Oreos for Breakfast: Chapter 34

Oreos For Breakfast: Chapter 34
By the Paperbag Princess and Pumpkin Coach

I looked at the lights of LA, stretching on forever, it seemed.

I hated LA. What was a city without a skyline? LA looked like someone had spilled lightbulbs all over the ground and they needed to be swept up.

I suppose a better metaphor would be something about spilled diamonds, but I wasn't feeling that charitable at the moment.

It was too much trouble to deal with going out. I didn't want to hang with young Hollywood. Or even old Hollywood. I didn't want to deal with any of Hollywood, and that seemed as if that was all there was. No matter where you'd go there would be cameras eventually. Even if you found the dingiest dive bar around.

I wanted to go home. One more show before it was home for Thanksgiving, and then back to New York and recording. I knew recording would be so much better than it had been when we were in LA. That was part of the problem. You couldn't make music in this soulless city full of plastic people and fake relationships. We needed New York as our backdrop where you could look out the window and see four songs in the making just by watching people as they walked down the street or rode on the subway.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair on the balcony. It was warm here. New York didn't have that. And it had been a good show tonight, and tomorrow would probably be better, but until then… I didn't have anything to do. We had a dozen songs to play with when we hit the studio next month, so I didn't even feel any pressure to come up with something.

I was sick of TV and surfing the Internet. I wasn't even tired. I could get dressed and have a drink at the bar and pick up some cute groupie, but that just seemed like too much trouble.

Back in the room I heard my phone ring, and I jumped up to get it. I knew that ring. I liked that ring. It would distract me.

"Justin?"

"Does your phone still play 'Girlfriend' when I call?" He sounded more amused than annoyed by that.

"It cracks me up, curly. What are you doing?"

"Staring at your hotel."

I blinked at the phone for a second. "What?"

"So, I'm at the Starbucks across the street, and I don't think anyone has noticed me. But I'm not sure how to get into the hotel. There are a bunch of screaming girls outside."

"They're not screaming girls. They're here to subvert the patriarchy and support some kick ass women rockers."

"Gwen Stefani in a bikini top is subverting the patriarchy? Right. You believe whatever you want to, senorita. I know my demographic when I see it, and someone in that group of screaming feminists is going to recognize me and then the jig is up."

"We're jigging?" I said, trying not to laugh. If nothing else, this man could make me laugh and right now that's all I wanted. Well, maybe that and something else…

"And jagging, if you can get me inside that hotel."

My evening had suddenly become far more interesting.

"Give me ten minutes."

I hung up and called Frank's cell. "What?" he said.

"Where are you?"

"Attempting to enjoy the fact that I'm not babysitting you idiots tonight."

I loved that he always made it sound like he had to watch my entire band, when we all knew it was just me. The guys didn't get hassled the way I did.

"Can I get you to do me one teeny tiny favor? I promise, it'll take you fifteen minutes."

He sighed. "Yes, dear. What?"

"There's a Starbucks across the street."

"I can get someone from the hotel to get you a latte, Rachel."

"I need something else from Starbucks. Justin Timberlake is there, and he needs to sneak into the hotel." I held my breath waiting for his response. And he laughed. Frank never laughed.

Okay, it was more like a snort, but it was sorta a laugh.

"Who did you say?" I knew he'd heard me, but I indulged him.

"Justin Timberlake."

"The Justin Timberlake? Ex of Nsync. Current king of the charts."

"You remember him. We toured with him in the spring. Cute one with the short curly hair… not to be confused with the one with the long curly hair. You know, the gay one that you're usually smuggling into places."

"Yeah, I remember him. If I agree to smuggle him into the hotel, what do you plan to do with him?" He asked. What was he, my father?

"You don't need those kind of details, do you? I'm legal, he's legal. Don't think about it too hard."

"Probably not, you're right. Justin. Really?"

"You say that like you're surprised, Frank."

"I thought you were over the boybands, Rachel. Where's that sensible stockbroker you're always saying you want?" I could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Come on, baby. Be honest. You'd tap that ass if you had the chance." I looked at myself in the mirror and nearly screamed. I needed to put on some makeup or at least comb my hair. And brush my teeth. How long would it take Frank to smuggle my popstar upstairs? Did I have time for a shower?

Frank pondered for a moment. "Okay. I would. Ten minutes."

He hung up as I laughed. Ten minutes. That was doable. Shit! Did I have condoms?

In five minutes, I'd found condoms, brushed my teeth and found my lipstick, lit candles, and put on a really sexy black teddy. Which I covered up with the hotel robe, because it was bad enough that Frank was fetching Justin so that I could fuck him, he didn't need to see that I'd pulled out the lingerie.

Not that I really thought I needed to seduce Justin. We both knew why he'd come here tonight.

Hell, Frank knew why he'd come here tonight.

Justin freaking Timberlake, king of the charts, as Frank had said, was here because he wanted me. I made him sneak around and he was still here.

I ran my fingers through my curls and smiled at myself in the bathroom mirror. Yeah, I still had it. Nick hadn't thought of me as a wanton sex goddess in a long time, but fuck him.

Justin had won the chart battle and now he got the spoils of war. That's what Nick got for being an asshole.

There was a knock on the door and I ran for it, taking a deep breath before opening it. "Have fun," Frank said, pushing a tall figure in a hooded sweatshirt into the room. "I'll be back at five to collect him."

"Five?" I asked.

"A. M.?" Justin added.

"Is this a secret or not? At five a.m., the groupies will be sleeping."

"Fine," I said, shutting the door. "Call first."

"We'll be busy," Justin said as I locked the door. "I brought cookies," he said, as I turned around, leaning against the door.

"Cookies?"

"And a hazelnut latte. Frank said you like hazelnut. The cookies were his idea, too. We got them when he brought me through the kitchen."

I took the cookies and coffee from him and put them on the dresser. I didn't want the cookies. The cookies at this hotel were good, but then I remembered having them the night of the Grammys when I'd passed out, and that led to… other thoughts.

Fuck all that.

I dropped my robe, and Justin smiled. "Cold coffee is good, too."

I grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled him closer. "Is this your disguise? Didn't you wear this in the 'Cry Me a River' video?"

"This one's blue."

"Completely different, then."

I kissed him. He backed me against the wall, running his hands over my body as our lips met.

Not a great kisser. Whatever.

He moved away as I laughed to myself and smiled at me. "You in the flesh. Damn. I never thought this would actually happen."

"Neither did I, so stop talking and just fuck me."

He didn't say another word, returning his mouth to mine and kissing me thoroughly as I unbuckled his belt and helped him out of his jeans.

The phone rang, jarring me out of sleep, and I fumbled for it. "What?"

"Fifteen minutes. Unless you want to keep him."

I suddenly remembered whose hand was on my shoulder. "Twenty," I said, dropping the phone back into the receiver.

That was Justin fucking Timberlake sleeping next to me. Not even an arm's length away with one hand on my bare shoulder.

We hadn't had the sort of sex that leads to cuddling afterwards. We'd had panting, moaning, athletic sex that lead to exhaustion and covering up bite marks the next morning.

"Twenty minutes, curly," I said, turning over. Yeah, he had a dull hickey on his chest. How'd I manage that?

"No," he whined, rubbing his face. "What time is it?"

"Twenty minutes before you need to leave." I responded, looking around for the robe I'd had last night.

"I can't stay?"

"No," I said, laying a hand on his chest. It was a really nice chest. Just an okay kisser, but he had a body built for sex. Hard in all the right spots. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He held my hand against his chest and looked at me intently in the flickering light from the one candle that had survived the night. "Really?"

Propping my head on my hand to see him better, I considered it. "No," I finally answered. "We can't do this, Justin."

"We just did," he said, making me smile.

"That we could do again. But I don't want the rest of it. I don't want our pictures in the papers. I don't want fucking gossip hounds speculating on our lives. I hate that."

He rolled out of bed, looking for his clothes. The clothes could stay lost for a while. He had an amazing body.

"You just don't want to have to tell your band."

I laughed. "That, too."

He stepped into his boxers and then leaned on the bed, kissing me again. "Before I get dressed, are you sure I can't stay?"

"Positive."

He sighed and got up, finding his clothes. "This is inhumane, really. We have this great night, then you let me sleep for twenty minutes and kick me out."

"It was half an hour. And now you know how the groupies feel."

He considered for a moment, and then nodded. "True. Poor groupies. Do you always kick them out at five in the morning?"

"Oh, they never get to sleep. I get off, they get out."

He turned to look at me, pulling on his t-shirt. "Really?"

I laid back in bed, letting the sheet slide down and expose my breasts. "Oh, yeah. I find that sleeping then leads to great awkwardness in the morning. And I like having the bed to myself."

He jumped on the bed, straddling my hips and leaning down to kiss me again. "You're such a guy sometimes."

"I'm a girl when it matters."

He kissed me, pressing his hips against mine through the sheet. "You're not staying," I whispered.

"We've got like ten minutes, right?"

I woke up again at noon, starving.

Sex could do that to me.

Stretching my arms above my head, I smiled, remembering my night. Fucking Justin Timberlake was the perfect way to end this tour. I didn't even have to deal with him today. He was probably already on a plane home to his momma for Thanksgiving.

I had a little more to be thankful for today.

I rolled out of bed and into the shower, where I discovered finger marks on my hips. Battle scars. I'd show them off if I could.

Pulling on jeans and a sweater, I called James' cell phone. Maybe he and JC were awake and we could meet for lunch. JC would probably want to hear all about this, too.

"Hey, baby, where are you?" I asked when James answered the phone.

"In the hotel."

"Really? Sneak out early so you didn't blow your cover?"

"Something like that."

"Let's get lunch. You need to hear about my night."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm beat, Rachel."

"Come on, James, you cannot be so tired that you don't want to hear my news. It's good stuff, I swear."

"I think I'm getting sick, and I just want to sleep."

I grabbed my room key, letting the door slam behind me as I started down the hall to James' room. "I don't care. The tour's over tonight. I'll risk illness to tell you this."

"Just tell me now and I'll see you later."

"No. Open the door!" I knocked, but he didn't answer.

"I know you're in there, James. Unless you're lying about being in the hotel."

"Fine." The door opened and I went in, following James as he laid back in his bed. All the curtains were drawn, so the room was dark.

"Let in some light, baby, it'll make you feel better." I started to open the curtains, but his voice stopped me.

"Stop. I like the dark. Just tell me your freaking news and leave."

Surprised by his tone, I sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch his forehead. "Wow, you really must be sick. Did JC give you some horrible California bug?"

He waved my hand away. "Don't touch me. What's the news, Rachel?"

He rolled over, staring at the wall, ignoring me.

He wasn't sick.

"What happened, James?" I asked quietly, but I was pretty sure I knew. If something had happened with his family, if one of his parents was sick, or hurt, he would have told me as soon as he got the news.

"Nothing happened. I've got a cold."

"You don't sound like you've got a cold."

I turned on the light next to the bed and he pulled a pillow over his head, surely hiding his face so I wouldn't be able to see that he'd been crying.

"James," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Something happened with JC. You can't keep it from me forever."

"Karma happened," he responded, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"What?"

He threw the pillow across the room and looked at me, his eyes haunted. "Karma," he repeated. "Michael asked me to choose him or the band and I choose the band. I asked JC to choose me or the band and he choose the band."

"He doesn't even have a band right now."

"Fuck you! You think that doesn't make it worse?"

"That's not what I meant, James. I just… why did you ask him to choose?"

"I told him if he didn't come out, then I couldn't be with him, and he couldn't do it. He chose his stupid, closeted life over me."

"He's just scared, sweetie."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less, Rachel!" He sat up, glaring at me. "Great, he's scared. So am I. But I'd do whatever he wanted me to do if it meant we could be together."

"You wouldn't stay with him if he stayed in the closet."

"Shut up!"

Okay, logic wasn't working. That was fine. I understood how nothing made sense when the person you loved most left you.

"Can you tell me what happened? I thought you were going to spend the night at his place."

"I was. I was driving up to his house, and he asked me to get some ice cream on my way. So, I stopped at the grocery store, and this… kid walked up to me, and asked for an autograph, and I gave it to him, and this story fell out of him about how he's known he was gay since he was a kid, but he couldn't tell anyone, and then a year ago he saw our video and me with that stupid fucking JC puppet, and I was gay and that was okay and no one cared. He called me a fucking role model and all I could think was that I was buying ice cream for this man that I love, but I couldn't say that to this kid. He thinks I'm a fucking role model, and I'm in love with one of the most closeted men in the world. It's not like I want to be a role model, but I don't have a choice. I'm famous, and I'm gay, and I'm not hiding it. I just couldn't be that fucking hypocritical for one more second."

"What did you say to the kid when all of this is running through your head?"

James gave me half a smile at that. "I just signed the autograph and told him I was glad I could help him accept his sexuality and I hoped he had a great life. Then I went to JC's, threw the ice cream at him and told him he had to come out."

"And he said?"

"To not give him fucking ultimatums, and it wasn't just him, he had the band- the fucking band. He doesn't even have a band. He's more delusional than I ever thought if he really thinks that Justin is going back to Nsync. The band is fucking over, so it's just him that he needs to worry about if he comes out."

"That's new, though. He's still feeling responsible-"

"It's a convenient fucking excuse, and you know it, and I know it, and JC knows it. He's a fucking pussy and he doesn't have the balls to come out of the closet. So fuck him. I don't need him."

I just looked at him for a moment, and he fell over on the bed. "I'm going to die," he moaned, and I leaned over, hugging him.

"No you're not. I know it feels like it right now, but you'll live. He's not good enough for you, James. You need someone who's not afraid to love you, someone who can give you the world."

"I want him. He's… I…. we… I wanted to grow old with him, Rache," he said, his voice breaking. "I wanted to spend forever with him. I wanted to see him with grey in those curls and laugh lines around his pretty eyes. I could have made him happy."

"I know, baby, I know…" I whispered, lying down behind him, wrapping my arms around him.

"He's not happy, Rachel. He wasn't happy before he met me, because he could never be honest with anyone about anything."

"You made him so happy, James. I know you did."

I made Nick happy, too. He'd told me that, a million times. Somehow, it wasn't enough.

James started to cry, and I held him tighter. "So why didn't he pick me?"

"Because boys are stupid."

James tried to laugh, but it didn't work, so he gave up, sobbing into his pillow while I held him.

I'd always worried that this would happen. Part of me hated James and JC together, because James had to compromise parts of himself to be in that relationship. But… they were so happy, most of the time. James was head over heels in love with him.

Fucking JC. I'd have to kill him the next time I saw him.

I was pretty sure this was how James felt about Nick. At least JC had the excuse of the pressure of centuries of civilization. Nick was just an asshole.

After a few minutes, James caught his breath, and I handed him the tissue box next to the bed. "This is the last one," he said, blowing his nose, and I noticed the pile of used tissues next to the bed.

I found more in the bathroom and I brought them back to him. "Why didn't you call me when you got back last night?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"I couldn't talk about it. I didn't really want to talk about it when you called. What's your big news, anyway?"

"Nothing. It's stupid," I said, sitting at the foot of the bed, considering him.

"Come on, it's got to be good. Cheer me up. Was it three guys this time?"

I smiled. "Just one."

"Anyone I know?" I couldn't look at him, and he laughed. "Not Justin."

"Maybe," I admitted, making him laugh again.

"You're making him keep it a secret, aren't you? Please tell me he's not the next love of your life! I can't handle that. And Jeremy..."

"Stop! Yes. Of course... we need to stop getting involved with members of Nsync."

"I've always thought Lance might swing my way," James mused and I knew he was trying to pull himself out of his mood.

That made me giggle, and I reached out, taking his hand. "You should eat something."

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. But he got out of bed anyway, moving toward the bathroom.

"Brush your teeth and stuff and I'll order room service. You can pick at something and I'll let you pick a movie to watch on pay-per-view. Even the bad gay porn. We can laugh at how fake the sex is."

"I don't want to see guys getting laid. Should I assume one night with Justin took it out of you?"

"And then some. Want to hear about how Frank had to smuggle him into the building?"

I'd make stuff up if it made James laugh.

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