What I Can't Say

By:  Lara

“I could kill you guys!” Joel Stein, the reporter from Teen People, said as he shut his notebook.  “You say all this shit that you KNOW I can’t say. I can’t print this!”

“We aim to please,” Joey said cheerfully.

“That’s what your mom and sister said to me last night,” Chris told him.  Joey smacked him in the back of the head and turned to Lance.  “Hey…you gonna hit that shelter with me?”

“Yeah, we have time,” Lance said, checking his planner.  “You guys coming?  We’re gonna go to that shelter down the street and donate some money. That place is WAY underfunded.”

“Sorry, Lancey-Pants…me and Chris are going back to the motorcycle place. I totally wanna get my bike detailed,” Justin said, staring into space dreamily.  “Did you see the work on those bikes we used for the photo shoot?  I’m gonna get a cross on mine.”

“That will run you like five thousand dollars, Justin,” Lance said in disapproval.  Justin rolled his eyes.

“Let this be yet another example of why I don’t hang out with you.  C’mon, Chris.”  Justin gave JC a high five on the way by.  “Coming with us, Jayce?”

“Um, no. I’m gonna go to the gallery,” he said softly.  The others chuckled, and even the reporter had to grin.  Just like in the interview.

 

JC slowly walked through the echoing halls of the art gallery, a shop that was set up more like a museum than a store.  What the others had said was true.  He liked wine.  He liked books. He liked art.  He even was dabbling in painting himself.  It didn’t come out as well as his lyrics and music did, but he didn’t think it was too bad.  He stared at the painting in front of him, critically studying the form of the couple who were passionately kissing. 

The reporter had called them a clique.  Joey and Lance were a clique.  They were also lovers.  They loved animals and loved acting and loved each other.  Chris and Justin were a clique.  They were into motorcycles and golf and Playstation and each other. Of course, they didn’t KNOW that, or at least they didn’t admit it.  It was one of those things you couldn’t really say.  But JC figured that the wild immature personalities would finally clash and eventually mix into a beautiful piece of art.

JC wasn’t in a clique.  He loved them each equally and for different reasons.  Lance was the cornerstone that pulled them all onto solid ground.  Justin was beauty and light and sex.  Chris was wild and crazy and fun and what kept them all from falling into the darkness of celebrity.  Joey was home, comfy and safe and relaxing.  But JC wasn’t closer to Lance than he was to Joey, or closer to Chris than he was to Justin.  Maybe at the beginning, but not now.

He sat down on a bench in front of a seascape, sighing as he watched the waves that seemed to leap off the canvas and crash onto the beach.  It just wasn’t fair.  He loved this stuff, loved the emotion of art and the way a glass of wine seemed to toast your mouth before sliding down your throat…but the others didn’t get it.  He supposed he was his own clique.  He sighed and got up again, heading for the room of paintings that weren’t for sale.  The owner of the shop had a few paintings of his own collection up on display, and if you were serious about art, if you convinced him you really cared, he’d let you back to see them.  JC had convinced him of that the first time he walked into the building.

“I have the Degas up,” the owner said with a smile.  “I promised you I would last time you were here.”  He unlocked the door and let JC through.  “Someone else is in there, though.”

“Thanks,” JC said, sighing as he walked into the owner’s inner sanctum. 

A figure sat in front of JC’s favorite, a painting of a dance class.  The instructor, an old man with a cane, watched the young girls carefully as some of them went through their paces and others waited their turn.  “I’ll be out of here in a minute,” the young man said, standing up and turning around.  His eyes widened.  “JC.  Hi.”

“Wade?”  JC stared at the young man in front of him.  “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Well, I had some stuff to do,” the younger man said shyly.  “I forgot you were into art.”

“I never knew you were,” JC said, smiling. “This is my favorite.”

“Yeah, me too.”  Wade turned back to the painting.  “I think it’s because I can see myself as that guy in like fifty years.  Maybe I won’t be training ballerinas, but I’ll be old and gray and using a cane, yelling at guys like Lance to move on the downbeat, and begging guys like you to move slower because you’re gonna break something.”

JC laughed.  “I can see you doing that.”

Wade looked at JC for a moment.  “I was gonna go down to Patelli’s for some spaghetti.  You wanna come with me?”

“They have the BEST wine cellar,” JC said, then blushed.  Wade didn’t want to hear that shit.  The guys were right. He WAS weird.  He was surprised when Wade’s eyes lit up.

“Dude, you are SO right!  The one waiter always serves me.”  He blushed. “Even though he’s not supposed to.  I love that one red they have.  He keeps some back for me when they run low.”

“I’d love to come with you,” JC said.  Wade picked up his coat and grinned. 

JC and Wade said their goodbyes to the owner and went out onto the chilly city sidewalk. As JC turned up the collar on his coat, Wade caught his eye and gave him a grin like nothing JC had ever seen before…but it reflected what was in his own heart.  And it didn’t matter that he couldn’t say it out loud. He didn’t need to.

The End

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