Five
“What do you mean they canned him?” Justin
gasped. Chris, JC and Justin stared at
Joey. Joey looked at them unhappily.
“He called me
this morning. They cancelled the trip.”
“He called you?”
JC asked in a whisper.
“Of course he
did.” Chris slapped JC’s arm. “He’s
Lance’s best friend, dumbass.”
“Oh, yeah, right.
I mean, yeah.” JC nodded stupidly.
Lance hadn’t talked to him any more or any less after their little tryst
in Houston, but he had still expected something. They had made love three times before JC’s flight had left for
New York, and JC had expected that to mean SOMETHING.
“Well, how is
he?” Justin bit his lip. Joey sighed.
“Well, he SOUNDS
brave, but we all know what that means.”
“Shit,” Chris moaned. “Poor Lance. Like he’s not the laughingstock of late
night talk shows as it is.”
“I know. I volunteered to go over there, you know,
help him get shit together, but he told me if he saw me over there, he’d kick
my ass back to Broadway.” Joey paced
the length of the living room of his Manhattan studio apartment. “I don’t know what to do and I hate it.”
“Poor Lance,” JC
said, wanting nothing more than to take Lance in his arms and hug him.
“Yeah,” Justin
said faintly, staring out the window at the skyline.
“Boy, THAT
sounded sincere,” Chris said sarcastically. “Are we sorry that the world
stopped revolving around US for a while?”
“It’s not like
that at ALL!” Justin snapped back. “I feel awful for Lance. YOU shut the hell
up.” Justin stomped out of the
apartment.
“What’s his
deal?” Joey asked.
“He’s Justin. Mr.
Solo Artist now. What do you expect?” JC asked. He had been feeling particularly kind towards Justin since his
return from Houston, but he still knew that Justin wanted Lance. And since JC
and Lance hadn’t exactly defined whatever was going on, JC didn’t feel right
talking about it with anyone.
“Need help with
that?” A voice said behind Lance.
Lance, shocked at the perfect English with no accent, whirled
around. He dropped his duffel and
gasped.
“Justin? What the
hell are you doing here?”
“I figure you’ve
been here a while, you’ve got a lot of shit to pack up…you’d need someone big
and strong to help you carry it.”
Justin flexed a muscle and grinned, sauntering up to Lance. “Hi.”
“I told Joey I
didn’t want anyone over here,” Lance growled.
Justin plucked the room key from Lance’s fingers and picked the duffel
up off the ground.
“Joey doesn’t
know I’m here. None of the guys do.”
Justin waited for Lance to open the door of the large building where the
cosmonauts stayed. “Where’s your room?”
“Third on the
left,” Lance whispered. Justin whistled
cheerfully as he strode down the hall.
“I hope you
realize and appreciate what I had to go through to find you. My Russian sucks…thank God people knew
enough English to get me to you,” Justin said. He unlocked the room and gasped
under his breath. The room was a
shambles, with clothing and shoes and belongs strewn all over. Lance was definitely in bad shape.
“Don’t you have
stuff to do?” Lance asked, closing the door.
“Yes. I have to get you packed and back home.”
“No.” Lance shook
his head. “I mean…your single. Your album.”
“I did the VMAs.
I did Making the Video. My little
disappearing act can only make people want to know more,” Justin said with his
old cocky grin. The smile faded as he looked Lance in the eye. “I figured I’d
be here for you. Like in the old days. We cried on each other’s shoulders then…”
Justin glanced down at his shoulders.
“The shoulders are bigger now, and I bet this will be more tears than
just being homesick in Germany.”
“God…Justin…”
Lance croaked, and finally let the tears flow as his cheek his Justin’s
shoulder.
