Letters
Lance wasn’t snooping, he really wasn’t. It couldn’t be called snooping when everyone’s shit was jumbled together all over the fucking bus and Lance couldn’t find his damn Palm Pilot. “Goddammit,” he muttered. “Look at all this crap. How in the hell am I supposed to find anything in here?”He rifled through stacks of magazines and video game cartridges and CDs and hoodies and DVDs and socks and notebooks and t-shirts and paperback books and empty Coke cans and piles of orange peels and apple cores and candy bar wrappers and shit! How did Justin and JC and Chris live like this? And how had his Palm ended up over here, anyway? He threw a stray notebook across the bus in frustration. A piece of paper, pink paper, slid out of it and fluttered to the floor as the notebook landed in front of the bathroom door. On the chance that Chris had been the last one in the bathroom this morning, leaving water all over the floor that was probably seeping out from under the door, Lance went to rescue whoever’s notebook he’d tossed.
As he bent to pick it up, he reached to retrieve the piece of pink paper that had fallen out of it at the same time. He glanced at it casually, meaning to place it back between the pages of the notebook, which on closer inspection turned out to be Justin’s.
He recognized Britney’s handwriting. He really, really didn’t mean to read it. But it was right there, in his hand, and he let his eyes skim over the words.
It was a letter, written to Justin. There was no date on it. It looked as if it had been folded and unfolded dozens of times. Lance looked around the deserted bus. He thought about what his mother would say about reading things not meant for his eyes. He smoothed the page out on top of the kitchen table and started to read.
Dear Justin,
Hey, sweetie, I miss you. Things are so crazy right now!! J, did you talk to Lance yet? I really really want to do it again Justin. Don’t you? I know you do, you said you did lots of times. So why don’t you ask him, I bet he’d say yes. He liked it that one time in Hawiaii, you know he did. And I wouldn’t feel so guilty about everything, you know? I mean, if he were part of it again.
Please?
See ya next month,
Luv ya, Britney
Lance stared at the letter. He picked it up and turned it over, but there was nothing written on the back, nothing to tell him what it meant, or even when it had been written. He read it again, but it didn’t make any more sense the second time than it did the first. He stared unseeingly out the bus window at the venue parking lot, confused, and not sure what to think about the conclusions his mind was busy jumping to.
Startled out of his reverie by the sound of a car horn, Lance checked his watch. He’d been out here long enough that Anthony was going to send somebody to drag his ass back if he didn’t hurry. He’d been very specific about how much time he’d given Lance to come out here. Anthony didn’t care about Lance’s Palm Pilot, he cared about the schedule. Carefully, Lance folded the letter up and tucked it into his back pocket. Then he gazed around the messy bus, wondering what else he’d find if he looked hard enough. He shook his head. Not going there. He still had to find his Palm. There would be time to think later. Maybe.
After finding his Palm tucked down between the couch cushions, Lance followed Lonnie back inside, back to the Toy Room. He was lucky, Justin was preoccupied with the weights that went everywhere with him. Lance settled himself into a corner of the couch, opened his Palm, and started tapping furiously on it. It was as good a way as any to avoid thinking over the implications of what he'd just read.
After awhile, Joey quit banging on the drums set up in the corner of the room, and plopped down on the couch next to Lance. “Watcha doin’?”
“Just writing an e-mail to Dad about Free Lance,” Lance answered absently. He tapped out a few more letters, then sighed. “Hurry up and wait, sometimes I think that’s all we do.” He looked around. “Is there food yet?”
“What, you didn’t notice when they set it up? Where’s your head at, man?” Joey nudged him companionably.
Lance spotted the small table in the corner with the drinks and the candy bars piled high. “Right. Well, I’m going over to the Quiet Room for some real food.” He stood up. “You coming?”
“Sure, I could use a sandwich. You wanna wait for J to get done with his workout?” Joey rolled his eyes a little, the way he did when the subject of Justin’s relentless working out came up.
“Nah. Let’s just go.” Lance was acutely aware of the neatly folded letter in the back pocket of his jeans. Ignoring both Justin sweating and grunting in the corner and Joey’s curious look, he headed toward the door.
Lance was actually sorry that they weren’t leaving town after the concert. He usually much preferred sleeping in a hotel with Justin, as opposed to a bus with Joey and Steve. Well, that was because he wasn’t stupid. But he had no idea what to say to Justin about the letter from Britney. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, except what other possible explanation could there be? Justin and Britney were fucking.
So, later, long after the show, after they’d showered, eaten, had a few drinks with the others, after a few laughs with Kelly, who was visiting Joey for a couple of days, after they’d gone back to their rooms to get ready for bed, Lance leaned against the open bathroom doorway and said, “I’m curious, Justin. Is it not supposed to make a difference because she’s a girl? Is that what you were thinking?”
~~~~~
Lance is happy enough living at Joey’s house. It’s not like he’s going to be in Orlando long enough to justify buying a house of his own here again. Kelly is one of his best friends in the whole world, and he adores Briahna, that goes without saying.
But it would be nice to have an office of his own here. Somewhere to set up his laptop besides his bedroom or the kitchen table, or balanced on his knees while he sprawls on the overstuffed couch in the family room. Joey’s house is huge, of course, but it’s full of rooms like movie theaters and game rooms and music rooms and entertainment centers. Lance wouldn’t be surprised one day to turn a corner and find himself in a ballroom, or a room with an honest-to-God stage in it. Or maybe a bowling alley. There aren’t a lot of rooms with desks and printers and fax machines. There’s Joey’s office, of course, and Kelly’s, but Lance hates to intrude. Not to mention, there’s no room to spread out in either of their offices. Kelly’s is full of flower arrangements and decorative doodads that even Lance can’t identify, and Joey’s, well, good luck to whoever needs to find the printer or the fax machine under all the crap.
So Lance is sitting out by the pool, under a huge red and white striped umbrella, checking his e-mail. His mom writes to tell him about his dad’s ulcer, and what the doctor wants to try next. Stacy has sent him a couple of recent pictures from Leyton’s piano recital, and Lance smiles at the silly smirk on his niece’s face as she gets up from the piano and waves at the camera.
There’s an e-mail from Beth, who he still keeps in touch with, although sporadically. She found some files the other day, and there’s stuff in there she thinks Lance might want, so she’s going to send it along. She’s attached a list, and she’s scanned some of the pictures and papers to show him what’s there.
And Lance freezes, and stares at one of the pages. It’s not important, it’s a list of figures and CD sales projections from a million years ago, but in the margins, in the margins are several small sketches of the letters JRT. Some of the drawings look like the necklace Justin used to wear, the big blingy diamond one. A few of the sketches include the R, and several more don’t. And Lance can remember sitting in some boring meeting, before they learned the price of not paying attention to every detail, he and Justin doodling in the margins of the paperwork they were barely interested in, trying to come up with a design for the tattoo Justin wanted on his leg, completely ignoring Chris’s taunts about how lame tattooing your own initials on your own leg was.
And it doesn’t hurt so much, to remember that. It’s a good memory, for one, and for another, thinking about Justin doesn’t always hurt as much as it used to. Lance has no idea why, but he’s willing to go along with it. Contrary to what Chris and Joey may think, he doesn’t really enjoy wallowing all the time. He’s willing to take a break from it every now and again.
He goes on to the next e-mail, and the next. There’s a group mailing from Jive, discussing the possible lineup of songs for the album. They’ve recorded more songs than they need for one CD, because JC and Justin apparently spent the past year writing nonstop, mostly songs for the group, it seems. Chris, too, came back to them with songs he’d been writing. His songs are a little darker than JC and Justin’s, but they’re good, and Lance is hoping more than one of them ends up on the CD. He’s not above admitting that Chris deserves it.
Lance sighs and gets up to grab some fresh coffee from the kitchen. It’s 8:30 on a Saturday morning, and he’s the only one awake. He stirs more sugar into his coffee and takes a thoughtful sip. Chris has treated him exactly the same as before they had their big fight, and Lance is grateful for that. He wishes things would warm up a little more, but he thinks maybe that’s going to have to be his responsibility. Chris has never believed in love, not the forever kind, and except for Joey and Kelly, he’s really not had any reason to. He’s not seen a lot of successful long-lasting relationships in his life, and Lance knows that. He loves Chris, and it’s okay.
Lance sits back down under the umbrella, and sips his coffee, enjoying the cool breeze blowing off the pool. He swears it’s very nearly a big enough body of water to generate its own weather system. If he squints, he can almost see clouds forming out over the center of the deep end.
He finishes reading the e-mail from Jive. They seem to be particularly enthusiastic about one of Justin’s songs in particular, going on at length about the possibility of it being a single. It’s called Only a Glimpse, and it’s the one Lance has thought from the beginning is one of the most beautiful songs he’s ever heard. The bass is absolutely gorgeous, and it’s a true pleasure for Lance to sing his part.
And he knows Justin wrote it for him, and he knows that’s what Chris was talking about, and that knowledge is something Lance holds close to his heart. It brings him joy, undiluted by unhappiness or bitterness for a change. The song is his treasure.
~~~~~
Justin’s head shot up from where he was spitting toothpaste in the sink, and he met Lance’s eyes in the mirror. He didn’t have to see the crumpled pink paper in Lance’s hand to know what he was talking about. He decided his best bet was to go on the defensive. “Where did you find that?” he demanded, and nodded at the letter from Britney as he turned around to face Lance.
Lance smiled, the smile that JC always compared to a barracuda’s smile whenever it made an appearance in interviews with reporters who tried to get them to admit that pop music was lame. It was a smile that had only been directed at Justin on a very few occasions, and each time it was, Justin had been very sorry.
“Were you looking through my things?” Justin tried to scowl threateningly, but it didn’t work. Lance didn’t seem to be properly intimidated, unfortunately.
“Your things? You mean the shit that was strewn all over that pigsty you call a bus? I was looking for my Palm, which I have no idea how it even got on your bus, but that’s not the point. Nor is the point how I found this,” and here Lance rattled the paper rather ferociously in Justin’s face, “in that mess. This point is, I did find it, and what the fuck is going on here, Justin?”
“Now Lance, calm down.” Justin tried his best soothing voice, but Lance wasn’t noticeably soothed. His normally unflappable demeanor had given way to flashing eyes and a clenched jaw. “Okay, poor choice of words,” Justin admitted as Lance glared at him.
And Justin realized that underneath all his bravado, Lance was hurt and confused, and then Justin felt guilty as hell. He hadn’t expected it to go like this. It had never occurred to him that Lance would find out before Justin had a chance to tell him. He put down his toothbrush and cautiously advanced on his fuming boyfriend. Lance held the pink letter in front of him like a shield, and Justin reached out and took it gently out of his hand. Lance blinked rapidly several times and cleared his throat. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” Justin said softly.
“Are you and Brit-are you, you know, sleeping together?”
Justin sighed and took hold of Lance’s hand. “C’mere and sit down. Come on, and I’ll tell you all about it.” He led Lance to the edge of his bed and they sat down side by side.
Lance looked at him. “Start talking, Justin.”
“Well, you remember that time in Hawaii, right?” Lance rolled his eyes. “Right,” Justin said hastily. He shrugged nonchalantly and gave Lance his best winning smile. “Brit wants to do it again.”
Lance frowned at him, skepticism written all over his face. “Why? What’s with Brit and the yen for threesomes? And how come she never says anything to me about it? I see her almost as often as you do, Justin.”
Justin bit his lower lip. This was the tricky part. He didn’t want to lie to Lance, exactly. “Do you remember, back in Hawaii, you asked me if I missed being with girls?”
“I’m not senile, you know. I remember a lot of things. And yes, I remember asking you that.” His face softened and he looked searchingly at Justin. “You were awfully young when we started, J. I know you didn’t get a chance to do much, you know, have a lot of experience, before we got together.”
Justin nodded. “Neither did you, really.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Britney and I spend a lot of time together. We-we’ve always been friends, since the Mouse Club. We’re, um, I guess we’re just really close.” He waited, but Lance didn’t say anything, just kept watching him with wary eyes. “I really care about her.”
Lance sighed and looked down at their joined hands. “And you’re fucking her.”
Well, Justin might not have phrased it as bluntly as that, but, yeah. “Sometimes. I-it’s not got anything to do with us, with you, you gotta believe me. It’s just, well, they throw us together, all the time. And sometimes, it just happens.”
Lance pulled his hand away. “First of all Justin, it doesn’t just happen. You and her decide to make it happen. Every time.” Lance sounded more irritated than mad, and Justin took great encouragement from that. “Secondly, I don’t even want to know how long this has been going on. That letter doesn’t look like you just got it yesterday. Thirdly, when did you become such a chickenshit?”
“What do you mean, chickenshit,” Justin asked indignantly, choosing to ignore the rest of what Lance said.
“Well, why didn’t you ask me? If I hadn’t found that letter, were you ever even going to say anything?” Lance sounded honestly curious.
Justin wasn’t sure how to answer that. He wasn’t sure why he’d waited. Brit had been bugging him for several months to see if Lance would want to do it again. She’d really liked watching them together, she said. Part of him didn’t want her to, didn’t want to share Lance with her. Mostly, though, the whole thing was incredibly hot and of course he wanted to do it again.
There was a tiny part, though, almost too small for him to acknowledge, that wanted to keep Britney all to himself. He didn’t like to think about that, and so he said, “Well, I know you didn’t like it the last time.” He smiled as Lance raised his eyebrows. “Well, okay, I know you didn’t want to do it again. And I didn’t know what you’d say, or if you’d be mad, and okay, you’re right, I’m a big chickenshit.”
To his relief, Lance chuckled a little at that, then got up and wandered around the room, randomly picking things up and putting them back down, frowning thoughtfully at Justin’s Gameboy and his pack of gum and the sunglasses he’d just bought two days ago and the book Lance was using to teach himself how to be ruthless at business. He finally stood still, put the book down, and pointed a finger at Justin.
“Okay. But from now on, Justin, it only happens if I’m there, too. No more just her and you by yourselves. If you guys are stuck alone together and bored, rent a movie.”
Letters: a: a symbol usually written or printed representing a speech sound and constituting a unit of an alphabet b: a direct or personal written or printed message addressed to a person or organization c: a written communication
