Karen noticed her son’s tired, distracted demeanor. “So, Francesca still said no to coming today?” she asked, placing a cup of coffee in front of him as he sat at the kitchen table.
“She said ‘no’ to more than just today,” he muttered. “She said we were over at sunrise basically.”
“Sorry to hear that, son.” Roy came up behind JC to place comforting hand on his shoulder. “She seems to be a lovely person.”
“She is — in and out. I’m not finished with her, not by a long shot. I just have to decide what I have to do next.”
“That’s my boy,” Roy cheered. “We didn’t raise a quitter.”
To JC’s way of thinking there was one sexy, independent gypsy girl in Chicago whose life was never going to be the same.
Francesca noticed JC’s bathrobe on the hook in the bathroom. She had meant him to take the impulsive gift with him when he left. She didn’t need any reminders of the man lying about. It was bad enough she’d never feel the same about taking a shower — or lie in bed without knowing how good it was to be held by him as they slept. Bringing him home had been monumental folly on her part.
Smoothing her hand over the cool fabric, she noticed something in the pocket. Inside she discovered his note. Reading it, she wondered how he could be so certain about his feelings. She certainly couldn’t. It did seem he was sensitive to her concerns though. Had to give him points there…
But he lived in Los Angeles and Orlando. She was a mid-western girl born and bred. Her heart was in Chicago. She didn’t see her living in either sunny coast. Between their residences and his celebrity, she saw no future for them — and caring for JC as she did, she couldn’t just be his Chicago fuck buddy. Game over?...
Yes. She had done the right thing... Then why did she feel so sad and lost?
Company. That’s what she needed. She’d just call Justine.
“You invited me over here just so you can stare out the window and fiddle with your cellphone antenna?” Justine Morgan asked of her preoccupied friend. “I thought I would at least get a meal out of it.”
Francesca didn’t even bother to glare at her. This was more serious than she thought! The two of them knew each other in and out and this was not typical Francesca behavior.
Despite the fact they were from two different worlds financially and ethnically, they had become best friends in the first grade.
Bubbly and bold Francesca had been the first one at her private Catholic grade school to befriend the exotic-looking African American girl with a chip on her shoulder. Justine had little in common with the other children. She didn’t come from money; a church group was sponsoring her. She could remain as long as her grades were excellent. The adjustment to parochial school was major. Justine already had the makings of a street scrapper. She was wary of the rich white girl. However Francesca’s friendliness, honesty and serene demeanor eventually broke the ice.
As the girls matured their friendship stood tests of prejudice, puberty, first crushes and through the tricky waters of high school.
Where Francesca didn’t require financial assistance for college, Justine did. Together they researched scholarships, grants and endowments. Always the better student, Francesca tutored her friend to keep her grades in the top percentile so Justine was courted by the same college she planned to attend.
All the while the girls had grown into beauties in their own right. Francesca with her long hair, ivory skin and large eyes tended to be the softer and sweeter of the two. Justine with her dark, chocolate skin and eyes, was sultry. She had the tough I-can-take-care-of-myself façade that either drew men to the challenge or chased them off. Boys sought Francesca. Men panted after Justine. First loves and first sexual encounters couldn’t even break the bonds of their friendship.
Once out of college they interned with the same architectural firm and found their separate niches. Justine liked creating from scratch, making something from nothing. Francesca preferred the challenge of preservation, of saving the old and making it new. Justine was flamboyant. Francesca was steady and practical. They complimented each other. Both became sought for their innovative designs. With seed money from Francesca’s grandparents, the friends struck out on their own to become the driving force behind a firm they simply called ‘Spaces’.
“If you wanted someone to moon along with you Gaëlle would have been a better choice. I don’t do ‘pining away’.”
Breaking her reverie, Francesca looked down at her cellphone. Unconsciously she had brought up JC’s contact numbers on the tiny screen. She had to get a grip! “I didn’t feel like listening to her gush over Christopher.” People in love tended to want the entire world in love with them — and their younger French friend was no different. The woman’s first specialty was international law. Her second was love. Or maybe it was the other around...
“So the hottie only wanted a weekend?” Justine asked. “Was he any good?”
It was on the tip of Francesca’s tongue to remind her friend the ‘hottie’ had a name. Wisely she said nothing to the comment. “He was too good.”
“Too good? That’s like saying he had too much money or you have too much chocolate. Ain’t no such thing. If he’s that good grab him when he comes around again.”
“He hadsn't left Chicago left yet.”
“Finished with you, eh?”
“Umm... No. I sent him packing.”
Justine snorted. “Let me get this straight: Hot, sexy, great in the sack and you tossed him out? Girlfriend, you need a swift kick.”
“His life is too complicated.”
“Since when are you a coward?”
“I’m not!” Francesca protested.
“Then why am I here instead of him?”
“Because I don’t need his sort of complication.”
“So you’re telling me you’re lazy then.”
“No!”
“Then what? You aren’t scared and you don’t mind the work. What’s the problem?”
“Long distance relationships don’t work.”
“So now it’s a ‘relationship’? What happened to just great sex?”
Isn’t that what she had said to JC? That she was in it for the sex? She was such a liar...
“Of course, he didn’t know you aren’t ‘just for sex’ kind of girl, did he?” Justine knew her friend had to be at least a ‘little in love’ to let a man into her bed. That reason alone had startled her when Francesca disappeared with the hottie.
Not wanting to discuss the matter further Francesca moved toward the kitchen. She supposed she could feed her friend. That would give her something else to do with her mouth beside talk. “What would you like?”
Glancing at her watch Justine saw it was late for lunch and too early for dinner. “Cobb salad?” Francesca’s salads were a meal all by themselves.
“Sure.”
Justine came to sit at the island/breakfast bar so she could still chat. “So do you have anyway to get in touch with Mister Great-In-the-Sack?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Jus’, can we just drop it? I just want to get back to my sane, everyday life.”
“Oh, sure and I get to watch you be miserable.”
“I won’t be.”
“You already are.”
After a week of a quiet, absent-mind Francesca, Justine called their mutual friend Gaëlle whose party Francesca was attending when she first saw JC. The two met for lunch to discuss what to do about their friend.
Gaëlle had a much different perspective than Justine. The women were as opposite as day and night — and not only in appearances. Gaëlle had settled in Chicago from Paris via Québec. When one first saw the tall redhead with cat-like green-blue eyes, she looked more like a sex kitten than a legal eagle. She let them think what they pleased and maybe even led them on. If they preferred to think she was empty-headed she worked it to her advantage. Behind the French goddess looks was an intelligent woman with a shrewd legal mind. It had blind-sided many an opponent. They thought her to be a push-over, that she had achieved junior partner status in her firm at the tender age of twenty-five with a ‘spread-your-legs’ policy. Three years later she had proved them wrong.
Then she had met first generation Dutch/American Christopher Van Kewl and no other man existed in her world. She was totally and completely in love. Devoted. Faithful. Pampering. It had been two years and the couple was still in the throes of the ‘first blush’ of love, the honeymoon stage. Even living together hadn’t changed that surprisingly enough. Oh, they fought... Fights were loud and multi-lingual. The ‘making-up’ sex was fierce and passionate. Then out of the blue Christopher had presented her with a huge rock and said it was time they talked about having children together. Who would have believed an international legal eagle/sex goddess would turn into mush over having babies?
To happy, in love, baby-minded, Gaëlle’s rosy way of thinking the world need to be in love. And if this weekend fling had broken Francesca’s heart, it needed to be dealt with immediately!
Giving a Gaelic shrug, Gaëlle decided exactly what needed to be done. “It is simple. To get over one male one must find another.”
Justine believed that could work for some women, not Francesca though. To her mind, what Francesca needed was her hottie back so she could give him a real chance. Francesca had impulsively decided it couldn’t work. When people were destined to be together they made it work! What Justine needed was an idea where JC Chasez stood and a plan.
“I have the perfect solution,” Gaëlle continued. “Christopher is having an old college friend stay with us next week. We can get Francesca a new man.”
”A blind date? This is Francesca we are talking about.”
Another shrug from Gaëlle. “We will make it seem like she is doing a favor for us. We will be needing a fourth so Gregory will not be... how you say... a fifth wheel when Christopher and I go out for dinner.”
“A double date,” Justine said. It was better than a solo blind date — marginally. Maybe with the other couple as a buffer... It was still a set-up. Set-ups usually ended badly. Plus seeing the disgustingly happy couple together when Francesca was unhappy herself could spell ‘disaster’.
“Would another man make you forget Christopher?” Justine had her doubts about this plan of Gaëlle’s, huge honkin’ doubts!
“Certainly not!”
“But you believe one would make Francesca forget this hottie of hers.”
“It is not the same.”
“Who says so? This was an ‘eyes-meet-across-a-crowded-room’ sorta thing. You were there. Have you ever known Francesca to let a strange man kiss her and then drag her off to his hotel room for a weekend?”
“She was not being dragged.” Gaëlle had seen the dreamy expression on Francesca’s face when the man led her from the room. “She went very willingly.”
“Exactly.”
“It is all I know to do. I will call every dashing, single man in the Chicago area. Francesca won’t have time to dwell on this Chasez person.”
And meanwhile Justine would have to devise her own plan. “Hopefully between the two of us, we can fix this mess Francesca has made.”
“Fuck!” JC grumbled. “Back it up again,” he told the sound engineer after his fourth screw up of the session. It wasn’t like him to be so unfocused in the studio.
He didn’t even try to fool himself as to why. The reason had long, dark brown hair, big hazel eyes, and the sweetest mouth this side of heaven. It had been almost two weeks and Francesca still hadn’t broken down. She still hadn’t called him. Damn her! She had fucked him up good.
He had written a half a dozen songs for her. It was cathartic. Not songs of disappointment and anger. That was not how he felt. Songs of love and longing and forever. Francesca hadn’t left a bitter taste in his mouth. She hadn’t used him, made him look like a fool, and then left him out in the cold. There had been no other man. She had trepidation about a future for them. She believed she had done the right thing for both of them in the long run. She was wrong; she had to be wrong. She hadn’t ‘unloaded’ him with no sensitivity. Francesca cared.
‘Then call me, dammit!’ he thought desperately. ‘Before I make a fool out of myself by calling you and begging you to see me.’ And beg he would if need be.
“Uhh... JC, we’re waiting,” the engineer reminded him.
“Yeah... Yeah... Give me a few, okay?” JC took off his headset and stepped from the booth.
Removing his cellphone from his pocket, he took it off ‘vibrate only’. He hesitated. It was two-twenty his time. It would be four-twenty in Chicago. Would Francesca be in her office? At the loft? Or maybe somewhere out in the maniac traffic? If he could just hear her voice... Hear her say, ‘Come here, lover’...
When JC absently glanced down at his chiming cellphone, he saw the contact name ‘Gypsy’. He was quick to answer it. “Francesca! Baby, I’m so glad you called—”
“Whoa, lover boy! This is Justine Morgan, her friend. I sort of borrowed her cell to call you.”
Justine? The one who had threatened Francesca. “You stole her phone?”
“Let’s just say I borrowed it without her knowledge, so I have to be quick. When are you due back in Chicago?”
He hadn’t made plans since he hadn’t heard from Francesca. “I’m not. I’m working.”
“Maybe she was right...”
“About what?”
“Long distance.”
“Listen, Justine, I woulda stayed. She sent me away—”
“She’s a mopey mess.”
“I didn’t want it this way.”
“I know. She told me. Anyway, call her.”
“I said I wouldn’t pester her.”
“It’s been two weeks — pester away! In fact I’ll even give you a time guaranteed to make you seem like Sir Galahad.”
JC listened to Justine’s plan. “You want me to deliberately disturb her dinner date...”
“Believe me she won’t mind.”