"Hey, man! What's shaking? Or should that be que pasa-ing, dude? Yo hablo Español?" Joe Fatone slipped up behind his coworker and friend and spoke at his ear with lots of warm breath and lots of surprise. To accompany his words, he clamped a large, burly, affectionate hand on the younger guy's shoulder, startling him even further out of an obvious mental reverie. And then he burped. "What zone are you mind-warping into back here, buddy, staring at the wall like a fricking zombie, huh? Did that guack-ee-mo-lee we just ate get you stoned or something?" Justin Timberlake recovered from his shudder at the unexpected intrusion into his personal space and his daydream, rolled his eyes ever so slightly, and bit down a little too hard on the toothpick lodged in his mouth. He wasn't actually digging at his teeth with it (which he considered quite gross and just totally rude in a public place). Nor was he strutting around with it subtly sticking out between half-parted lips trying to look bad-ass street-cool (which he considered melodramatic and desperate for attention). No, he was simply rolling the tiny length of wood between the top and bottom rows of his back molars, out of habit, until he made his way to the restaurant's men's room where he would toss it in the trash, of course, before heading back to the office with everyone else. He hadn't arrived at the men's room yet to do so, however. On his way there, he'd been distracted, oddly, by the huge bulletin board on the wall filled with tons of random business cards that had been push-pinned into the expanse of cork by many, many guys (and, yes, even some chicks too) who had stood right there in the very spot where he stood now. "Oddly distracted" because he'd passed by this board lots of times before without even a glance in its direction when he'd visited this eating establishment in the past. Something today had made him stop and check it out. Oddly, indeed. "No, Fatone. I'm not tripping on the guac," he cut his eyes over to Joe and answered, crunching the toothpick in his jaw the same way Joe's heavy grip was crunching into his collarbone. "As a matter of fact, I didn't even have any guac. You and Robson handily scarfed it all up, man, before me and Lance had even half a chance." "Aww, waahh-waahh, poor widdle baby Jussy. You could've reached over either one of us clods and helped yourself to the green goop, dude. We weren't stopping you. You know that," Joe said as he theatrically mocked a pout and whine for Justin, as if he thought he was in a Broadway production, and then laughed heartily while pulling Justin into a bear-like friendly half-hug. That was just how Joe was. "And was that a bona-fide rhyme that just escaped your mouth, man? 'Lance' and 'chance'? Awesome! How many more times I gotta tell you you need to bring your talented little poet ass down to Editorial World and lend us a hand? Did you hear what you just came out with?" Justin shrugged a little to untangle himself from the hot embrace that was a tad uncomfortable on his now-bloated stomach and tried to minimize his smirk. "Joe, man, don't poke fun. Grow up already. I wasn't trying to rhyme. And, just for the record, I 'came out' a long time ago. Don't forget." "Yeah, yeah. I'm hearing ya," Joe conceded, with a softer, gentler tone. "Out and proud, I know. But I love yas anyway, don't I?" The big man laughed again and slapped Justin's back one more time. Justin worried for a split second that he might try to plant a big, wet sloppy one on him there in the hallway in the rear of the restaurant. Just for the hell of it. Just because he was feeling tipsy and affectionate. "So really. Where were we? Oh, yeah. Que pasa-ing back here, man?" Justin winced quietly to himself and wished he hadn't eaten so much spicy food. He hoped he had a little purple Nexium stashed in his top desk drawer back at the office or else he'd suffer that damn nagging heartburn all afternoon. And he really needed to put some quality time into that new pitch he'd been working on. "Joe, look. It's just plain 'que pasa,' man. They don't have the 'i-n-g' in Spanish. You're the pro copywriter around here. I figured you'd know that." One corner of Joe's mouth slid itself upward into a defined snerk under the moustache, and he shook his head. "Well, duh, Timberlake. I'm aware of that, thankyouveryfuckingmuch. And could you BE more anal? Or hold up. Anal is your specialty, isn't it, buddy? Fuck me. It slipped my mind." "Could YOU be more crude and obnoxious? Jeez." "No offense, man. I'm just saying. Get yourself some hide-the-sausage action already and lighten up - for ALL of our sakes. Christ. How long's it been now? Like 12 years? Dude, you need some dick bad." Justin bit the toothpick in half without meaning to and sighed. He could come back with something equally as tart and bitchy if he wanted to. He excelled at that. On his best days, he could blow that one out of the water. But he didn't. He knew his pal was right. He'd been downright edgy lately. Tense and uptight. He'd felt it prickling along his nerves under his skin, simmering in his blood. Juiced-up voltage that needed to get out. And if Fatone had noticed it, then the others most likely had as well. Great. Just really damn great. And standing there gawking at this board like there was a cure for "tense and uptight" hidden in those little pieces of cardboard wasn't exactly the smartest move either. Nope, wasn't helping his case at all. Justin was relieved when he didn't have to address the issue of his need for "some dick bad" or form an answer to Joe's question. "Yo! Whassup up in here? We need to shake some tail feathers and hit the road, man. We've been gone almost two hours, and Gestapo Johnny's gonna have our asses when we get back," Wade Robson barked at the two men as he sauntered down the corridor toward them. He'd been the last one of their party in line to pay his tab at the register, and Justin would have bet all the bucks in his 401(k) that the dude didn't leave Manuel, their hot-as-hell (and very efficient) server, one dime of a tip. That was just how Wade was. Justin could almost even hear his arrogant excuse: "The prick winked at me. Fuck him. He wants a tip? I'll give him a damn good tip. Here ya go, buddy: Try coming on to me again, asswipe, and I'll break your greasy face. There's your tip. How's that?" "Robson, we suck, man. You and me. That's the latest 4-1-1." Joe turned from Justin and flashed his dark, smiling eyes at the tall young man he shared a large, open-air office with. "Is that right? And what exactly do we suck, Fatone? Hairy donkey balls? Says who? Timberlake? Right. When God was passing out butt cracks, Timberlake got in line twice. You going to take HIS word for anything? Look. Seriously. We need to go," Wade sneered and sighed, as if bored out of his head and not caring to hear any further details on whatever it was that Justin may have said before he arrived on the scene. That, too, was just how Wade was, Justin thought to himself. And he wasn't surprised to see one pointy end of a toothpick dangling from Wade's thick lips. Oh-so bad-ass street-cool. Typical. And it would be there all afternoon, until it was disgustingly splintered and soggy, Justin knew. Um, did anyone order up a giant-sized certified jerk? Wade wasn't aware he held the title, but he was absolutely the office Nerd King. Supreme Ruler of All Things Geek. Justin fully expected him to walk in on any given morning with a plastic pocket protector full of multicolored ink pens on his shiny polyester shirt and white ribbed athletic socks visible just below his high-water Sans-a-Belt stretchy-knit pants. Or maybe Justin just dreamed of Wade being dressed like that because sometimes what he actually wore was only a whisper away from being just that ridiculous. If Wade wore glasses, Justin was sure, he'd have that nose bridge in the middle of the frames wrapped with dull-gray duct tape. "No, not donkey balls. But we do suck. As in sucked all the guacamole dip up from the lad Timbercreek here and his cute little sidekick Bass." Wade rolled his sullen, chocolate-brown eyes and let out another impatient, terse breath. Just as Justin had silently predicted he would. "Arrest me then, Officer Timbercreek. Sor-ree. Should've reached in and scooped your own, man. Snooze, you lose. 'S what I'm talking about." "Whatever, man. It's no big thing. I was joking anyway," Justin shrugged nonchalantly and purposely looked away from Wade's deep, condescending stare. He wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction of snarky word play. Not worth it. Not today. He didn't plan to make time for Wade's usual annoying bullshit. Under other circumstances and in different company, what Justin may have done was to have inquired, softly and with a whiff of smug sarcasm, how Wade could possibly win so many professional accolades for his superior copywriting abilities when said superior abilities didn't include the use of necessary pronouns. He may have done exactly that, under other conditions, and then let that taunting little twinkle burst colorfully in his pupils. But he didn't here and now. He didn't want to risk thickening the tension in the air around them and provoking Fatone to notice (in spite of the three draft beers he'd guzzled at lunch) and start up with the inane questions. No, Justin wasn't in the mood for all that today. He "wasn't studying that noise," as Wade liked to say in his constant, lame attempts at ghetto-bonics. And if Wade chose to strut around the office with his pseudo-macho attitude and brag like an ass about his gazillions of "female" conquests and bedpost notches, then let him, Justin always thought as he ignored Wade's laughable obnoxious claims and went his own way doing his own business during his own work day. But, see, he had his personal reasons for not believing Wade's very loud I'm-oh-so-hetero, I'm-getting-banged-all-the-damn-time "noise." In fact, he was totally convinced that Wade was not just a confused geeky flake but a full-fledged lying poser as well. And these were reasons and convictions Justin would certainly keep to himself. So that he could also keep the steady, day-to-day peace among his friends and coworkers. That was just how Justin was. "And speaking of 'scoop,' there's my little buddy now! Sir Lancelot!" Joe boomed out and looked past Justin to where the fourth member of their regular lunch squadron was exiting the restroom. Lance Bass stopped short, grazed his sleek jaw line with the back of his fingers, and squinted wildly-green eyes at the other three. "Um, what's the deal here, you weirdos? Why are you ALL back here? What happened to you waiting for me out front like you said?" Instead of glancing over his shoulder at his very best friend, Justin turned his eyes up at Wade again just in time to catch the spark of heated reaction that lit up Wade's whole face when his focus fell on Lance. Justin's upper lip twitched as he held back a knowing smile. Another one of those "reasons." Yep. Robson may claim to like girls only. But he had a unique fondness for one Lance Bass that Justin had detected many times. Maybe, Justin sometimes thought, Wade should be reminded that although he was quite pretty, Lance was not a girl. "We're forming a rescue party to venture in there and save your ass, dude!" Joe laughed boisterously. And Justin made a mental note to nab a breath mint from the counter for him when they finally left. Joe needed one badly. "What were you doing in there, Bassman? Taking a dump? Those refried beans doing their mojo on you already, babe?" Justin didn't crank his head around to see it. He didn't need to. He could envision perfectly how Lance would be slowly rolling his eyes right about now and simultaneously wrinkling his long, slim nose, creating a classic special-effect smirk. Then he listened for the inevitable pronounced huff that, in a response from Lance such as this one, usually preceded his rich, mellow voice. "You're a disgusting freak, Fatone." "I know, I know. But I'm your disgusting freak, shugah pie. And don't you fahget it, ya heah?" Joe giggled at his own pathetic try to imitate Lance's sexy southern twang. "Dudes, we're SO late. Cut the cute chit-chat and let's roll. Wright's gonna jack us up, I'm saying," Wade interjected flatly. And Justin quickly rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah. And Anal Lunch Hour Nazi Robson here keeps prodding us, man," Joe laughed again, lighthearted and lightheaded, completely undaunted by Wade's ugly snarls or anything else for that matter. "Fuck knows why he's so obsessed with getting back to the office. Unless it's all that ass-kissing he's got on his Daytimer scheduled for the afternoon. Haha. He even interrupted The Infant's cruising of the Gay Singles Board too. Guess Mr. T's finally ready for some kicking-it-horizontal-with-a-cute-boy action. And damn. It's 'bout time, wouldn't you guys say?" It was Justin's turn to retort, and he snapped his head around on his neck and flashed a hot glare at Joe. He also picked up on a slick, sly snicker from Wade on the other side of him. It didn't bother him any longer that he was still referred to as "The Infant" around the office even though Wade had been hired over nine months before and was two full years younger than he was. "I wasn't cruising the board, you ass. I was just looking. And it's not a 'Gay Singles Board' either. It's just for getting word out about your services or small business or whatever. That's all." "Sure, Jussy, sure. This is the equivalent of leaving your digits on the bathroom stall, man. Talk about free advertising," Joe countered. "Man, this is better than a personals ad in the local rag." "Oh, it is not," Justin argued and frowned. "Sure, it is! Rainbow Connection all the way!" Joe bellowed and slapped Justin on the back. "Fuck, that was a good one! I crack myself up sometimes!" "Hey, hey, Joe. Bring it down a notch, okay? Don't diss the board. It's harmless. Like J said, it's just community info getting spread around and whatnot. If a social hookup happens to come out of it, then hot-diggity. That's cool too. There's lots of board just like this one around in this part of town. Chill off Justin, man. Leave my boy alone. Ya heah?" Lance mocked back and grinned sarcastically. Justin glanced at him and smiled in appreciation of the support he could always count on. Lance was the only other openly homosexual employee at their advertising agency besides Justin, and they'd been close friends for four years. Lance was an ace at the public relations aspect of the business and had taught Justin a lot about how to handle (i.e., charm/schmooze/bribe) their most difficult clients. Justin noticed right away, during Lance's little speech in his defense, that he hadn't slurred even one "s" although he'd downed two jumbo margaritas during their meal. Lance could hold his liquor, and he did so often. That's just how Lance was. "I'm funning, I'm funning!" Joe exclaimed and innocently threw his hands in the air. "I'm just a dumbass straight boy who doesn't know his butt from a hole in the ground, okay? Didn't mean to diss. Jeesh." "Well, word. Speaking of bored, I am. So let's take all this funning out to the ride, why don't we? Okay, dudes? Party cruise is over. Let's go," Wade growled again and rattled the keys in his hand for emphasis, intentionally avoiding a look to Justin's face. "Robson, lay off the nagging, man. We're coming already," Joe said and punched Wade's bicep playfully. "Oww!" Wade sneered again and grabbed his arm. "You gotta bruise me, man? That hurt!" "Shut up, Wade. You pussy," Lance snipped, deep and low, and then bumped Justin's backside with his hip as he passed behind him, following the others ahead of them. "C'mon, J. 'Kay? I'm feeling some hell-bitch heartburn coming on from that burrito, man." "Yeah, yeah. 'Kay. Me too," Justin mumbled absently. He stood there and hesitated a couple of more seconds until he was sure his companions were all a safe distance away and no longer watching him. Then he reached up, stealthily and quickly, and removed from the board the one business card that had captured his attention, freeing it from its dark-pink pushpin captor. He shoved it into the breast pocket of his sports jacket without reading it again and spun on his heels to "adios" out of there. He was fairly sure he remembered exactly what it had innocently said in bold, rich-blue script lettering on a smooth ivory background……….
Got racquetball? Got game? Want to blow your opponent off the court? No problem! I train, you gain! Handle 'em like a pro would! Give me a buzz, and I'll give your game one in return. JC Chasez 213.555.0131
~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ "Restless." That would be how Justin would describe his mood lately if he'd been asked. He stared blankly out the side window of the car on the drive back to Austin-Adair, the public relations/advertising/marketing agency where they all worked together. "Restless" because he "hadn't gotten laid since Moses was too damn young to have pubes," as Lance constantly hounded him in that concerned, best-friend, TOTALLY ANNOYING way. Or maybe "restless" as in "Man, you need to get out more and find yourself a husband or at least a good fuck buddy, hell, to relieve some of that built-up pressure," like Joe loved to taunt him over and over. Truth was it had been eons since Justin had been interested in anyone else. Either sexually or romantically. And he wasn't exactly sure why. He just hadn't come in contact with somebody he felt like connecting with, on any level, for a while now. Simple as that. No, wait. It wasn't simple. He wasn't simple. He was, in fact, picky, okay, maybe. He wouldn't settle for just anyoldbody. He had standards, see, definite sensibilities, like strings on a fine guitar that needed to be stroked and pressed to make the right chords and play the right soothing music. That was all he was holding out for. He just wanted what felt right, nothing more. And was that too much to jackassing ask for? Something more than just a quickie-fuck one-night-stand that would afterwards mean the equivalent of jack shit? There was more to life and liaisons than that, wasn't there? Justin knew he worked too hard. He threw himself headlong into his job to avoid his lack of a life outside it, to avoid reminding himself that something was missing in his little world. But it was time for that to stop, he understood, because it wasn't healthy, and it wasn't the answer. It wasn't what he was searching for, what he needed. Because there was still that uncomfortable "restless" gnawing at him inside. And he'd been kicking around the idea of taking up a new leisure diversion anyway, hadn't he? And wasn't racquetball a suitable enough one? A fitting, energetic way to spend a little free time? "Slow the hell down, Wade! What's your damn problem? I'm almost positive ol' man Father Wright would prefer us getting back late and alive rather than not so late and croaked, dude," Lance hissed from the vinyl backseat of the Wade's older-model Ford Taurus, next to Justin. "Fine. You drive next time, Bass. Or shut the hell up. Or both," Wade replied coolly in the driver's seat. Justin noted how his gaze flickered upward into the rear-view mirror to locate Lance for a sweet second or two as he spoke. And this surprised Justin none at all. The four of them ate lunch together at least once, mostly twice, per week. It was a regular routine. They'd been doing so for about eight months now, since just after Wade had come on board with the company. The places they frequented varied, depending on their appetites on certain days. Indiscriminately, they went all over downtown Los Angeles and the suburbs, including the very gay-oriented but hetero-friendly sections of West Hollywood. And it always seemed to Justin that it was in those West Hollywood locales, such as the Tex/Mex joint today, that Wade's surly, insecure weirdness toward him would bubble up to the surface more than anywhere else. The tense animosity Wade would try to laugh off as a joke wasn't as evident any other days. So Justin found him mostly tolerable otherwise, although he much preferred the lunch dates that didn't include Wade. He could overlook the excessive-nerdliness factor and forget about the hidden "reasons." Hell, for the most part, he could overlook Wade altogether, shrug him off and enjoy himself. He was used to it. "Thanks, man," he whispered to Lance and grabbed his forearm as they left Wade's car in the underground parking lot and walked toward the building's elevator, trailing the other two. "You're always a pal." "Hey, no sweat, J. We're there for each other, right?" Lance turned and beamed him with that zillion-dollar smile. Justin still wondered at times why Lance wasn't a runway model or even an actor with the way he looked. "Robson's hot for you, man. You're onto that, aren't you? That's why he doesn't go all homophobe on you like he does me. I mean he foams at the mouth when he looks at you like you're a gigantic cream puff, Lance, and he's having a major sugar craving." Lance smirked again. "Robson's straight, J. You didn't get the office memo?" "Yeah, right. About as straight as I am," Justin giggled. "I'd guess he's maybe bi. Whatever. Who knows? Who cares? I mean look at him. He's a weird-OH. His e-mail address is - and get this shit - BUFFdaddy@aol.com." Lance snickered. "And, point number two, I'm married, man. Jesse will kick his ass." Justin smiled at the thought. Jesse and Lance had been inseparable for just over a year now. And Justin was glad they'd hooked up. Being deeply in love looked awesome on Lance. And besides being as cute and nice as he could be, Jesse was so obviously crazy-smitten with Lance too. Wade was yapping up the totally wrong tree. That stupid sucker. Maybe Justin would smugly suggest he rung along and mooch somewhere else. "You wish you were married to that fine piece of ass Jesse, man." Lance snorted. "I'll make it happen. Some day. Don't you worry your pretty head about it, J. It'll go down. Trust me." "I have no doubt, Lance. You always get the guy in the end, so to speak." Justin made another whispery little laughing sound. "Say, that reminds me……….Did you find something interesting in all those cards back there? Some cool new something or somebody, maybe, that got your curiosity peaked enough that you might wanna reach out to?" Lance asked quietly, as if it were a secret between the two of them. Justin grinned as he walked. "Maybe. Possibly. Sum'in' new to take a shot at. We'll see. I'll keep you posted." "You'd better, Timberlake. I'm fucking serious. I want every juicy detail."