Lustful Memoirs
By: Gina - gina@basic-nstynct.com
Chapter Fifty NineI showered and dressed. A pair of well-worn jeans and a light cotton shirt covered my body. My hair was in a haphazard ponytail, my feet bare, as I descended the steps and entered the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee. Surprisingly I didn’t feel the exhaustion of the night before, though I got very little sleep. It was as if Justin infused me with energy. The sluggish, tired feeling that I had expected never came. Pouring a cup of the warm, caramel colored liquid, I settled on one of the stools by the center island and raised the phone.
I dialed the digits that the small piece of paper in front of me held, the number that belonged to Brenda. She answered on the third ring, her voice reminding me of my own.
"Brenda, it’s Blake."
I heard the quick intake of air, the unsteady breath. This was going to be difficult for both of us. Silence persisted for a moment before she responded.
"Blake, hello."
The conversation was uncomfortable, a few words, followed by none, a muttered statement, followed by pause. Eventually, after a fifteen minute strangled conversation we had lunch plans.
I arrived at the restaurant, my palms moist, my breathing rapid. I knew not what to expect. If our conversation over the phone was indicative of what I was to experience, I knew I was in trouble. The maitre de led me to the table, Brenda already seated, a drink in her hand. She stood as I approached, once again we scrutinized each other. It was as if we looked in the mirror, her eyes the same color of mine, our lips curving at the same places, our noses sloping in the same manner. Our coloring, our body structure, everything the same. Our hands touched in greeting. She smiled, I smiled and we sat. The waiter approached inquiring as to my drink selection. Thankful for the momentary distraction, I ordered seltzer water with lime. I knew I had to meet a client that evening, therefore the alcohol that I wished circulated through my veins had to be forgone. As the waiter departed, I wondered what to say. There was no reason for me to worry. She spoke first.
"So, you like Nsync?" She asked the question, inquiring as to the only common ground we shared at that moment. I smiled in response, Justin's imaging filtering through my mind.
"I do enjoy their music." I stated, "I actually worked for them for awhile." I wished to speak frankly. I wished to lay the cards on the table. I wondered how she would react.
"Worked for them, doing what?" Her eyebrows furrowed. The waiter placed my drink in front of me. I thirstily took a sip.
"Brenda, there is no easy way to say this. I want to start our relationship, friendship, sisterhood, oh hell, I don't know what ever this is. I want to start it out honestly. I'm work for an escort service."
"You mean, you’re a hooker?"
I sighed, "yes." The single word was the only plausible reply.
She looked away, searching for some response. I let her off the hook, knowing the shock that my words must have caused. "You don't have to say anything, it was my way of life for awhile. But I only have four weeks left, and then I'm quitting."
"You worked as a prostitute for them? " I was happy to see that she wouldn't pull punches either.
"Yes, I did." I answered truthfully, wanting to see her reaction. She paled, sipping her drink. An uncomfortable silence settled between us, I knew the thoughts that must have filtered through her mind. She had just found out that she had a sister, a twin sister at that. And now she learns that that same person had been hired to sleep with her ex-boyfriend. I can’t say that I could blame her for her reaction, mine probably would have been the same, if not worse. For a moment, I felt pity for her, that I had thrust her into this most unlikely of circumstances. The pity was quickly replaced as I remembered the cold cobalt eyes of JC, the pain riddling Justin’s turquoise ones. The pity turned to anger. I held it in check, not wanting our first meeting to end in hatred and arguments. Her actions angered me that was true. However she was my sister, and I in now way wanted to hate her. I longed to fill the silence, to some way ease into a conversation that I knew would not be pleasant. I reverted back to the common ground that we shared.
"What about you, Brenda? You like Nsync too?"
I saw her fidget, I saw her grow nervous, her leg shaking, a habit I had.
"I used to date one of them."
"JC" I said his name, my tone revealing that I was not questioning.
"Yes, JC." She choked over his name, it falling from her lips in the most ungraceful of manners
"He's an interesting guy." I wanted her to open up, to tell me about him. I thought about what I had read in his journal, the words he had used to describe the woman seated in front of me. The sheer love that lingered on every thought he had of her, how her departure had tormented him so. I wanted to know, no, needed to know, what had caused her to desert such unbridled passion and feeling. An emotion that was once elusive to me, an emotion that at one time I didn’t feel existed. But sitting in front of her, I knew that it did. It existed between Jen and Lance, the first people to give me a glimpse of what true love was. It existed between Brenda and JC. At least on his part it did. As I read his words, his poetry, his music, it all centered on the woman seated no more then four feet away. And it was pure, and it was true, and it was my second observation of genuine devotion and passion. Justin was my final peering into that evasive emotion of love, he not only allowed me to look, he made me feel it, made me breath it, made me want to give my entire life for just one moment captured in love’s embrace. How could this woman have had that, only to throw it all away?
"You think JC is interesting?" She wondered, aloud, the confusion the pricked her senses showing on her face.
I ignored her question, longing to get to the point, longing to get her to realize what she had given up. "He told me about you. You've hurt him."
I could see the tears form in the corner of her eyes as she looked away. I held no sympathy for her. My only goal was to understand. "I know." Her words were barely a whisper.
"Why?" I had to ask the question.
"I don't wish to discuss this. If you don't mind."
Anger rose inside of me, perhaps it was out of place, perhaps it was inappropriate, yet it flowed, free as the undammed river. My face grew red. I could feel my blood rush, pulsating in my temples, I could feel the heat warming my skin. ‘She didn't want to talk about it,’ I thought to myself. I didn't care. She sat before me a mere stranger, our only link the DNA that made us. She had hurt JC, in turn, hurting Justin. Therefore being no better then the man I had unleashed on the night before. I wouldn’t allow him to hurt Justin, and even though this woman didn’t directly hurt him, the hurt ran just as deep and that was unforgivable, whether she was my sister or not.
"I do mind." I began, hoping to hold my tone steady, but knowing that it was useless. "I wish to discuss it. Because he is miserable, do you understand me? Miserable. You leave without so much as a note, without a trace and you expect him to cope, to deal with that. Please tell me you aren't that selfish, that you aren't that uncaring. Please tell me that you had a good reason, a damn good reason. Please tell me that I won't be ashamed to call you my sister."
She sat dumbfounded, a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, and yet I could not back off.
"Please, Brenda, explain it to me. What happened? Why would you give him up?" My tone softened, something flashed in her eyes that made me. What I wasn’t sure, but something. I placed my hand over hers on the table. I could feel her trembling. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, console her, be her support. So, I did. I rose from the table, pulling a chair close to hers, and I pulled her toward me. She resisted at first, then settled her head on my shoulder. Her tears began, rolling down her face in a steady stream, her sobs coming in quick succession. I smoothed her hair, rubbed her back, did all I could think of to comfort her, until her crying subsided. She pulled away from me quickly, straightening her back, wiping her face with the cloth napkin.
I returned to my seat, allowing her the space and the time to pull herself back together. She sniffled, then looked at me.
"I can’t explain it to you. All I can say is that I loved him with all of my heart. He was everything to me, and I messed it up. There is no turning back. You wouldn’t understand."
"I wouldn’t." I responded, my voice once again taking on an icy edge. "Try me, Brenda. Tell me what I wouldn’t understand. I’ve told you about my life, well one aspect of it anyway. I’ve told you my most shameful secret. I’ve slept with men for money, Brenda. How proud do you think I am to tell you that? But this is what I do know, I know that you had a man that is completely heartbroken without you. Time hasn’t healed his wounds. He’s turned bitter, cold. He’s pushing everyone that cares about him away, he’s severing every tie he has with every one that cares about him, because you left him, with his heart, in his hands, ripped to shreds."
I cleared my throat, trying to form the words that I felt I had to say.
"Do you understand the love that he had for you? The deep, overflowing feelings that surrounded him when you guys were together. He loved you with an intensity that is rare, I hope that your decision to leave him has been worth it to you, because it’s torn him to pieces."
I watched as the lone tear formed in her right eye, and trailed down her face, moistening the dried paths. Her eyes met mine.
"Let it go, tell me, maybe I can help you."
She looked down and then back to me.
"It’s good to talk about these things," I told her, "a dear friend taught me that."
"I don’t even know where to begin. Everything is so overwhelming right now with me, with him, with you. Things are spiraling out of control and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to pull it all back together. You are a complete stranger to me, and yet I sit here and look at you, and see myself. I feel I know you without even asking one single question. You live in my body and I in yours. I’ve thought of nothing but you since our initial meeting. I wasn’t going to go to the concert. Didn’t, for the life of me, want to see him. Couldn’t bear to see his smile, hear his voice, that all-encompassing, powerful voice. Couldn’t bear to see the pain that I knew resided in his eyes. Yet, I couldn’t stay away. He was so close. I had to be near him. I never stopped loving him, never. You have to believe that, you have to understand that, or nothing else I say will make any sense to you. The day of the concert, I stared at the tickets for hours. I had never had a ticket before. I had never needed one. Though, I never really hung out with the Nsync family, I always went to the shows with him. I would stand backstage and watched him, or I’d sit with the sound guy, but never had I occupied an actual paid for seat. I sat on the chair, walked through the house, carrying the ticket with me. Sometimes I would throw it in the wastebasket, only to retrieve it. For some reason, I knew that going to this concert was the answer, that somehow, someway, it was what I needed to do that the solution to my problems would be there. With that feeling looming over me, how could I not go?"
She paused to take a drink of her water, as I sat entranced by her words, by her mannerisms. I could have been staring at myself. The way she formed each syllable, the way she chose to present each thought. It was me.
With a deep breath she continued, "the show was amazing, as always. Each one of them was giving his all, there was an error made here and there, but all in all Josh would have thought it was a successful show. I watched him, and could tell that though his mouth opened to provide the words and his body moved in formation with the others, I knew that he wasn’t there. I knew that he wasn’t giving 100%. I knew that I was the reason, that I had caused him to lose the one thing in his life that had always mattered more then anything, his music. All resolve I had of talking to him, of seeking him out, of explaining shot out of me. I felt defeated, the concert had held no answers, and it provided no solutions. As I walked out of the venue, I felt defeated. That’s when I ran into you. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that. But I can’t explain the feeling I had that day coupled with your appearance. Since that night, my every thought has been of you, of what your appearance in my life meant. When you called this morning, I froze. I had no idea what to say. I still don’t, to be honest. But I feel connected to you. Maybe you are the thing that I’ve always been missing, the piece of me that wasn’t there, that piece that always made me feel empty, because since that night, I have felt whole. Even without Josh, I have felt complete, like I’ve been put back together. I don’t know, you probably think I’m loony. And I wouldn’t blame you, if you’ve heard the stories of my behavior. But, really, I’m not."
Her words affected me, tears dripped from my eyes. I did nothing to stop them. I reached across the table, grabbing both of her hands in mine. This woman that sat across from me, with whatever problems ailed her, was my salvation. I knew it. I could feel it in the deep marrow of my bones. I was going to help her, and in turn we would both heal. I raised my eyes to stare directly into hers.
"Brenda, tell me what happened between you and JC. Let me try and help you put your life back together. Please."
Another tear ran down her cheek, her makeup streaked, mascara black trails down her face. A picture of me filtered through my mind. I was in Johnny’s house, staring into the bathroom mirror. I saw that image directly in front of me.
She drew in a jagged breath, exhaling slowly. I could see her pull of strength in her eyes.
"I guess I need to start at the beginning, or none of this will make sense. Please remember that I love him."
"I remember, I believe it. It’s okay, just tell me. Everything is going to be fine." I said the words though I had no idea if they were true. I actually had no idea what the definition of the word fine was. I knew JC’s feelings toward Brenda, knew of his overwhelming grief at her loss. But I also knew Justin, the fierce protectiveness, the deep seeded hatred he felt toward her. No, I had no idea if things were going to be fine, but I said the words, and hoped that everything would work out.
"When I was sixteen, I got pregnant. The guy was older then me but didn’t want to support my child or me. He wanted me to get an abortion. I couldn’t do it. I had the baby, and a married couple that I knew, adopted it. I knew that they could give her my daughter a good home. I’ve always had contact her, always kept tabs on what was happening with her. She calls me Auntie B. I could not have hoped for a better life for her. It is a life that is far better then I could have provided. I’ve not once regretted my decision. I met Josh one night in club here in LA. I can’t explain our attraction to each other, can’t explain how he captured my heart and never let go, he just did. I didn’t tell him about the baby, didn’t even tell him my real name. My past was something that I didn’t want him to know. Here he was this perfect man, with this unbelievable career, millions of dollars, thousands of girls screaming his name. How could a poor, little white trash girl like me compete against that? So, I made myself who I thought he would want. The night we met, I was at the club picking up the keys to the DJ’s house. I worked as a housekeeper. When Josh wanted to pick me up to take me out, I would have him meet me at one of the houses I cleaned, the clients were never home anyway, and I had keys. The clothes I wore belonged to them, I just borrowed them right out of their closets. It was this completely false, elaborate plan. And it worked. He never once questioned. And as time passed, it got easier and easier. We spent less time in LA. He would buy me clothes, not because I asked him to, but because he wanted to. He would spend all of his free time with me. It couldn’t have been better. Though the lies ate at me everyday, telling him the truth would have been worse. Telling him the truth meant losing him, because he certainly wouldn’t want the real me. He wanted that girl that lived in that huge mansion, not the girl that scrapped pennies together to buy a loaf of bread. As time moved on, we became inseparable. But there were times when I would leave him to visit my daughter. I would go away for two or three weeks. I used the guise of having to visit family, or going on this vacation with this friend or on that vacation with that aunt. Every excuse I could use for my departures I did. He always understood and he let me go. Always welcoming me back with open arms upon my return. As more time passed, the lies got the best of me. I couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t shatter the life that he and I built. Then one night, I got the call that no mother wants to receive. Pamela had fallen ill, she had been diagnosed with leukemia. That night I locked myself in the bathroom and I cried. I wouldn’t let him in. I couldn’t let him in. He didn’t even know about her.
Her words came in hurried spurts, as though if she didn’t get them out, they would be lost forever. I sat, listening to her tale. Sorrow for her filled me, my hands tightened over hers, urging her to continue, urging her to purge herself from the pain. She took in a sniffled breath. Letting go of one of my hands, she raised her glass to her lips, taking a long drink of the water. She placed the glass back on the condensation circle that had formed on the table.
"I spent the good part of the next morning in the bathroom as well. He had to shower in Justin’s room. I still wouldn’t let him in. He tried to get me to come out. He tried to get me to talk to him, I just couldn’t. What would I say? I thought about him that morning, my thoughts leaving my little girl for a few minutes to think about him. I thought about going to him and telling him the truth, letting the pieces fall where they may. But I know him, or knew him. He wouldn’t let me leave, not alone. Regardless of every lie, regardless of every misleading, he would have gone with me. I couldn’t do it. I knew his lifestyle. I knew how important that group is to him. I knew that the music pumped his blood through his body just as much as his heart. I knew of the schedules they are forced to keep, knew of all the pressure he felt. This video had to be done this way, this song had to sound just right, the choreography had to be just so. He was always under extreme pressure. He wouldn’t let himself fail. He longed for the credibility, longed for the respect his talent deserves. I couldn’t put any more pressure on him. I couldn’t tell him that I had a child, a child that had a life-threatening illness. I couldn’t force him to be there for me. I couldn’t allow him to force himself to be. This music, this group is his life. My child and I were the last thing his career needed. And as these thoughts ran through my head, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to let him off the hook. I needed to let him continue on his journey of achieving his dreams. I wouldn’t be the one to hold him back. I loved him too much to do that. So, I left, without a good-bye, without a note, without so much as a see you later. I left. My heart shattered as I closed that door. I didn’t think the tears would ever stop, not only for the potential loss of my child but also for the loss of the man that loved me more then anything. The man that I loved more then anything, except my little girl."
Her tears flowed freely now that her story was done, I had questions I wanted to ask, yet they would not come, could not come. I moved to sit next to her, I wrapped her in my arms. She sobbed openly, the wetness moistening my shirt. And then, the tears stopped. I handed her a napkin. She wiped her face, a small smile appearing on her lips.
"Blake, thank you. I never imagined it would feel so good to say that, to let it all go. You are the definite missing piece in my life."
I smiled at her words, only one thought lingering on my brain. "Brenda, how is your little girl."
Her smile widened, "she’s doing wonderfully, actually. The doctors are optimistic."
"That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time."
"I thought I was doing the right thing, the right thing for him, the right thing for his career. I didn’t want to hurt him. The pain that ripped through me at the thought of hurting him is indescribable. But either way, I would. I would hurt him. I thought I had picked the one that would cause the lesser hurt."
"I’m not sure about that, Brenda. Really I am not. He’s miserable, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, his short-tempered and ill mannered. He’s going to lose the group and his friends anyway."
"What do I do? Do you think I can help him?" Her questions were barely audible.
"Maybe. Actually, I think you could help him. Do you still love him? Do you still want him to be a part of your life, your real life, not the one you concocted for his benefit?"
"I still love him, Blake. I think of him every minute. I don’t know about being a part of his life again. I doubt he would want to be a part of mine. I’ve done so many things to hurt him. He might never forgive me."
"Honestly, Brenda, I can’t see him not wanting you back in his life. He can’t seem to live without you. He loves you, in that all-encompassing, take your breath away manner. I think if you let him in, showed him the real you, explained your reasons, told him that you loved him. I think you might be surprised how easily and how fast he would be able to accept that."
"Do you know him that well?"
It was the inevitable question. I sat before this woman, my sister, the one that held his heart, the woman that he cherished more then anything, and I had to think of what to say to her, without saying too much.
"I know what he’s told me. I know what Justin’s told me. I’ve seen the hurt in JC’s eyes."
"You talk with Justin?" She seemed to not believe that fact.
"I do talk to Justin. He’s a wonderful person, hard to get to know at first, but once you do, he’s wonderful. I think he’s my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend? Justin? Are we speaking of the same Justin Timberlake, you know, tall, skinny, unruly curly hair."
"One in the same."
"What do you mean, you think he’s your boyfriend?"
"We’ve never really talked about what we are. I know that I’m his, and he’s mine."
I smiled, a smile that lit up my entire face, it felt so good to share these details with someone, to have someone to share them with. Perhaps my sister was what I needed as well, her and Justin, of course.
"Justin never did like me. And I can understand why. I must have come across like a gibbering idiot to those guys. I was okay with Josh, felt comfortable around him, but meeting all of his friends was daunting, especially Justin. I think I made a complete fool of myself. Every time after that, I just kept to myself, didn’t even acknowledge them really."
"Justin can be daunting, no doubt about that. And he’s extremely protective of JC, I don’t think he ever fully understood the relationship that you and JC shared."
"And you think he would be able to understand now?"
"Let me take care of Justin." I stated with a snicker before continuing, "the first thing we have to do, is get you and JC to talk. I’ll figure out a way. Let me take care of everything."
She agreed.
As lunch continued, we developed an ease of talking. We spoke of our childhood, growing up in different areas. We talked of her parents and of mine. We talked about school, boys. We were two young adults acting as young adults should act. We gossiped, traded hair care secrets, whispered about the men in our life. She was my sister, and quickly becoming my best friend.