii or any realizations that came out of our trip there. I couldn't even allow my mind to wander to it because then I always started to think about her eyes...which led to thoughts about her legs...which led to very bad thoughts to have about your best friend. It was like Hawaii turned me into the typical guy whose grasp on the English language was reduced to mama, dada, and sex, sex, sex...

Like I said, it was not a good way to imagine Laney.

"Justin? Why are you pushing this?"

"I'm not pushing anything."

Britney gave me her infamous "I know you better than you think, Timberlake" stare and frowned. She sighed, "I really don't want to go to this stupid dinner tonight. I want to crawl into bed and collapse."

I patted her leg, "Make an appearance and then have Donna call your cellphone with an emergency."

"I wish I could, but Johnny would kill me. This dinner has been on my calendar for months," Britney concentrated her gaze back on the window and asked, "What are you doing tonight?"

"Laney has class. You've got the dinner. I'm flying solo this evening."

"Maybe you should take that time to think about things, J."

"I have wracked my brain for the perfect guy for Laney--" I stopped when Britney groaned. I felt my own temper getting the best of me. Had I imagined the conversation where Britney agreed to help me with this? I was beginning to think I was not only crazy, but delusional. I snapped, "And of course, you feel the need to badger me about this."

"I have not badgered you about anything, J."

"No instead you're groaning and rolling your eyes and hinting at your displeasure with it."

"Because it's stupid."

"It's not stupid. You're the one who pointed out that Laney might want more than me in her life--"

"So you overwhelm her with dates which you arrange for her? What are you scared of?" she countered. The limousine came to a stop. Britney was looking at me, waiting for an answer, but I was stumped. I had a feeling it was one of those questions that had no right answer; no matter what I said it would be wrong.

I opened the door of the limo before the driver could and hopped out. I walked right past the fans and the cameras, heading straight for the elevator. Britney joined me a few minutes later and folded her arms. She didn't say anything even though I knew she wanted to. The elevator door opened and we both got in without a word. I pretended not to see the hurt expression on her face and I hated that we were fighting. This was such a stupid thing to fight about. I leaned over and took her hand, "Brit, I'm sorry."

She smiled weakly, "It's okay...and I think I know someone we can set Laney up with."

I kissed her quickly, "You are the best girlfriend in the world."

"I know, I know," she shook her head and ran her fingers over my face. She grabbed my chin and added sternly, "But listen to me. If she doesn't hit it off with this guy, you drop this. No one likes a man obsessed, Justin."

"Well, I'm sure it will work. After all, ten time's the charm, right?" I chuckled at my own joke.

"You're a such a dork. I could date anyone on the planet and I choose to date you. What's wrong with me?" Britney replied, pushing me in the chest.

I kissed her again, "Thank you for this."

"You swear you'll let it go if it doesn't work out?"

I made the sign of the cross over my chest, "I swear...you need to make sure that this guy is perfect for Laney."

"Don't worry," she kissed me. She and I were always really good at kissing. It made most stuff seem almost--I dunno, inconsequential? Britney pulled back and studied my face like she hadn't seen me in months. It was a bit weird. She added, "I'm much better at figuring people out than you are anyway."

I smiled. This was going to work. Britney did have a point. Well, she was a girl and obviously knew what other girls were looking for in a relationship. The elevator opened and I took her hand to lead her down the hall. I stopped and turned on my feet. I pointed at her, "You need to make sure he works for Jive or WEG."

"Most of the people I come in contact with do anyway."

"Good," I started to walk again and stopped abruptly. I held up my free hand, "He also has to be a guy that travels--I want to get him moved to my tour or at least have a reason that he would fly out. I mean, that way Laney would come along and--"

"Have you considered the possibility that the guy Laney fell for might be okay with not seeing her every minute of every day?"

"Well, that's good to hear because she wouldn't be with him every minute of every day. I still plan to reserve some of Laney Jane's time," I replied. Britney rolled her eyes. She had that stupid look on her face again and I decided to ignore it. I wasn't going to see her for a few weeks. I didn't want us fighting while I was gone. I went on, doing my best to ignore that face, "That's the whole point of this. We need to find a guy that can make Laney happy, but understands that I'm still a part of her life. Otherwise, I'm doing this for nothing."

"Seeing Laney happy is nothing?"

"Don't put words in my mouth. I'm talking about my friendship with her, Brit. I'm not going to give that up."

Britney squeezed my hand, "J, I doubt Laney would give up her friendship with you because another guy told her to, but have you really thought this out? She won't be at your disposal. If your plan really works out, she's going to have a boyfriend."

"So?"

"He'll be the most important guy in her life."

I raised my eyebrows, "So?"

"I don't think you've thought this through."

I glared at her and clenched my fist tightly. I didn't want to yell. I didn't want to yell. I thought I was going to yell. I breathed deeply and replied, "I have so."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Uh-huh."

"I do," I asserted. I fumbled with the goddamn door key to my room and grumbled, "I always support you with your stuff. I'm asking for some help here."

"And I said I would help you."

"Could you help me without the bitching?"

She crossed her arms and stormed into the room. I followed behind her and took a seat on the edge of the bed. This was the last thing I needed. I was already feeling the pressures of our new album possibly failing, Laney Jane needing to talk, and then Britney was adding to my troubles rather then relieving them. She and I rarely argued and, in the past few weeks, we had about a dozen fights over Laney. It was getting redundant. It was getting annoying. I replied quietly, "I'm sorry. I don't see--"

"That's the problem, J. I don't think you see what is going to happen."

I pulled Britney on to my lap, "Brit, trust me."

"I do, but--"

"Go with that then. Trust me. You have remarkable taste as shown by your choice of a boyfriend. Everything is going to work out, okay?"

Britney must have noticed the pout on my face because she shrugged, "Fine then." It was more the type of "fine" that someone used when it really wasn't fine but they didn't want to argue anymore--as if she knew she was right and I was wrong.

Well, ha. I was sure I'd show her. She was going to find out how brilliant my plan really was. I had it all figured out. Laney would be happy. I would be happy. Britney would be happy because I was happy. And some guy would be happy because he had Laney in his life to torment him.

Perfection.

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Chapter Seven

Nsync Stories