Part One: The Approach of Spring
Here's the next chapter, or to be more precise, Part One of the next chapter. When I conceived this part of the story, I thought of it as a mini-arc, sort of an arc within the present one, covering an entire year - sort of a year-in-the-life look at JC, Lance, and Aaron, or a series of snap-shots, if you will. Well, as I soon discovered, if I did the entire year in one story, it would take another month for me to finish, and it would probably be 60 pages long (or more). So I decided to break it into "seasons" - and this is the first one. I got a total of three emails on the last chapter, which could mean a lot of things, but I hope it doesn't mean that people no longer are reading. Anyway, if you're inclined, let me know what you think. The email address is the same, denis141@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: I don't know any member of NSYNC, and this story purely a work of fiction. This story also contains male-male sex (albeit mostly implied), so, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read such things, you should stop reading now.
CHAPTER 20: ANNUS MIRIBILIS ~ Part One: The Approach of Spring
WHY! who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love-or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, * ** These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring-yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same; Every spear of grass-the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them, All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
--Walt Whitman, Miracles, in Leaves of Grass (1900).
January 14, 2007
JC was not sure how he'd managed to dislodge the cardboard box from where he had forced it, with hardly an inch to spare, into the back of his Volvo. One corner of the box was slightly crunched but, other than that, it was in fine shape. Balancing the box on one knee, JC tried to get his key in the front door without at the same time dropping it or making too much noise. He knew that Aaron should be down for his nap by now, but there was no way to know for sure since Lance often gave into his pleas to let him watch one more "Spot the Dog" video, or to play another song on the little electronic piano that JC was teaching him to play.
It was Aaron's birthday today, and JC was just back from the toy store where he'd bought the boxed-up bicycle that JC was, at the moment, trying not to drop on his foot. The bicycle was supposed to be a surprise, even though Aaron had been asking for a "big boy's bike" for at least three months, and refusing to ride his tricycle because it was "for babies". Aaron had been mightily disappointed that Santa had failed to deliver a new bicycle at Christmas; but Lance had insisted that they wait until Aaron's birthday to buy it, because "his first bike should be from us, not Santa."
Unable to get the key in the door, JC decided to use the corner of the box to push the doorbell, hoping that Lance would open the door, and not Aaron.
"Hey there," Lance said, pulling open the door and smiling at JC.
"Is the coast clear," JC asked, craning his neck toward the doorframe and trying to peak inside the house.
"Yup," Lance said. "He's been asleep for half an hour."
"Cool," JC said. "Can you take this then? I need to get the wrapping paper and decorations out of the front seat."
"Sure," Lance said, taking the box from JC and then grunting as he realized that the box was much heavier than he'd expected.
"Careful...it's heavy," JC said, laughing and running back to the Volvo to get the things he'd left behind.
"Thanks for the warning," Lance called after him.
"Hey, no problem!" JC yelled back at him, laughing even louder now.
It was hot downstairs in the basement, and Lance had taken his t-shirt off after ten minutes of struggling with putting Aaron's new bicycle together. Most of the parts were still spread out in front of him on an old blanket he'd placed on the concrete floor so that nothing would get scratched or look less than brand new. Picking up the small silver handlebars, Lance looked again at the instructions and felt nearly overwhelmed.
"It'll be a miracle if I can get this thing together in time for the party," Lance muttered, putting the handlebars down and picking up the bicycle's back fender.
Hearing footsteps on stairs behind him, Lance turned quickly around, afraid that it might be Aaron up early from his nap. Instead, it was JC.
"I thought a beer might help," JC said, handing Lance a bottle of Foster's lager.
"It wouldn't hurt," Lance said, standing up slowly, and grimacing as both knees made cracking noises.
"You know," JC said. "It's not too late to have a technician from the bike store come do this, to put it together for us."
"Yeah, I know," Lance said, holding the beer bottle against his forehead, and then frowning. "But I really want to do it myself."
"Then let me help," JC said, bending over to pick up the instruction sheet.
"I was a whiz at putting model airplanes together when I was a kid."
"I don't believe that for a second," Lance said, laughing and sitting back down on the floor. "You're way too disorganized. Besides you probably just spent the whole time sniffing the glue."
"I am so insulted," JC said, feigning indignation.
"Well, you know what my Mom says," Lance said.
"Yeah, yeah - it's not an insult if it's true."
"Exactly," Lance said, setting down his beer and taking the instructions from JC. "Let's get to work, because Aaron will be up soon."
Aaron's birthday party guests - several kids he knew from play-dates at the park, and their parents - had been gone for about thirty minutes now. The sun had just set, but the sky was still suffused with fiery color, like the still-hot coals in the barbecue on which Lance had cooked hot dogs all afternoon long. Aaron was helping JC pick up paper plates and bits of ripped wrapping paper that the evening breeze had blown about the yard. JC held open a dark-green garbage bag and Aaron laughed uproariously as he ran back and forth between JC and the things he picked up and then stuffed them into the bag. When they were finally done, Aaron took JC's hand and followed him to the house where Lance had just finished doing the dishes and was drying his hands on a thin blue gingham towel.
"Did you have fun at your party?" Lance asked, picking Aaron up and kissing him noisily on the cheek.
"Yes," Aaron said, giggling and trying to escape Lance's kiss. "Yes, yes, yes!"
"Well, that's good," Lance said. "Because you're supposed to have fun on your birthday, you know?"
"I know," Aaron said. "I did."
"Good," Lance said.
"So, Mr. Aaron," JC said, leaning on the counter and watching the two of them. "I don't suppose you would want one more birthday present?"
"What?" Aaron said. "Another present? For me?"
"Uh-huh," Lance said, putting Aaron down and then crouching beside him. "But just one more. Would that be okay?"
"Yes," Aaron said, putting his hands together as if he was about to start clapping, but grasping them instead.
"You want me to get it?" JC asked, directing the question to both them.
"Yes please," Aaron said, nearly hopping up and down now.
"Sure, go ahead," Lance added.
JC walked across the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the foyer where he opened the closet next to the front door and rolled out Aaron's new bike. Aaron had tried to follow JC, but Lance held him back and told him to cover his eyes and not peak.
"Okay," Aaron whispered, his voice full of nervous excitement.
JC carried the bicycle back to the kitchen where he set it down a few feet in front of Aaron, turning it sideways so that he could what it was as soon as he uncovered his eyes. Lance winked at JC and nodded.
"You can look now," JC said.
Aaron pulled his hands away from his face and said nothing at first, almost as if he'd been frightened by what he suddenly saw. Then, before JC or Lance could ask him if he liked his present, Aaron squealed and ran to the bicycle, nearly knocking it over, and JC with it.
"A bicycle!" Aaron said, grabbing hold of the seat and trying to climb on it.
"Hey there, little guy!" Lance said, laughing loudly and taking hold of Aaron's arm. "No riding indoors."
"But I want to ride it," Aaron said, pitching his voice into a plaintive whine.
"Out on the grass then," JC said, struggling to steady the bicycle against Aaron's continuing efforts to climb aboard it. "Lance will show you how. Won't you Lance?"
"Of course I will," Lance said.
JC had flicked on the floodlights in the backyard and now it was filled with the unnatural and nearly eerie glow of the three halogen lamps mounted along the edge of the roof. The light made the grass seem greener than it was possible for grass to be, and each blade of it seemed now sharply defined, like calligraphy, and each had its own shadow, as if that had been drawn there too. Lance was running beside Aaron as the bike wobbled and veered, but stayed up, helped from time to time by the training wheels that Lance had carefully fastened to the bicycle's back tire, and by Lance's hand on Aaron's shoulder, guiding him, and holding him up. JC was nearby, sitting in the grass under the avocado tree, and he was watching Lance and Aaron through the viewfinder of the digital video camera he was using to record this scene: Lance scampering barefoot after Aaron, who was proudly pedaling now, a few feet in front of Lance, laughing and shouting Look, I'm doing it, and Lance shouting, I see, Aaron, You're doing great!
February 15, 2007
While Lance almost always woke up on the first ring, JC never heard the phone ring in the middle of the night; he could sleep through an earthquake, and had done so on two occasions. This time, however, the telephone had been ringing for nearly a minute before Lance managed to rouse himself enough to hear it, or to know he was hearing it, and then only barely. He and JC had been out late that night, celebrating Valentine's Day together, and taking advantage of the fact that Lance's Mom was visiting and she didn't mind babysitting for Aaron. Looking at the clock, and trying to rub his eyes into focus, Lance realized that it was just past six o'clock in the morning.
"Fuck," he growled, finally reaching for the phone. "Hello?"
"Lance you are such a fucking stud!"
It was Stephen Gabriel, Lance's manager. Lance considered hanging up on him, but he knew that Steve would just call back.
"Steve. Why and the hell are you calling me so early?"
"Quit your whining sissy-boy," Steve said, practically shouting into the phone, and laughing through what sounded like the long and noisy exhalation of cigar smoke. "I've got some news for you!"
"You always say that," Lance said, too tired to try to sound sarcastic or mad.
"And I always mean it too," Steve said. "But this time I fucking really mean it."
"Okay, what's up?" Lance said, flopping his head back against the pillow and then closing his eyes.
"You did it the fuck again!"
"What? What did I do?" Lance said, wincing. "Miss a damn interview? Not call someone? What?"
"Oh, no," Steve said. "Nothing so routine as that, my dear friend. Nope. This is the fucking coop-dee-grace!"
"Steve, it's pronounced koo-duh-graw. It's French."
"Yeah. Whatever," Steve said, sounding angry for a moment, and then laughing. "Like I know French talk from French fries."
"Yeah, tell me," Lance mumbled, rolling on to his side and leaning his head against JC's shoulder, and wishing that he could just go back to sleep.
"Anyway," Steve said. "Before I was rudely interrupted by Mr. French Lesson, I was about to tell you that you just got yourself nominated for Best Actor again."
"No way."
"Oh, way way!" Steve yelled, causing Lance to cringe and sit up in bed and hold the phone away from his ear. "Way, way, way, way, way!"
"I can't believe it."
"Well, you better start believing it," Steve said, still shouting. "Because you're phone's gonna be ringing off the hook soon with press calls."
"Shit," Lance said, laying back down again and pressing his face into the crook of JC's neck, as if to hide, but also hoping that JC might wake up. "You're kidding me. It wasn't like that last time."
"You were fucking AWOL last time," Steve said, managing to shout even louder than before.
How could this not wake JC up, Lance wondered.
"So when do the calls start?" Lance asked.
"In twenty minutes baby, so you better get those sweet cheeks of yours out of bed and into the shower, because they'll be at your door in a couple of hours too."
"Good god," Lance said.
"So I'll call you later, unless you want me to come down."
"No," Lance said. "You stay right where you are and try to handle some of this at you end. I can fend for myself down here."
"Right on," Steve said. "And, by the way, congratu-fucking -lations!"
"Thanks Steve," Lance said, hanging up the phone and climbing out of bed.
Lance stood in the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower, staring at the coffee as it dripped slowly into the pot. He knew he could pull the pot from the coffee-maker, and it would, by some strange miracle of technology, stop dripping long enough for him to get a cup of coffee - that is, if he really wanted it bad enough. But Lance believed that the coffee tasted better if he waited for the entire pot to me made. So he waited, dumbly staring at the coffee pot, and listening for the telephone to ring.
With his cup of coffee finally in hand, Lance picked up the cordless telephone and went outside onto the deck. The sun was low in the sky, and slowly burning through the haze that hung each morning over the ocean like steam rising from a vast kettle. It was still slightly cold, and Lance shivered with each breeze that moved across his bare arms. Turning to go back in the house to get a sweatshirt, Lance noticed that his mother was up now too and getting herself a cup of coffee.
"Hey Mom," Lance said, as his mother stepped out onto the deck. "You're up pretty early."
"I was going to say the same thing to you," she said, blowing across the top of her coffee, and raising steam from it.
"Well, I just got some news, and I'm expecting a telephone ...Oops, there it is. One sec..."
"Hello. Yes, this is Lance Bass. Yes, I just heard, probably twenty minutes ago. Yes, it's very exciting news. I hardly believe it. Well, yeah, it really is a surprise, and of course a great honor too. No, I didn't know that...eight other nominations? And Best Picture too? That's amazing. Uh-huh...well, as far as I'm concerned Steve Soderbergh is a genius, and the script he wrote was perfect, so he really deserves both nominations. And, yeah, Julia was just fantastic, a real dream to work with."
"Uh-huh...uh-huh. Right. Well, you know, to be honest, I really have no idea. I mean, it's an honor just to get nominated, and for me to be nominated two years in a row, well, that's more than anyone could even hope for. Oh boy, and winning last year, so - you see, I still can't believe that I really won the first one, so - you know - there's just no way I could imagine winning again. It'd be too much to expect or even hope for."
"My next film? I'm not sure. I have a couple of options, but nothing definite yet. I just finished shooting Ang Lee's new film, and there's post-production still to do there, but I think I'm going to try to cut back a bit, and maybe do only one film a year. Yeah, I want to spend more time with my family. That's right - me and JC Chasez. Yes - Aaron. He's three now. Well, I love them both very much, and it's a big responsibility. JC? I'm not sure, but you'd really have to ask him. I think he's still trying to decide, but he may go into teaching. Right, right."
"Okay...thanks, thanks very much. I really appreciate it. Good bye."
Lance clicked off the telephone and set it down on the glass patio table where it had been sitting before it rang. Shaking his head, as if trying to clear it of sleepiness that lingered there, he smiled shyly at his Mom as he took a long sip of coffee, choking momentarily as he tried to swallow it too quickly.
"What was that all about?" Diane asked, her face plainly betraying the fact that she was already certain of the answer.
"Nothing big," Lance said, unable to hide the real and overwhelming excitement he suddenly felt. "I just got nominated for another Academy Award for Best Actor."
"Lance," Diane said, moving quickly to where he stood, and hugging him. "I am so proud of you. That's great news."
"It is kind of, isn't it?" Lance said, laughing and shaking his head again.
"I can hardly believe it."
"Does JC know yet?"
"No. I didn't want to wake him."
"Well, I think you should. He'll be mad if you don't."
"Trust me, Mom," Lance said. "Not waking Josh up early is always a good plan."
"Okay," Lance whispered into Aaron's ear. "Go ahead."
Aaron bounded across the bedroom and leaped on to the bed and on top of JC.
"Josh, Josh," Aaron yelled, as he bounced on JC's stomach and pushed on his chest "Time to get up! It's morning!"
JC's eyes opened slowly and, even then, only barely. Seeing this, Aaron lowered his face so that his nose was now pressed against JC's nose, flattening both.
"It's time to get up now," Aaron said, giggling. "Lance said so."
"Oh, did he?" JC said, trying not to sound too grouchy. "Is that what he said?"
"Yes. And he said I could tickle you."
"No you don't," JC said sitting up and wrapping his arms tightly around Aaron. "There will be no tickling in this bed today."
"Good morning," Lance said, sitting on the edge of the bed and giving JC a quick kiss. "Sorry to call in the troops."
"It's all right," JC said, releasing Aaron from the hug he'd encased him in, and then pointing at him. "But, remember - no tickling."
"Okay," Aaron said, plopping down on the bed next to JC. "I promise."
"So, why was the phone ringing all morning?"
"You heard that?"
"Well, I'm not sure," JC said, yawning. "I could've been dreaming it, but I think I heard it - like dozens of calls, all morning."
"It was the press," Lance said, grinning. "Calling about the Academy Award nominations. They were announced today."
JC stopped rubbing his eyes and stared at Lance, his mouth dropping slowly open.
"You didn't," JC said.
"I did."
"Again?"
"Again."
"For Best Actor?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh my god!" JC said, grabbing Lance by the shoulder and kissing him. "That is so great. I am so proud of you."
"Hey," Aaron said. "What's going on? Did something good happen?"
"Lance got picked to maybe win an award," JC said, looking at Aaron to see if he understood. "For a movie he was in."
"For being in a movie?" Aaron asked. "Like a video?"
"Kind of," Lance said. "But a movie gets shown in a theater, instead of on TV."
"Oh," Aaron said. "Can I see it?"
"Maybe when you get older," Lance said. "This was a movie for grown-ups."
"Is that why you were in it?" Aaron asked. "Because you're a grown-up?"
"That's right," Lance said, smiling at Aaron and then at JC.
"What's an award?"
"It's something you get when you do a really good job," JC said.
"Did you see the movie Josh?" Aaron asked, looking up at JC.
"Yes, I did."
"Did Lance do a good in it?"
"I think so," JC said. "I think he did really good."
"So he should win, right?" Aaron said, his voice clouded with concern.
"Well, little guy," Lance said, pulling Aaron onto his lap. "We'll just have to wait and see about that. Other people did good jobs in their movies too, so they might win instead of me. That's the way awards work. Not everyone can win. Not every time."
"But I want you to win," Aaron said, frowning.
"I know," Lance said, kissing the top of Aaron's head. "I know."
March 11, 2007
"Well, look what the cat drug in," Shirley said with a loud and surprised cackle.
"Hey there, Shirley," JC said, sliding into the small corner booth next to the piano Shirley was playing. "Long time no see."
"Longer than that, I'd say," Shirley said, laughing and taking a long slow draw off her cigarette. "And Mr. Lance Bass himself. To what do I owe this honor?"
"We just had dinner up in La Jolla, at George's at the Cove," Lance said, sliding in next to JC. "It's our anniversary tonight, so we're out celebrating."
"Yup," JC said, nodding. "And it wouldn't be a celebration without a visit to the Red Fox Inn, now would it?"
"I don't suppose it would," Shirley said, beginning to play another song. "So how many years you two been together now...five? six?"
"Five down here," Lance said. "But nine total. Can you believe it?"
"Nine years," Shirley said. "Imagine that."
"I guess miracles happen," JC said.
"It ain't no miracle," Shirley said. "But it's nice all the same."
Having seen them come in, the bartender - a silver-haired gentleman named Sam Eagland - brought over their usual drinks: Jack Daniels on the rocks for Lance, and red wine for JC. It was a nice touch, and something Sam always did for them.
"Hey, Sam," Lance said, nodding at him and winking. "How you been."
"Other than being drove near crazy by Shirley here," Sam said, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it. "I've been doing just fine. How about the two of you? How you two been?"
"Really good," JC and Lance said, nearly in unison.
"Really good," Lance said again, smiling at JC and then looking back at Sam.
"Glad to hear it," Sam said. "Keep it that way."
"Oh, we will," JC said, watching Sam walk back to his usual place behind the bar, just under the darkened television mounted on the wall, which had been turned off for so long that no one knew whether it even worked anymore.
"So what's this I hear about the two of you having a little boy?" Shirley asked, closing the lid on the piano, and sliding her stool over to the booth at which Lance and JC were sitting. "I don't recall either of you being pregnant last time I saw you."
"Now where'd you hear that?" Lance said, laughing. "I mean about me and Josh not being pregnant?"
"No, seriously, though" Shirley said, waving at Sam to bring her a drink. "I read all about it at my chiropractor's office. In People magazine, I think."
"Yeah, that was a hard call," Lance said. "Whether to do the story or not.
But we figured, Josh and I, that it was better to get out in front of it, because they'd do the story whether we cooperated or not, and people were genuinely interested too."
"And we didn't want to seem like we were hiding it," JC added. "Or ashamed of anything. Because we're really pretty proud of it all."
"Exactly," Lance said.
"His name is Aaron, by the way," JC said, patting the top of Lance's hand. "He's three now, and he's an amazing kid. Totally amazing."
"He's been with us for about a year now," Lance added. "He was Joey's boy.
You remember Joey, don't you?"
"Oh, sure," Shirley said. "I remember Joey. Sad what happened to him."
"It was sad," JC said.
"But that's why we have Aaron," Lance said. "I was his god-parent, and Joey and his wife had set it up so we would raise Aaron if anything were to happen to them."
"Who would've thought something actually would though," JC said.
"Everyone has their time to go," Shirley said. "Everyone."
"I suppose," Lance said. "But he was so young."
"Well, you live long enough," Shirley said, pausing to take a sip from the gin and tonic that Sam had set on the table a few seconds earlier. "You see just about everything. I was an orphan myself. I bet I never told you that."
"You were?" JC said. "How?"
"My parents were killed in 1940 during the London blitz," Shirley said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag off of it. "They'd sent me North to live with some crazy Aunt I had up in Sheffield. Oh god, she was a miserable old sow, my Aunt Mabel was. But she took me in all the same, and fed me, and I guess I owe her that."
"So how old were you when your parents died?" Lance asked.
"Not yet five years old," Shirley said. "So, a bit older than Aaron is, and already a lot less innocent, with the war on and all. Those were cruel times."
"It sounds horrible," JC said. "Was your aunt mean to you?"
"She didn't think so," Shirley said. "And I can't really blame her for seeing me as a burden she hadn't asked for. You see, she'd lost her husband in the war, and with that her heart and humor too, so having me about was the last thing she wanted. So let's just say Aaron turned out a right bit more fortunate than your old Shirley here. "
"How'd you get to the States then?" JC asked.
"Well, like any good English girl did back then," Shirley said. "I married the first American G.I. I got my hands on."
"And the rest is history," Lance said.
"As they say," Shirley said, laughing hard and then coughing.
"Anyways," Shirley continued, after getting her cough under control. "It's good to see you two boys together again, and with some purpose to it too, you with Aaron and all. Not that I'm saying it didn't have no good purpose to it before, mind you. It's just that I believe things happen for a reason, or that we make it so, and give things their reason by rising to the challenge of what gets put down before us. So maybe life dealt Joey a bitter blow. That happens. But it don't mean that it dealt Aaron one too. "
"Yeah," Lance said, nodding.
"But let me tell you," Shirley said, standing up and moving her stool back behind the piano. "I thank the Lord every day that I never had any of kids of my own. I just never had it in me to look out for anyone but myself. And I'm here to tell you, that's no crime, so long as you face it as the truth, and don't try to pretend otherwise. But the two of you are different than me, you have generous hearts, and I know you are going to do a fine job with that little boy of yours. You'll do right by him, and by each other."
"Thank you, Shirley," JC said softly, looking at Lance and then back at her.
"Yes. Thank you," Lance said.
"Don't mention it," Shirley said.
Lance could hear the rustle of the trees outside their bedroom window; it was a familiar sound, and one that told him, even with his eyes closed, that he was home. He was lying on his side, holding JC up against him. They were both still awake, and laying there in the kind of silence created by having too much to say, instead of nothing to say, and by each waiting for the other to speak first.
"That was nice what Shirley said about us," JC said, finally speaking.
"Yes it was," Lance said, speaking softly and pulling JC more tightly against him.
March 25, 2007
It was a quarter past eight at night, and the regulars at the Red Fox Inn were just beginning to take their usual places at the bar. Sam stood behind the bar looking up at the television, craning his neck back so he could see the screen, which was darkened by a decade of accumulated cigarette smoke. The sound that came out of it was tinny, and almost without any bass to it all; but he had it turned up louder than usual, and he was listening intently.
"Shirley!" he yelled, spinning around and looking across the bar at her. "Shirley, he won. Lance won again!"
"Oh my Lord," Shirley said, nearly knocking her piano stool over as she stood up and hustled down the length of the bar to where she could see the television.
"There he is," Sam said, reaching up to turn the sound up louder.
"Doesn't he look handsome?" Shirley said, after shushing a customer who tried to order a drink. "Now listen."
"This really is too much," Lance said. "I mean, last year I was shocked, and this year - what's a word for more than shocked? I'm stunned. But I really do thank you for this honor, because I know you wouldn't have given this to me if you didn't think I deserved it. So thank you very much."
"I, of course, want to thank Steve Soderbergh. I really owe so much of this to him, because he coaxed this performance out of me. And my co-star, Julia Dalreema, who just never flinched at how deep into the darkness my character went - pulling me right along with it. So, you know, I can't imagine I was much fun to be around making this film. And I really want to thank Josh too - my partner of nine years - for always being there for me, and for loving me, because I really couldn't have done any of this without him."
"And, uh...well, I know I'm supposed to keep this short, but there's a story I want to tell you. You see, a little over a month ago, when I found out about the nomination, my little boy, Aaron, was afraid that I wouldn't win, because he figured that if I'd done a good job, I deserved to win. So I explained that not everyone can win, but he really didn't buy it. I mean, he's only three. Anyway, yesterday, before JC and I left San Diego to come up here, he gave me this - this drawing of a shining sun he made for me."
"Well, look at that," Sam said, staring intently at the close-up of the drawing that Lance was holding up so that the camera could zoom-in on it, and then watching as the picture switched back to Lance standing at the dais, tears in his eyes.
"Um, he gave me this, and he said 'It's an award for doing good in your movie, and for doing good taking care of me.' And he said, 'I didn't want you not to win.' Well, little guy, I know you're watching this, so I just want to tell you that I guess I won double tonight. And so I'm bringing this big gold one home for you."
Sam reached up and turned off the television, and the bar was quiet again, except for the sound of Shirley's walking back to her piano and beginning to play.