Chapter One
"I guess you could say that it’s been a breathtaking but mediocre trip to semi-stardom. I don’t think I’m a star, by any means, not yet. And I say mediocre because (laughs) it wasn’t all that easy, but it didn’t seem that hard at the time, either. But I’m here now. Sometimes I lie awake at night and worry that it will all fall apart, but most nights, I fall right to sleep, because no matter where I’m at tomorrow, I’m here today." ----Jai Bowman on her life as a pop star----
Jai hummed arpeggios under her breath as she walked down the hallways of the recording studio. It was 3 in the morning, and she had just finished laying down the last track on her second album. If asked at the moment what she felt like, she wouldn’t have the words for it. Exhausted, ecstatic, anxious, relieved… millions of other words ran through her head as she strolled down the darkened hallway, her bodyguard holding the door ahead of her open.
She had stumbled onto her talent when she was still Jessie Bowman, singing for a music class. She had been singing her heart out as she always did at home, taking solace and joy from the music, when she realized that the entire class had stopped singing along with her. She reeled her mind back to the classroom slowly, to see 20 other seventh-graders staring at her, along with the music teacher. More than a few jaws were hanging open.
"Well," Mrs. Emerson had said quietly, looking at the clock on the wall. "I think that’s enough for today, you children can go on and pack up and go to lunch early." Ordinarily, this would have been met with cheers, but the class was still staring at Jessie, whose cheeks were beginning to burn. "Jessie, dear, if you could stay and talk to me," the elderly woman had asked, sitting on her piano bench. The other children finally straggled out, one by one, whispering among themselves. Jessie thought they were criticizing her, something that kids that age were more than prone to doing. If she had known that they were all admiring her in those whispers, she would have been surprised.
"I’m sorry, Mrs. Emerson," she said approaching the bench. The teacher looked down at Jessie, a girl who was short for her age but catching up fast, her light brown hair growing straight and sleek down her back. Her eyes were cast to the floor, filling with tears. The teacher raised Jessie’s chin up.
"You shouldn’t ever be sorry for that voice," she said, her fingers shaking a little. "Jessie, have you had any formal training?" Jessie didn’t even know what she meant. "Singing lessons," Mrs. Emerson explained.
Jessie shook her head. "Mama and I sing a lot at home," she said quietly.
Mrs. Emerson stared her in the eyes gravely. "You have to promise me, Jessie, that you’ll never stop singing. You have amazing talent, and I can’t believe no one has snatched that up by now."
Now, 6 years later, Mrs. Emerson rated near the top of Jai’s thanks and dedications in her two album covers.
Chapter Two
At the same time that Jai Bowman was leaving her recording studio all the way up the coast in New York, Justin Timberlake was in Florida, sitting in a corner booth of Dalique’s Dollhouse, downing shots like there was no tomorrow.
"Darling, maybe you should call it quits for the night," Dalique herself whispered in Justin’s ear. She was combination bartender/stripper/owner at the club and took good care of her repeat customers-especially when they were celebrities and were built like Greek statues.
"Why?" he countered petulantly, glancing down at her and sneering at her obscene amount of cleavage.
Instantly Dalique went from simper to serious, the fingers on his arms gripping like talons into his bicep. "Because, sugar, if you get drunk and rowdy, I don’t want to deal with you. If I had to kick your skinny ass out, that’d be bad press. Neither one of us wants that." She shoved his arm away and stood up, her red hair swinging well past her waist. She cleared his empties and shook her head when he asked for more. "Not tonight, Justin,"she said. "Go home and sleep it off. Better yet, take one of the gals home and get rid of your frustration the old-fashioned way. You know they all adore you." She winked and gestured to the front of the club where the strippers danced.
He glanced at the stage, where 4 girls were all in different states of undress. He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, thanks, Doll. Maybe some other time." What he really wanted was to drink himself into a nice thoughtless fugue, but he knew how to pick his battles. He paid his bill, tipped generously, and went home to see if he couldn’t drink in private.
He was able to drive home without incident, which was his first indication that he wasn’t nearly intoxicated enough. He pushed open the door to his house and heard the beeping. Someone had left a message on his machine. "Fuck you, I don’t want to talk to you," he said to the empty house and the now-clicking machine. But curiousity got the better of him and he hit "play."
"Baby, it’s me. I’m in town. I miss you, Justin, and I’ve changed since we were together. I really have, I’ve grown up." The breathy voice turned watery, and he could tell she was crying.
"Oh, give me a break," he said as the tape continued to roll. He grabbed a bottle from the kitchen cabinet and drank, still listening. It had been over six months since he’d heard her voice, and if he never heard it again, he’d consider it too soon anyway.
"I miss you, baby. I made mistakes, I know I did. I just want another chance. Call my cell, okay? We can get together." Mercifully, the message ended.
"Yeaaaah, sure we can, you empty-headed whore," Justin said, tipping his glass to the machine.
His ex-girlfriend was just that: empty-headed and not too full up on morals and values. He hadn’t thought twice about dating someone in the music industry; he thought she would understand him better, and vice versa. As it turned out, all she understood was the business-and how to use her looks and body to get top dollar recording contracts. Justin had ignored the rumors until he heard it straight from her mouth: she had been spending her nights in bed with Justin but spending her days in bed with Winston Carey, the CEO of MaynLyne Records.
If there was anything Justin hated, it was being a cliché. But somehow, that’s what he had turned into, and in not much time at all. Before he even hit 21, he was the cuckolded boyfriend. He could have laughed it off; after all, he had everything in the world, finding another girlfriend wouldn’t be much of a trial.
The only problem was, he had loved her.
Chapter Three
Jai crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. "No," she said emphatically to her manager. "Not a chance."
Paul Innis sighed deeply and hung the dress back on the door. "Lillian, tell me you can do something about her," he entreated to Jai’s mother, who was standing beside her daughter. They looked so little alike that it was laughable. Where Jai was tall with a dusky complexion and caramel-colored hair, her mother was short, blonde, and fair.
Lillian Bowman laughed and shook her head. "No, Paul, I’m afraid there’s not. She’s 19 years old, old enough to make up her own mind. And I’m inclined to agree with her. That dress is scandalous." She winked at Jai. "Can I try it on?"
Paul’s frustrated scowl dissolved into laughter. "Jesus, Lil. No. Jai, you can’t dress like a 12-year-old anymore. Please?"
Jai looked at the sleek red dress… what there was of it. It dipped low in the chest and even lower in the back. There was only one strap, precariously hanging onto the bodice and back by silver wire loops. Slits were cut in the sides, front, and back. "I’d look like a streetwalker," she decided.
"Perhaps," Paul said, seeing that she was considering it. "But you’d look like a streetwalker in Versace."
"So what’s the point? Why are you so insistent upon this dress?" Jai could sense her argument slipping.
"Because it was designed solely for you, and because sex sells," Paul said simply. Lillian didn’t say anything. She didn’t like the fact that her baby was being referred to sexual terms, but she’d learned long ago that there was little choice if you were trying to make a break in the music business.
Jai rubbed her temples for a few moments. "Fine. But you owe me, Paul. Dinner at Iliana’s. And dessert." She grabbed the dress and walked toward the bathroom. Looking over her shoulder, she laughed. "Well, Mom, Paul, what are you standing there for? The party’s at 8." She slipped into the bathroom and started to get ready.
"The party" was the unveiling of her new album, along with two other artists’ albums. The other two artists were on the same label as her, and like her, were vying for tours of their own. Headliners. Big money would be there that night, big money with dollars to spend on tour sponsorships.
With that in mind, Jai shimmied into the dress and made herself look her best.
"This is bullshit, Johnny," Justin said frankly. "Why do I have to go to some two-bit unveiling?"
Johnny was resisting the urge to wrap his hands around Justin’s throat. Lately he had become more and more unmanageable. More disrespectful, more uncooperative, generally more of a brat than he had been. And here we thought that was impossible, Johnny thought. He knew who to blame for Justin’s recent moodiness, but didn’t feel the time was right to mention it. Yet. "Because you’re becoming a recluse, Justin. You perform with the guys, and then draw back into your bottle." Justin opened his mouth to protest, but Johnny rolled right over him. "Besides, it looks good when you go to see new talent. You might learn something, Justin. Scout out your competition. Young faces get old, fresh voices get stale. You might want to think about that." He turned on his heel and walked out the room.
It seemed Justin had no choice but to go. He slipped on a casual navy suit with an open-throated white silk shirt and decided that would have to be good enough.
Chapter Four
Jai walked into the lobby of the hotel where the studio had rented a penthouse for the unveiling. She was arm-in-arm with the male artist that was unveiling that night. He was a few years older than her, with a knockout voice and polished good looks. Jai barely knew him, but she was among the small handful of people that knew he was engaged to his high-school sweetheart. The label had chosen to keep that little fact a secret. "Single" sold just as well as sex in some cases. As soon as the press snapped their legion of photographs, Jai kissed the singer on the cheek and made her way through the crowd.
She made her way to get a glass of tea when she was stopped. "Jai Bowman, you look like straight-up sex, slashed down the middle and the sides." A hot hand was pressed to her back and her stomach turned. She couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through her as she turned to face Winston Carey. "Cold, darlin’?" he asked leeringly. "I couldn’t imagine you ever being cold," he added, keeping his hand on her back.
Be polite, be polite, be polite, she told herself, repeating the drill that Paul had tried to instill in her so many times. She had complained long ago of competing labels and the way their higher-ups treated her, and Be polite was the only advice Paul had for her. What she felt like doing was hitting the man in his mouth. He wasn’t even drunk and he was already groping on the talent. "Winston," she managed, pressing her lips into the semblance of a smile. She squirmed, trying to get away from his sweaty hands, but it only seemed to give him a better grip.
Justin walked in the room, a bodyguard trailing discreetly behind him. He headed toward the bar, intent on getting at least some pleasure out of the evening. He spotted Carey immediately and his lip curled. Some statuesque brunette was at his side, inching her way closer by the second. She was barely covered by an excuse for a red dress, but Justin had to admit, she was sexy. Didn’t look like the bastard’s type, but whatever. Justin turned his back to the two and ordered a whiskey.
"Win, I really have to speak with Paul," Jai finally said, grabbing his hand and shoving it off of her back. Enjoy the party, thanks for coming," she said mechanically, walking away. She barely resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her dress as she walked away.
"Justin!" Winston didn’t take long to make his way over to the young singer. "Like the new look," he said, eyeing Justin’s close-cropped hair. "I’m sure it’s popular with the ladies." He sipped his champagne and looked at Jai’s retreating figure. "That’s one sweet little honey there," he said, gesturing. "I‘m looking into that," he said confidentially.
"Why the fuck are you talking to me?" Justin asked abruptly. "Win, what made you think we were friends? Do you remember fucking my girlfriend? She was good, wasn’t she? Turns out, that’s all she was good at. I don’t want you to talk to me. Ever. And if you’re fucking that girl--" Justin sloshed his whiskey in Jai’s general direction, "I don’t need to know about it." He slammed his glass down on the bar and shoved past Winston, his shoulder slamming the older man back into the bar.
"All women are the same," he muttered to his bodyguard, keeping himself to the edges of the crowd. "Anything with a money, power, and a cock, in that order, it’s all theirs."
The bodyguard resisted telling Justin that he had all of those things, at least to the best of his knowledge. He wasn’t a psychologist, he was just the hired muscle, so he kept his mouth shut.
Jai took the stage at the front of the room and cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to thank you all for coming this evening. On behalf of myself, Theo Reston, and Villain of Love, I want to say that your support means everything to artists like us, artists who are just starting out. Artists who still have stars in their eyes," she said, evoking a laugh from the crowd.
Justin walked out in the middle of the speech. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was a fake, and anyone who cozied with Win Carey was a fake of the first order.
Chapter Five
Several days later, Paul Innis was surrounded by Jai. Media clippings from the past several days, along with album reviews, were piled on his desk, and he was on the phone with a popular cell phone company who was suggesting they’d like to sponsor a concert tour. Once he was fairly confident that he had them hooked, he hung up and sat back.
Picking up a paper, he frowned. "Jai Bowman, basking in the release of her sophomore album, gets chummy with the head of a rival recording studio. Could this potential diva be courting competitors in more ways than one?" The lines captioned a photo of Jai with Winston Carey’s arm pressed to her back. He knew that the picture wasn’t what it seemed, but he also knew the damage a misconstrued picture could do. Picking up the phone, he made some calls.
"What is this shit?" Johnny asked, slapping a piece of paper down on Justin’s desk.
"’While you were out,’" Justin read out loud. "Well, Johnny, it looks like a telephone message."
"Who’s it from, Justin, what does it say?" Johnny said, obviously feigning patience.
"You know who it’s from, Johnny, you can read as well as I can. And yeah, it says that she was returning my call," he added, shrugging. "So?"
"So, no. You’re not getting mixed back up with her again, Justin. She was bad news in the beginning and worse news in the end." Johnny was getting truly concerned. Babysitting Justin wasn’t always the bright spot in his day, but he cared for the boy just like he cared for the rest of them. He knew that Justin had been burned, and didn’t see any good reason why he would submit himself to that again. As if reading Johnny’s mind, Justin leapt from his seat and started to talk.
"Look, Johnny, I know where you’re coming from, and I know that you don’t think this is best or whatever, but don’t you think I’ve thought about that? It sucks to be lonely, Johnny, and I cared about her. What’s to say I couldn’t again?" He rubbed his head with both hands, showing emotion for the first time in several weeks.
"She hasn’t changed, Justin," Johnny said quietly.
Justin nodded. "I know. But if she hurt me this time, it wouldn’t be new. I’d be prepared for it. I don’t think there’s anything she can do to hurt me worse than she already has."
"I’m not going to let you do this. We’ll figure out something, okay? Just don’t call her again." Justin didn’t respond to this, but Johnny took it as encouragement. A few phone calls would go a long way.
"Jai," Paul called from the door of the dance studio. "I need to see you in my office in a few minutes."
She stopped the sequence she was doing and put her hands to her knees, breathing hard but not yet winded. She wiped her face with a towel that was lying at her feet and looked up at him. "What’s up?"
"It’s just a publicity thing," he said, waving his hand. Shrugging, Jai pushed back her golden-brown hair and dared a glance in the mirror. She was sweaty, her makeup was long gone, and wearing baggy pink sweats which had definitely seen better days. She dismissed her looks and followed him to his office.
"I hope this doesn’t take very long," she said, pushing open his door and looking back at him. "I really need to figure out these next 8 bars of dance so that Kyra will let me keep my own choreography," she laughed. The laugh turned into a choking cough when she saw who was sitting in Paul’s office. He stood, his long legs unfolding, and brushed a hand over his head.
She held out a hand, confused. "Jai, we have a proposition for you," Paul said, sitting down and folding his hands together. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "While being single has its marketing merits, we think it’s time you develop a more mature, more sophisticated image. People need to know you‘re not flighty."
Justin eyed the pink sweats and snickered. Johnny shot him a dirty look and leaned over to whisper something. Justin sighed and sat back, obviously not happy with the current situation.
Paul stared directly at Jai. "We want you guys to be seen together at a few functions."
Justin huffed out a breath and laid his head on the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling.
Jai’s eyes narrowed at Paul. "Are you saying we’re supposed to date?"
Slowly, Paul nodded.
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