Date: Wed, 20 Nov 2002 02:48:08 -0700 From: xykos@earthlink.net Subject: Elaborate Lives Part 3 Disclaimer: I do not know N Sync. This is a purely fictional story created in the recesses of my warped mind. Any similarities with actual people is merely coincidental. I'm pleasantly surprised by the amount of emails I received for this story. Thanks. Comments are welcome at xykos@earthlink.net And finally, I know this is a erotic story archive and the lewd acts will be coming soon. I just want to develop a working story first. Imagine that, a porno with a story. For those of you being impatient, it'll probably start in chapter 5. Chapter 6 at the latest. Maybe. ;^P Anyway . . . enjoy. Elaborate Lives Chapter Three So come with me now, we can fly away There's a time to be saved, and you're damned if you stay Put your foot on the gas and let's go Take a chance on a promise, on a roll of the dice We can set a few fires, we can melt all the ice We can have more adventures then you'd ever even dreamed you would know There's a feast waiting for you and you've never even gotten a taste It's later than you think, And a kiss is a terrible thing to waste After the shock of it all faded away, I began to realize that James still lay upon me, trying to get me undressed. His tongue had parted my lips and was violently thrashing in my mouth, stifling my protests. I tried to pry him off of me but he was stronger than I thought. He had me pinned against the couch, straddled me with his muscular thighs, working his hands toward the elastic band holding my sweats up. His hand brushed against my groin, and feeling a growing hardness there, he renewed his efforts vigorously. I wasn't thinking, I just wanted him off. Sure I wanted this, but not like this. Not empty, not this raw. Unthinking, I bucked my hips, trying to unbalance him. His hands took advantage of my mistake; the sweats I was wearing slid off easily enough. The only thing stopping it from sliding off completely was the thing that James wanted most. A power surged through me as this state of vulnerability overcame me. I shoved him off and he went flying into the coffee table, hitting his head on the corner before falling to the floor. I pulled my pants back on and glanced at James. He was getting up, a flow of blood falling from a nasty gash over his eye. The emerald glow was gone, a flash of blackness entered his normally calm expression, anger clouding his face. I didn't care. "What the hell was that!" I yelled angrily. He scoffed, wiping the blood covering his eye, flinging it into the cream colored carpet. "It's not like you didn't want it." He whispered savagely, pointing at my diminishing erection. How dare he. My steely gray eyes darkened with anger as well. "I can't believe you. You know nothing about me, how the hell do you know what I want and what I don't want." I saw him ready with a retort, but I wasn't finished. "You think that I'm just a cheap little fling that you can have, a groupie you can use? Well, fuck you, Bass. Go to hell." I jumped off the couch and headed toward the bathroom. The words he was yelling toward me fell on deafened ears. I had to get out, before I let the anger building up get the best of me. The blue walls of the bathroom were soothing, I sat on the toilet seat, willing myself to calm down. I had no idea how long I sat there, not thinking about anything, just existing with my anger, waiting for it to subside. I hated losing control like I did. My emotions always got the best of me, making me do things, say things I didn't really mean. After everything that happened, I still liked James. Finding out he liked me was astonishing, but how he attacked me shocked me to the core. It just didn't seem like him. Well whether it was him or not, I knew for sure it wasn't me. I glanced at the mirror, hating what I saw. I was 27, god damn it. 27, almost 28. Almost 30. I had never been in a meaningful relationship before; the only people I could find were the ones that just wanted a quickie. Someone to fill their lonely night. I did the empty sex thing, and I wanted something more. It looked as though James didn't. `Damn,' I swore to myself, getting up from the toilet, heading towards the door. `There goes another one.' "James, we have to talk." I called out, wanting to patch things up. I don't know, I guess I like parting on good terms. But he wasn't there. I glanced at the clock. I had been in the bathroom for almost two hours. I sighed, a deep heavy sigh, suddenly realizing how fatigued I was. I was too tired to sleep, my overacted mind convincing myself that I would never meet Mr. Right. Maybe my expectations were too high, maybe I was repulsive. Maybe I . . . On the carpet, next to the coffee table where James had fallen, lay a kitchen towel. Puzzled, I bent over to pick it up, confusion crossing my mind when I felt that it was slightly damp. I pulled the towel up and saw that it had been placed over the blood stain. Now the spot was a light shade of pink, barely noticeable. James had cleaned up, I guess. `How sweet,' I thought to myself. That's the James I thought was real, not the one who just wanted one night of lust. I shook my head and headed toward the bed. I didn't know what to think anymore. I didn't want to think. * * * * * * `I should set up shop here,' I thought to myself, waiting in Spielberg's lobby for the third time in two days. `I could rent out an office and just write away, instead of wasting my time for the big shot director to find time for . . .' "Mr. Goodman, Mr. Spielberg will see you now." The receptionist gave me a half smile and went back to whatever she was doing. I got up and headed toward the doors. Entering, I noticed the difference between this meeting and the first time I met Spielberg. The first time I was a little awestruck, overwhelmed by my surroundings. Now, I just wanted to get this over and done with. I wanted to get back to my little cabin in Boulder, sleep for a day and then start on my book again. I glanced at the desk and saw Spielberg with a frown on his face, staring at me intently. I didn't care, though, I knew that he despised me, and I stopped giving a damn. I took a seat and waited. I didn't have to wait for long. He sighed, and reached down into a drawer, grabbed a sheet of paper and slid it over the rosewood desktop. The surface was so shinny and smooth that the paper went over the edge, and I fumbled to grab it. Catching it, I took a glance and saw a list of names, male actor's names. "What's this?" I asked, confused. "You're determined to make this difficult for me, aren't you?" I stared blankly at him, not understanding the comment. "Well, there's a list of leading men, which one do you approve of, oh great one?" He asked, sarcasm soaking the words. "Or if you don't like any of them, why don't we just cast you, Mr. Goodman? How would that be?" Spielberg could barely contain his anger. I felt he would jump across the desk and strangle me at any moment. "What. . . what happened to James?" I asked. He stared at me for a second, eyes filled with loathing. "He gave me a heads up on your day together. He said that you hated him and probably wouldn't OK his casting. So, choose someone already. Who would YOU like?" "I. . ." I didn't know what to say. Why would James do that? I would never do that to someone, especially if I saw a glimmer of talent in them. "I think James would be great for the role. Perfect. I don't want anyone else." Spielberg looked at me, not understanding what I said. "So, if you're ready, I'll sign the contract and head on out of here." His sour mood broke a little. Reaching in the desk again, he brought out the contract and slid it over, unbelieving that I wanted James. I caught it before it fell, and skimmed through it. It seemed like the copy I took home to glance at, so I picked up the pen and signed it. Sliding it back over to the director, I stood up, ready to take my leave. He picked up the contract and glanced at my signature. Satisfied, he looked up, asked me "So, when can you get me a screenplay?" I forgot all about that. I had to write the damn thing. Shit. "Three weeks?" He looked at me, steely eyed. "You have one." "I need three at least. I can't . . ." "One. End of discussion. Shooting starts in a month. Rehearsals in three weeks." He sat back, a smug smile on his lips. I was a little perturbed. "So why the hell did you ask me, then?" I spat out, angrily. He leaned a little farther into his chair and grinned a little bit more. Finally, he had the upper hand. "I was trying to be polite." His eyes danced wildly, as if this was his greatest moment in life. * * * * * * "Are you sure there's nothing? Nothing at all?" I rubbed my eyes wearily. I had been on the phone for an hour with my travel agent, trying to get out of this hell a day early. No such luck, it seemed. "Sorry, Alex. Everything is booked." Nancy sounded dejected. She had spent so much effort into this search, coming up with nothing. "Don't worry about it, Nance. Thanks for trying." With that I hung up the phone. Another day in L.A. Great. I've always hated the West Coast. Too close to home, I guess. I looked around, wishing I had a portable computer, so I could do a little work. I saw the T.V., saw that I still had James' movie, and toyed with the idea of watching it again. I don't know, I guess I wanted to see him again. Even if it was only in the movies. The next day's regret, I guess. Most people get them for doing things they shouldn't have; I get them for not doing things I wish I had. After a bit of contemplating, I decided against the movie. instead, I grabbed my wallet, put on a tee shirt from Old Navy and left the hotel, deciding on sight seeing instead. * * * * * * I was admiring Marilyn Moore's star when my cell phone rang. Glancing at it, I recognized the area code coming from Florida. I gave my phone a confused look. I didn't know anyone from Florida. I only know the area code because I went to Disney World with an ex of mine last year. After the third ring, curiosity got the better of me, and I answered it. "Hello?" "Alex, is that you?" A voice rang out, and a grin lit my face. "Hi James." A smile lit my face. I couldn't stay mad at him. I knew him for only a couple of hours and already I got a giddy feeling hearing his voice. One would wonder if this was `love' and wonder why I turned him away. "Thank God I found you," he said. "I need to talk to you, but not over the phone. Can you meet me at `The Crystal Room' in a half hour?" " `The Crystal Room?'" I asked. "It's a restaurant in downtown L.A. Just get into a taxi and the driver should know where it is. Can you come?" I smiled to myself. "Yeah, I'll come." With that, I closed the phone. I flagged down a taxi, and amazingly enough, he stopped. "The Crystal Room, please." The driver turned around, looking me up and down. "You sure about that, kid?" I looked at him, a little irritated. I nodded my head, and he surpressed a smile, shook his head and started driving. * * * * * * The matree'd glared at me, giving me the evil eye as I waited in the sitting room. Now I understood the taxi driver's amusement. This was probably the swankiest, ritziest, most classy restaurant in L.A. and I came wearing a frayed Old Navy tee, tight blue jeans and a pair of old walking sneakers. It took me awhile to get the matree'd to stop pretending I wasn't there (it's amazing what a little yelling can do for you in a place like this) and I was amused by the horrified look on his face, realizing who I was meeting and understanding he couldn't turn me away. "Would you like us to provide you a coat and tie?" he asked hopefully. "No thank you." I hated wearing that stuff. Too much clothing was no good. Very claustrophobic. The matree'd looked at me, disdained, and took leave. I hated places like this. Why should it matter what you were wearing, who you knew, what your name was? But here in L.A., well, I guess that's what the focus was on. A few minutes later, he returned, and beckoned me forward. As I went through the restaurant, I noticed more than a few stares from the other patrons, but that didn't faze me. I would probably never meet any of them again, so why try to impress them? We arrived at a back table where James sat, waiting. A grin on his lips, he appeared very amused with my state of dress. The matree'd left as soon as we came up to the table, not even bothering to wait for a tip that I wouldn't have given him. I sat myself down, giving James a small smile. Immediately I noticed stitches covered the right side of his forehead. `I did that to him' I groaned silently. "Thanks for coming, Alex." James was looking down at the table cloth, not making eye contact. A waiter came by, setting a glass of water in front of me. James still stared at the table, playing with the utensils. I took a sip of my water and waited him to say something. I was used to silence. I was a people watcher. Sometimes I went out to the malls or the parks, just to sit down and quietly watch the passer byes, creating extravagant stories and elaborate lives for them. I was the first to admit I was not firmly attached to reality. I preferred a world where I knew all, saw all, observing unseen. Reality was just too unreal for me. I could have sat there all day. James could not, however. This uncomfortable silence overwhelmed him, and he finally broke, glancing up. "Thanks for talking to Steven, for the vote of confidence." I nodded my head. "No problem." He cleared his throat, and glanced down at the table again. I could barely hear him say "Sorry about last night." "Don't worry about it." He glanced up at my nonchalant comment and was ready to reply, when the waiter came back, to take our order. After he left, I decided to do the talking. "Look, James, you have nothing to be sorry about. In a way, I did want it as much as you did, just not in that way. I want a romance, to be wooed off of my feet. And while I find you extremely attractive, I just can't do the empty relationship again. I'm out of that phase." Finished, I took a sip of my water. "You must think I'm just a crazed horn dog." He sighed, tying his napkin into knots. He looked back up and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "I'm not, you know." He looked back down again, clearing his throat. "I don't know what came over me. I'm usually not that aggressive. Never that aggressive, actually. I just thought that you were perfect for me, that we could have had a thing. Too bad I screwed it up, though?" He looked up again, a little bit wary, a little hopefully. I smiled, sighing to myself. I was falling for him, and I usually fell hard. But maybe, just maybe, there were truth in his words. "Not totally," I gave him a quick smile. I reached for my glass and he grabbed my hand. "Alex," he whispered. "I want this to happen, us to happen. If you want to take things slow, that's fine with me. I actually would rather take things sl. . ." His eyes drifted away from me and widened in alarm. Quickly, he pulled his hand violently away from my fingers that he was caressing, causing me to knock over the glass I was holding. Cursing as the water spilled everywhere, I tried to mop it up with my napkin when I noticed the waiter had come with our food. He looked more than displeased at the mess I created. I noticed the people around me staring at me, half amused, half irritated at what a clumsy ox I was. After I cleaned up the mess, (the waiter not offering to help), we received the food and the attention began to die down. I began to eat, and James just sat there, a sheepish smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eye. "Sorry, about that." he said. "Can't be too careful, you know." I looked up, swallowed my food, and asked "Too careful about what?" I knew what, I just needed to hear him say it. "You know," he smirked. "The public is always watching. Always prying, wanting to sell a story that could ruin you." I had lost my appetite. Pushing the food away, I looked at him dead in the eyes. I saw the green drain away, becoming lifeless under my scrutiny. "What you ruin you, James?" He looked very uncomfortable. "Well, you know? This situation. Us." I half smiled. "There's an us now? I don't think so, James." His face crashed, the smile left being replaced with a hurt look. "What? Why?" I saw him searching for an answer. "Is it because of last night? Look I apologize for . . ." I held up my hand to silence him. He stopped talking, looked down into his plate. A tear fell into the pasta dish before him. "I already told you, I don't care about last night. What I do care about is love. About falling in love with someone, finding someone special." I looked at him, scrutinizing him. "Do you believe in love, James?" He nodded. "Well let me give you my version of what love is. It's pretty traditional, actually, nothing spectacular. It's just finding a person who completes the puzzle to your life. Finding someone to talk to until the sun comes up. Someone who's not ashamed of all my faults, unashamed of the thing between us. That's what I'm look for, James. That's what you can't give me." He looked back up, pleading with his eyes, understanding the words I had said, but not wanting to believe them. "You want me to come out for you." I shook my head. "I didn't say that. I said I needed someone who is comfortable with me at all times. I don't want to out yourself for me, James. You should never do that for anybody, do it for yourself. I just can't do that kind of relationship anymore. Too many secrets to hide. Too many moments lost because people were watching. I went through that before, and it broke my heart. I can't, I won't go through it again." "Coming out would destroy my career, you know that, right?" I nodded my head. I had nothing more to say. James looked back into his pasta dish again, not saying a word. Sighing, I got up. "Goodbye, James. It's was great meeting you. Sorry about everything." He didn't reply, but I saw another tear fall from his hidden face. I began to tear up myself, my vision blurry. `Another lost moment, a missed opportunity,' I thought bitterly to myself as I walked away. perhaps I was to choosy. I never fell in love, because nobody was ever good enough. I always found some fault. As I exited the restaurant, it suddenly struck me. I was afraid to love. I was afraid to get close to someone. To connect with someone. I sighed as a tear fell from my face. I decided to walk back to the hotel room. I needed to clear my thoughts and walking always helped. I turned west and headed toward the sinking sun. The red glow bathed the streets in an eerily calm glow. I loved sunset, my favorite time. The witching hour. Where couples met and fell in love. Another tear fell from my eye, and I bitter told my brain to shut up. Stop thinking about everything, especially what just happened. And for the first time in my life, it did. To be continued. . .