Date: Thu, 24 Apr 2003 13:18:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Brandon Kies <brandonkies@yahoo.com>
Subject: Right For Me - Chapter 5

Author's Note:

Any comments, encouragements, or suggestions would be
appreciated.  Please feel free to email me at
brandonkies@yahoo.com I'm more than willing to accept
criticism, but please no flames.   I've gotten some
wonderfully encouraging emails already.  I think I've
responded to everyone privately, but in case I missed
you, thanks for taking the time to let me know what
you think.  I do appreciate it.

I wanted to thank any and all that nominated my story
for a boy band story award.  I honestly don't know
what else I can say; I'm certainly pleased that some
of you are enjoying the story.

Disclaimer:

This story is pure fiction.  I don't know any of the
guys from `N Sync and my writings should in no way
imply anything about their sexuality.  Please do not
post this story with out first receiving my
permission.


_______________________

Right for Me -- Chapter 5
_______________________

"Alright," I said, turning to scoop Chad up, "let's
get our little men cleaned up and we can head out.  My
jeep is still in the drive, we can take that if you'd
like."

"Na, no need," Justin said as he grabbed Jesse and
followed me upstairs to clean them up, "The studio is
that glass and steel building you saw when you pulled
in yesterday."

"You had your studio built here?"

"Doesn't that get claustrophobic, everything so close
together?"

"It can be, yes.  It certainly gives new meaning to
that old adage of `taking your work home with you'.
But the advantages definitely outweigh the
disadvantages.  I don't have to worry about the press
or fans out here.  It's easier to protect Jesse from
prying eyes.  And I have the studio available to me
24/7 so if I happen to be inspired by something
suddenly, I can get it down almost instantly."

The studio was well hidden from the house.
Landscaping had been used ingeniously to delineate the
properties.  There was a gravel path that meandered
through the foliage and separated the buildings.  It
was cleverly laid out, and maintained the privacy
Justin prized for his home.

There were benches along the route, strategically
placed at points of interest.  A brook, a clearing,
some sculpted fauna.  It was definitely utilitarian
and functional, but it was also beautiful and
free-flowing encouraging the path to be used for
recreational purposes.  The designer had obviously
created the area with the hope that the path would be
used and enjoyed.

The walk only took several minutes, ten at the most.
The pathway opening suddenly, rather dramatically to
the studio.

The building was a stark contrast to Justin's house.
There was no attempt to soften the building with
plantings.  It was squat and severe.  Completely
functional in appearance, yet it had a compelling
beauty all its own.  Its darkened glass contrasted
dramatically with the metallic girders and beams that
crisscrossed the building.

Justin led us to a recessed and barely noticeable
steel door.  Pausing only briefly to enter a security
code in a digital pad, he quickly opened the door and
motioned me in.

"We'll stop at security before we leave and get you
your own code so you can come and go when you want,"
he said as led us down a hallway.

The inside was decorated in soft pastels.  Walls
painted in mute colors, inviting introspection, and
plush furniture offering comfort.

"Kara," he said stopping to knock at an office door,
"got a minute?"

"Of course, sweetie, what's up?"

"I wanted to introduce you to Dylan and Chad.  You'll
probably be seeing them around, keep an eye out for
them will you?"

Standing up and coming from around her desk, Kara held
out her hand to shake my hand.  "Hi, I'm Kara
Thompson.  Mr. Manners here has problems with social
conventions.  I'm Justin's PA."

She was a lovely blonde.  Probably mid thirties, but
it's hard to tell after a certain age.  She wore
wonderfully out-dated horn-rimmed glasses that sat low
on her nose.  Her clothing matcher her glasses, pieces
out of time and they suited her nicely.  She seemed
the stereotypical librarian, with hair in a bun,
pencils behind her ears, and a look in her eye that
suggested she would brook no nonsense.

"Dylan Carlton," I said shaking her hand, "PA?"

"Personal Assistant.  He grunts I run," she explained,
smiling fondly at Justin.

"Please," he objected good naturedly, "who are you
trying to kid.  He's gonna learn real fast that you
and Helen are really the ones in charge around here."

"Only an illusion," she maintained waving off his
suggestion, "Jesse's the real boss around here, aren't
you cutie?"  She asked as she bent over to kiss his
cheek.

"Angie with Sharon?"   Justin asked.

"Yep, want me to take the boys down?"

"No, that's ok.  I want to show Dylan the facilities.
I'm sure he'd be more comfortable seeing the place and
meeting Sharon before he leaves Chad with her."

"Better hurry up, Joe's been bellowing for an hour."

"Let him know we'll be with him in five, please."

"Come on Dylan, I think you're going to like this."

The offices were open and spacious for the most part,
and noticeably empty.  There didn't seem to be many
people working today.  I wondered briefly if the place
ever filled up.  I doubted it.  I didn't think Justin
would want that many people around.

Pointing towards a door, he said, "That's the day care
center, but I wanted to show you this first."  Pushing
another door open dramatically, he motioned for me to
enter the room.

It was empty.  I examined the room in confusion
glancing at Justin for a clue.  His smile was
blinding, and he was obviously proud and pleased about
something.  I began examining the room again,
desperate to understand the motivation for his mood.

It had wonderful wide windows.  In fact, the entire
outer wall was window, almost ceiling to floor.  The
floor was uncarpeted -- bare concrete.  The walls were
white and reflective.  It really wasn't much of a
room, even if it was spacious and well lit.

*You idiot,* I thought to myself, *Spacious, well lit,
natural light, concrete floor -- he's offering you a
room to use as a studio.*

"Justin?"  I asked wanting to confirm my guess, "you'd
let me paint in here?"

"Let you," he laughed, "You should have heard the
bitching when I shuffled offices so I could empty this
one for you."

"It's perfect isn't it?" He asked his happiness barely
contained.

We talked a few moments about what I would need to
bring over to make the room into an effective studio.
His enthusiasm for the room was contagious; I was as
excited as him by the time we left and made our way
slowly to the day care center.

Watching him stop and chat with the staff allowed me a
few more insights into his personality.  He seemed to
honestly care about the people that worked for him.
Taking the time to dredge up personal bits of minutiae
about each person and their family, he had wonderful
interpersonal skills and it totally confused me.

"Justin, can you explain something to me?"

He looked at me briefly, smiled encouragingly, and
said, "Sure.  What's up?"

"I know you can't believe everything you read about a
person in print.  But the stories about you paint you
as a diva.  Unapproachable.  The reports I've read or
heard suggest you don't allow people to talk to you
directly; they have to go through an intermediary.
And frankly, what I've seen just doesn't jive with
that.  You're great with other people.  Why would they
report something like that?"

He blushed slightly, "It's kinda true."

"It started as a bit of misdirection.  I figured if I
fed the media stories about me it would help to
deflect any questions about Jesse."

"Paparazzi are like vultures, I thought it would be
smarter to feed them juicy stories I'd created.  Keep
them for looking for some on their own.  It seems to
have worked."

"You don't care about how it makes you look to the
public?  Your fans?"

"Of course I do, that's why all the rumors have been
pretty tame for the most part.  No one can talk to me
directly; I have to have the best hotel suites
available, there must be mirrors over the bed.  Really
in the scheme of things they are pretty tame."

"I'm not ashamed that I've tried to manipulate the
press.  I think every public figure to some degree or
another engages in manipulation.  If we didn't,
there'd be a lot of public relation managers out of
work.  And maybe I'm kidding myself, but at least my
reasons weren't selfish.  I did it to protect Jesse."


"And I'd do it again."

We stopped in briefly to tour the day care facilities,
and to introduce Chad to Sharon, the day-care manager.
 She was quick to assure me that she was capable of
dealing with small children, and informed me proudly
of her master's degree in child psychology and
elementary education.

She was amazingly over-qualified for the job, and I
wondered how Justin had managed to convince her to
work for him.  The room itself was outfitted with a
stunning variety of groundbreaking educational
material and equipment.

Chad bonded with her quickly.  Following Jesse easily,
he went to investigate.  I'll admit I felt a twinge of
jealousy at the apparent ease he exhibited as he
abandoned me.

Justin grabbed my arm and carefully ushered me out of
the room.  Moving silently and as unobtrusively as
possible to minimize any fuss the kids might have put
up at our departure.  Steering me confidently down the
hall, we finally made our way to the studio.

"Bout time you got here Timberlake, if I'd had to
track you down again, my size 13 was going to be
buried up your ass!"

The voice was loud and deep, booming and resonating
off of the walls.  I examined Joe intently after
Justin introduced us, trying to reconcile the voice I
had heard coming out of the person standing in front
of me.

He was perhaps 5'4", thin as a rail, with coke bottle
glasses.  His hair was greasy, long, and pulled back
into a tight pony tail, so tight it appeared painful,
so greasy it was hard to tell what color it should be.


He had one of the worse cases of acne I had ever seen,
his face a veritable minefield -- waiting patiently for
him to make one wrong move so it could explode in
pockets of pus and goo.

He was a kid.  I don't mean he was around Justin's or
my age, I mean he was a kid.  Sixteen -- there was no
way he could be even a day older!

"Justin, head into the recording booth.  I'll show
Dylan here where he can listen and watch."

The studio opened up into two recording booths.  One
set up for vocals, the other apparently for instrument
and vocals.  I watched as Justin headed for the vocal
recording booth, and then followed Joe into the other.


The room had some beautiful keyboards, a few guitars,
a bass, and some drums.  Joe explained quickly that
most of the instrumental tracks were recorded here.
He had midi, synthesizers^Å a lexicon of technological
equipment relevant only to studios.

He must have noticed my eyes glazing over, because he
chuckled.  "Don't worry about understanding all of it,
dude.  You can see what Justin is doing through that
window there.  The rooms are soundproof, but I'll
leave the speakers on so you can hear.  He won't be
able to hear you, so don't worry about making noise."

"If you need to leave the room, please wait until you
see this light turn green.  Ok?"

"Thanks Joe.  Will it hurt anything if I decide to
play around on the keyboards?"

"No, that's fine.  Could you not adjust the settings?
I have them set for violin and piano for something
we'll be working on later."

"Sure," I agreed.

As he left the room, closing the door behind him, I
noticed for the first time exactly how quiet it was.
You get used to the background noises that surround
you daily, but those didn't exist here, and it was
mildly unsettling.  I breathed a sigh of relief when
the speakers came on and I heard him and Justin
chatting.

"Joe, let's try it with the upbeat tempo first,"
Justin said.

The music that started was polished.  It was trademark
Timberlake.  I'd heard it on his last two solo albums,
so was pretty confidant I knew what was coming.  A
driving dance beat, some rap mixed in confidently with
a catchy melody, beat box and voice synthesized to
create a techno hip-hop blend.

I was wrong.

Justin's words and melody clashed with the driving
beat painfully.  He sang of secret passions and
unrequited love.  Soulful bluesy lyrics intermixed and
savaged by the heavy base line.  The dichotomy of
styles was painful, at points causing my teeth to
ache.  I winced at the disharmonious sounds coming
from the speakers as Joe tried to blend, adapt, and
tweak the machines under his control.

He really was talented.  Perhaps even the genius
Justin believed him to be, but even he couldn't get
the sounds to mesh smoothly.

"Justin," Joe said finally, stopping the play back,
"it's not going to work.   Let's slow it down and try
it with the ballad, ok?"

"Play the ballad once, please Joe.  I haven't heard it
since we recorded the instrumental tracks."

The music that started was as removed from the
previous playback as was possible.  I closed my eyes
listening to the soothing dulcet tones of the piano.
The baseline was muted, a thread of melody and
counterpoint that meandered throughout the song.

I heard Justin begin humming, his voice blending
flawlessly, dancing and lilting beautifully.  I began
to see a visual representation of the song.  A knack
I'd developed over the years.

Music visualization had comforted me over the years.
The scenes and pictures that I'd created as I listened
and played music had become my reality.  It'd helped
me to escape my pain and loneliness.  The fear I'd
felt after my mother's death.

And as my mental picture developed, I fell into the
pattern I'd fostered over the years.  Adding bits of
mental imagery that would represent sound, instrument,
or melody.  These bits of added flotsam added to the
music substantively, and I was able to transpose the
changes.  Visually to music.  Music to painting.

It was why my paintings were unique.  They were a
physical representative of how I saw music.

I opened my eyes as the song ended, blinking furiously
as I worked to shift my universal paradigm.

The song was beautiful, almost perfect.  I allowed
Justin and Joe's discussion to fade into the
background.  Looking at the keyboards, I smiled
contentedly at the keyboards, turning them on and
playing until I discovered the one that had the violin
setting.

Call it a gut feeling, but I thought Justin's song
needed strings.  It would give it a symphonic feel,
and should bolster his voice nicely.  Frustrated that
I couldn't fiddle with the controls and settings, I
contented myself with the way the keyboard was
programmed and began playing.

By the time Justin and Joe were ready to record, I'd
managed to work out an accompaniment that I was happy
with.  It hadn't been that hard for me to deconstruct
Justin's song.  I didn't have photographic memory, but
if I'd created a mental image of a song, it was
child's play for me to reverse engineer the tune.

As the playback began, I started playing.  Gradually
adding sweeping sound-scapes, I played effortlessly,
highlighting and enhancing Justin's voice.  I listened
closely to the lyrics, memorizing them as Joe asked
him to re-sing a section.

Finally, I joined him, changing his song dramatically.
 In my world it was no longer a lonely man singing of
unrequited love and secret fantasies.  Now it was a
majestic duet.  He sang to me.  Our voices were
perfectly suited, my baritone with his tenor.  And it
gave his song a depth and meaning I'm sure he'd never
considered.

I'd noticed that he and Joe peeked in at me
occasionally, but I blanketed myself with the
certainty that my room was sacrosanct.  There was no
reason for them to turn my speakers on, so I could
sing and play with no restrictions.

I wasn't able to let go of the music, to step back
into reality when Joe suggested Justin take five.
Turning the other piano on, I began to play both.
Combining them fluidly in a song I'd composed.

I started hesitantly, as I made the mental adjustment
necessary to change landscapes and dimensions, to move
from Justin's world to one of my own creations.

I selected a song that was similar in scope, an epic
ballad that spoke of missed opportunity and love lost.
 And I played passionately.  Loosing myself in the
music, looking on fondly at the world I'd created,
slipping into my own private dimension as one would a
favorite pair of slippers -- naturally, seamlessly,
juxtaposing the visual world with the musical reality.

As the notes left my fingers, as the lyrics flowed, I
slowly managed to shift my perspective.  Coming to the
end, I paused briefly as I shrugged mentally and
re-engaged my senses.

Justin was still in his recording booth and the light
Joe had pointed out earlier was shining red.  I
considered ducking out as soon as I could so I could
get some of my art supplies.  It was almost habit by
now to try to get down on paper or canvas the
constructs I created during a musical session.  My
fingers were literally itching to draw the scenes I'd
envisioned.

I was chewing my nails absently, concentrating on
exactly how I'd like the painting to develop when Joe
interrupted my reverie, "Justin," he said over the
speaker, "Your boys are here.  Why don't you take
Dylan to your office and I'll finish this mix.  This
one is good.  I think you've just recorded you're next
number one."

I watched as he absently flipped switches.  The light
turned green, and Justin and I both left our separate
rooms and entered the control booth.  "It's not
turning out exactly like either of us imagined," he
said.  "I think I've almost got it.  Should be just a
few more moments.  I'll make a CD of it and bring it
to your office as soon as I finish."

"So what did you think?" Justin asked me as we began
our trek towards his office.

"It was fun to watch, seeing the way you guys
interacted.  It really is a collaborative process
isn't it?"

"Definitely.  What did you think of Joe?"

"How old is he?"

Justin smiled at me mischievously, "Thirty-six.  Hard
to believe isn't it?"

"Seriously?  The guy looks like he should be in high
school."

"He gets that a lot.  He's probably lost more than a
few jobs because of how young he looks.  But he's
certainly talented.  And we work well together."

"I think he was right about your song.  It sounded
much better as a ballad."

"Yeah, looks like he wins that one.  I really wanted
it to be up tempo, but he's probably right, the lyrics
just didn't suit."

"Justin!  Have you seen this?"  Lance demanded as we
entered his office.

"Hi Lance, Guys this is Dylan.  Dylan these are the
guys -- Josh, Chris, Joey, and the guy yelling and
waving the paper frantically is Lance."

Lance blushed nicely as he joined his friends in
greeting me and shaking my hand.  But it didn't deter
him, once the niceties were over; he turned his
flashing green eyes back to Justin.

"Have you seen this?"

"Could you be a bit more specific?  I've seen millions
of pieces of paper."

"It's a copy of a legal document.  A document Jive is
planning on filing Monday.  They plan on taking you to
court demanding reparations for breach of contract.
You've failed to deliver a single from your upcoming
album and a single for a new artist."

"Jive is suing you?"