I check my watch for the hundredth time and stare impatiently at the floor lights above the elevator doors. As if doing that would make the elevator arrive any earlier. I knew that of course, it just helped me feel like I was actually doing something to stop myself from being any later than I already was. It’s like when people press door buttons repeatedly – it doesn’t make them open any faster it just makes people feel better. It bugs the hell out of me when I get stuck in a lift with a compulsive button-pusher but I was that person today. At least nobody was around to get bugged. It finally announces its arrival at the fifth floor with an annoying ding. Like I’m supposed to be impressed it arrived. Like when you turn on computers and they launch into that stupid fanfare before doing anything! The stupidest things bug me, as you’ve probably already guessed.
I step out of the lift and check the piece of paper in my hand. I had to go to room 547, WAY down the corridor. I momentarily debate whether to run, but then decide against it. Three reasons – I HATE running. I think you should only run if being chased. Reason number two; I was just too damn lazy. And reason three was my tendency to trip/fall/cartwheel all over the place. My Mom used to call me her baby elephant for this reason. Kinda apt.
When I get to the right room, I knock on the door and take the answering grunt as my cue to enter. I plaster a big smile on my face and saunter inside, quickly scoping out the room. It was pretty big and very white. One of those minimalist types. It was empty except for two big red sofas opposite each other and a water cooler. A typical room set aside by record companies for journalists. This particular company is Jive, and I am there on behalf of an English magazine called Smash Hits. I have to interview Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys. I’m not going to lie to you and say I have no clue who he is. I mean, c’mon! I LOVE those guys. My housemate Alicia and me have all their CDs and videos. We have BSB nights where we basically play all their videos and alternate between swooning and screams of laughter. Alicia’s favourite Boy is Nick but I never can decide. I go through phases.
The Backstreet Boy is sprawled across one of the sofas with his baseball cap pulled low over his face. He looks pretty pissed off and I groan inwardly – GREAT way to start an interview, Jade. Real professional. As he looks up at me I bound across the room to him, hand outstretched.
“Hi! I’m SO sorry about the lateness.” He reluctantly shakes my hand and I sit opposite him on the other sofa. “I was aimin’ to get here early too. Even set my watch early to be sure…” I giggle and then shut up quickly when I realise 1, how insane I sounded and 2, how sulky he looked.
He shrugs. “What went wrong?”
“Oh everything.” I roll my eyes and grin. “But I won’t bore you.”
He mutters sarcastically, “Gee that’s good of ya,” and pulls his cap even lower over his eyes.
I throw him a sharp look and pull a tape recorder out of my bag. “Mind if I tape?”
“Whatever.” He glances at his watch. “You got 20 minutes.”
“I thought we had an hour.”
“That was BEFORE you decided to be late.”
“I didn’t just decide!” I feel myself getting angry and take a deep breath to calm down. “Hey, I apologised. And I’m only 10 minutes late.”
“Not my problem.” He shrugs. “I got a LIFE y’know.”
“Ah well, there goes my first question.” I click on the tape recorder as he shoots me a dirty look.
Exactly twenty minutes later I turn off the tape and stand up. He looks up at me surprised.
“We’re done already?”
I tap my watch. “YOU said 20 minutes.”
“Oh yeah.” He shrugs. “I was just bein’…”
“Whatever.” I head towards the door and he stands up.
“You REALLY asked all your stuff?”
I look him up and down coldly. It really unnerves him. “Y’know, you’re really not that interesting.”
He stares at me and I leave. Strike one! I stomp down the corridor and push the elevator button. Ugh, the arrogance of that guy! Just cos he was famous, he figured he could treat people any way he liked. Well, not THIS girl. The elevator doors open and I step inside. Before they can close, he’s there. Blocking the door with his foot.
“Man, where d’you get off bein’ so damn bitchy?”
I stare at him. “Me?! YOU started it.” Yeah, I know – real childish but I couldn’t help it. He just affected me that way.
“You were late!”
I metamorph into my Mom and put my hands on my hips. “Oh and I guess you’ve never been late?!”
“I…I…I…” He stammers at me and then folds his arms, doing a great impression of my Dad after he caught me breaking curfew. “I have more right to be late than YOU anyways.”
“Oh!” I gasp. “God, you really think you’re somethin’ Mr Nick I’m-a-Backstreet-Boy Carter, well you AIN’T all that. Not even a LITTLE bit.”
He glares at me. “Well your head is so big I’m surprised you can walk!”
“Huh?!” I look at him in puzzlement.
He gestures. “Y’know…too heavy.”
“Oh.” I feel my anger evaporate. “I think the right insult would be I’m surprised you can get through doors.”
He blushes slightly. “Yeah.”
“Maybe next time you could try getting the insult straight.”
I move his foot away with mine and press the button for the ground floor again. The doors close and the elevator starts to descend. Shame he was such an arrogant prat - he was kinda gorgeous. Especially when he blushed. I stifle a giggle and head out to my car.
Rolling over in my waterbed, I glance at the clock. It reads 11:57, almost noon. What in the world has compelled me to sleep so late? I groan loudly. I climb out of my bed and walk into the bathroom to put my hair up. Next thing I know, I hear the phone ringing, and without having to second-guess, I am sure I know who it is. It is probably my boss calling me up to tell me not to bother coming to work tomorrow. I have been late to work five times in the last two weeks, and I know it is just a matter of time.
I know why I have overslept. It is probably because of my obsession with going out to clubs. I love them! I had, in fact, been to one last night. I went with my cousin AJ McLean, and we stayed out a little too late. I groan again. This is also my second time to be fired in the last three months. I’m not this incredibly wild girl, who doesn’t worry about responsibilities, because I do. I have my priorities, but working isn’t one of them.
Walking through the living room and into the kitchen, I listen as my machine picked up.
“Hey, this is Jade and Ali. We ain’t home now, so leave a message and we’ll THINK about calling you back. BEEP!”
“Yo, Al. I guess you are at work, but ya gotta call me when ya get home. I got a surprise for you. Don’t worry, you’ll lo-”
I grab the phone. “Hey, cuz. Sorry for not answering. I thought you were my boss calling to fire me.”
“No problem. Why aren’t you at work? And would she be firing you?” Then, realisation sank in. “Ohh, I get it.”
I laugh. “Thanks to YOU taking me out last night, I over slept and any minute now I’m positive she’s going to fire me. Why can’t I keep a damn job?!” I added, frustrated.
“Well, maybe I can cheer you up,” he suggests.
I raise my eyebrows. “And how are you going to do that?”
“You’ll see later. Is the absolutely delicious Jade home?”
I laugh at his forwardness. “No, she has an interview. She should be home soon,” I answer, checking the clock above the dining table.
“Good, I’m coming over in a few, aight?”
I sigh. Why he couldn’t ask to come over like normal people, I don’t know. “Sure. Whatever, J.”