January 11, 2000
Audrey stared at the piece of paper in her hand, trying to sum up the courage to dial the number on it. Just call him! she shouted at herself. But what if he doesn't want to talk to me? What if he was just being polite? Audrey sighed and wondered why she was making such a big deal out of it. Glancing up from the paper, she looked around her, taking in the ugly orange and brown decor of the hotel room she was staying in. At least the hideously ugly curtains match the hideously ugly bedspread, she observed. That's more than I can say for the last place I stayed when I was in Bath. Funny how it's such an amazingly beautiful city, but the hotel rooms are notoriously ugly.
But back to the matter at hand. Suddenly decisive, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed the number, not even needing to look at the paper she held. She'd been staring at that number so long that she knew it off by heart. She held her breath as the phone rang, once, then twice.
"Hello?"
She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she heard that voice. "Timberlake?"
"Audrey?"
"The one and only," she replied, mimicking his response from their earlier conversation.
"I wasn't sure I was going to hear from you," he said.
I wasn't sure I was going to call you. "How are you?" she asked.
"Tired," he groaned. "Management decided that this free time we suddenly had would be a great opportunity for us to cram in some publicity for the upcoming album, so we've been travelling all over."
"Poor baby," Audrey murmured unsympathetically. "Speaking of your management, I Fed-Exed them the contact sheets from the shoot a few days ago, have you guys seen them yet?"
"No, we haven't had a chance to get to the studios because of all this travelling. We should be heading back home in a few days, so I guess we'll see them then. Any good ones of me?"
"Is there such a thing as a bad picture of you?" she teased.
"Well, no. But I was just making sure you hadn't airbrushed my head out of them."
"I was tempted, believe me," she informed him. "But that big fro of yours takes up so much space that if I airbrushed it out, it's be impossible to fill in the gigantic hole your hair would leave behind."
"You wound me!" he cried, adding a fake sob for effect.
"You can take it. Go get one of your millions of groupies to stroke your ego."
"It's not my ego they'd be stroking," he shot back.
"Pervert."
"I'm not a pervert, I'm just a normal 18-year-old boy."
"Like I said, pervert."
"I miss you," he sighed.
"I miss you too."