Chapter Five

One week later

When Dru was a child, she always loved the magical feeling she used to get when it snowed. She used to imagine that each individual snowflake had it's own personality. Sometimes she tried to name them but, of course, there had been too many for her to keep up with. She remembered the hot chocolate her mother used to make when it snowed. She would melt down chocolate bars, and stir the gooey result with milk. It had been rich and thick, definitely not something you could make from a box of Nestle instant cocoa. Dru had loved the taste of it, it was something she would never forget. Just like she would never forget the scent of her mother's perfume, or the sound of the crackling fire as they sat together and turned pages of old magazines that had been inhabiting the abandoned cabin they had lived in since she was a baby.

Dru never knew her father, her mother hadn't seemed to remember who he was. Half the time, her mother couldn't seem to remember the simplest things, like her own name. No, her mother had never been all there, this was something Dru was forced to come to terms with, at the tender age of five.

Then the dark memories would pummel her like a pair of relentless fists. The slow passing of years...the fire that started from an errant spark, taking the life of her mother but sparing Dru...ten years old...surviving in the woods with other transients, taking care of each other like animals in a den...somehow getting to New York (walking, hitching, hopping the rails...)...a whirlwind of people, their names too painful to remember... Some of them had cared, at least she had thought they did. A porn model at eleven...a prostitute at twelve...living on the street at thirteen...

...but living on the street seemed like a luxury compared to sleeping with a forty year old to pay her room and board.

She shuddered, even today, she could remember each face...each touch...each painful kiss...each slap she recieved by arguing about what she was going through. She was surprised she had been strong enough to make it this far, her friends...hadn't been so fortunate, as far as she knew, they were still where she had left them. She wondered, what had happened to them all?

She flipped through the magazine, for what seemed like the millionth time. It didn't matter. It was fascinating. There were so many people to gaze at, glamourous people, wearing fabulous clothes. She smiled, fantasing about an alternate universe, where people put her pictures in magazines, and gave her money to buy beautiful expensive clothing.

"Stop dreaming Dru." She murmured. "Dreams don't put food in your stomach."

The last sandwich had been consumed the previous evening. Back to rummaging through garbage cans, back to begging for change. She sighed.

"How much longer God?" She whispered, shoving her precious magazine into her ratty bookbag. "How much longer before Dru gets a break?"
*************************

"You should let your hair grow out again."

"Nah." Justin took a sip of his coffee.

The journalist shrugged. "What can you tell us about Cry Me A River?"

He sighed. "It's a song...about payback. That's all."

"About Britney?" The woman asked boldly.

Justin glanced at his watch. "Your fifteen minutes are up." He grumbled.

She snickered. "Right. Thank you Justin."

"Pleasure." He murmured, watching her retreat out the door.

Trace snickered. "That's ten."

"Eleven." Justin smiled. "The last one asked about the song twice."

Trace marked something off on his notepad. "The tally is up to five hundred."

"Do I get a biscuit?" Justin smiled, his eyes gleaming with playfullness.

"No, but you don't have any more interviews today."

Justin tipped his head back and let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I need me some eats."

"I made reservations." Trace nodded. "Rigby's."

Justin scrunched up his nose. "Can't we get something simple? It irks me that they charge forty bucks for a plate of spaghetti."

He let out a tired laugh. "We promised them we would grace them with your presence a week ago J."

"Why?" He cocked his head to the side.

"They want you to sign the wall."

"Didn't Nick Carter sign their wall last week?" He rolled his eyes.

"Nick Carter isn't as..." He pondered a moment. "...exciting."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm exciting?"

"Well...no. But they think you are." Trace smiled. "And that my friend...is all that counts."

Justin rose up off the comfortable leather sofa. "You're gonna get it Ayala. Real good." He winked at him with reassurance.

"J...I could pound your a$$ in five seconds."

"You wish." He flexed his biscep. "I'm a beefcake."

"Would you just come on." Trace moaned, motioning towards the door. "You're not gonna be late for this. You were late gettin' up this morning, and now your gonna pay."

"I'm boycotting their spaghetti." Justin said seriously as he walked out the door.

Trace snickered, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Why me?"
*************************
"I'm boycotting the spaghetti." Justin informed the waitress.

She nodded. "I'll make a note of that."

Trace's mouth gaped.

"Trace is boycotting the spaghetti as well." Justin motioned to Trace, who was busy burying his face in the menu.

Lonnie's iced tea practically shot out through his nose.

"Would you like to boycott anything else today?" The waitress asked. She was smiling, but anybody could tell that she wanted to smack him for being so cocky.

Justin snickered. "No...." His eyes shifted back to Trace. "The lady will have the meatloaf."

Trace wanted to punch him in the face, but knew, that it would only lead to more tabloid headlines. Instead, he decided that if Justin could play this stupid, immature little game...so could he. He put on a pleasant smile. "No. I'm having the spaghetti."

Justin frowned. "We're boycotting..."

"I'll have the spaghetti." Trace smiled, and glanced at Lonnie.

"So will I." Lonnie said after a moment, realizing what exactly what Trace was doing.

Justin rolled his eyes. Trace would get his payback later. "I'll have the prime rib." He muttered, hating the fact that his friend had beat him at his own annoying game.

"Very good." The waitress sighed, and walked away.

Justin glared at his two companions. "We were boycotting the spaghetti."

"You're an idiot." Trace grumbled after a moment.

Lonnie was more subtle. "Justin, I realize you're bored. But, can you please save your games until we're out of the public eye? I don't need to hear from Johnny how he heard you were acting like a stupid a$$ in public again."

"I'm not acting like an a$$." He pouted, crossing his arms. "I never act like an a$$."

"Yes you are and yes you do." Trace nodded. "This is business Justin. We came here on business. This isn't some casual lunch. These people asked you to be here today. You're embarrassing yourself."

Justin yawned, and didn't bother to cover his mouth.

"What about your image? Dont' you think..." Trace rambled on.

Justin didn't hear him. He tended to tune people out, when they weren't talking about anything that sparked his interest. He wasn't making an a$$ out of himself. He was just, being playful. He never had much of a childhood. Being a professional performer at such a young age had prevented him from having one. Not that he was sorry, he really loved what he did. But sometimes he wanted to let loose, he wanted to act stupid. He wanted to be...

Free.

The music business, was starting to seem like a prison more an more. He couldn't go anywhere on his own, he hadn't been able to in almost ten years. Everything he desired was obtained by somebody else. He often wondered what it would have been like to go into Best Buy himself to pick out his plasma TV. Or even, to go to the car dealership and look at all the cars they had to offer. Trace didn't even know how lucky he had it. Stores didn't have to close their doors for him, restaurants didn't have to seat him in a private section. No, he was...normal, sort of.

He thought back to last year, when he had gone to England to do a few shows. He loved England, especially London. And he had wanted to go sightseeing so badly, he hadn't cared if he couldn't go without a four man barricade surrounding him. Yes, he had gotten to see everything...with a huge crowd of girls following right behind him. After a few hours of sightseeing, his fun filled day had slowly turned into "let's gawk at Justin" day. But that was nothing new to him.

For some stupid reason he had come up with the idea that by going shopping it would drive the crowd away. It didn't of course. Each store he had hit, closed to the public, and everytime he would leave a store, the crowd had only seemed to get bigger. Finally, he had given up, given Trace a list of things that he had wanted, but was too tired to bother trying to find, and had gone back to his hotel.

That was the last time that he had tried to go shopping for himself.

He leaned down and began to blow bubbles in his chocolate milk. Something his mother, still to this day, refused to let him do.

Trace gave him a disgusted look. "Are you five now?"

Justin glanced at him, but didn't answer. He was on a role. The bubble in the center of the mass was bigger than he had ever seen it before.

Pop...

"Aww." He frowned, and stuck out his bottom lip.

That had been a big bubble.

"You know. You've been on stage with Michael, Janet...sung with Brian...and what do you pride yourself in? Seeing how big of a bubble you can make in your chocolate milk." Trace rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile. That kid cracked him up.

"It was big. Didn't you see it?" He yawned again, and got up from his chair. "I'll be right back."

Lonnie got up. "Where we goin'?"

"Bathroom."

"Let him go by himself." Trace said. "I think Justin needs to be alone for five minutes...you know, to collect his thoughts."

Lonnie shook his head. "Uh uh."

"It's just down the hall there." Trace pointed.

"I gotta go." Justin said impatiently. "I don't care if y'all wanna join in. Just make up your minds."

"I guess you can go." Lonnie sighed, sitting back down. "But if you're not back in ten minutes, I'm calling search and rescue on your ass."

Justin smiled. Sure, it wasn't total freedom, but he figured, five minutes of privacy would do him some good. "You sure you don't wanna join me." He winked seductively.

"Go!" Trace and Lonnie responed in unison.