| They exited the limo and were immediately blinded by the bright flashing lights of cameras. JC tightened a protective arm around Teresa�s waist and the two followed Justin as he led them down the short carpeted walk into the notorious and newly reopened Ruscioelli�s, an insanely expensive and classy restaurant in the heart of cozy North Beach, Little Italy of the lively San Francisco. JC had just gotten off tour and once Teresa�s mother heard, she insisted on her best friend�s son to come and visit again. �He hasn�t come to visit in ages.� So right after touching down to Orlando from Europe, Justin and JC took a red-eye flight across the country to San Francisco. They�d heard Ruscioelli�s was reopening on the news. Justin, JC, and Teresa were vegging in front of the TV when Mrs. Marcus heard the anchors mention the restaurant. Her and Mr. Marcus had snuck in there once when they were teenagers, since the place was constantly packed and the only way to ever get reservations was to wait five months or be a celebrity. She�d urged the three to go, make reservations, and there they were. �I am never going out to eat with you guys ever again.� �Why not? I can always get you into the good restaurants.� �Whatever. You�re just JC.� �Hello, Mr. Big Head, remember that girl in your hotel room? �Oh well, I don�t care. JC�s cuter-�� �Yeah, okay, new subject, please. Thank you.� Teresa rolled her eyes. How did she end up with them? They could be so immature sometimes. �Race you to the ma�tre d�,� Teresa said over her shoulder as she sped over to the small mahogany podium. Justin sighed. �She is so immature sometimes.� �No kidding, you didn�t spend your childhood with her,� JC grumbled. Teresa�s immaturity helped a little, since there were already four groups of people lined up behind her. Didn�t matter too much though, they had reservations anyway. �Marcus,� Teresa told the ma�tre d�. He was an elderly man with thinning white hair. She wasn�t sure if it was just her imagination, but Teresa was pretty sure that this guy had that snooty gym-sock-under-the-nose kind of expression. �I�m sorry, miss, we have no reservations under Marcus,� he said in a thick British accent without even looking at the list. Teresa�s eyes went wide. �Hello, Prince Charles, but you didn�t-� JC clapped a hand over her mouth. �She means, could you check one more time, please?� The ma�tre d� grazed a long, slender, and wrinkled index finger down the page but kept his gaze on Teresa, who looked ready to murder. �I�m sorry, we have no Marcus,� he repeated. JC sighed, clapping his hand over Teresa�s mouth again before she could blurt anything out. �Could you check under Chasez, then?� he asked politely. There was more time spent on searching for JC�s last name, which could have brought a whole why-don�t-you-look-for-Marcus-one-more-time-you-sexist-bastard-before-I-get-you-deported speech soaring out of Teresa�s voice box, but JC smartly kept his palm firmly on her mouth. �None under Chasez, sir. Now-� Teresa heard a middle-aged couple behind them mumble something about damn teenagers trying to sneak into places they didn�t belong in. She must have been the only one who heard because Justin and JC didn�t stop her from pummeling the wrinkled old hag with cakey makeup. So she didn�t because she was afraid. �How about Timberlake?� Justin interrupted, giving it one more shot before they were thrown out. The ma�tre d� looked down on the page for just a second before glancing up at Justin one more time. His eyes darted to JC then back at Justin. �You might not be Justin Timberlake, might you?� he asked nicely, for the first time. �Actually I am,� Justin said, proudly. Teresa rolled her eyes. �And you, JC?� JC nodded. �Oh my,� the man said softly, �My granddaughter adores you all.� He shot a hard glare at Teresa as if saying �except for you�, and then continued on. �I�m not normally allowed to do this but-� he lowered his voice, �Perhaps if I received an autograph for her, I can find you a table.� Teresa fished for a pen in her purse and threw it at Justin. �Hurry, I�m hungry,� she growled. Justin and JC signed a napkin and they followed the ma�tre d� to be seated. �It�s a shame Lance was not present,� he told them, once they�d been settled in a comfy booth. �My granddaughter loves him the most. He�s her imaginary friend.� �Imaginary friend?� Teresa spat, as she choked on the water she was drinking. �Oh yes,� he said, nicely. He�d begun to speak very sweetly ever since he�d realized Marissa was in the company of two-fifths of �N Sync. �Yes, Lance is little Libby�s imaginary friend. My daughter and her wretched husband, back home in England, they set a place for Lance at their dining table.� �Really?� Justin said, amused. �That�s really-� �Sweet,� Teresa interrupted. This time it was her turn to make sure Justin didn�t embarrass them. �Very, very adorable.� �She is�� the ma�tre d� said, beginning to get teary eyed. He had definitely changed from the asshole British guy they�d first met. He pulled out a picture of her from his back pocket. Libby, his granddaughter, was� �Chubby,� he sobbed, �Yes, I know. But doesn�t she look like one of God�s little cherubs?� Libby was decked out in a bold pink dress with large white polka dots and a tutu style skirt. Her hair would have been a very pretty blonde if she�d ever let her mother armed with shampoo within ten feet of her. Libby�s cheeks looked like giant neon pink peaches attached to her face and her squinty little black eyes made her look even more like one of the three little pigs. And to top it off, she had an enormous white sunhat with pink little bows dangling off the rim. Teresa cleared out her throat and JC kicked both her and Justin before they commented. �Yeah,� Teresa said awkwardly. �She�s an angel.� Justin had a huge grin on his face and only nodded, knowing that if he opened his mouth something about demon child and pink Oompa Loompa would escape. The ma�tre d� regained his composure and tucked Devil Libby back into his pocket. He set down three menus and a curved pitcher of water, that resembled the plump shape of Libby, onto the table. �Your waiter will be here shortly,� he said, the gym sock nose thing coming back. And he stomped away. �That was the most hideous creature I�d ever seen in my entire life,� JC sighed, finally letting built up remarks out. Justin looked down, snorted, and then said, �Well, since I�d rather not think about Babe the Pig right now, I�d just like to say� Who cares about JC being the cute one? I got us into this place! Oh yes, who is bad now, JC?� JC looked down sadly. �Lance.� * * * �AHHHH!!!! DAMN! Why can�t any of you do anything right?� �Um, but-� �Get out of my way. I don�t want to hear it. You ruined my souffl�.� Julie stormed away and sat down in the corner next to the sink, with no company but the dish washer. �Ju-� �Just shut it, Rick. I don�t need any of your shit or your pity.� Rick was quiet for a moment. �Actually Jules,� he continued, �I was gonna say that you have chocolate on your forehead.� * * * �Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,� Teresa said under her breath. �Oh my God!� Justin immitated. �It�s BRAD PITT! Oh my God, is my makeup okay? Oh my God, what about my hair? Ahhhhh� What am I gonna do? Oh God, is he walking over here?� Teresa elbowed him. �Shut up. Actually�� �Actually,� JC mimicked. �Actually,� Teresa said, ignoring him, �It�s a Backstreet Boy.� �Ha, ha, very funny,� Justin said. �Actually, it is,� Marissa said, motioning to the blonde Backstreet Boy seated at a table across the room. She blew him a kiss. Justin looked up as someone walked past their booth from the bathroom. �Oh, look, there�s another Backstreet Boy,� Teresa pointed out. �And there�s Jennifer Aniston.� �Jennifer Aniston?� Justin exclaimed, standing up and searching for his beloved. �And there�s Brad Pitt,� JC said. Justin said down. �Why the hell are there so many people here?� he asked sadly. �Hello, blondie. Think about where you are for second.� �Actually, I�m not really blonde, thank you very much.� Ruscioelli�s was insanely famous during it�s prime years in the mid-seventies, when it was owned by George and Maria Ruscioelli. Celebrities of all kind flocked to this amazing little restaurant, famous for it�s perfect pasta and incredible do-it-yourself garlic bread. But winding down to its end, George and Maria had a terrible divorce and Maria got custody of the restaurant, as if it were their child, even though George was the cheif chef and mastermind of the place and Maria only handled their money. Maria, though, didn�t manage to find any chefs as good as her ex-husband after she kicked him out onto the street and the place eventually was closed thanks to the horrible deals Maria had with other people who were greedy for the money. Rumors went around that someone had bought the old restaurant and reconstruction began immediately. Since its closing, the place had been just an empty rat-infested place; everyone was afraid of putting their own restaurant there for fear of being kicked out like George or going bankrupt like Maria. It was like the place was haunted. All of a sudden, someone new and nameless buys the place and rebuilds it to be just like the old Ruscioelli�s. And if not for that, the three wouldn�t be there. Their waiter came and began taking their orders. �I�ll have the capellini, but light on the basil, please.� �I�ll have the same thing, except load on the basil. The olive oil, too. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots-� �Oh, light on the olive oil, also.� �-Lots and lots and lots-� �But dump on the garlic.� �-And lots of olive oil. Oh, and with the potato thingys, too.� �Gnocchi?� �Bless you.� �No, that�s what the, uh, potato thingys are. Potato dumplings. Gnocchi.� �Oh, okay. Guess I�ll have the gnocchi, then, too.� �Bless you.� �Huh?� �Um, never mind. And you�� �Can I have the pork ossobuco, but instead of that white wine crap, I want pesto sauce.� �Pesto sauce?� �Yes. The pesto, buddy.� Justin paused for a second. �Can I have some wasabi sauce with that, too?� The waiter looked at him blankly, blinking furiously from confusion. �Wasabi sauce?� Justin repeated. �You know it�s green, squishy� You know what, just mix it in with the pesto sauce will you? Blend in a little paprika, too.� The waiter continued to look at him blankly. �Well, hurry up, bud. Pesto, wasabi, paprika, got that?� Justin ordered, with a snap of his fingers. �Hurry the hell up, the woman�s hungry.� �You talkin� about me or yourself?� Teresa asked. * * * �Has Julie stopped crying?� �Excuse me, Christopher, but I wasn�t crying, thank you very much. So get your ass back to work,� Julie ordered, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She looked around at everyone else, who were staring blankly at her. �Hello, people. I wasn�t just talking about lil� Chrissy here. Why don�t you all get your asses back to work?� Everyone turned their heads away from Julie and Chris approached her quietly. �Julie?� he asked, sneaking up behind her. She jumped throwing a whole bag of flour in the air. �What Chris?� He brushed off the sprinkling of flour off his shoulder and the blizzard off of Julie�s head. �Well, there�s this one guy�� �Yes?� Julie asked, tapping her foot impatiently. With each tap, a frost of flour dusted the tiled floor. �There�s this one guy that�?� �Well, he wants you to blend in wasabi sauce into his pesto sauce for his pork ossobuco,� Chris blurted out quickly. �Oh yeah, and he�s a jackass, too.� Julie was silent for a moment and Chris braced himself for her incoming explosion. �Tell him,� she said, calmly, �That we don�t serve wasabi here�� She paused. �And that he is a fucking idiot and that if he wanted some damn wasabi he shouldn�t have come to AN ITALIAN RESTAURANT!� Chris took a few steps back to balance himself from the impact of her scream. �Will do.� * * * �Um, sorry, sir, but we don�t have wasabi.� Justin looked dully at him. �How could you not have wasabi? It is, like, a basic food group!� �Uh,� the waiter said timidly, �I�m so sorry. The rest of your food will be arriving shortly.� And he quickly walked away. Justin slammed his fists childishly on the table. �How the hell could they not have wasabi? What kind of freak restaurant did your mom send us to?� he demanded. �An Italian restaurant� God, what did that bleach do to those few precious brain cells of yours?� Justin stood up. �What are you doing?� Teresa asked angrily. �I�m getting me some damn wasabi.� He stormed off to the kitchen. Throwing open the doors, he expected all eyes to turn on him and give him his heart�s disire, which at that moment was wasabi. No one noticed. �Hey, you,� Justin said, pulling over a scawny little guy, �What do you do in this place?� �I�m- I�m-� �Yeah?� �I�m a busboy?� Justin shoved him over and then pointed to a girl tending to a boiling pot of something across the kitchen. �Hey you, you a chef here?� She turned her eyes to him. They were puffy and a little red, like she had been crying or something, but her blue irises were like icy daggers boring into his head. �Yes, I am,� she replied harshly, �And the name is Julie, not hey you. Who wants to know?� Justin looked at her strangely. What? She didn�t know who he was? Did she live under a rock or something? �Justin,� he said firmly, hoping that she would realize who she was speaking to, ever so rudely. �Well, Justin, what do you want? This is the kitchen, not the bathroom.� �Yeah, I figured that.� Justin looked her up and down. She was wearing gray pants, the thin waterproof kind that snowboarders wore, and the sleeves to her black shirt were pushed up to her elbows under her apron and a big white chef�s hat was hanging loosely from her hip. She was young with dark, dark brown hair knotted messily on top of her head, probably about JC�s age. And if she wasn�t being such an uncooperative bitch to him, he would have thought her attractive. �I ordered some wasabi," he told her authoratatively. "and according to some shit-faced waiter, you don�t have any. So I�m asking you, as nicely as possible, is there any wasabi? Since you are a chef, Julie.� She turned her back to him. �We don�t have any wasabi. Maybe you should be in Chinatown or something, bud,� she grumbled. �Who let you into the restaraunt anyway? I knew Frederick was way too old for the job. Letting in maniacs like you.� �Maniacs?� he shouted. Everyone in the kitchen turned their heads at him and her, but he didn�t notice. �Do you know who I am?� �Don�t know, don�t care.� �I am Justin fucking Timberlake, lady, and I am eating at this damn place and making you people some money, so I think that maybe you should be giving me what I want.� People began whispering around then, but Julie didn�t notice. She spun around to face him briefly. �Look, you pin cushion, I really don�t care who the hell you are. We don�t have any of your damn wasabi, so why don�t you get the hell out of my kitchen.� Justin laughed, heartily. �Ohh, your kitchen? Hey you, why don�t you get me the head chef? Better yet, why don�t you get me the manager of this place? You know, why not even the owner? It�s the damn opening, he should be here, right?� She didn�t reply and turned her back to him again. �So where is he? And why the hell hasn�t he fired you yet? Huh, where is he?� Obviously this got her mad. Julie turned around and walked up to him, her nose inches away from his. �She is right here,� she spat in his face. �And that�s Julie Ruscioelli to you, whoever the hell you are, Justin Timberlake.� |