One
Six
Months Earlier
“Ya
need help with those?” The cabbie asked, motioning to JC's bags.
JC
looked up at his new home, wincing as the sun peeked over the top of the dull
brown building. “Uh, no. Thanks.” He paid the driver, adding a tip. JC put the
laptop bag over his shoulder, pulled on his backpack, and picked up his two
large suitcases. He walked into the building and found that there was no
elevator. His apartment was on the third floor. JC reminded himself to never
let anyone else do his real estate work for him and started climbing.
“NO!”
A high voice screamed as he hit the second floor. “Do you have NO rhythm?
Blondie, I swear, firing you is high on my list of priorities today!”
JC
sighed and moved on, finally reaching his apartment. He set everything down and
dug for a key. The door opened and he sighed again. A small apartment, with a
tiny bedroom, tinier kitchen, and large common room. He walked over to the
windows and looked out. Down in the street some children played soccer. He
looked across and over some buildings and smiled. There was his destination.
He unpacked his bags and tried to make
himself at home. It didn't work. The apartment was cheap and used, and it
looked it. He decided to make some purchases to try and warm things up.
JC
was on his way back up to his apartment again when he passed the loud apartment
on the second floor. This time the door was open, and he couldn't help but peek
in. A short man with dark hair and a dark goatee was standing on two telephone
books, beating his fists on the chest of a tall, young blond man. “NO!” The
short man screamed. “How do you even remember your name?”
“I'm
sorry, Mr. Kirkpatrick,” the blond said, clapping his hand over his eyes in
exasperation. “I guess I'm just dumb…but these words…they're not easy to
remember. They're stupid.”
“Stupid?”
Mr. Kirkpatrick stared at him. “My words are NOT stupid!”
“Your
music is beautiful,” the blond said. A short man with tattoos stepped in from
the shadows and nodded his agreement. “But your words…”
“Carter…”
Mr. Kirkpatrick growled. The tattooed man cleared his throat and motioned to
the door. JC blushed and shuffled his feet. “Yes?”
“I'm
sorry…I was walking by and…”
“You're
new.” The short man walked over and pulled JC in by his shirt. “Christopher
Kirkpatrick…writer…director…musician.”
“Uh,
hi. JC Chasez…I'm a writer…”
“Can
you write lyrics?” The blond asked quickly. Christopher glared at him.
“I
never tried,” JC said.
“PLEASE
try,” the tattooed man said.
“Here.”
Christopher handed the sheet music to JC with a sniff. JC looked it over and
picked a pencil up off the table. He scribbled a few things and handed the
paper to Christopher. The man read it, blinking hard. “You ARE a writer!”
Christopher shouted with glee. “And you're cute, too.” JC blushed.
“I'm
Nick Carter,” the blond said. “I'm an actor.”
“You're
TRYING to be,” Christopher said.
“Alexander
McLean…AJ…” the tattooed man said, shaking JC's hand. “You just move in?”
“Yes,”
JC said. “I wanted to try my hand at a novel, and I was told this is the place
to go.”
“You
can say that again,” Christopher said. “But forget your novel. You will write
the libretto for my masterpiece!”
“You
write for the theater?” JC asked.
“Not
just any theater. I write for the Star Theater,” Christopher said arrogantly.
“I've
heard of it…isn't that the gay theater? The one that does burlesque and drag
shows?” JC asked. Nick looked away. AJ cleared his throat. Christopher
swallowed twice before speaking.
“I
don't want to punch someone I just met, so I will let that slide. That is what
that theater does NOW, but soon that will all change. As long as I can get
Joseph Fatone to allow me to produce one of MY shows at that theater, it will
become a TRUE theater…real actors, real music, real theater.”
“He
owns the place?” JC asked. Nick nodded.
“And
right now he can't afford to turn the theater into something good.”
“But
if you work with me on this over the next day or so…we can get in and show it
to Justin. Justin will agree and we'll be in!” Christopher said gleefully.
“But
I thought you said Joseph Fatone owns the theater,” JC said, confused.
“He
does,” AJ said. “But Justin Timberlake is the Star Theater.”
