Shelby

The sleep that night was fitful. Shelby slept off and on, dreaming alternately of Lucas and JC, jerking awake every time the dream reached a pinnacle point. Morning dawned bright and early, especially since she'd had no sleep. She showered and dressed in her best business attire--a suit that went at least to her knees. Leather satchel, dark heels, and hair pulled into a low clip, she slipped out of the house quietly and got into the car, headed downtown.

A short time later, she stepped into the suite of offices leased by her best friend in high school and attorney, Robin Gold, at 8am sharp. Her appointment was at 8:30, but one could never be too early when discussing litigation. The receptionist showed her to a seat in the lobby, and Shelby sat down to wait.

‘Isn't this something? I never imagined myself back here. Ever.'

It had been at least a year since Shelby sat in that chair, in that office, waiting to talk about this issue, the Lucas Thing. Shelby thought back to the last meeting, the settlement meeting, when the papers were signed and hands were shaken, and Robin had pulled her aside and gave her a long, tight hug and told her to take care of herself. She'd tried. Lord knew, she'd tried.

Robin had upgraded, Shelby noticed. She smiled to herself, thinking the fee she got from the representing her against Lucas' family, in addition to mediating the Firestone settlement was a large portion of what it took to take the two-man firm from modest neighborhood law office to almost posh, upscale attorney's headquarters, with deep carpet that still smelled new, plush leather chairs for the lobby, a fancy coffeemaker with little china cups and a tall, mahogany receptionist's desk. Shelby almost couldn't wait to see Robin's office.

A few minutes before 8:30, Robin's door opened and she stepped out, looking fashionable as always, in a smart pantsuit in black. Robin rarely wore any color but black. She said it was her power color. "Shelby Coster," she gushed, caramel skin glowing, teeth gleaming white, hair in springy spirals down her back. "It's wonderful to see you again. You look fantastic. Come on back."

Shelby stood, gathered her bag and followed Robin to her office. The door clicked softly as it closed behind her. She almost laughed to herself, seeing that the upgrade train had found its way to Robin's office as well. Not only did she no longer have the rundown, run of the mill office supply store desk with two broken drawers and not enough desk space, but she also didn't have the ratty rugs and the cheap gold plated lamps and the futon that looked like it got quite a bit of use. Robin had hit the big time, replacing her old desk with a massive glass top executive desk that just barely fit the room, matching chairs and credenza and side tables. High end rugs, silver lamps and classy shades, coordinating art on the walls Robin looked like she belonged. Shelby was proud.

I see Gold & Farmer is doing well, these days," Shelby said, trying hard not to smirk. It wasn't working. "How is Greta?" 

Greta Farmer, the other half of Gold & Farmer mainly worked in divorces and domestic cases. She was a bulldog, but could be sweet when she wanted to be. One would think that she hated men and marriage, but she was happily married to a judge who presided down at City Hall. She liked to say she hated folks that didn't understand what marriage meant, and destroyed the meaning of the institution. The sooner she got them out of their sham of a union, the better. Greta had more than a frown for Shelby when she heard that Shelby and Lucas were engaged. Embarrassed but used to the criticism, Shelby ignored it. After they were married, it would have all seemed worth it.

"Gold & Farmer is doing excellent. So much business came in after the uh... well, you know."

"The landmark settlement?" Shelby grinned across the desk. "You can say it. I'm just happy I could help out an old girlfriend. That's all." 

Robin smiled, pointing manicured nail tip at Shelby. "Hey, careful with the ‘old'part, okay?"

Shelby sighed, and the bright smile she was trying so hard to keep on her face faded. "So anyway. You must know why I'm here."

"I do," she said, her demeanor shifting on a dime. She sat forward and pulled a thick file from the pile on her desk. Shelby recognized it... God, how she had hoped to never see it again. On top of the file she set a notepad and picked up a fountain pen.

"So, what I got from your message is that Melina is pretty much stalking you. All the way to Orlando? And involving someone you're dating. Am I correct?"

Shelby nodded, scooting to the edge of the chair so that she could lean her elbows on the desk. "I've been living in Orlando for the last six months, and seeing someone sort of high profile. 13 seconds of my face aired at about 2am on an early Friday morning, and all of a sudden, he gets a package with a lot of information that he really doesn't need to know. Who I date, wealthy or not, famous or not, coincidence or not, is none of her business, and I guess it isn't against the law to be nosy, but isn't it against the law to send letters to him, claiming that I committed murder?"

"Did you bring the package with you?"

"Yep.” Shelby dug the envelope out of her bag and slid it across the desk. Robin picked through the stack, rifling through pages, frowning at some pieces, shaking her head at the stack in general. She read the note on top, chuckling to herself.

"Melina is an idiot," she said simply.

"I know that," Shelby said, wanting to laugh, too. "But how so, specifically?"

“She implicated herself. I'd bet if I called this gentleman that you're seeing, that he'd send me a photocopy of the FedEx shipping label that he received. No matter, I bet it would match the copy that FedEx has. And I bet it would match the copy that she was so good to insert in this neat little package, the one in which she completely identifies herself. She's so eager to get back at you for not giving her that money that she's dancing herself right into a harassment suit."

Robin sat back, pen between white teeth, rattling it around. It was an irritating sound, but Shelby could endure it, if it meant good news. "I bet if I twist this, that I could definitely put her over the edge of the law. Your friend should file, too-- no one should be sending him unsolicited information about someone he's seeing. If he wanted to know all of this, he would have just hired a private investigator, no? But yes... it is dangerous to accuse someone of murder with no proof and attempt to sway other people of it. Not quite illegal, but I think we've got a leg to stand on."

"Tell me, plain as day. Can I shut her up?"

"We can try, Shelby." Robin reached across the expanse of glass, covered in manila file folders stuffed with briefs and action items and looked Shelby right in the eye. "You know I don't like to make promises I can't keep. But I got you this far. I have no intention of letting you down. We can fight this out as long as you want to fight it. At the very least get an injunction to keep her away from you. We'll have to have a statement from your friend. He'll have to file his own paperwork."

Dejected, Shelby shrugged a shoulder. "Robin... I don't want this all over the news, again.  I don't want him to have to file anything. I don't want his name in this at all. I can't mix him up in this."

Robin was hesitant, playing with the pen, her mouth twisted as she winced. "Well...we can certainly try to do this without him being involved. It would be hard to get through it without mentioning his name.  And it would give us so much more impact. What... what is his name?"

Shelby hesitated before answering. Was Robin asking because she needed to know? Or being nosy?

"JC Chasez. That's his name."

Recognition flashed across her face, gone as soon as it came. Robin blinked a few times, then closed her eyes for a few moments and then opened them again. Her reaction would have been funny, had Shelby not been in such a serious mood.

"JC Chasez.” Robin choked out. “Like from ‘Nsync, JC Chasez. Tearin' Up My Heart, was on our walls in high school, JC Chasez."

Shelby smirked. "Well, it's not like he's still a teenager, Robin. He's our age. Older than us, actually."

"I knew that. It's just..."  She snickered. "It's just... he's ... JC."

"Do you have a point?"

"No. I don't. It's just funny."

"What makes it funny? He's sweet, and a wonderful person, and very deep and I lo-"

Shelby swallowed, clutching her throat, feeling the blush crawl up her chest. Was she really about to say she loved him? Out loud? She inhaled a deep breath and shook her head to clear it. ‘Get rid of it. It's too late for that.'

Shelby exhaled and tried to return to business as usual, looking Robin in the eye. "JC is a great guy. He really is. I've enjoyed knowing him and being with him, but it won't work, with him. I need to make a clean break and if possible, I want to keep him out of this. He didn't ask for any of this, and I don't want to give it to him."

So that was it. She'd just decided, right there, that she wasn't going to see him again. Her bravado was hiding her heart breaking in two, top to bottom. It was amazing that it had even become whole again, but it had. In the short time she had known him, she had known happiness, and what it was like to be with someone who wanted nothing in return, who didn't offer money or favors in return for what she gave. He was in it for the fun of it. It felt good to give it, just because. Shelby had to wonder if she'd ever find anyone like him again. 

"Listen. Robin. I want to know how you feel about something... and if it'll make her and this whole thing go away without involving JC, it would be worth it, to me. But only if you think it's a good idea, I mean."

Robin put down the pen and folded her arms on the desk, eyes open wide. "I'm listening. What, exactly, are we talking about?"

JC

It felt strange. Strange to be heading back to LA, though he hadn’t really been gone long. Until he boarded the plane and tossed his worn brown leather bag onto the seat next to him and settled into the supple leather, he hadn’t even really given any thought to what it would be like to go back to LA. To walk back into his house. To see his neighbors and people he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It didn’t even feel like home, anymore.

It wasn’t really. And he wasn’t the same person, either.

No doubt, LA would be the same. The same pace, the same people, the same hurry-up-and-wait. The same wannabes and the same irresponsible, fly-by-night people living life like Peter Pan—they never grow up, blowing through money and opportunity with no regard to tomorrow and how to pay for it. They’d expect someone—someone like JC—to be around to pick up the pieces and bail them out. LA was its own universe, and a strange one at that; strange enough that even Rod dreaded his frequent trips back to the West Coast. JC shook his head, frustration mounting with each hour that passed at the very thought of being back in the city.

“We’re in and out, man,” JC said, directing his voice across the aisle to Rod, who laid sprawled across two seats and was watching Bad Santa, intermittently cackling at Billy Bob Thornton.

“What?” Rod sat up slightly, just enough to glance at JC across the aisle.

“We’re in and out,” JC repeated, his bottom lip being turned an angry red by the gnawing of his teeth. JC replaced the lip with his thumb and chewed on that, for awhile. “I don’t want to be in LA for a long time. We go in, we get this done, we send it off, and we get back to Orlando. I don’t want to hang out.”

Rod stared, not blinking, for a few seconds before lowering his head and returning his attention to his movie. “Okay, dude. Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Normally, JC would argue that point, but in the past few weeks, he’d demanded and achieved respect from the band, from Rod, and his manager. If they wanted to let him think he was the boss, then he’d be the boss—of the music. “Yeah, I’m the boss. So we do this and we get it done and we leave town.”

“Whatever,” Rod muttered. “Back to old habits, I guess?”

JC glared across the aisle at the top of Rod’s head. “What?”

“You heard me,” he answered. “Back to your old tricks. Boy meets girl, boy falls hard, girl doesn’t feel the same and dumps boy, boy hides in recording studio, where he doesn’t eat, sleep, or fuck until he loses 20 lbs and has to be clubbed upside the head and dragged out. That’s your M.O., dude.”

“That’s not… I don’t do that. I just focus. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Focus on running away from your problems and writing depressing emo shit.”

JC sighed, and then shrugged. “That depressing emo shit wins me Grammy noms. It’s from the heart.”

“Yeah. Well. I’d rather be happy than have material for Grammy nominated songs. It’s not worth it. Just sayin’.”

JC didn’t respond, and didn’t really need to. He knew Rod was right, and what was more, he agreed. If only Shelby was in on the idea.  If only.

The small, private Lear jet landed smoothly on an airstrip just outside the Burbank airport. From there, JC and Rod climbed into a waiting car and headed into LA. Rod kept a condo in an upscale gated community in a suburb. The driver dropped him off first, nodded at the instruction to return the following morning to pick him up, and then drove JC to his home in West Hollywood.

The house was bare, but not empty. The minimum had been left, just in case he needed to come back. Eventually, the house would be sold. Even if JC returned to LA, he’d likely never live the rambling four bedroom home again, not now that Tyler had relocated to Florida and there was a significant chance that he had, as well. Besides that, the house just wasn’t home any longer. It hadn’t been home since Kim left.

JC entered through a side door off of the garage, tossing his key across the counter like he always used to. It was late in Orlando—not particularly in LA, but since his body was on east coast time, he was exhausted. He didn’t even turn on any lights as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. The bare minimum had been left there, too. A bed, a dresser, a lamp and clock radio. No TV, no music system, no DVD player—it had all been packed and moved to Florida.  JC glanced around the cold, dark room, his hands on his hips, shaking his head. The feeling was just so… strange.

JC hit the shower and then hit the bed. The next day would be long and the work backbreaking-- bent over a mixing console, heavy headphones on his head, listening diligently, measuring, exacting, adjusting.  It was absolutely not where he wanted to be. He wanted to be with Shelby.

His heart sank even lower in his chest at the splash of cold water that hit him over and over when he thought of her—she obviously didn’t want to be with him.

Shelby

"So, I’ll arrange a meeting and draw up the papers. I’ll give you a call when a date has been set.” Robin scribbled notes and talked at the same time, her pen scratching along the surface of the paper. It was the sound of accomplishment. At least Shelby hoped. "Will you be in town?"

She nodded, her lips pressed together, reserving any joy or merriment until things were final. Sitting in Robin’s office for the second time in as many days was beginning to remind her of the long battle with Lucas’ family, and then the settlement with the tire manufacturer. As plush as Robin’s working space was now, it was still the last place she wanted to be. It was Friday morning. She was usually in class, and then would head straight to Antigua to open at noon, work until dinner, and then go out with her friends. In between, she’d think about JC and their date the night before non-stop.  Today, everything was different and upside down. She was not in Orlando and not in class and she wouldn’t be skipping off to a job she rather enjoyed. There was no date the night before.

And JC was gone.

"I'll be here until this gets settled. I'm hoping it won't take long. I don't think they want to fight this out anymore than I do, but I need that bitch off my back and out of my life. That has to be a part of the deal. Don't forget that."

"I won't, Miss Shelby. I wouldn't dare." Robin made a few more notes and closed the thick file, pages jutting out haphazardly. "I'll get my paralegal on the research. You should probably head to the bank and prepare a check. We won’t hand it over until everything is signed, but it will go over better if we're ready to go once they agree."

"I'll do that today,” Shelby said, her arms resting on the desk top, almost sinking down onto it.”I can't tell you what a relief it's been to know that you're handling things. I've been a bag of nerves for so long, now."

Robin reached across the table to soothe Shelby, rubbing her arm, offering a smile that was warm and comforting and friendly. It had been so long since any feeling of friendliness had come from this city. "It's almost over, hon," she cooed. "It's almost over."

"Well, I better get to the bank. And home. My parents are probably pacing a groove in the floors."

"Tell Bob and Renee I said hello."

"I will."

Shelby swung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door. Before she reached it, she stopped and turned around. Robin glanced up from her paperwork, alarmed by the look on Shelby's face.

"By the way... I love what you've done with the place. I'm really proud of you, you know? You managed to make it through law school, and here you are in your own firm and helping me out. I'm kind of... well, I don't want to study law, or anything, but I'm jealous. You're doing it, you're really doing this. I can't see straight, I'm so jealous."

"Oh, Shelby...honey..." Robin stood and was around the desk in a matter of seconds, grabbing Shelby by the shoulders and pulling her forward, wrapping her arms around her friend, as the tears pooled in both sets of eyes. They said nothing as they stood hugging, clinging to each other. Robin stroked her hair and rubbed her back until it felt like the sobs were receding, and she could let go. She turned away for a few seconds, just to pluck a few pieces of Kleenex from a holder on the table. She shoved the bunched cotton into Shelby's hand and kept rubbing her back.

Shelby inhaled and exhaled and repeated that cycle until she was calm. "Sorry," she said, her nose stuffy, her face red. "I just get so emotional about all of this. I leave and try to fix my life and I can't get away from it and-"

"It's going to be okay. I'm going to take care of this. I want you to repeat that to yourself. It's going to be okay, and Robin is going to take care of everything. I'll give you a call, okay?" One final hug was shared between the two, and then Robin pulled open her office door and gently pushed Shelby out of it. "I have work to do. I'll be in touch. Promise."

Shelby nodded still sniffling, shuffling down the hall and past the receptionist, who watched her walk by with a sympathetic smile. She plodded aimlessly, but somehow ended up at her car, and then got on the road.

So, it was settled. Sort of. She would offer a deal to the Samuels family, giving them a portion of the multi-million dollar payday she had received from the Firestone settlement. In exchange, they agreed to virtually forget she ever existed. Never mention her name in the press. Never come to find her. Never send anonymous packages to men she was dating. Never interfere in her life, ever again. Melina was getting what she wanted. If it kept JC out of it, it was worth the price.

If they couldn't agree to that, they were more cold and heartless and dysfunctional than she could ever imagine. There was nothing else that she could offer, nothing else they could take from her. They'd never be able to steal her memories of Lucas, or the years she spent with him-those would matter the most to her anyway.

Just down the road from Robin's office was her branch at Miami Bank and Trust, where most of her money was being held. Some liquid, some invested, some put far, far away. Not unreachable, just far away. She would have to dip into that, eventually. She had just enough liquid to have a check prepared, and sooner than she expected, she was leaving the bank with a sealed envelope. Exactly one third of the settlement from Firestone, less her attorney's fees.  She hoped it was enough to erase those people forever.

The day had nearly exhausted Shelby. She pondered lunch, thought about calling her mom to meet her somewhere, but deep inside her, she just longed to be home. To sit between her mom and dad and let them dote on her and spoil her, and love her. It had been a long time, since she had that.

Her thoughts drifted to JC, eventually. Her body had missed him, the night before. She hadn't slept a wink. She tossed and turned most of the night, thinking of him. Wanting to call him, talk to him, and hear his voice in her ear. Feel his arms around her. His body near her. She wondered how long this would take-getting over him. Learning to live without him. Starting over.

All over, again.

Shelby pulled into the driveway at her parent's house, turned off the engine and walked up the sidewalk. Both her parents met her at the door, quizzical looks on their faces, bursting to ask what happened at the meeting.

"Hey, you guys," she said, as they let her pass. "I'm gonna change and then I'll come down and give you an update, okay?"

They nodded, not saying a word as she climbed the stairs and went to her room. Her old room, her childhood room, though it wasn't very childish anymore. After she moved out, it had been converted to a regular guest bedroom, classy and stylish and comfortable. It still felt like home. Still smelled like home-Shelby had adopted her mother's habit of putting fresh flowers in each room. She loved the fragrance and the natural perfume. There was lilac in her room. It was soothing. Great for her headache.

The bed was so tempting. Queen size, fluffy down comforter, crisp sheets. It looked like Renee had changed them that morning. Shelby laid down, fully clothed, for just a few minutes. Just to close her eyes. Rest her head. Think. Breathe. Feel. 

JC appeared behind her closed eyes. That face, that smile, those eyes. That hair, that body. That heart. That personality. That sweet, sweet man. She missed him now, more than ever before. Felt alone now, more than ever before. The tears erupted again, and this time she didn't stop them. Her heart exploded, and this time she didn't stop it. She would never have him, but this feeling...this wonderful, terrible, awesome, exciting, awful feeling... The feeling of loving him, really and truly, and not being able to have him was torture.

JC

Time spent in the studio was always therapeutic, no matter what else was going on. Once JC entered the large, dark, closed off room with the flashing lights and expansive control board, he was in another world, on another planet, a part of another universe. Hours passed quickly, songs piled up, ideas flowed. This space, this zone was the only place, lately, where JC felt like he knew anything or had any kind of expertise. It was the only place where, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he had it together. He knew every inch of every song, every nuance of every note. He knew what it was supposed to sound like... it would be his job to push the engineer to make those sounds happen. It was Rod's job to agree with him.

Six hours into the mixing session, JC called a break. His thoughts traveled back to Rod's comment the night before about being up to his old tricks. JC was determined to not be the same guy, anymore. To not hole himself up in a soundproof booth and stare off into space and think about how he'd fucked up his life this time. He was determined to learn something, this time. To move on, but be smart about it. Maybe he'd take a break from women altogether. Focus on his music. At any rate, a break was in order, so JC took the time to sit around the conference table and eat pizza and drink soft drinks and even laughed and joked a little bit. He let the music heal his soul, mend his broken, tattered heart. As much as it could, anyway.

JC sat across from Rod, who was telling a hysterically funny story about his last date-gone-wrong. Rod either had great dates or terrible dates. He'd never had a mediocre evening in his life. JC half listened, laughing at the appropriate moments, but his mind was elsewhere. For all his bravado and new goals about getting over Shelby and moving on, he sort of hoped she'd call. Or text. Or instant message. Or send a carrier pigeon. Or fly to LA and tell him she wanted him and she wanted to be with him, and by the way, would he like to hear her life story?

No call came, though. No text or instant message came. There was an intense, incredibly loud, painful silence from Shelby. That hurt the most.

So he shoved it down, some more, pushed his chair away from the table and stood to toss his paper plate into the garbage can. He pointed at the console on the other side of the glass partition. "I'm gonna head back in. Listen to a couple tracks, maybe try to get ahead. You guys head in there in a few, okay? The sooner we get done.... well the sooner we're done and we can collect a paycheck, right?"

Rod and the engineer, Derek, nodded and went back to the conversation. JC was sort of hoping they'd feel a little uncomfortable and rushed by the suggestion that they get back to work. He sighed, though, and didn't push the issue. He could use some alone time, anyway.

Hours later, well past dinner, much later than sunset, and truthfully past midnight, JC called it a day. Rod was cranky and irritable and suddenly had no opinion on any changes. He sulked in a corner with his arms crossed and his eyes nearly drooping closed. When JC called it quits, though, he suddenly perked and sat up straight. "Anyone want to go party? There's a couple new clubs downtown."

JC shook his head and yawned, pulled out his cell phone and called a cab. He would always and forever be the one worried about the photoshoot the next day or the recording session the next day or the interview the next day. It was no wonder they called him daddy. "You are going home, son. You are going to sleep, because you fell asleep during my mixing session of your album. We're back bright and early tomorrow. I don't want any whining."

Rod stomped his feet for a few seconds and followed JC and the engineer out of the room. He grumbled, but he followed. He stood outside in the cool air until the cab arrived, and climbed in after JC. In minutes, really, he was at the front door of his condo and stumbling inside. JC bet himself a dollar that Rod would stumble back out of the apartment the next morning looking haggard and unshaven, possibly still drunk. There was no way that Rod was staying in. It was still early, by the 'rock clock', or the sometimes inverse hours that musicians kept. Rod had always been a child of rock hours, so it was practically noon, Rod's time.

The cab traveled along the highway to West Hollywood and turned into the driveway of JC's home in the hills. He was tired—exhausted, actually and happy to be home. Not happy to see a car sitting in the drive way. A familiar car, one he hadn't expected to see and didn't really want to see, ever again.

The sporty red Mercedes coupe was a gift. He’d stupidly had it put in her name so he couldn’t take it back after she left him. He chalked it up to thinking with his heart and not with his wallet and now that same heart thumped wildly as he got out of the taxi, paid the driver and edged into his house.

Obviously, she still had her key.  Obviously, JC hadn't changed the locks. Subconsciously, perhaps, he'd been waiting for this moment. The moment that Kim returned.