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ACT II: IN THE BEGINNING - Enlightening
Scene 3: A Glimpse at the perils of adulthood
"Sitting there at that moment I thought of something else Shakespeare said. He said, 'Hey...life is pretty stupid; with lots of hubbub to keep you busy, but really not amounting to much.' Of course I'm paraphrasing: 'Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.' " - LA Story
I return to my apartment to the sound of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" album blaring at such high decibels that the picture frames adorning our living room, shake and rattle as if a subway car is passing next to us. I slam the door shut, glancing apologetically over my shoulder before I do like a mother whose child misbehaves in a store in case a neighbor is passing by. I drop my bag and shout out to Marisa, who appears with a guilelessly confused face, as if it is the most natural thing to blow out the windows with music on a Tuesday evening.
"What's up, Laney?" she shouts over the music.
I roll my eyes and motion around the room, when Marisa remains clueless, I ask, "Have you lost your hearing and failed to notice it?"
"What?" Marisa replies. She points at me to hold on my response and sweeps across the room to the stereo. It's something I've noticed over the four years of living with Marisa. She never walks anywhere. She glides or sweeps across a room like she's some sort of character from a Victorian romance.
"I'm sorry…you were saying," Marisa prompts.
"I had asked if you'd gone deaf since this morning."
She shoots me a placating smile and says, "You can't listen to the Wall quietly." That's all she offers before heading back into her room. As though her answer clarifies everything and she doesn't have two roommates to appease. God knows I have to tolerate her inane rules of the manor such as "no cursing when I'm doing my Tai Chi, Laney" or her anal retentive organization of our cleaning supplies.
I follow her and say, "If you could try, I'd be truly grateful. My thesis is due in a few weeks and I really need to focus, or I'll have to throw myself off the top of the Empire State Building." I don't mean to be a bitch, but as she glares at me, I get the distinct feeling that's what I've become.
It's not even Marisa that I'm upset with. I'm used to returning to the loud hum of classic rock. It's life in general that has me down. It's ennui. It's being twenty-one and feeling the pressure to succeed at something overtake every thought that I have. Mostly, it's the fact that I'm screwed, once again failing to get the internship I so needed. I find myself wondering what the hell is wrong with me-why doesn't anyone want me, why doesn't anyone see my capabilities-and rethinking my whole life plan.
"I'm sorry if I sound overly dramatic, but it's been a long day and the music is only adding to the headache."
Marisa rolls her eyes, carelessly picks up one of her textbooks from the floor and flips through it nonchalantly for a second. She glances up at me from beneath the orange cover and replies, "No problem. I thought I had the apartment to myself. I figured you'd go straight to Justin's hotel room."
"Why?"
"Because of that thing you have tonight."
"Thing?"
Marisa rolls her eyes again and drops her book on her bed. She folds her arms as if she's discerning my every thought. "Don't tell me you forgot." Off what I suspect is my dimwitted expression, she goes on, "Unbelievable. Miss Marks Everything on My Calendar and Never Forgets a Thing forgot she's attending one of Justin's album pre-release parties."
My eyes widen. "Shit."
"What's up with you, Laney? You're like…a total spazz all the time."
"Gee thanks," I reply. I sit down on her bed and kick my shoes off. I want to explain it to her-the strange dazed feeling in my head that makes most coherent thoughts impossible-and have her offer me one of her Marisa pep talks to alleviate this terrible funk I'm stuck in. Instead, she pulls a chair up in front of me, stares at me until I attempt to crawl under her covers to escape her appraisal, and shakes her head. I fidget, chew on the end of a long wisp of hair, and finally snap, "What?"
"Are you pregnant?"
"No! Did my aura tell you that or something?"
"I've never seen you like this-"
"It's senioritis."
"The Laney I know doesn't get senioritis."
"Maybe you don't know me that well," I reply. It's not so much a retort as a sigh. I say, "Things are crazy right now."
"Do you know what you need, Laney?"
"A good internship? Someone else's resume?"
"Clarity."
"Uh-huh."
"You need to center yourself. Do you see me freaking out about things?"
"No, but I thought that was because your major is philosophy."
Marisa scowls, throws her hands up in the air, and exclaims, "What am I going to do with you? I had hoped that after all this time I would've worn off on you."
"Thankfully no," I reply. I meet her gaze and say, "I love you, Marisa. I do, but your style and mine are so very different."
"Tell me about it."
"I can't. I have to go get ready for this dinner thing," I say emotionlessly. It's not that I don't want to spend time with Justin. I just don't want to spend time with him tonight. It hasn't been a good day and he'll notice that immediately. He'll barrage me with questions and demand explanations that I simply don't have right now. I'll witness myself in the mirror of his eyes and I'll hate the person reflected back at me.
I think I'm gonna throw up.
I somehow stand myself up, mutter something incomprehensible even to me, and make my way into my room. I stare at my closet as though an outfit will jump out and fall onto my body. I cover my face with my hands and scream.
"Stanton, should I be worried?" I spin around and there's Frankie leaning against the frame of my door. He cocks his head to the side and grins at me-his idea of the supportive smile is so damn arrogant that I have to resist the urge to choke him. "How are you doing?"
I shrug and respond, "I'm…okay, I think." I can't recall a time in my life when I didn't pause and ponder whether to tell the truth before answering questions regarding my emotions.
"Professor Lonalt was harsh."
"He was right, Frankie," I reply. I don't look at him. I skim over the clothes in my closet instead.
"No, he wasn't."
I glance at him for a second before turning back to my closet. My wardrobe is as dull as I am. I take a deep breath and say, "It's okay. I'm boring." The sting of my professor's words is still in the air around me and I push the hair away from my face before turning to face Frankie again. I reply, "I guess I should be relieved. It could've been much worse, right? Pedantic isn't so bad-"
"Stanton…"
I wave him off and say, "I don't want the lecture, Frankie…especially not from you."
"Lecture? What you need is a swift kick in the ass."
"Oh, is that a fact?"
"It's the fucking headline news story that everyone else knows about except for you. Christ, you're so much fucking better than the life you're molding for yourself."
"Not this again."
"He's holding you back."
"I'm not doing this with you anymore."
"He's holding you back," Frankie repeats. He crosses his arms and I'm struck by his exquisiteness in that moment. I know it's not necessarily acceptable for a girl in a committed relationship with someone else to notice things like that, but I do. Justin is handsome. He has those boyish features and dark blue eyes that echo his emotional state. Justin is sexy because of the person he is. Frankie though…Frankie is untouched beauty. In that moment, I don't see the arrogance, the manipulative streak I've come to know, or even the promised success that pours out of him. I'm blown away by him. It doesn't matter if he's in his long, black trenchcoat or a baggy NYU sweatshirt. Frankie is gorgeous. Frankie is created in the fabric of sexy. The symmetry of his arms, tanned and muscled as though a sculptor took the time to carve each one. The dark hair that no matter what the weather outside rests perfectly on his head and the matching brown eyes that act like quicksand, pulling a person in and holding onto them. The long, lithe frame and the grace and confidence with which he strides through hallways. Dignified. The perfect politician-in-training.
I hate that this is the thought racing through my mind as he does his best to berate Justin once again. Frankie can't get it through his thick skull that Justin is not the problem. I am. I know what's expected of me. I know that a + b = success, but I can't bring myself to follow the rules or accomplish anything. Most importantly, I know that excelling, something that used to come so easily for me, requires that special something. Something that I seem to lack whether it is through missed opportunities, disinterest, or a personal deficiency.
It's not Justin's fault because this was in the works long before Justin's role in my life changed. This is all me.
"So I didn't get the internship. There will be others."
"No there won't."
"You're a real picker-upper, Frankie. You should write greeting cards," I pause and smirk, "Sorry you suck, but at least you don't smell."
"I'm not the one who's going to end up selling newspapers on the corner if I don't watch it."
"Ouch."
He sighs and strides across the hardwood floor until he has closed the distance between us. He places his hands square on my shoulders and stares at me. The way his eyes are fixed on me, I wonder if he's about to suck my soul out, but he says slowly, "You need to let go, Laney."
I push his hands away. "I have a dinner with Justin to get ready for."
"Great. That's what you need."
"Justin is always what I need," I reply in this terrible tone, like I'm a five-year-old on the playground bragging about my new toy. I hate what I'm becoming. I hate what Frankie brings out in me. I hate that I can't bring myself to cut him out of my life. It's like I get off on his special brand of torture.
"No, what you need is to sit down, finish your law school applications, and pray to God that your name is not automatically associated with Justin fucking Timberlake's. Unless that's what you want for yourself, Stanton. A life of inferiority."
"Shut up, Frankie. You don't know me so stop waxing omniscient about my life."
"I do know that being with Justin screwed you out of that internship."
"That's not true. I wasn't good enough. Me. This isn't about Justin."
"You're right. Glad you can finally acknowledge that."
"Huh?"
"This shouldn't be about Justin, Laney. When you walk into a room, people should see you, not the girl de jour of some celebrity."
"That's not-"
"Oh no?" Frankie replies. He moves past me and picks up a long bag off a chair. I didn't even notice it was there until Frankie plucked the small card from the hanger and read it, "Let's see…'Laney Jane, something for you to wear tonight. Love, J.' How sweet!" Frankie clutches his chest in mock adoration and comments, "He even picks out your clothes, Stanton, and you're going to stand there and say that your life doesn't revolve around his."
I grab the bag from his hands. I pull out a gorgeous black dress and smile. At least, Justin knows what I like, I tell myself, though the after effects of Frankie's accusation are playing tricks on my mind. When I remain silent, Frankie says, "Helmut Lang. Not bad. At least he spends the cash on you."
"Go away, Frankie."
"Do you think that people don't notice the tabloids, Stanton? Do you think our entire class doesn't know who you date despite your best efforts to keep it to yourself? Is that what you want your epilogue to read someday, Laney? Here lies Melanie Jane Stanton. She dated Justin Timberlake. Because that's all people see."
"What does it matter to you?"
"Jesus Laney. I know you're not blind."
I dart my eyes away from him. I may not be the most astute person when it comes to men who show an interest in her, but even I have picked up on the vibe Frankie has been sending my way. I know that it's all about the conquest to him-he likes that I'm off limits, so he does everything in his power to get me to take notice. I do what I'm good at. I ignore it, pretend I don't see what he's trying to do and focus on our project and friendship. I tell myself that it will go away sooner or later.
Frankie doesn't seem to be catching on though. He closes the distance between us. It's not a distance really, merely a few inches. He stares at me and says, "I care about you, Stanton. You're smart and funny and don't take yourself too seriously. Do you know what I thought about you the first time I met you in class?"
"Finally a new girl to torture?" I respond with a smirk.
He rolls his eyes, "Aside from that?" When I don't say anything (because I can't-I've forgotten how to breathe), he answers his own question, "I thought there was a girl going somewhere."
"Frankie-"
"And since that day, I've seen you give up more and more of your own dreams because they can't work with his. When's he going to make the sacrifices, Laney?" Frankie glares at me, balling his fist up and pounding it into his thigh, and snaps, "You fucking force me to play the bad guy, Laney. You know what I'm telling you is true, but it's like you refuse to accept it."
"You're not telling the truth here, Frankie. You have your own motives for wanting Justin out of the picture. I'm not apt to go on at great lengths about how much I love my boyfriend or how happy he makes me, blah, blah, blah like the other girls in our classes, but that doesn't mean that I don't need him. You need to let this go. For the last time or that's it. Our friendship is over."
"Justin put you up to this?"
I want to kill him. I do. I can't deny that the information would make Justin ecstatic, especially after the scene at the library. I reply, "For someone who thinks I have such great potential, you have a funny way of showing it."
"What?"
"I'm quite capable of making my own decisions, Frankie. The same way that I'm responsible for my own failures and successes. All Justin has ever done is to be there for me and I'm sick of hearing you badmouth him. Friends don't do that."
"They do when the other friend is blind to the truth. You're avoiding it, Laney. I'm not belittling your feelings for him. Not at all. I know you love him and I do believe that he loves you, but there's going to come a moment when you're going to have to make a decision. A real choice about something. It scares the shit out of you, so instead, you hide from it and hope that things will work out." He pauses and studies my stance. I'm trying my best not to wince against the abrasiveness he's expounding and wrap my arms around myself protectively. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice, "You're great at the mechanics of politics, Laney. You have a knack for it, but it's as though you can't see the reality of the career you've chosen. Talent will only take you so far, sweetheart. There are people's perceptions and sacrifices to be made."
"Like Justin."
"Especially Justin. He's a detriment to your future. You can't be a popstar's girlfriend and have a career that's not in entertainment, kiddo."
"You don't know that."
"I don't?" Frankie replies. He sighs, hissing out rage through his nostrils, and goes on, "Fine. Maybe I don't have firsthand experience in relationships with celebrities, but I'm nothing if not logical, Stanton. Climbing the ladder to success is not something that you can do with a guy like Justin standing next to you. It might not be fair, but it's the way it is."
I don't want to hear this. Frankie's idea of tough love is giving me a migraine and I feel the floor spinning beneath me. The tears start to form at the corner of my eyes and I know then that I've completely lost it. I'm not a crier. I take in stress and deal with it. I don't freak out and I definitely don't cry.
"Stanton," Frankie says softly. A voice unlike any I've ever heard from him before, as if he's worried that he's broken me. "Stanton, I'm sorry to be so…"
"Mean?"
"I was going to say straightforward."
I scoff, "No, you're not."
"Yeah, I am. I care about you, Laney. I see greatness in you, waiting to come out, but you're squandering it away."
"Enough. I need to get ready."
"If this guy-"
"Justin. His name is Justin. Is that so hard?"
"If Justin really loves you, he'd do right by you."
"How very eighteenth century of you to say."
"You're the one giving up everything for a boyfriend, sweetheart, not me," he replies. He moves back to the door and mutters, almost inaudibly, "I bet he doesn't even know."
"Shut up."
"If your relationship is so great and you know that it's not Justin's doing…why haven't you told him, Laney? Why doesn't he know that you didn't get the grant this past summer? Why didn't you call him after your meeting this morning rather than knocking on my door and freaking out about your lack of options? Why doesn't Justin know all that you're giving up to be with him? If he's your soulmate, why isn't he convincing you to give him up and focus on your future rather than his? Or is he too selfish to let you go even for a little while?"
Frankie pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. It rests in the corner of his mouth and his lips curl upward into a small smile. He lights the cigarette and I allow my eyes to wander along with the tresses of smoke until they fade away. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and continues, "Stanton. Laney. Don't you think I've been in love? There is a time and place for those things. Romanticism and fated love are fine in Justin's world, but most of us can't put all our faith into something like that. Most of us need prudence to reel us in every once and awhile. It's what keeps us from ending up in a mental institution."
"Frankie, please stop."
"What are you going to do next year, Laney? If you're having trouble balancing school and a relationship with Justin, how are you going to handle a career? Or law school? What if you have to choose? Which is more important to you?"
"I can have both," I reply. I toss the dress Justin sent over onto my bed to keep from wringing it into a hundred knots. My thoughts are messy. My emotions are messy and what I really need is to get out of this room - to get away from Frankie, to get away from school and all the pressures, to get away from myself and the notion that I have any idea of what I'm doing. Instead, I stand there. I suck in the bad vibes suffocating me while I attempt to ignore Frankie's gaze. Not because I buy his load of crap, but because him thinking it's all Justin's fault rather than mine seems better to me in some sick way. It's as if I'm worried that by telling Frankie the truth-that I simply don't care anymore or know what exactly makes me unique in the world-it will make it all the more tangible.
I'll have to admit that my failures are all my own. I'll have to take a hard look at myself and accept that I'm not as upset as I should be because…well, the more I think about it and the further down this political path I go, the more I believe that I made a mistake. I wouldn't be able to deny the lack of passion I have for what I do. I watch someone like Justin or Frankie in their fields and they light up with energy. They fit in those moments while I get discombobulated.
I'm unaccustomed to failure.
I'm adrift, cut off.
If I don't do this, what the hell will I do with my life?
I can't say that to Frankie. I can't bare my soul to him, Justin, or myself for that matter. I let a few more tears fall down my cheeks, sniffle the rest back, and shut my eyes against the harsh truth hanging in my future. Because, despite his aggressive methods, Frankie is right about one thing. I'm going to have to deal with things eventually. Justin will see that I'm not the perfect Laney Jane he's always figured me to be and things will change. He won't look at me the same and that thing we have-that odd fit that holds us together-might go away, whether he means for it to or not.
"I don't think you can have both, Stanton, and I think deep down you know that too. Otherwise you would be having this conversation with Justin, not me."
"You barged in here, remember?"
"God knows someone has to be looking out for you," he spits out. He shakes his head and says, "Someone needs to get it through both yours and Justin's heads that the world does not revolve around him."
I see the wheels of Frankie's mind turning and I point at him. I know this guy. I know what he's capable of and how easily he can twist a truth into a fabrication of fact. I order, "You're going to keep your mouth shut, McCauley."
"Huh?"
"If you and Justin end up at the same place again, you're not going to say anything to him. Not about my supposed sacrifices and not about this internship."
"I wouldn't do that, Laney, but you should."
"That's my decision to make. Got it?" Off his nod, my muscles relax a bit. He's right. I'll never admit that to him, but he is. Justin should know this stuff. I need to tell him. I need to let him know what's going on with me, if there is even a way to verbalize it, but I don't want to. It's funny how often what I need and want rarely coincide. I moan, "Why is growing up so damn hard?"
Frankie laughs between puffs of his cigarette. He shrugs and says, "I don't know, Stanton, but it is."
"Not for you."
"Well, not everyone is perfect like me." I roll my eyes and throw a book at the wall next to him. He doesn't even flinch, the arrogant bastard, and he asks, "Are you going to be okay?"
"Do you really care?"
"Yeah, I really do, Laney," he says. His eyes search the area until he narrows in on me, but I look away. There is something about the way Frankie stares at me in disdain that I hate. I tell myself that I don't care what he thinks, that his opinion on my life doesn't matter, but it must, right? Why else would I be unable to keep direct eye contact with him? He motions to where the dress is sprawled out on my bed and mutters, "Enjoy the dress, Barbie."
Frankie raises his hand in a half wave and walks away. I hear the door shut and only then can I empty out the tension that has built up. I throw myself down onto my bed and cover my face with the pillows, wishing my blankets would come to life and pull me into some horrible quilt land where I'd be some demon blankie's prisoner for the remainder of my days.
It's days like this that I think nervous breakdowns are highly underrated. It could be my saving grace. If I let people think I'm insane, there would be no one harping on about my future, careers, or paving my own way. My mother would stop bothering me about my appearance, my father wouldn't force me to endure the 'what are your plans after college' speech one more time, and Justin would stop turning me into some saint who exists to prove that he's as normal as the rest of us.
There is no light in my room as I reach out and shut the door. In the darkness, I'm no longer me. I melt away and get to imagine all the possibilities. In the darkness, I can be anyone, do anything, run away to anywhere…there is something cathartic about it, something that makes rising to get changed a bit easier.
As I pull the dress from its hanger, I decide that I will talk to Justin about this. I'll wait until his album has launched though because I don't want him freaking out more than he already is. That's the one job I am still good at-looking out for my best friend-and he needs this from me for a bit longer. Despite what Frankie says, I've never minded the fact that Justin's career comes first because I know that he'll gladly switch roles when I'm ready to make that leap into adulthood. He'll be the one to work around my schedule and support me. I know that like I know my name. I trust it and that somehow makes all of this indecision and disorientation toward life a little bit easier.
It's decided. I'll talk to Justin about all of this. I'll tell him about the grant I lost out on. I'll explain how I didn't get the internship, and we'll discuss what the hell I'm doing wrong and he'll help me figure out if I've picked the wrong career. I want to know how Justin figured things out; I want him to give me some of his…motivation mojo or something so that everything becomes clear.
I'll enjoy clarity for the first time in months.
My cell phone rings and I lunge for it. Before I even get a word out, Justin's voice comes through the static. "I'm downstairs."
"Already?"
"Already? It's seven thirty," he replies. He says something to Todd that I can't make out and then adds, "Everything okay? You're usually ready an hour before I am."
"School. Bad day. Long story."
"Should I come up?"
"No, I'll be right down. Give me five minutes."
"Are you sure? You sound funny."
"Gee thanks."
"I mean-"
"Five minutes, J," I reply, flipping my phone shut and dropping it on the bed. I rush around the room like a chicken with its head cut off (a euphemism that has caused many a nightmare) and empty my closet while I look for a decent pair of shoes that aren't clunky. I manage to find a decent pair that my mother purchased for me and rush around some more.
Somehow, I'm ready in five minutes. The dress, the shoes, the shawl…perfect. My hair is up and the only makeup I'm wearing is lipstick, but I don't look like I was beat with the ugly stick-a feat considering the day I've had. I rush out the door, shouting out goodbye to no one in particular, and run down the three flights of stairs. I open the doors, pushing past my crazy trombone-playing neighbor who says something to me that I miss, and step out into the evening sky. I glance up at the stars and, as if being snapped from a peaceful slumber, I blink when I hear Justin call me over to the black SUV parked illegally at the corner.
I smile at him and make my way over to the car in time to see Todd step out of the front seat and open the door for me. I nod and slide into the car next to Justin, who is staring at me with his mouth slightly agape and a strange leer. I study his face and question, "Everything okay?"
"Uh…" he says. He inches closer to me and kisses me on the cheek. His lips linger there and his stubble scratches my skin. He whispers, "You're gorgeous."
"Liar."
"Me? Never," he replies. His lips move toward my ear and his breath tickles me. He pulls back and grins smugly, "You want me bad."
"Whatever."
"This is going to be incredibly tough tonight."
"Why's that?"
"Because all I want to do is take you back to my hotel, Laney Jane," he replies with one of his "smoldering gazes", the type I imagine photographers beg him to make for the camera. Never will I admit to him that the smell of his cologne and the five o'clock shadow have my mind wandering of its own accord. I'm supposed to be stronger than this, dammit. I used to be stronger than this and he knows it. He knows he cracked my boys-are-icky foundation that I used to keep unless Matt Damon was on the screen.
"Thanks for sharing, J."
He tilts my head so that I'm looking at him sideways. His hands rub against my cheeks and he kisses me on the lips. It's brief, but potent. I smile lazily and if such a thing is possible, his grin is even smugger than before. He nudges me playfully and offers, "You're putty in my hands, Laney Jane. Putty…in…my…hands."
"Charming."
"I like to think so."
"You like to think a lot of things."
Justin eyes me over again, but this time it's different. This isn't the look of a boyfriend-this is the look of the best friend, reading my mind. I hate that he can do that. He takes my hand and asks, "What's wrong?"
"I told you. Bad day."
"Well, why was it a bad day?"
"Long story."
"I've got time."
"No you don't," I counter.
Justin frowns and chucks my chin. He says, "I've always got time for you. You should know that by now."
I turn so that we're facing one another. I go back and forth on whether or not to tell him what's going on or to stick to my initial plan to wait. The silence seems to feed Justin's worry and his hand squeezes mine even tighter until I wince and state, "Okay, J, you're cutting off the circulation in my hands."
"Sorry," he says. He loosens his grip, but doesn't let go. He brings his face closer to mine and says, "You can tell me anything, Laney Jane."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
"Of course."
"Sometimes I wonder…I mean, you didn't mention the whole Frankie thing-"
"Are you still hung up on that stupid incident at the library?"
"Stupid. Yep, that's me," he says. This time he releases his hold on my head and inches back to the other side of the car. I'm suddenly persona non grata.
"Subtle, J," I comment. He glances at me and I add, "And you wonder why I don't tell you everything."
"So you admit it."
"Do you tell me everything?"
"I tell you the important things."
“This isn’t an important thing.”
“Maybe it is to me.”
"Whatever."
"It's like there is this whole other part of your life that I know nothing about, Laney. Maybe Frankie's right. Maybe you're ashamed of me."
"You're such a girl."
"Wonderful."
"Why does everything have to be about you? Why does my entire life revolve around yours?" I snap. I don't mean it. I truly don't, but I know that he thinks that I do the minute the words are out in the air. I sigh. There are no take-backs in real life so I sigh. What else is there to do?
Justin's energy is so intense; it bristles and bubbles my skin. He mumbles something under his breath-an annoying habit he has when he's angry with me, but doesn't want to come out and say that-and fixes his gaze on his window. His entire stance metamorphoses into that of a rigid angerball.
"Justin…"
His voice is hoarse when he responds, "I never knew you felt like this."
"What are you talking about?"
It's his turn to sigh. His fists tighten into small balls and he pounds them into the seat cushioning. He glances over at me, but refuses to meet my line of vision instead focusing beyond me. He says, "I didn't think this was my life and your life…I thought we were living our life."
"Justin, you make it sound so simple."
"It is."
"We have our life. I love our life, but I also have my own life and you have your life," I pause when I notice his eyes are drilling into the side of my head. I gulp, ignoring the thud sound in my chest-why am I so crazy anymore-and try to clarify myself, "I don't think that's a bad thing either. We've never been dependent on one another. We've always done our own things and then come back together. It's what makes us who we are."
"You're full of shit, Melanie Jane."
"Excuse me?"
"This is all Frankie's doing. I knew it. I knew he would try to turn you against me."
Not this stupid fight again. I can't do this with him. I'm sick of feeling like the toy that the two boys are fighting over. I shake my head and say, "Contrary to both yours and Frankie's recent behavior, I do know how to make my own decisions. I don't need someone else to tell me what I feel."
"Then what the hell is going on, Laney Jane? Tell me. You've been like this for months and every time I ask you about it, you blow me off or lie to my face."
"I don't-"
"Are you going to lie to me now too?"
"Justin, you've got this big thing tonight. Now isn't the time-"
"I don't give a fuck about this stupid party," Justin counters. As if to prove a point to himself, he pulls at his tie until it comes undone and leans forward to whisper to the driver. The driver pulls the car over to the shoulder lane, garnering him more than one honk and obscene gesture. Todd turns around and Justin states, "I'm not going tonight."
"J," Todd begins.
Justin cuts him off, "I said that I'm not going."
Justin folds his arms and locks his eyes in a battle of wills with Todd. Todd asks, "Does Johnny know about this?"
"I just decided. Do whatever you have to do, but don't bother trying to convince me otherwise. We're not going."
Todd glared at him and hopped out of the car. The chauffer followed, most likely to avoid being locked in a car alone with the two of us, especially with Justin acting like a lunatic. I mimic his stance and state, "You don't have to prove anything, Justin."
"Obviously I do."
"You're acting like a brat and this is your job-"
"How can you think my job is more important than you?" Justin interrupts. It's not anger so much as apprehension that seeps out of his voice. He looks at me and continues, "It's only a job, Laney Jane."
"You love what you do, J. You wouldn't be-"
"I love music. I love singing…this…" he points at the car and goes on, "…this isn't what I love. Is it nice to have money and to know that someday I'll be able to provide for my family? Yes. Are the perks great? Hell yeah. But I don't need it, Laney Jane, and I thought you knew that."
"Of course I know that."
"Then tell me what's going on."
"Nothing."
"Talk to me!"
"What do you call this?"
"Avoidance."
"Well, it's not."
"That's bullshit," he says. He sits straight up as if he's preparing for a fight on the playground with the class bully. He glances off into the distance. It's one of those rare looks Justin gets on his face when he appears to be lost in a movie in his mind. It's usually my favorite time to watch him, especially since he can't tell I'm observing him, but tonight it's depressing.
"I don't know what you want from me, Justin!" I reply in exasperation.
"When the hell did you stop talking to me, Laney Jane? When did we stop being best friends?"
Justin glances at me out of the corner of his eye and I think, wow, he could win an Oscar for this performance. I know it's not a performance, but if I let that fact sink in, if I fully embrace the distraught appearance Justin has absorbed as his own, I'll have to kill myself. I can't do this with him. Not like this. I need to plan this out. It requires notecards and proper terminology. It necessitates planning, not blubbering from the backseat of a car with Justin throwing his career away because of my languor. I try to think of something to say-wondering when it became so hard to talk to him, when did things change-but nothing comes out. I feel everything in that moment, but there is no clever comeback on the tip of my tongue. English evades me.
"Laney Jane, please. Please say something. Anything. You're scaring the hell out of me."
"I'm fine."
"You're fine?" he scoffs. He practically growls and says, "You're not fucking fine. Do you think I'm oblivious? Do you think I'm so caught up in my own world that I don't see what you're doing to yourself? Don't you think I know you by now?"
I hate the beseeching tone his voice has taken on. He's freaking out, exactly what I had hoped to avoid, and he looks so lost in that moment. There are times that I forget Justin is as human as the rest of us. I mean, it's not a matter of perfection. I've never believed him perfect - I know him too well to believe such a lie - but I sometimes forget that he experiences highs and lows, and worries about the most ridiculous things. I'm as bad as everyone else because, while Justin Timberlake persona can be so misleading at times, I should know better.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and all I want to do is throw my arms around him and tell him everything will be okay. I think about letting it all spill out, but I'm afraid with his current mindset, he'll freak out even more than he already is. No, I know what my job is right now. My job is to reel him back in. To say enough to get him off my back, but not too much that he throws his own career away. I know firsthand what it's like to be lost in failure and I don't want that for him.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I should've told you about the Frankie stuff from the beginning but I didn't think it mattered," I reply. He opens his mouth to respond, but I continue, "I realize now that it does matter to you, but you've got to believe me, Frankie has no power over me where you're concerned. He's not turning me against you. If all these years of friendship and you being annoying couldn't do it, nothing can, Justin. I love you, you dolt. You, not Frankie. And not to sound like a bad romance novel, but you're all I want…past, present, and future. Got it?"
He nods. Sometimes he's smart enough not to say something that ruins the moment. I sidle up next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. His arms slide around me and he kisses the side of my head.
I turn my head up to look at him and say, "You've gotta let this stuff with Frankie go. He's a part of my life right now, J. Half my grade depends on him and I can't do anything about your hang-ups with him or vice versa."
"I'm sorry too," he replies. He shrugs and explains, "You were right not to tell me, I think. I keep replaying that stupid thing in the library. I probably shouldn't have eavesdropped, I know, but I don't trust him Laney Jane…and it's mostly my problem. I trust you and I know you love me, I do-"
"But…"
"But I worry that you're going to wake up one day and realize that he's right about me. I'm a stupid popstar that's holding you back."
"Though Frankie might disagree, he's not right about everything and, though I don't know if I want to feed your ego, you're a pretty great guy, Justin."
"But we're so different."
"True, but does it matter?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Laney Jane."
His words hit me in the gut. I imagine this is what being shot feels like, the burning pain that emanates throughout the entire body and causes waves of dizziness. I bite my bottom lip. It's always my biggest give away when I'm upset, but I'm a game of Jenga about to topple over. I mutter, "Oh."
Justin looks at me, his expression changing from curious to guilty to angry in the span of a few seconds. He replies, "What? Are you the only one allowed to contemplate our relationship? Do you think my life is fucking perfect, Laney Jane?"
"I never-"
He punches the back of the driver's seat, leaving the impression of his fist behind, and says, "I hate this. I hate this distance between us almost as much as I hate Frankie."
"For the last time, Frankie-"
"Frankie is a friend. Frankie is a classmate. Frankie is everything that you pictured for your life when we were younger," he replies without an ounce of emotion. He rolls his eyes and asks, "Am I forgetting anything?"
"Which fight do you want to have, Justin? I'm getting confused by this amalgamation of all of them into one big spiel!"
Justin glowers at me. Literally glowers as if I'm the villain to his hero routine who stands there, doing very little aside from being snarky. He says, "I don't want to fight with you at all. Do you think I enjoy this Laney? I'm trying to deal with my tendency to get a little jealous-"
"A little?"
He ignores me and continues, "But this isn't about Frankie's obvious infatuation with you. I can't blame the guy-you're one helluva catch. This is about you. Something's not right and I can't figure out if it's us or you or maybe both because I don't know what the hell to think about anything anymore. I keep thinking that Frankie is right or you're starting to believe him…but if not's not that, what the hell is going on with you? You're sad all the time, Laney Jane. You think I don't notice it? I've tried to give you space. I figured you come to me about it eventually, but it keeps getting worse and you keep ignoring it. You're losing weight. You're scatterbrained, running late for things and hiding stuff from me…" Justin stops. He runs his fingers through my hair. He strokes my back and then removes his hold on me. "I want to help you. Watching you do this stuff to yourself is killing me, but I can't force you to talk, can I? And all this fighting has really worked wonders so far…so I'm going to trust you. If you're not telling me something, I'm going to accept that it's for a good reason."
"J…"
"I wish you would talk to me. I can't help you until you tell me what's wrong."
"You can't help me with this, Justin."
"And what is this?"
I shrug and reply, "I don't know. Probably nothing. Senioritis."
Justin doesn't believe me. It's etched on his face when he leans forward and presses his lips against mine. The kiss is tentative at first, as if he's not sure who he's kissing, but it quickly becomes much more urgent, much more…everything. My arms slide around him and pull him closer. I think that this might be what I need, but I let that thought fade away. Even in my most desperate hour, I know that I'm not that girl. I don't want my whole existence to be about Justin. It wouldn't be healthy. That's not love, it's obsession.
He pulls back and plays with a strand of my hair that has fallen out of its clip. He smiles and says, "I love you."
"Why?" I ask. I don't mean to say that aloud. It's not the type of thing I ask. It's so incredibly girly and I'm not even sure where it came from. I don't sit around pondering why Justin cares about me. Well, not usually.
"What?" he questions. He turns to face me as if I've said something so shocking that he has to make sure the words actually came out of my mouth. He scrutinizes every hair on my head. You'd think I just told him that I was leaving him for a woman, or worse, Nick Carter. "Could you repeat that?"
"Never mind."
He doesn't though. Typical, obstinate Justin. He caresses my face and says, "It's not one thing, Laney Jane. It's just-there." His eyes drift to the floor and he pounds one of his fists into his other hand. He's nervous, which is odd for him. He takes a deep breath and says, "You make me smile. I could've had the worst day, but I can count on you to make me smile. You're honest, you never laugh at my jokes if they're bad, and you're incredibly smart. You're the most intelligent person I know-"
"I'm not that-"
"You are. I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You're amazing, Laney Jane, and I can't wait until your career takes off and you realize what I've known all along," Justin states. He says it with such fervor, a preacher at his pulpit, that I almost forget the day I've had and all those things Frankie said to me. Justin kisses my lips, my nose, my eyelids, and my forehead. He says, "You're my perfect Laney Jane."
"I'm not perfect-"
He laughs, "Of course not. You're too stubborn…and you like Ben Affleck movies."
"Not all of them," I say in mock protestation.
"I've seen Reindeer Games more than once and it wasn't by choice."
"Do you want to play that game, Justin?"
"What do you mean?" he asks innocently.
I hold up my hand and begin to count off, "First, you made me see Barbed Wire because you and Chris were doing a 'study' of Pamela Anderson's boobs…" I pause and shoot Justin a dirty look when he chuckles. I continue, "…then there was that horrific sci-fi movie with Elisabeth Shue and we can never forget the ongoing fiasco involving every horrific Julia Roberts movie that comes out."
"Julia Roberts does not make 'horrific' movies," he says. I laugh when he makes quotes with his hands as he says, "horrific." He glares at me and reiterates, "She doesn't. Her movies are of a high-quality that the average movie-goer doesn't always pick up on."
"Yes, because Conspiracy Theory was so ingenious and Runaway Bride? The hidden nuances of the movie are actually clever rather than annoying on the twentieth viewing. Greatness personified."
"True."
"I was being sarcastic," I respond.
"What about Ocean's Eleven? As I recall you've seen that about a hundred times."
I giggle, "Matt Damon."
"You're like one of Pavlov's dogs."
I giggle again, this time to infuriate Justin. "But it's Matt Damon."
"So you've said."
"He makes me happy."
"He got you drunk."
"Just the one time."
"One too many for my liking."
"Yeah, well, you ditched-"
Justin throws his hand over my mouth and says, "Not this again. Have I mentioned that I love you so much more when you're not talking about me being an idiot? Conversations are all well and good, but I prefer it when you're using them to flatter me."
I roll my eyes. It's so easy to get caught up in our little arguments that everything else falls away. I can never decide if it's a mentally sound practice or a more of a detriment, but it's nice to stop worrying about my future for a few minutes to focus on the here and now. I kiss Justin. He starts to pull me closer, but I slip out of his arms. He groans and I grin, allowing my lips to hover close to his, and ask, "What about kisses? Do you prefer those to conversation?"
Justin smirks, opens his arms wide, and answers, "Do you even have to ask, Laney Jane?"
My grin grows wider and I meet Justin's curious gaze. I whisper in his ear, "You're putty in my hands."
"Throwing my own words back at me? I don't know if I love the mean streak. I'd like that on the record," he replies, pulling me closer to him until I'm practically sitting in his lap. His hands rub up and down my arms and he says, "I'm going to take a leap of faith and hope that you talk to me when you're ready." I don't say anything, simply nod in agreement, and he presses his lips against mine. In the back of my head, I can't help but wonder what Todd or people passing on the street think of us. It's like our own episode of Taxi Cab Confessions and it's strange to me. I'm not usually a PDA sort of girl, but there is something about Justin in this moment. The loosened tie, the caring expression on his face, the curve of his stomach muscles as he increases the pressure of our kiss. It makes me lose myself.
We both jump when Todd knocks on the window. He moves his finger to beckon to Justin to join him outside the car. Justin says, "His timing is always impeccable." Justin pushes my hair off my face and adds, "You look too pretty to put that dress to waste. Want to grab a bite to eat?"
"How about we make an appearance at the dinner being thrown in your honor and then you can decide what we do?"
He remains silent for a second, but nods. He kisses me again and winks at me as he replies, "The fun I could have with that privilege."
Justin hops out of the car and walks over to Todd. The two of them start talking in hushed voices and I know he's spurting out his worries about me. Sometimes I think Justin thinks of poor Todd as his headshrinker rather than his bodyguard. I watch them from the window and glance down at myself. I feel like such a phony. Not just in the outfit or on Justin's arm. Those are things I've grown accustomed to over the past few years-changing pieces of myself to better fit into Justin's world-but the fact that I'm out with Justin, my best friend and one of the best people I know (though if that gets out, I'll deny, deny, deny!) and he thinks I'm something that I'm not.
What were his words? His perfect Laney Jane? I'm not and I can't fathom what will happen to the two of us when he realizes he's dating a fraud, a failure at the game of life.
I recall what Frankie said earlier as Justin reclaims his seat. He's talking to me about something, but I'm too busy repeating over and over how I'm doomed to a life of inferiority to listen. Men like Justin are all sparkles and rainbows. They're those guys that even as kids you knew were going to make something of their lives, even if it wasn't obvious how, and they belong with equally sparkly girls. Justin fits perfectly with girls like Britney…and one day, it's not going to be me that wakes up to the truth of our odd union. I think it's going to be him.
I'm too much of a chickenshit to deal with that now. I make the decision not to tell him about the internship. Let him think I got it. I mean, perfect Laney Jane would've wooed them into hiring her on the spot. Perfect Laney Jane and perfect Justin Timberlake will enjoy a perfectly happy life together. And that's all I want.
Author Notes: Thanks to Steph and my sister, I'm hard at work on a screenplay entitled Runaway Bridge (i'm punchy...humor me!) They are my wonderful beta slaves and deserve kudos for making this chapter readable. I'm trying to get back on a schedule with this story...so hopefully no long waits between chapters. Oh, and if you think you hate Frankie now, wait until next chapter. Mwah.
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