Beezus sighed softly to herself and flopped over onto her back on the leather couch in Max's office. She had interrogated two more members of NSYNC, and had failed to pry any kind of information out of either. She closed her eyes, sighing a second time, as she mentally made an agenda for the afternoon. Having already spoken to Lance, JC, and Chris, the only possible person left was the one she wanted to talk to least of all. She glanced through the doorway, and with a sigh she jumped up and dashed out of the room, rounding the corner quickly. Grabbing his wrists, she slammed him against the wall, pinning him there.
"Jeeze, Beatrice, what the hell is going on?" She clenched her teeth, ignoring his struggles against her hold on his arms. "Fuck, you just broke my wrist, bitch." He rotated is wrist tentatively, wincing slightly as her grip tightened.
"Joey, as much as I hate to acknowledge you, I need to know something," she answered, speaking calmly and slowly. "As soon as I have my answer you are free to do whatever the hell you want: find some fresh doughnuts somewhere, maybe a nice quiet closet for you to jack off in. . ." He smiled sarcastically down at her, and tried to move away from the wall and break her grasp. She pushed him back, a noticable banging noice echoed down the hall.
"What do you want from me?" he wimpered. "What did I do to you?"
"Don't play dumb. I saw the dedication on TRL, and I got the box of Beatles stuff," she growled, her eyes narrowed. "Now that I've narrowed the field I bit concerning who, I want to know why. Why would anyone from your band want to send me an expensive collection of memorobelia that most likely costed more than my car? I am not a well-liked person, Joseph. Why would anyone be nice to me?"
"Listen, Beatrice, I'd love to help you out," he answered, "But believe me, I am gladly a part of the vast majority that knows you. I'd rather not know you, actually. So let go of me or I'll call security."
"You do and you become unable to have children, ever," she snarled. "I know someone is behind this. And since it isn't any of the three I have already questioned, that sort of leaves you, doesn't it?" He laughed scornfully.
"Aren't you forgetting something? There are five of us in the group. You still haven't asked the most obvious of all of us, have you?" She raised an eyebrow slightly as he glanced over her shoulder. "There is one more NSYNC member out there, Beatrice. You should ask him." Her grip on his arms loosened slightly, and Joey dodged away quickly. Beezus' head swam as she processed the information. Joey still stood nearby.
"You honestly want me to believe that it was Timberlake? He hates me as much as I hate him," she said. Her voice had grown soft, but still held an unmistakable edge to it, showing that she meant business. "The little maggot wouldn't dare."
"Is that really what you think of me? That I'm a maggot?" Joey crept off down the hall, not wanting to be a part of what was about to happen. Beatrice closed her eyes, keeping her face to the wall.
"Justin," she started, "Please don't tell me you were the one who embarrassed me in front of millions of American twelve-year-olds this morning." She groaned inwardly at his silence, and turned around, her eyes still closed. She pressed her back against the wall, her arms at her sides, and slid down to the carpet. Her head dropped into her hands, and she let out a shaky sigh.
"Does that mean you didn't like the albums?" He joined her on the ground, his legs tucked into an Indian-style position. "Damn, those took me ages to find online."
"I will have everything back to you as soon as I can," she murmured after a pause. "It's all in Max's office, behind the door." He held his silence as she paused again, sorting through her thoughts. "That was a fucking dirty trick you pulled, Justin. Never, ever say or write my name on cable television again as long as you live. So help me, I'll--" She stopped herself, then slowly turned her head to look at him cautiously. "I just can't help but wondering . . . Why?"
"What do you mean?" She sat up, watching his every move carefully.
"Why would you go through all of this trouble? Taking weeks to find Beatles crap, spending money to have the dedication made? It doesn't make sense." He chuckled humorlessly, and toyed with his shoelaces.
"Because. . .I'm in love with you. I have been since the very beginning, since I was twelve," he answered. "All I've ever wanted was to be with you, and I've had to hold up this. . .this front whenever I'm near you. I got tired to pretending, Beatrice." She stood up, pacing before him.
"All right, let's see if I understand this correctly," she said finally. "You love me, so you act like you hate me. . .To show me how much you love me?" He shrugged, his mouth opening to say something. "You are a fucking mental case!" He looked up at her in surprise. "Dammit, Justin! Seventh graders act like this! Fucking twelve-year-olds do this! You're how old now? Twenty?"
"Nineteen," he corrected her meekly.
"Even worse," she muttered. "I've had enough. Never speak to me again." She stormed away, into the office, and into the hall of practice studios. The heavy door slammed shut behind her. "Shit, that door locks when you close it. . ."
"No shit, Sherlock." Beezus' head snapped to the side to see Brian sitting with a guitar of his own. Next to his chair sat a music stand, covered with crumpled sheets of notes and lyrics.
"I don't need this. Call me when you get a life," she replied irritably, sauntering into the last booth. She picked up her guitar, and began strumming angrilly, creating lyrics on the spot. "Brian Littrell, you can go to hell. There's another ass down there right now, waiting for your company. . ." She played a few minutes without singing, then continued. "The whining, complaining, gifts, and words don't do anything to this girl, not now, not ever."
"Doesn't this look nice?" Brian snickered, appearing at the door. "And you say that I'm immature. Invest in a mirror, Trish." She lay the guitar in its case, and stood up, glaring coldly at Brian. "Whoa, if looks could kill, I'd most definately be pushing daisies as we speak."
"I wish you were," she growled, pushing past him. He blocked the door quite well, not allowing her past, until she backed away. "Let me through."
"What's the magic word?" Her icy stare rested on his grinning features. The expression that graced his features was similar to that of the Chesire cat from Alice in Wonderland, insane and mocking.
"What the fuck do you want?" she snapped, impatient with his antics. His grin grew wider and he laughed.
"Mission accomplished," he answered, his laughter turning into a harsh cackle. He turned away from the booth, and returned to the third to work on his song. Beezus leaned against the wall adjacent to that which held the door, sighing to herself in frustration. She needed some downtime to herself, somewhere that she could be alone. Brian wasn't helping at all with the current situation, and she wanted out of the stuffy room. Was it her, or were the walls beginning to close in slightly? She stood up, anxious for freedom, and walked out to the door.
"Hey! Hey, I'm trapped in here!" she cried, pounding with her fists. "Help!" Brian cringed, stealthily moving next to her after setting down his guitar. "Help me! The door is locked!"
"Hey, dumbass, they can't hear you. The door is soundproof, remember?" he said, grabbing her arm. She silenced, looking at him with an odd expression on her face.
"Why are you holding my arm? I stopped yelling," she observed softly. She tugged at her arm when he made no reply. "You can let go now, dipshit, I stopped shouting. I will hurt you if you don't let go." He dropped her arm, retreating into his booth silently. Beezus eyes him warily as she followed his lead and entered the last studio. Sliding down the wall, she pulled in her knees and wrapped her arms around them in a hug. Her stomach growled from beneath the t-shirt she was wearing. She sighed wearily. This was going to be a long night.