Here's the next chapter. No smut this time, just nice, old-fashion family fare. Well, maybe not, but it's not smut either. Thanks for reading, and sticking with the story. As my few faithful feed-backers remind me, lots more people read than write feedback. But if any of you out there in the silent majority feel like droppint me a note, please do. The address is Denis141@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: I don't know any member of NSYNC, and this story, well, I made the whole damn thing up. Yeah, and one more thing, this story has male-male sex in it (sometimes), so, if that's not your thing, or if you ain't old enough, you should stop reading now.
CHAPTER 17: The Point of Return.
"Experience shows us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking together in the same direction." -- Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Wind, Sand and Stars (1939)
Lance was outside on the main upstairs balcony, leaning against the handrail, and squinting into the sun. JC had left ten minutes ago to take Aaron to the pediatrician, Dr. Melanie Rhys, a beautiful young woman whose office was close by in La Jolla.
She had called this morning to tell them that she'd received Aaron's medical records, and he was overdue for his third DTP shot, and his second shot for measles, mumps, and rubella. Lance couldn't stand the sight of needles, so it had fallen to JC to take Aaron in for his shots. Thinking about it now -- the needle, and Aaron screaming as he was stuck -- Lance cringed and shuddered and felt sick to his stomach.
Hearing the phone ring, Lance's stomach tightened even more, and he cringed again. He knew who it was; it was his manager, Steve Gabriel. He'd been calling three- times-a-day for well over a week now, and Lance knew he couldn't avoid him forever, and shouldn't keep trying either. Eventually Steve would just show up at the front door, and that would end up being worse than just talking to him on the phone. After the third ring, Lance took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
"Lance here."
"It's about fucking time you answered the damn phone," Steve said, shouting so loud that Lance had to hold the phone away from his ear.
"Oh, hi Steve," Lance said, sarcastically. "It's nice to hear from you too."
"Cut the crap Lance," Steve said, more quietly this time, but still nearly shouting. "This is your career calling. HELLO!"
Lance pulled a deck chair over to where he was standing and slumped down into it. He knew this was going to be a long and unpleasant phone call, and all he could do was try to get through it without losing his temper and throwing the phone in the pool. He also knew that Steve was just doing his job, a job that Lance paid him to do, and that it made no sense to make it harder for him than it had to be.
"Okay Steve," Lance said, his voice already conceding defeat. "Let me have it."
There was only a swallow of wine left in the glass. Lance moved the glass back and forth across the table, sliding it with one hand, and watching as the wine swirled up the inside of the glass and then descended in a slow and unwinding spiral as he stopped moving the glass, and let it collect again, and still, like a small ruby-colored pond. Lance was alone, sitting at a dinner table still cluttered with plates and silverware and serving dishes, and waiting for JC to come back from getting Aaron to sleep. Lance had helped get him into his pajamas, but had left JC to rock Aaron and to read him a story -- The Velveteen Rabbit [1], Aaron's favorite. It had been Lance's favorite too, and he knew it practically by heart. Lance liked the beginning best, the part where the velveteen rabbit asks "What is REAL?"
Lance closed his eyes and imagined JC in the room next door, rocking Aaron, and reading to him, and saying in that voice of his:
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
For always, Lance thought, smiling despite the fact that he remained in a bitter mood. Talking to his manager this morning had made Lance feel frustrated and sad. He didn't want to do the publicity junket, to fly to New York for the morning shows, and do the whole happy-face "I'm-so-excited-about-this-film" thing. Lance just wanted to stay home, and not need to leave, because leaving felt unfair and wrong, like winning a prize and then having someone immediately take it away.
"Lance," JC said, sticking his head into the room. "Aaron's crying, and I can't get him to fall asleep."
"Sing to him sweetie," Lance said, startled from his thoughts, but then focusing on JC, and smiling at him.
"I was," JC said, blushing and looking away. "It made him cry harder."
"What did you sing," Lance asked, laughing. "Digital Get Down?"
"Hah-hah, very funny," JC said, smirking. "I sang `Space Cowboy'. He usually likes the Why-Yi-Yi-Yippee-Yi-Yay part."
"Oh Lord," Lance said, rolling his eyes and standing up. "Josh, that's not exactly a lullaby."
"Well, you do it then," JC said, sticking out his lower lip and pretending to pout.
"No, come on," Lance said, slipping his arm around JC's shoulders. "Let's do it together."
"Okay," JC said, letting Lance guide him into Aaron's bedroom.
"Come on, little guy," Lance said, picking Aaron up. "You want me and Josh to sing you a song, don't you?"
"No," Aaron said, red-faced and crying. "No, no, no."
Aaron slid his fingers into his mouth, still crying, but the sound of it muffled now. JC bent over and kissed Aaron's forehead and then Lance's cheek, while Lance started to sing softly.
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
"Do you know this," Lance whispered to JC.
"Yeah," JC whispered back, and then started to sing too.
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly,
Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly,
Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
Aaron was not yet quite asleep, but he'd stopped crying, and his eyes were nearly closed. Lance laid him gently into the crib and pulled the blanket over him. JC handed Lance two stuffed animals, and Lance put those in the crib too, kissing Aaron as he did it.
"Come on," Lance said, reaching out and taking JC's hand. "I know a little place not far from here that has really good wine."
"You mean our living room," JC said, squeezing Lance's hand.
"Exactly."
Aaron had been asleep for several hours now, and it was nearly midnight. Lance and JC were lying on the couch, their legs and arms haphazardly intertwined, and their faces pressed together, side-by-side, sharing a pillow. The room was dark except for the light of several burning candles, and quiet except for sound of the wind outside, and the soft static of the monitor they used to listen for Aaron crying. Neither one of them had said anything after laying down on the couch, enjoying instead the peaceful comfort of simply being together, dozing almost, and listening to each other breathe.
"I talked to Steve today," Lance said, reluctantly breaking the silence.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Was he pissed," JC said.
"Isn't he always," Lance said, sounding exasperated by the truth of it.
"Well, it's not like you're the easiest client in the world," JC said. "And you have been avoiding."
"I suppose."
"So what did he have to say?"
"They moved up the release-date for `Notorious' my next film," Lance said. "It comes out in three weeks, for the 4th of July weekend."
"Really?" JC said, trying to remember if Lance had ever had a film open on one of the big movie weekends. "So that means they're giving it a wide release?"
"Yup," Lance said. "Over 3,000 theaters.
"Wow!"
"I know," Lance said, sounding almost embarrassed. "I guess they figure that me just winning the Academy Award will juice the grosses."
"That makes sense," JC said. "So, do you think it's good?"
"The movie?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know," Lance said. "I've only seen the dailies, which seemed okay. But you know me, I think all my movies suck. And I wasn't exactly Mr. Happy making it, so god only knows what I ended up looking like."
"I'm sure you're fine in it," JC said, kissing Lance lightly on the cheek. "So, when's the premiere?"
"End of June," Lance said. "June 30, I think."
"I don't suppose you've decided who you'll be taking as your date," JC said, raising himself up on his right elbow, and turning to face Lance.
"I thought I'd take my husband, actually," Lance said. "That is, if he's available and wants to go."
"I don't know," JC said, laughing and settling back down into Lance's arms. "You know how busy he is lately."
Silence filled the room again as Lance and JC let their conversation come to an end. JC could feel Lance's embrace tighten around him, as if he was afraid of something. Lance had been in a bad mood all day -- impatient and frustrated and unsmiling -- and JC had resisted asking him what was bothering him, until now.
"So, what's wrong?" JC asked. "Is it about your new movie?"
"That's part of it," Lance said. "And the publicity tour."
"New York," JC said. "And L.A...right?"
"And Chicago, and Dallas, and Denver, and Seattle, and Atlanta," Lance said.
"Just like the old days," JC said. "Like when we released a new record."
"Exactly."
"It wasn't so bad though," JC said, trying to sound reassuring. "Just a day or two in each city, doing a few interviews, getting your picture taken, and shaking some hands."
"Sure. It wasn't so bad then," Lance said. "But I didn't have a family then, except for you, of course, and you were with me. Now I have a family, you and Aaron, and..."
"Hey," JC said, noticing that Lance had tears in his eyes. "You're crying."
"Yeah, so what," Lance said, wiping his eyes on JC's shoulder. "Crying doesn't change anything though."
"Change what?"
"Change the fact that I don't want to leave, Josh, to be apart from you, and Aaron. Not so soon. Fuck...I feel like I just got here."
"I know," JC said, turning toward Lance and wrapping his arms around him. "I don't want you to leave either. But it's your job, Lance. It's your job."
"Fuck my job," Lance said, bitterly.
JC kissed Lance as he slid his hands up under the front of Lance's grey t-shirt, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin.
"How long will you be gone?" JC said, pulling gently back from the kiss.
"Steve said ten days," Lance said.
"Well...have him break it up into three trips," JC said. "That way you'll never be away for more than 3 days or so."
"He'll be pissed," Lance said, sounding almost like a little boy.
"Let him be," JC said. "He works for you. Remember?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Good then."
"I'm still going to miss you though," Lance said. "And I know three days is still going to feel like three years."
"At first they will," JC said. " Until you get back, and then they'll feel like three days again, because you'll be home."
"I'm still going to hate it," Lance said, his voice thick with frustration.
"Lance," JC said, frustrated himself, but with Lance. "Aaron isn't even three yet, and that means there's a lot of years of raising him still ahead of us. So there's just no way that the both of us will be able to always be here at the same time. It's impossible, and you need to accept that."
"I know," Lance said. "But part of me still wants to just quit. We can afford to."
"You mean financially?" JC said.
"Yeah, financially."
Well, that's stupid," JC said. "Aaron needs to grow up with parents who work for a living, who have jobs, and responsibilities, and obligations. I mean, do you really think we'd be setting a good example if all we did was sit around, living off investments, and raising Aaron like he was a full-time hobby?"
Listening to these words hurt Lance, because he knew they contained a truth that he had selfishly attempted to resist.
"It's not just the publicity tour," Lance said, sounding defensive now. "My next film starts shooting in six weeks. It's a three month shoot -- ten weeks in Savannah, and two weeks in Boston."
"Sweetie," JC said, taking Lance's face in his hands and looking into his eyes. "It doesn't have to be this hard. What happened to Lance-the-super-problem-solver? Huh? You know, the guy who in under a week had located every store in every city on our tour that sold Christmas ornaments? Where'd that guy go?"
Lance couldn't help but laugh, and feel slightly embarrassed again. He didn't know why this all seemed so overwhelming all of a sudden. Perhaps it was because he felt that there was so much more at stake now, and it scared him, because he didn't want to make any mistakes. But that's impossible, he thought. There will always be mistakes.
"So what should we do?" Lance said.
"I think we should rent a house in Savannah. And we can live there while you make the movie."
"But what about Aaron?"
"What about Aaron?"
"I can't watch him while I'm on the set?" Lance said. "So, you'll end up watching him by yourself all day. How can I can ask you to do that?"
"How can you not ask me?"
"It just seems like it's too much," Lance said, quietly. "Too much to ask, too much to expect. And it doesn't seem fair."
"Lance," JC said. "What's fair in life? Nothing. But that's not the point. The point is, if this is going to work, it's going to work because we work as a team, you and me, working together."
"I guess I should know that by now," Lance said.
"I think you do," JC said. "You're just scared, Lance. That's all."
"Aren't you?."
"I'm fucking terrified."
Lance laughed -- the kind of laugh that was more about the release of tension than about something being funny -- and then he kissed JC, holding his face in his hands, and holding the kiss for what seemed like a long time, and it was.
"But what about you?" Lance said, softly, wistfully. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, actually," JC said. "I thought about it a lot in Barcelona, but I never really came to any conclusions. But, Lance, I want you to know something: It doesn't bother me to be the one that takes care of Aaron while you're working. Sure, I don't want to always be the one to do it, but I really am happy to do it for now...for him, and for you, and for us."
"Then what?" Lance said, pulling JC more fully into his arms, and staring into his eyes. "What about after this next film? What then?"
"Maybe I'll go to school," JC said, softly, as if he was embarrassed.
"School?"
"Yeah," JC said. "I was thinking maybe I'd like to be a music teacher."
"What?" Lance said, pulling his head back and grinning at JC. "You want to be a teacher?"
"That's what I was thinking," JC said, blushing. "Do you think it's stupid?"
"No, I think it's great."
"You do?"
"Of course I do," Lance said, kissing JC, and hugging him tightly. "You'd be a great teacher. But do you really want to stop performing, or making music yourself."
"Yeah, I do," JC said, feeling like he might cry, but not feeling sad. "I know it sounds corny, but I've been thinking a lot about that `Music of My Heart' movie, and how cool that woman was...what was her name, Roberta something, and how she taught all those kids to really love music. That's what I want to do."
"You should then," Lance said. "And while you go to school, I'll watch Aaron."
"You can still make films though."
"But only during the summer," Lance said. "One film a year is enough."
"Aaron will be in school soon too," JC said. "Pre-school starts in the fall."
"Wow. That's right," Lance said.
"But I won't start school until next year," JC said. "I still need to apply, and figure out what I have to do to get my teacher certification. So, until then, I want to support you in what you're doing, and be there for you and Aaron."
"I love you Josh," Lance said, kissing JC right after saying it.
"Umm, so what is this next film, anyway?" JC asked, pulling slowly back from this kiss. "Not another war film I hope."
"No, but it's sort of historical, and mostly set in the south," Lance said.
"It's based on some book by William Faulkner that I'd never heard of -- Absalom, Absalom.
"See, I knew that southern accent of yours would finally come in handy."
"Hey, it seduced you, didn't it?"
"So, whose directing," JC asked, laughing
"Ang Lee," Lance said, kissing JC again. "He wrote the script too. I play a guy named Quentin Compson."
"Weird name."
"I know."
"What about after that?" JC asked.
"Well, nothing's firm yet," Lance said, closing his eyes and trying to remember. "Steve says I'm committed to one more project for Miramax, but it's a play-or-pay deal, so if it doesn't go through, it's easy money."
"How much?"
"Twenty million."
"Fuck."
"Tell me."
"So what's that one about?"
"Get this," Lance said, laughing. "It's Pedro Almodovar's first English-language film -- his remake of The Children's Hour."
"No way!"
"Uh-huh," Lance said. "And he only agreed to direct if I was connected to it."
"Really?"
"No lie."
"So, guess why he wanted me in it?"
"Why?"
"No. Guess."
"Because he thinks you're hot?"
"There's that."
"But why else? Tell me"
"He saw me in On the Line, and loved it."
"That's insane."
"Tell me," Lance said, shaking his head, and laughing. "But if you ever meet him, you'll totally understand. Anyway, the only other thing on tap is Scorsese's next film, Foucault's Pendulum. But it's still in development, so I don't know when it'll start shooting. Steve said he'd try to nail it down for me."
Lance laid his head on the pillow next to JC, and snuggled up to him. Neither one said anything for several minutes, each one enjoying the silence once more, and the being together of this moment.
"So, do you really think we can pull this off?" Lance said, once more being the one to break the silence.
"Yes," JC said. "I do."
"Me too."
He had packed before going to bed, and so all he needed to do was take a quick shower and get dressed. Lance was now perched on the edge of the bed, watching JC as he slept. There was something that never ceased to enchant him about the curve of JC's jaw, and the way it rose and fell with each slow breath. Whenever Lance was no longer in bed with him, JC would always pulled the blanket tightly around him, like a bandage, and clutched a pillow to his chest, as if he could not endure his arms being empty. Lance hesitated to disturb him, but he wanted to say good-bye.
"Josh," Lance whispered, tugging on the blanket. "Josh. I'm leaving now."
"Uhh," JC said, groaning and opening his eyes. "What?"
"I'm leaving now."
"Oh. Okay," JC said, still not fully awake.
"I'll miss you," Lance said.
"Me too."
Lance kissed JC on the chin, and then on the lips. JC struggled free from the blankets he'd pulled around him, and sat up in bed. He pulled Lance closer to him, and hugged him, and kissed him again. Then they sat there for a few moments, saying nothing, and just holding each other.
"I'm yours Josh," Lance said. "Only yours."
"And Aaron's too," JC said, softly.
"But you're first, Josh."
"I'm first."
"Yeah. First."
JC stood on a chair in Aaron's bedroom, looking out the window, and watching as the taillights on Lance's car crossed the driveway's bridge and disappeared into the dark. He watched for several minutes more, almost as if he expected Lance's car to reappear, but all he saw were the dark outlines of the trees outside, looking more like shadows than real trees. Stepping off the chair, JC was careful to be quiet, and not wake Aaron.
"Joss," Aaron said, not crying, and not scared, but awake.
"What is it Aaron?" JC asked, reaching into the crib and taking Aaron's small warm hand. "Do you have to go potty?"
"No," Aaron said, standing up in his crib now, and raising his arms in the air. "Time for up now."
"Honey, it's too early," JC said. "You need your rest. Go back to sleep."
"No. Time for up."
"I'll tell you what," JC said, picking Aaron up, and resting his head against his shoulder. "How about you come get in the big bed with me."
JC carried Aaron into his and Lance's room, laid him down on the bed, and then crawled in next to him.
"Come here, little guy," JC said, pulling Aaron into his arms. "Now let's you and me got some more sleep."
"Where did Lansh go?" Aaron asked, his voice sounding sleepy now.
"He went away for a little while," JC said, yawning. "He had to go to work."
"Did he go where my Dad is?" Aaron asked.
JC was stunned by the question, its obviousness, and its sincerity. Thinking about it for a moment, this question, JC hardly knew how to answer it, except to tell the truth.
"No, Aaron," JC said, kissing the top of Aaron's head. "Lance didn't go where your Dad is."
"Lansh is coming back," Aaron said.
"Yes," JC said. "He's coming back very soon. In three days."
"Good," Aaron said, and then he was quiet, and asleep.
JC lay awake for awhile, holding Aaron, his arms not empty, but full. He imagined Lance boarding the plane, finding his seat, sitting down, and staring out the window, feeling sad and angry, not wanting to fly away, or leave, or to be gone. But JC knew that Lance would return soon, just as he'd told Aaron, and that when he returned, JC and Aaron would watch him drive up the driveway, and across the bridge, and then run downstairs to meet him at the front door, excited to see him, and happy that they were all together again, which was the point of returning, to be together again.
[1] The Velveteen Rabbit was written by Margery Williams.