Caroline,

How are you settling in?  Is JC treating you well?  He hasn't called to voice any concerns about your performance thus far, so I'm assuming everything's going well.  I've attached an updated publicity schedule for the remainder of this month - only two events have been added, so you shouldn't have any trouble fitting them in. Let me know if you run into any problems, and tell JC he can field his complaints my way. 

Sincerely,

Kevin

PS: Hang in there.

Caroline re-read the email for the second time and shook her head at the computer screen.  What did Kevin mean by JC having concerns about her, or telling her to hang in there?  Did everyone really expect her to fail so badly at such a menial job? 

She opened the PDF file that Kevin had attached and scanned through the new additions to the schedule.  At the end of the month, he'd listed a fashion show he wanted JC to make an appearance at, as well as some charity event.  Both were on Saturdays, and Caroline hoped she wouldn't be expected to sacrifice her weekend to attend as well.

She added the new changes to the existing calendar she'd mocked up earlier in the week and hit print, taking a moment to catch her breath and stare out the window at the backyard.

The past week had been something of a whirlwind.  For the first two days of her official employment, JC had more or less been breathing down her neck.  He'd plopped himself down in the desk across from hers in the office and dictated out lists of tasks he wanted accomplished, times he wanted to do things, as well as some other vague half-brained instructions.  His mind seemed to be constantly going in a thousand different directions at once, and he expected Caroline to catch on quickly, and without taking notes. 

Last Friday, her desk had been nearly covered with Post It note reminders and he'd teased her about it.

"You don't have to write down everything I say," he'd pointed out, plucking up a note that read remember: JC will only use Titan shoelaces.  "You'll remember it all eventually."

Eventually seemed to be a key word in JC's vocabulary.  When Caroline asked him if he'd reviewed the notes she'd printed out regarding his upcoming interview with Vibe Magazine, he'd waved her off and said, "I'll read ‘em eventually".  When she asked if he'd returned any of the thirteen phone calls she'd fielded for him while he'd taken a nap upstairs, he just shrugged from his spot on the couch and said, "yeah, I'll get to it eventually". 

The weekend had been a well-earned break, and she'd spent the majority of it complaining to Brandon about JC's various nuances and annoying habits.  He bit his nails, he was constantly tapping or jiggling some part of his body, and he never bothered to leave her any coffee in the mornings. 

By the time Monday rolled around, Caroline had spent the drive to his house praying for strength.  However, after letting herself in the gate, she found an unfamiliar car parked in front of the garage again.  Her first thought was that JC was entertaining another lady friend, and she'd entered the house with caution.  But it was suspiciously silent, and a note on her desk announced that JC had someone over for a session and would be down in the studio for most of the morning.

As it had turned out, Caroline had spent the day rather productively, getting all of her work done and then some, as JC never surfaced from the basement.  The next day was much the same, the only indication that her boss was alive being the identical note he'd left on her desk.

Wednesday, his sessions must have been complete, because he was in her office by 9:30, demanding to know whether or not she had ironed his suit for some party. 

"You never told me to iron anything," Caroline had said, feeling absolutely certain of this fact, as her running list of "JC-Do's" was currently blank.  She'd started keeping the notepad next to her keyboard, constantly ready to scribble down some inane task he wanted done by some specific time. 

"I didn't?"  He'd frowned but didn't argue.  "Well, I need you to iron it.  It's upstairs." 

That had been Caroline's first venture into JC's bedroom.  It was nearly as enormous as the formal living room downstairs, but not nearly as exciting as she'd hoped.  Actually, it was fairly bare, decorated with only a king-size bed and a low dresser topped with a modestly sized flat screen TV.  Matching nightstands were piled high with books and notebooks.  Balcony doors stood open, rustling the sheer curtains, and an adjoining bathroom revealed a countertop cleared of everything except for a bottle of cologne.  Caroline had felt somewhat disappointed as she'd retrieved the suit from its spot on the back of his closet door.  She'd been expecting something wild, like a sex swing or platinum records all over the walls. 

For all that she'd learned about JC's personal life in her first week (which wasn't much), he'd somehow managed to wheedle his way into hers in the most roundabout ways possible.  While she was showing him her system for organizing and displaying his monthly calendar in the most user-friendly way, he'd suddenly asked about her family. 

"Are you an only child?  Or do you have brothers and sisters?"

His question had thrown her off completely, and she'd stammered over the answer.  "I-I have two brothers."

"You're the youngest?" JC had asked, leaning back in his chair and examining a stain on his t-shirt. 

"I'm...yeah.  How...why are you asking me this?"

Then he'd shrugged and returned to questioning her about the calendar. 

In the same way he'd gotten other details out of her, about her childhood, her college experience, even Brandon.  As much as Caroline wanted to keep her private life out of her job, the way JC nudged his questions in so unassumingly was unsettling.  At some point, she'd just started answering them unconsciously.  This seemed to satisfy him, however, and eventually his smatterings of random questions became nothing more than an occasional nuisance to Caroline.  Of course, she wouldn't dream of doing the same to him.

Now, it was finally Friday afternoon, and she was done for the day.  Her list of tasks was cleared, JC's dry cleaning had been picked up and paid for, and now the schedule was revised.  Plucking the fresh calendar from the printer tray, Caroline shut down the computer and picked up her bag, exiting the office with a glance at her watch.  It was just past five, and she would make it home in plenty of time to eat dinner, shower, change, and head down to Hollywood for Brandon's show.  She felt a ball of nervous excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach for him; this was a big gig for the band and she couldn't wait to see them onstage in a few short hours.

JC was in the kitchen, sitting on one of the barstools and watching the TV through the doorway into the den.  Some mindless reality show was on, something about midget couples trying to get pregnant, and Caroline found him watching crap like this more often than not.  She entered the kitchen, pausing at the sink to rinse her coffee cup from that morning.  She'd found the trick to getting any at all was either showing up by 8:30 or just making a second pot herself after JC polished off the first one.  It had taken her long enough to figure out the fancy machine that ground its own beans, supplied its own hot water, and steamed milk all at the same time. 

"Kevin emailed over some changes to your schedule," she announced, getting the new calendar off the counter and watching JC's back for any sign of his noticing that she'd spoken.  For a few moments, he continued stuffing his face from a bag of pretzels he held in his lap and more or less ignored her.  Finally, the show he was watching faded into a commercial, and he turned in his barstool to address her.

"What changes?  Anything big?"  She handed him the new copy and snatched the old one from its place off the fridge.  No matter how little actual food it housed, Caroline found that JC still seemed to spend a good portion of his day standing in front of it, searching for something that wasn't there, so she'd tacked a copy of the calendar in the middle of the otherwise empty stainless steel door.  Another copy was taped to the door that led down to his studio, yet another was in his bedroom somewhere, and finally one more on the entryway table, next to the phone that he never seemed to answer himself. 

"Hm," was JC's only response to the new additions, and he continued munching on pretzels.  Caroline noticed for the first time that he was wearing the suit she'd ironed earlier in the week. 

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked, and JC gave her a strange look.

"Shouldn't you know?"  He flicked the calendar across the island towards her and Caroline's eyes gravitated to Friday.  Indeed, printed in the small square box was "ABDC Promo Party - 7pm".  It was highlighted as well, although she couldn't remember why. 

"Oh."  Caroline frowned, scratching the back of her head in thought.  "Why is it...highlighted?"

She answered her own question mentally even as she spoke, and JC stared at her like she was some kind of idiot.

"Don't tell me you forgot already," he drawled.  "Pink highlighting means-"

"I have to go," she murmured, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.  How could she have let this slip by?  Brandon's show had been planned since the previous week, how could she have forgotten?

"Bingo."  JC tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it in his mouth.  He held the bag out to Caroline, offering her some, but she ignored him.

"JC, I can't go." 

He looked at her blankly.  "Is that so?"

"I really can't, I have a...a previous engagement."  It sounded dumb, she knew, but it would feel even more ridiculous claiming off her contractual obligations to attend her boyfriend's music gig.  "I don't know how I missed it, but...it's been planned for awhile."

JC ate another pretzel, crunching on it slowly while he watched her, impassive as always.  "Do you want to tell me what it is that you think should somehow excuse you from doing your job?"

Caroline ran her hands through her hair, groaning in frustration.  She was fucked, so royally fucked.  There was no way she could get out of this, not at this point.  How had she been so stupid?  "My boyfriend's band is playing a show at the Troubadour tonight at eight." 

As expected, it felt stupid coming out of her mouth, but JC's vague expression didn't change.

"Your boyfriend has a band?"

Caroline sighed.  "Yes."

"What does he play?"

"He sings."

JC nodded, looking thoughtful.  "Well.  The Troubadour.  That's exciting."  He turned back to the TV as his program resumed.  "But I need you with me tonight.  Sorry."

Caroline stared at his back, the wrinkle-free suit jacket she'd so painstakingly prepared earlier in the week suddenly mocking her.  Indignation welled up inside of her, and she rounded the counter to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the TV. 

"JC, I don't really need to go to this thing," she pointed out.  "You said yourself it's just another party."

"You're right," he allowed, popping another pretzel in his mouth.  "It is just a stupid party.  But I do need you there.  Stupid parties aren't just for show, Caroline.  They serve a very specific purpose.  This one happens to be footed by MTV, so it's a great place to make contacts.  I need you to help facilitate these contacts,  to take notes, to remember names and faces."

Caroline gritted her teeth and stared down at her sneakers in frustration.  Her shoes, fuck! 

"Damn it, I'm not dressed for a party at all," she exclaimed, examining her jeans and long-sleeved shirt as if they'd just magically appeared on her body.  JC surveyed her body with the same slow attentiveness he'd given her that first day at the door. 

"You're right."

Annoyance level through the roof, Caroline scowled at his indifference.  "This is all your fault.  You told me to dress casual."

"Chill out."  JC set his pretzels aside and glanced at his watch.  "It's 5:30 right now.  Go home, change into something...better, and I'll pick you up at your place in an hour."

Caroline leaned against the counter across from him with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across her forehead.  Brandon was going to be completely disappointed.  The worst part about it was that she knew he'd understand, too. 

"Caroline."  JC's voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced up at him.  To her surprise, his void expression had softened slightly.  "I don't want to go to this thing any more than you do. If you stick it out with me for an hour, tops, maybe we can escape in time to swing by your boyfriend's show afterward."

Caroline frowned, untrustworthy.  "Why?  It doesn't matter to you."

Her words were cold but JC just shrugged it off.  "I know you probably think I'm an idiot when it comes to real music, but even I know that playing the Troubadour is a pretty big deal."

"It is."

"So, I'm sure Brian or Brennan or whatever his name is wants you there."  He wasn't looking at her anymore, his attention back on the TV.  "Damn, this show is so weird."

Caroline only half glanced at the TV.  "Well...thanks.  And I don't think you're an idiot."

JC turned to regard her again.  "What do you think I am, then?"

It was a loaded question, and Caroline had about a billion different answers, but she decided it was best to place her bets safely tonight. 

"I think you just want to make music and entertain people."

JC's eyebrows raised at her statement.  "And what about your boyfriend?  Does he want to make music and entertain people?" 

Caroline wasn't sure why he was asking, but she nodded in agreement.  "I guess he does, yeah."

JC smirked.  "Good.  Then we'll have something to talk about when I meet him tonight."  He glanced at his watch again.  "Write down your address, I'll put it in the GPS.  6:30, sharp.  Be ready."

Caroline spent her entire drive home trying to get a hold of Brandon.  There were many downsides to him not having his own cell phone, and trying to contact him in a pinch was one of them.  She called every other member of the band, running into dead ends and voicemail prompts at every turn.

Finally, when she was home, in between tearing apart her closet for something to wear and taking the quickest shower of her life, Caroline rummaged up the Troubadour's phone number and prayed someone would answer. 

It rang a total of fifteen times before a distant voice answered. 

"Hi, I'm trying to get a hold of one of the members of the band that's playing there tonight," she said.  "Preferably Brandon Bowman but any of them will do.  Hello?"

"Just a minute," was the muffled reply and Caroline paced her bedroom anxiously while the phone changed hands. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dave?"

"That's me...Caroline?"

Caroline sighed in relief.  Of all of the band members she could have gotten on the phone, Dave was probably the best choice to actually get a message to Brandon some time before the next century. 

"Yeah.  Is Brandon nearby?"

"Man, you just missed him.  He and Carver went out to get some dinner for everybody before the show."

Caroline restrained a groan, catching the time flashing red at her from the bedside alarm clock.  "That's fine, listen, I need you to get a message to him from me."

"Oh, sure.  What's up?"

"Something came up with work and I'm not going to be able to make it tonight."

Dave responded with a low whistle.  "Shiiiit.  That sucks."

"I know.  There's a chance that I may be able to get there before your set is finished, but..." She trailed off, not wanting to get her own hopes up.  "Can you just tell him that I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, totally.  We'll miss you, Care."

Caroline rubbed her temples against a threatening headache.  "Thanks Dave.  Later."

Literally two minutes after she'd hung up her phone, it buzzed to life again, JC's name flashing across the screen.  It was just a text message, and Caroline tossed the phone aside hurriedly as she yanked a dress out of her closet and over her head.  She grabbed heels to match and slipped into her jacket as she checked the message.

I'm downstairs was all it said, and Caroline barely had enough time to re-apply lipstick before she ran out the door.

JC was idling by the curb in a gunmetal-colored Audi, attracting stares from passerby.  Caroline collapsed into the passenger seat, startling JC from his fumbling with the radio. 

"You're two minutes late," he pointed out, and Caroline shot him an exhausted glare.  "Kidding."

His gaze burned a trail up her bare legs, and Caroline yanked the hem of her dress down self-consciously.  JC smirked and shifted the car into park. 

"You clean up nice.  Ready?"

Caroline didn't respond.  What was left to say?