Nothing Is Real

DISCLAIMER:

This story is a complete work of fiction and does not imply anything about the sexuality or sexual orientation and/or preference of any of the Backstreet Boys in real life. It is meant to be read by individuals over the age of 18 due to occasional strong male/male sexual content; if you are under 18 or if this is illegal in your area, see ya! Any quotes are attributed to their sources. This story may not be reproduced in any form anywhere else without express permission of the author.

NOTES: First of all, I want to say "Thank you" for all the great response I've gotten. I was so worried people would hate this! But it seems to have struck a chord with a lot of you. I'm glad. And if I haven't gotten back to replying personally, it's just because I'm so busy writing the story--but please know that I have read your comments and really appreciate your interest. =)

A special thank you must go out to Dustin Bass, author of his own cool series on here about N'Sync called (please don't kill me, Dustin, if I get the name wrong, but as a fellow WebTV user I'm sure you understand that if I was to go doublecheck it now I would lose a lot of info) "My dream come true". Were it not for his help with how to submit a story and his encouragement after reading a preview, this story wouldn't be here.

I am curious, if you are a fellow writer--have you ever found that the story seems to take on a life of its own? I know it sounds stupid, but I'm kind of getting attached to these characters...and that is sending the story off in a different direction than I had intended...but one that I think might be a better one. Let's just say that I'm seeing it being longer, more detailed, and simultaneously sweeter and harsher than I expected. And some future characters have had their personas altered even though they're still a few chapters away from inclusion.

How that is manifesting itself now is that what I had originally envisioned as Chapter Two has now been split into Chapters 2, 3, & 4 because I think it's probably way too long to read all in one sitting and I realised there were two natural breaking points. You see, for one, there is a LOT of background info that needs to come out about the characters, and also, we are dealing with two people who have been starved for somebody in their lives that they can really feel free to be honest with, and as such they have a lot of things they've wanted to say to somebody bottled up and it's all coming out now. So while some of you may feel that the next few parts move as though encased in cement, I hope you'll bear with it. I promise that even things that seem irrelevant now will have relevance in future chapters. =)

Anyway, as always, constructive feedback & questions welcome at torilane@hotmail.com . =)

NOTHING IS REAL BUT THE BOY: AN ALTERNATIVE BSB TALE by Jules Wainwright

Chapter 2: SHOULD I LET YOU IN?

A short cab ride later, we were at my apartment. My gambit on the way over to determine Brian's sexuality had failed. I deliberately had the cab driver go past Wrigley Field, home of the Cubs, to test Brian's reaction, but when I pointed it out to him, he was neither enthusiastic nor repelled--just kind of politely interested. I suppose I could have just come out and asked him directly, but...well, I was just scared. With the state of mind I've been in lately, I knew that if it turned out he were straight, a subconscious--but very VOCAL subconscious--part of me would interpret it as yet another rejection and immediately throw him on the mental pile of all the other assholes I'd encountered in my life and I'd wind up spending the rest of the night somehow resenting him...and I was having such a good time with him I just wanted to enjoy it.

I mean, I knew he liked me as a person. He had initially approached me, he had told me how glad he was we met, and how he thought we could really understand each other, and it was his idea to go back to my place...

Oh God. Now we were here. Why was I so nervous about him seeing my apartment? Was it because he was a celebrity and I was worried it wouldn't be ritzy enough for his standards? But that's precisely what he said he DIDN'T want....

No. I knew what it was. In all my life, I had never had a place that was just so uniquely...ME. He was going to get more than just a glimpse into me and my life...and what if it scared him away like it seemed to scare away so many other people? I don't consciously try to be "different". I just try to be myself...but as far back as I can remember, people have perceived me to be really "different" or "out there"...even when I tried to look more "conventional" when I was younger to fit in...and after enough of this kind of treatment, you start feeling like some sort of freak in a cage at the zoo...

I had a flashback to another scene on SANTA BARBARA. It was a simple scene, but one that brought me to tears every time I saw it because it was just so TRUE! Julia is walking in the garden with her brother-in-law Lionel...

JULIA: Lionel...can I ask you something?

LIONEL: Sure.

JULIA: Well...oh, this is ridiculous. I'm too old to be asking this question...

LIONEL: No--what is it?

JULIA: Do I...do you think I come on too strong with men?

LIONEL: No. I wouldn't say that. You're a beautiful, intelligent, independent woman.

JULIA: But most men...don't seem to want that. They seem to want...somebody helpless. Somebody they can "take care of".

LIONEL: Any man who wouldn't appreciate you is a fool.

JULIA: Oh, Lionel...(starts sobbing)...Sometimes I wish I could just be a dumb blonde!!!

But wait...he had said I was unique, didn't he? And "unique" is usually a positive...but what if, the more he got to know me, I proved to be TOO unique? What if...

Oh, this was ridiculous. I mean, he only had a week off, right? And he never said he was going to be here that entire time...I might not ever see him again after tonight. I should just relax and enjoy his company....stop overanalyzing everything to death...and HAVE FUN, damn it!!!

Brian paid for the cab before I could even reach for my wallet. We got out and started walking to the apartment. "How much do I owe you?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do," he said.

"Oh, thank you so much!" I said gratefully.

"No problem," he smiled.

We entered the building--an old twelve-flat greystone--and made a right. I put my key in the door. "Well, here we are," I said.

I turned on the hall light and we walked down the long hall that begins my apartment, off of which is the bathroom. We entered the living room and I turned on the light in there.

Brian looked around the place in amazement for a while, then finally said, "Man, I feel like I'm in a time warp!"

"Yeah, I know," I agreed. "Doesn't it feel like Mike and Carol Brady are about to march in the room and give you a lecture?"

"That's just what I was thinking!" he laughed. "It's almost like it's a....theme apartment or something!"

"Scared yet?" I smiled.

"No...I think it's cool!" he replied. "What gave you the idea to do that?"

"Well, the whole reason why this place is so cheap is because I don't think it's been touched or updated at all since the 60s or early 70s," I said. "Note the lovely Kermit the Frog-green carpeting."

"I had the same carpeting in my room when I was little," he said.

"So did I!" I laughed. "So anyway, when I moved in here, I only had like a $300 budget to furnish the entire place because I'd sold all my furniture when I moved to New York, and--"

"You used to live in New York?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you from originally?"

"Here."

"Oh, OK...so what made you decide to move back here? You didn't like it there?"

"No. I LOVED it there," I said wistfully.

"So why, then?"

"Oh, man...let me try to make this as brief as possible," I began. "OK. New York, unfortunately, is so crowded and expensive that it is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to find an apartment--even just a roommate share. What happens is that most of the ads are in the Village Voice, which comes out first on Tuesday nights at this little newsstand by the Astor Place subway station...and the line is literally around the block to get a copy!"

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. And then, the people who have an apartment hold an open house for two hours on Wednesday nights. So you go, fill out this questionnaire, get a tour of the place and talk to the person briefly. It takes about ten minutes. And while you're there, there's at least fifteen to twenty other people who are also looking. Now, you multiply that by the entire two hours and you have some idea of what you're up against. There's always somebody who's been there longer, or who makes more money, or whose personality meshes better..."

"Damn! So where did you live?"

"This tiny little residential hotel up by Harlem. The room was about the size of a closet, the bathroom was in the hall and you shared it with the entire floor, it was cold, it had roaches, it was $200 a WEEK...and believe it or not, that was a bargain!"

"Shit!"

"So anyway, I wound up getting engaged to this DJ in the East Village who had just moved there himself from Florida. And after a while, he ran out of coworkers to crash with, so he moved in with me...into a place that wasn't even big enough for me to begin with. Well, needless to say, we started grating on each other's nerves BIG TIME! So between that, and I hated my job--I worked for a medical answering service and it was eight hours of patients screaming at me that they needed their doctor and doctors screaming at me that I'd interrupted their dinner...so anyway, I decided to go back to Chicago for a week just to clear my head. And he talked me into staying back there until he found us an apartment, because he said otherwise I'd just be coming back to the same thing. So I spent all the money I'd saved up for a security deposit and stuff on coming back here, getting a room in a boardinghouse so I didn't have to sign a lease, living off of until I started getting temp work...and then three weeks later, he dumped me. And I had no money to come back and he'd already checked out of the room so I was stranded back here, basically."

"I'm so sorry," Brian said softly.

"Don't be. We wound up being good friends eventually."

"Why did he dump you?" he asked.

"Because...he just realized he was happier by himself than he was with me," I said softly.

"That must have really hurt. I'm so sorry," he said again, and put his hand on my shoulder.

It felt so good to have someone who seemed to care touch me...really good...

But I couldn't let myself get too used to it. It would just hurt more when he left. So I pulled away and tried to convincingly sound carefree. "No--listen--I'M sorry! I say I'll keep things brief and it still takes an hour for me to explain them!" I laughed.

He just smiled. "Hey--no. You're not boring me. I said I wanted to get to know your life, right? So anyway, you didn't have any furniture..."

"Right," I said, grateful for the opening. "So I had to go to second-hand and thrift stores. And the first thing I found was this 50s diner-type kitchen table set for like $20. So then I decided between that and the apartment itself, why not just have a completely retro place? So then I combed all the stores for the most hideous, gaudy, dated 50s, 60s, and 70s stuff I could find, and...voila!"

"Cool!"

"You know what's really funny?" I asked. "It looks a lot like my great-aunt's house...only she didn't have any sense of irony about it. Like, she had those exact same lamps practically. Can you ever imagine someone finding a mottled olive green and burnt orange pattern attractive seriously?" I laughed.

"No," he laughed.

"So, would you like a cocktail or something?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.

"Screwdriver OK?" I asked.

"Fine," he replied.

"OK, just have a seat. I'll be right back." I went into the kitchen and got the orange juice out of the refrigerator, then the ice cubes and Tanqueray vodka out of the freezer. I know a lot of people think Absolut is the be-all end-all, but I've never really cared for it. Tanqueray is more famous for their gin--which I hate--but their vodka is the best I ever had...it's very smooth.

For fun, I thought I'd put the cocktails in these elaborate colored glass champagne flutes I have....DAMN! The Tanqueray was nearly gone...and at $30 a bottle, it would be a LONG time before I could afford it again....

Oh well. "Have FUN!" I reminded myself sternly. So I walked back into the living room with the flutes. I gave Brian the violet one and kept the cobalt one for myself.

"Thanks," he said, sipping it. "These are cool glasses! Were they really expensive?"

"Nope," I smiled. "$2.50 at Cost Plus."

"You know, between these and the way you put together an entire retro bad taste museum for under $300, you really have an eye for this kind of stuff!"

"Thanks," I replied. "Think I could become the thrift store retro Martha Stewart?" I laughed.

"No, I'm serious! You probably could...or something."

"Thanks. I guess I got that from my mother. We never had much money, but you wouldn't know it from looking at our place. I'd go with her shopping, and she could just scour a store sorting through all the crap until she could find a quality bargain...watching her in action was really fascinating."

"You say 'was'," he said. "Is she dead?"

"Nope. Alive and well and living in the suburbs with her boyfriend."

"And your dad?"

"Just got married for the third time. He lives in a different suburb."

"Any brothers and sisters?"

"I'm my mother's only child. I have two half-sisters that are fourteen years younger than me from my dad's second marriage, but they live with my ex-stepmonster and I hardly ever see them so I don't know them all that well. Especially now that they're in junior high and in that 'I hate older people' phase....oh my God!" I said, bursting out laughing.

"What?"

"The last time I saw them....one of them was wearing a Backstreet Boys T-shirt!"

He laughed.

"You know," I kidded, "maybe I should call them and--"

"DON'T YOU DARE!!!" he laughed. "Especially not while I'm getting to know their brother...so are you and your parents close?"

"For the most part, I guess."

Sensing that I wasn't that thrilled with this line of questioning, he switched the subject. "Hey--remember what you said at the club about what you could tell from people's apartments?"

"Yeah."

"Well, while you were getting the drinks, I was looking around here...want to hear my interpretation of yours?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Well, the first thing you notice right off the bat is how different it is. That's really obvious. So anyone who thinks that all homes need to look like the latest issue of HOUSE BEAUTIFUL is going to be turned off immediately and not go any further. But then, when you start looking at it more, you start picking up on the sense of humor behind the whole thing. And then you start thinking about your childhood...where you've seen these things before. But just the good parts about your childhood...there's nothing frightening here. And then that makes you start noticing the warmth. So the end result is..."

He paused.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I just feel really comfortable...and safe here. More so than I have in a long time. Like it's really safe just to be myself...who I really am....and that's OK."

"Good," I said. "That's exactly how I want you--people--to feel. Like it's a comfortable hangout." I paused. "This is the best apartment I ever had...God, I'm really going to miss it..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my landlady isn't renewing my lease. She's finally caught on to the fact that she can remodel and update and get twice as much rent, so now that's what she's doing as everyone's lease comes up."

"Oh, no!" he said. "So where are you going from here?"

"I don't know yet," I replied.

"Well, how soon do you have to be out?"

"The end of the month."

"But that's two weeks away!"

"I know."

"So why haven't you found a place yet?"

"Well," I replied, "It's a little hard when you don't really have a job either."

"Oh, you mean because you're out of the play?"

"No. That didn't pay."

"But I thought it was a hit!"

"It was," I said. "But most theatre in Chicago doesn't pay. You do it for experience and exposure."

"Well, can't you try out for things that do pay?"

I shook my head. "In general, to get sent out on auditions for things that would pay enough to live on, you need an agent. And in order to get an agent, you need to have headshots--professional photos of you they send out.

And I can't afford headshots--they're very expensive. I mean, once in awhile they have general auditions for things that do pay, but they're usually musicals, and I can't dance well enough."

"So what do you do to support yourself?"

"Well, I had an office job, but I lost it."

"How?"

"Well, I was supposed to move to LA at the end of May, and I'd already given my notice and they'd hired a replacement. Then, it fell through at the last minute, but they decided to keep the replacement instead. And before you can bring it up, I'm not eligible for unemployment because of a loophole--I DID originally voluntarily quit."

"How did the move fall through?"

I looked at him. "Ready for another long, drawn-out story that smacks of soap opera?" I cracked.

"Sure," he replied, then took my hand. "Look--Jules--you don't have to keep apologizing or making jokes about talking about yourself. I AM interested," he said sincerely.

Oh God. That contact/caring thing again. I wanted to melt, to cry in his arms...but I refused to make myself that vulnerable to someone so quickly. That was twice he had touched me....but straight guys can be touchy-feely too, right? So I forced myself to continue.

"OK. Well, a friend of mine flew me out to LA for a week to visit in February--he'd won these free flight coupons. I really loved it out there--I didn't want to leave. Especially since my best friend was moving out there himself in April. And while I was there, I wound up becoming good friends with this guy I met at a coffee shop in West Hollywood. So after I came back, we still kept in touch. We talked every day. We both had the same warped sense of humour. And so he told me that if I wanted, he was going to be renting a house at the end of May, because that's when his inheritance hit, and he'd pay for my move and I could live with him rent-free. So that's what I was going to do--my understudy was going to take over the part for the last few episodes; they weren't that great anyways.

"So April came and my friend and his partner moved away, but I figured it was no big deal because I'd be seeing them in less than two months. And the guy & I kept talking and he was telling me about all the cool things we'd get to do once I was out there. Then two weeks before I was supposed to move, I went to call him and his number had been disconnected with no forwarding number. I called information--nonpublished number. I sent him an email. I got a message back saying his account wasn't receiving mail. I sent him email from a different account. That went through. I sent him a second message. That one came back blocked. I sent him a message from a third account. That went through. Second message. Blocked. So obviously, he was trying to avoid me."

I continued. "I think he was a pathological liar. In the classic sense, where they really can't help it--it's an illness--and they tell people what they think will make them happy. I don't think he ever had a house or an inheritance--and he was scared to tell me he lied. Now, thankfully, I hadn't sublet the apartment yet, and my understudy was nice enough to let me finish out the part, but I did lose my job...and I really miss my friends now that I know I won't be seeing them for a while."

Brian touched my hand again. "Jules--"

"So I've been going on interviews, and registering with a bunch of temp agencies to try to get fill-in work. But I'm not getting hired, and the temp agencies all keep saying the same thing once they've signed me up--'It's a slow season; are you registered with other agencies?'. It took me nine months to find that last job. No matter what I do, I guess I don't interview well or something, because the only times I've ever been hired were through a friend or a temp assignment that went permanent. I have the same luck with jobs I have with men--and I already told you about that," I laughed bitterly, and sipped my cocktail.

Brian squeezed my hand a little harder. "A lot of people you've trusted have really screwed you over, haven't they?"

"Yeah," I said softly...then toughened up and sipped my cocktail again. "But probably no more so than a lot of people."

"Well, still, I'm sorry," he said. "Now--what about your parents? Can you live with them for a while?"

"No," I replied. "For one, they live in the suburbs and I wouldn't have access to a car to get to and from a job...or anything, really. And for another...well, they're both in fairly new live-in relationships and they don't really want me underfoot."

"That sucks," he said. "What about friends?"

"Well, they basically tell me 'Gee, I'm sorry; hope it works out!', then hang up the phone." I sipped my cocktail again.

"Oh, Jules--"

I laughed bitterly. "You said you wanted to see my life; well, welcome to it!" I took a big swig of the cocktail.

"Well, I AM welcome you've let me in," he said. "But Jules--what are you going to do?"

"I really have no idea...I'm scared," I said softly.

"There has to be something--you've got to think--"

"Look, Brian," I cut him off, "I don't mean to snap--I know you mean well--but that's all I've been DOING is thinking! I think and worry myself into a frenzy! Into a black hole of depression! That's why I went out tonight--even though I could barely afford the drink--because I just needed to escape for a little while! You know how you said you needed a vacation from your life?...Well, I need one from my life too! I just want to be able to relax and have fun and not think and not worry--for just a little while! And I HAVE been having fun ever since I met you...until we started talking about this..."

Brian looked at me. "I guess that's fair enough," he said. "See, I was right--we really CAN understand each other..."

Then he brightened and changed the subject. "You know, I can't really picture you working in an office anyway!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I laughed, walking to the living room closet. "I'm a chamaeleon. I can morph into whomever people need me to be--at least for a little while. It's all makeup and wardrobe, really. Nail polish remover, wear the hair down and parted down the middle or something conservative like that, put on some of these dreary things," I said, opening the closet door to reveal a rack of plain dress shirts, slacks, and ties, "and voila! The perfect generic office drone."

Brian laughed. "Somehow, I don't think I could ever picture you as generic," he said. "And, speaking of wardrobe, if you're not a drag queen, how come you have all those wigs on top of your bookcases?"

"Past productions."

"I see," he said, then pointed to a long red one. "Kimberly?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

He got an eager glint in his eye. "Can I try it on? I've never worn something like that before."

"Sure," I said, amused.

He got it down, then tried to put it on, but wasn't having much luck. "How do you--"

I went over and took the wig. "OK," I said. "See this netting underneath?

That's what needs to go on over your head. The tag goes in the back, just like clothes. You put your head down, place it over starting with the front, then come back up."

He did so & shook the hair in place. "Well, do I make a pretty woman?"

I laughed. Brian was a GORGEOUS man, but GOD, he was an ugly woman! "Ummm...I think you'd better stick to your day job," I replied.

He looked in the mirror and laughed. "Yeah...I think so too!" He took off the wig, replaced it on the styrofoam head, then said brightly, "So, show me the rest of the place!"

"OK." I took him through the kitchen ("Straight out of a fifties sitcom!" he marveled), out onto the back porch, and then finally into my bedroom.

"What are all those tapes?" he asked, pointing to a huge bookcase filled with videos.

"SANTA BARBARA episodes," I said. "It's my favorite show of all time. I have about three-quarters of the episodes on tape...did you ever watch it?"

"My mom did," he answered, flopping down on the bed. "It's the one with Cruz & Eden, right?"

"Yeah," I replied...OK. A Backstreet Boy on my bed--this was really WAY too much! I HAD to know. I sat down next to him.

"Ummmmm....Brian?"

"Hmmmmmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

LOOOOOOONG pause, during which he smiled and looked at me the entire time--which DID NOT help matters--then finally I just blurted it out. "Oh, fuck it--are you straight or gay?"

"What do you think?" he said, smiling at me.

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking," I said nervously.

"Well, which do you want me to be?" he grinned impishly.

I laughed. "OK, look--I don't know if you're being a flirt or a tease right now, but whichever it is, you little brat, QUIT FUCKING WITH ME!!!"

"OK," he said agreeably, then pulled me into a long passionate kiss. GOD, it was enjoyable! Then he pulled away and asked me mock-seriously, "Does that answer your question?"

"Only partially," I teased back. "Now there's the gay/bi question."

"I'm gay," he said. "I can't believe you thought I was straight!"

"Well, you're hardly a flaming queen," I replied, "And besides, you're straight to the world, aren't you?"

"Yeah...but I can't believe YOU thought I was straight. I mean, what did you think I was staring at you for--health purposes?" he teased.

"Well--"

"I get it," he grinned. "You're one of those people where you have to be hit over the head to realize someone's interested in you, right?"

"Yeah," I replied truthfully. "The people I THINK are interested in me aren't, and the ones I don't think are, are. So I THOUGHT you were interested, but--I guess I was afraid I was misinterpreting again."

"Let's see how you misinterpret this," he grinned, and kissed me passionately again.

"Ummm....no...no, that's pretty clear," I said, then kissed him passionately again as we put our arms around each other. Our tongues probed deeper and deeper, our hands roamed all over each others' backs, we sank onto the bed, and...

And simultaneously pulled away from each other and sat bolt upright.

"Let's wait," we both gasped at the exact same time.

Then laughed.

"Why?" we both asked simultaneously.

We laughed again. "You first," I said.

"OK. I'm just having so much fun right now getting to know you, and checking out your apartment and stuff, and besides--I still have half a cocktail out there!" he laughed.

"That's what I was thinking too," I said. "So I think we should wait for...oh, at least an hour," I grinned.

"Why not 45 minutes?" he grinned back. "Want to go back out there?"

"Sure," I replied, and we went back out in the living room and got our cocktails.

"You know something else I noticed?" he asked.

"What?"

"Well, you just have so much stuff here--movies, music, all that--that I've never seen before. Because I've never been exposed to it. I've never met someone whose taste is as eclectic as yours. But I like experiencing and learning new things. I've always liked that. I mean, you literally must have thousands of old records, CDs, tapes...I bet I could spend months here and never get bored because it would all be new to me, you know?" Suddenly he got excited. "Can I do that?"

"What?" I asked.

"Spend the week here with you? I mean, you could show me your favorite movies--the ones you think I should know about--same thing with the music, too. You could be my teacher in a way, you know?"

I laughed. "You mean, you want to become a connoisseur of kitch and camp?"

"Well, if that's what that means, then yeah," he said eagerly, then added hesitantly, "That is, if that's OK with you."

"Of course!" I smiled. "So, what do you want for your first lesson?"

"How about some music? Maybe...some older music," he said.

"Sure," I said. "Anything in particular?"

"Your call," he said. "You decide."

"OK," I said, then had a burst of inspiration. "I know!" I said, flipping through a music reference book. "I'll play you the song that was #1 the day you were born."

"Cool!"

"Ummm...when were you born?"

"February 20, 1975."

"OK," I said, and flipped to the page..."Oh, damn," I said.

"What? What song is it?"

"'Pick Up The Pieces' by the Average White Band. It's just kind of a boring little instrumental. I've never been too fond of it," I replied.

"Oh. Well, could you play me something else from that year?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. I got out my Billboard 1975 compilation CD and looked at the contents. "OK, brace yourself, Brian. All these songs are of the 'so-bad-it's-good' variety."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're so cheesy, so over-the-top, that they make you laugh and you just have to love them for that."

"You mean, like your furniture?" he asked.

"Yeah, exactly," I said. "They're the musical equivalent of burnt orange lamps. They were meant to be taken dead seriously back then, but now they're just hysterical. That's the whole meaning of 'camp' and 'kitsch'", I said.

"That sounds cool," he said. "Put it on!"

"OK," I said, and put the CD into the CD player. I looked at the case. "Well, this song was the #1 song of the year," I said, and pushed track 3. The familiar (to me) sickeningly perky strains of "Love Will Keep Us Together" by the Captain and Tennille filled the room.

By the time Toni Tennille started chirping, "Love! Love will keep us together!...", Brian was on the floor in hysterics. "Oh my God!" he gasped in between laughs. "This is SO bad!"

"Told ya," I smiled.

"You mean, people actually took this song seriously back then?"

"Yep. It won a Grammy for Record of the Year. And, I mean, them too--listen to her. She's just pouring her heart and--well, what little soul she has--into it!" I said. "But this is like Masterpiece Theater compared to this other hit they had called 'Muskrat Love'."

"They sang a song about MUSKRATS?!?"

"Yep. Muskrat Suzy and Muskrat Sam. It was a Top 10 hit."

"You are shitting me!"

I showed him the record.

"Put that one on!" he said.

"Not yet," I replied. "That one's so frightening it's best saved for the 'Advanced Course'."

"OK. This one's cheesy enough for now," he laughed. "God, it's SOOOOOO...."

Suddenly he stopped and looked dead serious.

"Brian?" I asked.

He didn't say anything. He started to look like he was going to burst into tears at any second.

I turned off the music. "Brian, what's wrong?" I asked, starting to get extremely concerned.

He just looked at me blankly for a long time. Finally he spoke.

"Jules?" he said softly.

"What?" I asked.

His eyes started welling with tears. "Jules...I...I need you to be honest with me about something," he softly pleaded.

Well, there you have Part 2! Part 3 is already in progress and hopefully will be finished soon. Thanks for hanging in there, and remember--constructive feedback & criticism always welcome at torilane@hotmail.com .