‘You’re right.’ JC sighed heavily. ‘I mean, golly, I love my family, I do, Dad and Tyler and Heather – and I love Mom, really. But – yeah. The band is my family.’

Dr Nguyen nodded. ‘And you are “Big Daddy”?’

JC snorted.

________________________________________________________________________

In Orlando, the boyba- … er, male pop vocal harmony ensemble group thingy … that had already made its break from TransCon (more or less) were having a meeting.

Most of them, frankly, didn’t want to be there. But in the final analysis, they had no choice. The settlement they had reached with TransCon meant that they were forever saddled with a ‘sleeping partner,’ a sixth share, dead weight – and as AJ snorted, ‘some fuckin’ weight, too’ – in the form of Lou Pearlman. All of them resented that, and would unite to execute any plan that, without violating settlement terms and exposing them to liability, held any promise of screwing the fat bastard over.

So that was part of it.

But more to the point was the issue of who had called the meeting. He stayed in the background, largely, offstage as much as on. He was by nature a mediator, a peacemaker. But he was the true founder and ‘onlie begetter’ of Backstreet, when all was said and done, and in his quiet fashion held the reins and cracked the whip, as even Kevin would acknowledge when pressed. Besides, none of them had ever been able to deny Howie anything, truly.

________________________________________________________________________

‘I am exceedingly disappointed with the level of cooperation – perhaps I should say, non-cooperation – we are receiving from these young men.’ This was the senior-most of the attorneys Jive had hired.

Clive Calder looked coolly at him. ‘In thet case, c’unsel,’ he snapped, his clipped South African accent more marked than was usual, ‘resign yourself to disappointment. I’m not altogether pleased with your efforts, matter of that. Item. You lost the race to the courthouse, t’ where ’N Sync are only counter-plaintiffs in the suit BMG and that doos Pearlman brought. Bloody kak, man, how’s your mind? This is my marcha you’re spending. I don’t care if every one of ’em’s a moffie; that poes Pearlman, sif old munger, is not goin’ to win this. I personally’ve put up my marcha to get my teeth into BMG, just for this, and if exercising that holding is what it takes, I’ll do it. These boys –’

‘These youths, Mr Calder, are curiously unwilling to level with us about any matters that could be used to impeach them as witnesses at trial. Which means they are hiding something from you as well. Whatever unpleasant secrets they have –’

‘Nooit,’ Calder said, snorting with disbelief. ‘Ag, that’s doff. The –’

‘For all we know, Bass is a murderer.’

Calder stared at him. Then threw the lawyers – the senior-most and his five wool-worsted spear-carriers – out of his office.

________________________________________________________________________

‘What?’

‘Sit down, Kevin.’ Howie’s tone brooked no interference. ‘I’m not very happy with you or Brian at the moment.’

‘“You’re not very happy with –” the fuck, D? Where do you get –’

‘I told you to sit down. And shut up. I’m sick of you two Jesus Boys preaching at the rest of us while acting this way, and you two Kentucky “gentlemen” – so-called – acting like a couple of mountain rednecks.’

‘Just a minute here, this is ’N Sync we’re talking about! The enemy! After all the crap those cheap copycats have pulled –’

‘They’re victims of Lou, too, just like us: we ought to feel some solidarity here. But fine, so call them “the enemy.” Last I checked you Bible-thumpers were supposed to love your enemies, pray for them that despitefully use you, turn the other cheek, go the second mile, and requite good for evil, thus heaping coals of fire on the heads of your “enemies.” What, Bri? Cat got your tongue? Or do you people think Catholics don’t read the same Bible as you?’

‘B- but … besides, at least two of ’em are fags.’

Howie stood up. His outrage and dignity made him stand taller than the others who were greater in physical height than he.

‘Number one, you don’t know that any one of them is what you call a “fag.” Number two, I am what you call a “fag.” Number three, if I ever hear another homophobic word about me, them, or any other living soul on this planet out of you rednecks, I will not only pull the plug on this band – and don’t think I can’t – I’ll make it to where you never get another job in this industry again. ¿Comprende, chingar?’

Brian slumped in his chair, face burning. ‘Bone? Where are you on this? Frack?’

AJ raised his drowned eyes to them, obviously afraid, obviously determined. ‘This – Backstreet – this is my family, ’kay? I can’t face another family breaking apart. But if it has to, this is a damn good fuckin’ reason. Hell yes I’m with D on this.’

‘Nicky?’

Nick glared at his best friend. ‘Don’t call me “Nicky,”’ he said automatically. ‘What D says.’ And he turned his gaze upon Howie, full of an unexpected, glowing hero-worship. ‘Every damn thing D says, I say.’

________________________________________________________________________

‘Well,’ said Karen Chasez, glumly. ‘That went well.’

Roy grimaced. ‘I know. Josh really should tell us who he is and who he isn’t out to.’

‘It would help. God knows I don’t like playing the heavy mother, even if we are protecting Heather and Ty.’

‘If he’d even so much as tell us whether or not any of the boys were homophobes –’

‘Now, Roy. He’s got quite enough on his plate right now. You call Diane, dear. I’ll call Josh’s cell.’

________________________________________________________________________

‘Fuck,’ said Kevin, glumly. ‘That went well.’

Brian winced automatically at the un-Biblical profanity. ‘Tell me ’bout it. Like a damned French farce, with nobody but the audience knowing who knows what secret, and even them not able to keep track, far as that goes.’

‘The hell you ever see a French farce?’

‘Joey dragged me to one. Laughed so hard I near peed my britches. Now I know how the poor mug of a main character felt, and ’t’ain’t quite so funny.’

Kevin sighed. It was almost a groan. ‘Reckon I’d best call Lance.’

‘Reckon as how,’ his cousin nodded.

________________________________________________________________________

Diane was not to be deterred, even by a woman who rivaled her in the steel magnolia department. ‘I’m very sorry, Dr Nguyen,’ she said, so perfunctorily it was evident that the statement was the merest Southern nod to courtesy. She wasn’t sorry in the least. ‘If it were not urgent, I’d not have interrupted. Joshua, dear, your mother is on the line, on your cell: when I saw the caller ID, I thought it best to answer. It does seem urgent, dear.’

________________________________________________________________________

‘Well,’ Jim said into Lance’s cell, taken aback. ‘He’s rather out of things right now. Resting. Oh. No, no – nothing like that. It’s going to be fine, thank you for asking. He’s going to be fine. Yes. All right, slugger. That’ll be fine. You tell your Mama that Diane and I send our love. You, too.’

In Florida, Jim Bass’s caller smiled. ‘I’ll do that, Uncle Jim. You give our love to Lance and Josh, and you tell ’em they’re in our prayers. And tell A’nt Diane, next time we see y’all, I’m beggin’ for cobbler.’

‘I’ll tell her, Kevin.’

________________________________________________________________________

The most shark-like of Lou Pearlman’s counsel was debriefing his investigator.

‘Clinton.’

‘Shit. Stepford, Mississippi. It’s basically a suburb of their half-ass, redneck capital, Jackass – I mean Jackson – but, shit. Except I didn’t see signs over the water fountains reading “White” and “Colored,” and there wasn’t a lynching while I was there, you cross the city limits and you’re back in the Fifties.’

‘I don’t need a travel guide.’

‘No, but you do need to unnerstan’ what this place is. Bein’ an outsider there is … eerie.’

________________________________________________________________________

JC shambled back in to Dr Nguyen’s office a quarter hour later. He was clearly torn between concern and relief after his phone call.

‘Um. Doc? I … I think maybe I’d better come clean with you about some things.’

________________________________________________________________________

‘Goddamn it, Lou! When the fuck are you going to learn to leave this to the professionals?’

‘I –’

‘Your Goddamned heavy-handed intrusion has really fucked things up this time. Apparently, you decided to play Secret Agent Man on your own, right? Well, it’s gotten back to various quarters and fucked up my investigations. I am sick of continually working at cross-purposes here just because you want to play Big K’nocker, Pearlman. You and TransCon are bit players here, get that? It’s us – BMG and its North American affiliates – that are in the driver’s seat, because it’s our money and our contracts and our artists that are at stake, when you come right down to it. Get me? Your fucking stupid urge to interfere. Shit. After all, pal, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with if you hadn’t fucked these guys over even before we signed them, now, would we? And Lou? BMG and RCA – and I can speak for all of us here – won’t forget that little fact.’

‘But what –’

‘I don’t know how you managed to do it, but somebody among your people managed to really put their foot in it. Apparently, your attempt to weasel info out of Backstreet – lemme guess, it’s those Kentucky hicks, right, because they’re the ones who are always bitching about ’N Sync stealing their thunder – your last little stunt got the band that is still making you money all bent out of shape. Richardson and Littrell have stormed off to Kain-tuck to, I dunno, drink moonshine and spit, and the other three are suddenly unavailable, just like the way all the ’N Sync guys have scattered. And –’

‘We have to track them! We need to know where they are and who they’re talking to!’

‘Lou, SHADDUP already! There will be no more of your elephantine attempts to sneak around, capisce? Counsel – all you guys on Lou’s legal team – listen up. And Pearlman, you listen real good. This sniffing around the kids’s home places is over until we say different, get me? This dirt-digging? Over. Do I have to remind you that Clive Fucking Calder owns a stake in BMG and vice versa? And that as a shareholder of a publicly traded corporation, he has a right to demand to look at our books and records? We’re the one’s have the real interest here. And Lou, so help me, I will throw you to the fucking wolves you pull any more stunts and I hear about it. You will never work in this industry again and no major label will ever sign an act that has anything to do with TransCon, you get?’

‘We get,’ snapped Lou’s senior-most counsel, grimly.

‘Good.’ And the conference call was abruptly terminated.

________________________________________________________________________

‘No, Doc. It’s true enough Mom had some … it took her a while to deal. I dunno if it was the gay thing or just – sometimes I think when she…. When it comes to me and, well, growing up. I mean. Yes.’ JC became preternaturally solemn and formal, as only the young can, and strove for dignified maturity. ‘She has difficulty responding naturally to any aspect of me as a sexual being.’

Dr Nguyen was too wise to smile at the stilted, desperately earnest solemnity. ‘Because of Roy,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.

‘Um. Yes. She’s always afraid I’ll sow wild oats of my own that will, um, you know.’

‘Does she regard your existence – or at least your presence in the family’s life – as Roy’s wild oats coming back to – I believe you were going to say, “haunt” you all?’

‘That makes it sound like she resents me or doesn’t love me. She does. She does, really. But. I mean it’s got to hurt a little, right, every time she looks at me a part of her has to feel like I’m proof in the flesh of Dad’s one failing?’

Dr Nguyen pinned him with a level gaze. ‘You and Lance have both had a little too much protection in your lives. Not just of yourselves. You’ve been injured by your own and your friends’s and families’s determination to protect others. I strongly suggest that stop. Soon. Unless of course monetary and career considerations mean more to you and your families than your own lives and health and happiness do.’

She intended for JC to resent that comment. She was successful. It ended up being a remarkably effective session.

________________________________________________________________________

‘In entertainment news, having sold out their fall tour on the day it was announced – as we reported on August 14 – boyband sensations the Backstreet Boys have achieved another milestone with the radio release of the single “Larger Than Life.” The five phenoms have a few days downtime to savor their latest success before returning to the stage for the next leg of their SRO tour.

‘At the same time, rival boyband crooners ’N Sync are preparing to go back out on the next leg of the second half of their hot-selling “Ain’t No Stopping Us Now” tour – and in keeping with that title, are going on the offensive in their big-story lawsuit against manager Lou Pearlman and BMG Records and its American label RCA. In a statement released today –’

________________________________________________________________________

‘Right,’ Clive said, on his own conference call with BMG. ‘Yeah. Email me the distribution changes, then. I don’t know which of us is getting more satisfaction from squeezing that munger Pearlman out.’

‘Squeeze him until he pops.’

‘Like an acne boil on the face of a teeny boyband fan.’

‘Um. Clive. About your put option.’

‘Oh, we’ve three years yet to worry about that, now, haven’t we.’

‘Yeah, okay. Look. I want to make it clear that we – and I mean all of us – recognize and appreciate the fact that BMG is the only plaintiff that wasn’t countersued. So far, the press hasn’t picked up on that –’

‘Ag, where’s your mind? This isn’t exactly Woodward and Bernstein covering this. VH-bloody-1 and MTV.’ Clive snorted. ‘No, except that technically it was BMG that did first breach by failing to make this a real US domestic-distribution deal –’

‘I know –’

‘I’m not done, china. And while Lance may have forgiven HQ in blutty Deutschland for wanting him tossed – doffie oke who thought that one up needs to be snot-klapped – there are those who haven’t. And fokken won’t. Check? So. As long as BMG doesn’t pull anything skeef with my lads, we’re kief. But try and scale anything, and you skelms will make me the fokken moer in, hey?’

________________________________________________________________________

Lance had been cleared to return to Clinton for a rest before the ‘No Stopping’ tour ramped back up. Dr Cooley wanted to impose a considerably longer restriction on him, but gave way to the stark legal fact that as long as the lawsuit was pending, ’N Sync absolutely had to fulfill all its remaining obligations – the proceeds of which BMG had quietly agreed to pay into the registry of the court, pending further orders by Judge Conway.

It was therefore something of a surprise to Justin and Chris when they were told not to come to Houston, but to meet the Basses, Joey, and JC in New Orleans. It was as much a surprise to Lance and JC when, with ample driving time still left in the day, Jim stopped in New Orleans, made a few phone calls where they couldn’t hear him, and headed for Rue Toulouse in the Vieux Carré .

‘Where –’ JC started to ask.

Diane looked at him with unreadable eyes. ‘We’re going to an elucidation,’ she said crisply, then turned back in her seat – she was riding shotgun – to watch the road ahead. Stacey, Lance, and JC exchanged a glance freighted with memory, recalling similar words on another occasion that had led them to where they now were.

Lance’s eyes widened as they pulled up outside Maison Dupuy, at the corner of Toulouse and Burgundy. ‘Daddy? What would Dr Cooley say about our comin’ to the French Quarter and eatin’ at Dominque’s?’

‘You’ll rest fine, son. Sorry we can’t take in Brennan’s or Antoine’s this trip, but this will be a private gathering. We have a banquet room, and it will be catered by Dominque’s. We’ve already got you a heart-healthy meal planned.’ He looked over at JC as they watched the valet and the porters descend upon rental van and luggage. JC was lost, eyes glazed, ear cocked to the strains of jazz from street corner and window and club. JC never was worth a damn in Nawlins: the music overwhelmed his Creole soul. ‘JC? JC! Come on, son. And no, no band tonight. We have business to discuss over dinner, and I don’t trust you to pay attention if you’re distracted by your urge for hot sax.’ JC blushed and snickered as the other boys guffawed.

________________________________________________________________________

Diane Bass’s promised elucidation initially generated a bit more heat than light, and confused most of the boys at first far more than it enlightened them.

At seven precisely, they went down to the private dining room, all blazer-and-tie for the men, the ladies cool and collected in summer cotton. When they walked in, Chris went white, and Joe flushed an angry red. JC just looked bewildered and a little scared, Justin tensed up, and Lance was impassive – until you caught, as probably only JC and the Basses caught, the green spark of knowing mischief in his eye.

The cause for the reactions of the non-Bass members of the party was manifold. Already present for the half-hour set aside for preprandial cocktails were three groups of people, none of whom were interacting with the others. On one side of the room, fidgeting, were Howie, Nick, and AJ. On the opposite side, near the bar, were Kevin and Brian. And in the center, drinking Sazeracs, were Lynn Harless and Roy and Karen Chasez.

‘We’re missing one,’ Jim said, waving those already in the room quiet before they could say anything. His voice was wry and resigned.

‘Well,’ said a feminine voice from behind them, ‘I was trying for fashionably punctual, but – why is there always a line for the ladies’s room?’ And then, ‘Put me down, Justin,’ she said. ‘I have to make my manners first.

‘Hi, Uncle Roy.’

‘Cherie.’

‘Hi, A’nt Diane, Uncle Jim.’

‘Thanks for coming, Britney.’

‘Hi, Miz Lynn.’

‘Hi, dear. I love those shoes.’

‘Oooh, thank you, I’ll tell you where I got them. Later. Hi, everybody.’

The guys chorused, faintly, ‘Hey, Brit.’

Lance laughed out loud, and cut in front of Justin, who was fixing to resume his embraces.

‘“Everybody,” huh? That’s not a greetin’, that’s a damn Backstreet lyric.’

‘Hey!’ AJ said. He was universally ignored.

‘It surely ain’t no way to greet your favorite cousins,’ he teased her.

Brit grinned up at him. ‘So greet me.’

Lance dipped her and planted one on her as she giggled.

‘HEY!’ Justin and JC both said, also to universal indifference.

‘Excuse me,’ Kevin said. ‘I b’lieve I distinctly heard, “cousins,” plural, and I’m not going to be fobbed off with any general “Hi, everybody” either.’ He was at Lance’s elbow now, Brian just behind him, grinning like a fool. ‘Mind if I cut in?’

‘Not at all,’ Lance grinned back.

‘I mind,’ Justin yelped. And was again ignored.

‘Hey, cuz,’ Kevin said, hugging her and twirling her about. Brit barely had time for a response before Kevin deposited her in Brian’s open arms. Brian kissed her chastely on the cheek, and she giggled again.

Kevin by then had hugged Jim, Diane, and Stacey, shaken hands with Ford, and pulled Lance into a half-hug so he could tousle Lance’s hair.

‘Now I mind,’ JC said, not even expecting anyone to listen by now.

‘Well, you could at least notice that your own mother is right here,’ Karen said from his blind spot. ‘And I could use a hug myself.’

‘All right, all right,’ Jim said. ‘Everybody settle down. We have about half an hour before the food gets here, and I can see from the way Chris and Nick are seething that some explanations are in order.’

‘Not for me,’ Joey said.

‘You always were the quickest one,’ Diane told him.

‘HEY!’ Lance protested, and was ignored.

‘Southerners,’ Joey said, shaking his head. ‘Somewhere, way back, you people are all really Italians who went Protestant and Anglicized your names. Forestalago, di Ricardo, Lettorello, Bassiamo, della Germogli, an’ I guess Chasez is some Frenchy from Nice or Savoy.’

‘You mean,’ Chris started, then fell silent.

‘I really should have spotted this,’ Howie said. ‘Kentucky to Tennessee to Mississippi to Louisiana. I suppose –’ he motioned to Kevin and Brian – ‘while I was passing Lou’s secrets to Chris, you two were in touch all along with the Basses?’

Before the Kentuckians could do more than nod, AJ broke in. ‘And you didn’t trust us enough to tell us all this shit you were always talking about ’N Suck – sorry, sorry – about them was a smokescreen? What, you thought I’d get blasted and let something slip?’

‘No,’ said Brian, earnestly. ‘It was –’

‘It wasn’t AJ and I know it can’t have been Howie … so it was me, wasn’t it?’ Nick was affronted, angry, deeply hurt, and desperate not to cry in front of the ‘enemy,’ all these adults, and especially Britney – who, to Justin’s ill-concealed irritation, had bounced over to sit down with Roy and Karen and talk some down-home family gossip.

Kevin looked pained. ‘No. Nick. It wasn’t you. We just. We.’

‘Jane,’ Howie sighed. Nick winced. ‘Well, Nick,’ Howie said, soothing him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘I can see why they didn’t want you to have to lie to her. And.’

‘And she can’t be trusted,’ Nick said, flatly. ‘I know that. She tried to play both ends against the middle when we broke free of Lou. God. Is it…. Is it wrong to hate your own mother the way I hate that damn woman?’

Howie didn’t miss a beat before folding Nick in a tight embrace that caused Lance and JC to exchange a loaded glance.

‘It’s all right,’ Britney said quietly. ‘Soon as we get some crawfish into y’all Yankees, you’re honorary family with us.’

‘Hel- um, heck,’ Lance said, ‘I’ve got family right here in this very room I’d as soon not admit to.’

‘Albino,’ Kevin retorted.

‘Pin-up boy,’ Lance said, sticking his tongue out.

‘Y’all haven’t changed in ten years,’ Brian sighed.

‘Um, speaking of mothers,’ Chris said, hesitantly, not looking at Karen.

‘Ah,’ said Roy. ‘I’m very sorry about that. It’s always edgy, not knowin’ who knows what and who approves or disapproves. And JC has always been very insistent on our protecting Ty and Heather from any backlash.’

‘Mrs C –’

‘It’s Karen, dear, as it always has been.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, sweetie, it’s nothing. I’m sorry I put you through the Heavy Mother act.’

‘Ooookay,’ Joe said. ‘So. Both halves of Backstreet are on the side of the angels, and Mrs C is actually a loving mother who fully supports C’s – whoops.’ He turned red.

‘Thanks, Joe,’ Lance said dryly. ‘But as it happens, everyone in the room already knew that I’m the luckiest man alive.’

‘Hey! That would be me,’ JC protested.

‘Awwwwwww,’ everyone chorused. And then Britney cleared her throat, meaningfully.

‘Oh. Actually, that would be me,’ Justin said.

‘You are really going to have to work on your reflexes, dear,’ Diane said, patting his cheek.

‘Or marry her so you can stop these competit– ow.’ Ford looked at Stacey with pleading eyes. ‘Honey, your elbows could slice bread.’

‘Son,’ Jim said, ‘that competition never ends.’

‘You just get a pass to say it in private, later, once you’re married. “Those whippersnappers,”’ Roy said in an elderly voice, ‘“don’t know what luck is, darlin’. Let ’em talk when they hit their twenty-fifth anniversary, by cracky.”’

‘By which point,’ Karen added, ‘I’m asleep anyway.’

‘Um.’ Everyone turned to look at Nick, who turned red. ‘So we and D and Kev and Frick were all doing our best to help you guys on the downlow. And Mrs Chasez is cool with things. So. Well. Why are we doing this – not that it’s not neat and all, but. If everyone here wears a white hat. Who’s the villain in the piece?’

He slapped his forehead as everyone chorused, ‘Lou, of course.’

________________________________________________________________________

They were well into a markedly relaxed dinner – Lance had been allowed to have the snapper Pontchartrain – when AJ blurted out, ‘So how is everybody related anyway?’

Jim took the question to himself. ‘Lynn’s related to Brian’s and Kevin’s mothers, who are related to Diane. Roy’s related to me and to Brit’s daddy. Karen’s the normal one here. And don’t worry: several folks at this table had never actually met until whatever gene it is that turned our kids into pop-stars kicked in.’

AJ was irrepressible. ‘So. It’s a Southern thing, huh? I mean, Timberlake there and his cousin Britney, and Lance and his cousin JC –’

‘You starting whistlin’ “Dueling Banjos” and I will take you down,’ Kevin warned.

Howie and Nick exchanged a meaningful glance, and Nick nodded. ‘Well,’ D said. ‘At least Nicky and I aren’t kin.’

‘Oh, you may be related to someone at the table,’ Roy said comfortably.

‘D means, we’re not related to each other,’ Nick said, oddly shy.

It took a moment for the penny to drop. JC practically squealed – Brit beat him to it – and everyone rushed over to hug the two. They were full of questions: ‘How long?’ and ‘When?’ and ‘Have you told your folks?’

Lance was the first to step back. ‘Now holt on,’ he thundered, effectively silencing them. ‘I’m sure they’re right glad that we all support ’em. But let’s not spook them or jinx it. Congratulations, you two. Y’all ever want or need to talk, call. But we ain’t goin’ to pry – now are we, Josh?’

JC guiltily released them from his part of the mass hug and sat back down, as did everyone else, Brian being the last to let go of Nick.

‘And if any of the parents need someone to talk to,’ Diane said.

‘You don’t leave here without our numbers,’ Roy finished. ‘And you boys can call us yourselves if you need to, especially if, well, your own folks take a while to come ’round.’

‘Aren’t they the cutest couple,’ Brit smiled. ‘Except JC and Lance, maybe.’

Justin leapt right in. ‘Actually, that would be us.’

‘Ten for improved reflexes, zero for judgment,’ Diane said.

‘Ah, what’d I do wrong this time?’

Lynn laughed at him.

‘If the fans could see us now,’ Joey grinned.

‘Actually,’ Kevin said, ‘I think we need to talk about that. Lance?’

‘Ah. Right. Um, long as the lawsuit’s on, we’re still as we were. Justin and Nick glare at each other, Chris and Howie get to be friendly, the rest of y’all are polite rivals, and Cuz One and Cuz Two get to keep playin’ the dozens with me.’

‘Lance?’

‘Joey, I know you hate this, I know you can’t stand not to be friends unless you have an actual reason to be enemies, and I know you thought tonight was the start of better days. But. It’s business. And it’s the only thing frankly that makes sure the public can tell us apart.’

‘I think we have a very different and distinctive sound,’ JC said, wounded.

‘Damn skippy,’ AJ growled.

Lance patted JC’s hand and ignored AJ. ‘Besides, I think Kev needs a favor this way?’

‘We need to use your move to Jive as a reason to threaten to walk from there.’

‘Wait a damn minute!’ Chris was well into the highest octave of his range.

‘Oh, we won’t actually do it. But this gives Clive an excuse to renegotiate with us and with BMG on the US distribution, and allows us to further screw Lou over. He gets a sixth, you know – but of what? Clive has a way to make sure that the part of the pie Lou gets a piece of gets a whole bunch smaller this way.’

‘I’m all for screwing Lou,’ Chris admitted. ‘Metaphorically.’

‘CHRIS!’

________________________________________________________________________

‘One last thing, though.’ Brian was in dead earnest. ‘It ever gets – I mean ever – to where this harms more’n it helps. And I mean even if it just harms us as people. We drop the farce and make up. Because I don’t right care for even pretend-fightin’ with family and people I care about the way I care about all y’all.’

‘Amen,’ said D, and JC made kittenish noises of agreement.

________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, as he dozed in the back seat of the rented van, his head on Lance’s solid shoulder, JC almost wondered if it had been a dream. But parts of it were still too vivid. Lynn dragging Justin-the-Ladykiller off by the ear and Diane giving Britney a talking to – with a wink and a hug as soon as Justin was out of her line of sight. Lance, Brian, and Kevin telling the most embarrassing baby-days stories on each other they could dredge up. His own father getting sufficiently lit to make jokes and give a risqué little speech in Cajun French, followed by some Acadian folksongs, the same songs Roy had sometimes sung to him in his earliest days in the Chasez household. D and Nick talking earnestly with their own brethren … and then with him and Lance about relationships. Chris announcing that if Howie, Nick, and Britney were all taken, he was going to have to flirt with Joey instead. Joey riposting that AJ looked lonely, and that if all Chris wanted was a temporary replacement for Dani, AJ knew a hell of lot more about oddball fashion than he did. AJ and Chris actually talking for an hour or more about FuMan, designing offbeat clothes on napkins. Cloth napkins. Be the last time they were welcome at the Maison Dupuy….

‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re home.’

________________________________________________________________________

This, JC reflected, was becoming something of a theme. He was being awakened, bright and early. Far too bright and far too early. By Lance. By…. Huh? He knew perfectly well that in all Southern propriety, he and Lance had been given separate rooms. And he knew painfully well that when he’d gone to bed, he was alone. So – not that he minded. But. So – what was Lance doing in his arms?

‘Your virtue is intact,’ Lance grinned, and as JC began to process waking life he noticed that Lance had already showered, shaved, and brushed. ‘Though that may not last too many more nights. C’mon, sugar. Up we go. It’s breakfast time.’

‘Laaaaance.’ He looked blearily at the clock and did a double-take. ‘Breakfast sounds good, but at this hour? Where’s the fire?’

‘You’ll be in it, or at least a fryin’ pan, you ain’t down to breakfast in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. When Mama says breakfast is ready, she means, right now.’

JC managed to stumble down stairs in a quarter hour, clean and fresh-mouthed, but still sleep-besotted. He groaned at the site of the breakfast table, laden with ham and eggs and grits and butter and biscuits and cream gravy and red-eye gravy and links and bulk sausage and bacon and ice-tea and milk and buttermilk and pancakes and sorghum and pork chops and Jesus Christ and General Jackson but Dr Cooley would have apoplexy. Then he saw that Lance had French toast. Everything else was for him and the Basses. He groaned audibly.

‘Soon as we say Grace,’ Jim said, ‘you eat on up. We’ll get some meat on those bones yet.’

‘He’s perfect just the way he is,’ Lance grinned.

‘Then you can tell the Good Lord that right now. Go ahead on and say Grace, son. The Almighty don’t approve of cold biscuits.’

________________________________________________________________________

‘But why,’ JC had still wanted to know, ‘are we up and racing to get all spiffy at this hour? I thought we – you’re supposed to be resting.’

Lance was buffing a pair of loafers. ‘We are. Trust me, this will be fun. Interesting.’

‘Uh huh. We off to visit more relatives?’

‘Not exactly. Mama! Is she going to have house guests?’

Diane’s voice floated back up the stairs. ‘Not a house party, dear. Just Mr Shelby and the Professor.’

Lance beamed.

________________________________________________________________________

Jim had to do the driving, as JC would never have managed not to get hopelessly lost and Lance was still on medication. But he had made it clear he was just dropping them off. Great, JC thought. We’re stuck there, wherever we’re going, until Jim moseys on back.

‘You still won’t tell me where we’re going.’

‘JC. This is the Deep South. We are going to spend the morning and have lunch with a little old lady who wanted to see me when I got home because she’s been a friend of ours for a coon’s age. It’s part of how we do things down here.’

‘And this is what you promised would be fun and interesting.’

‘Yep.’

________________________________________________________________________

A maid who looked almost as old as the antebellum house had shown them into the front parlor. JC stood there, poised between nerves and boredom, until their hostess arrived, with her houseguests in tow. An elderly lady. White haired, long faced, wise, with an awkward grace to her. Lance took her hand and she pulled him into a hug.

‘Mornin’, Miz Eudora.’

‘Sit down the both of you. Lance, child. You have been missed. Shelby! Stop fiddling with that infernal pipe and let me present my dear young friend Lance Bass. Reynolds, dear, don’t hang back. You remember Lance.’

It was fortunate that Miz Eudora had given them permission to sit, as JC’s knees would have given out in any event. As he had sunk into a chair, trying not to leave his mouth hanging open, he had registered the appraising look from the youngest of the three elders, a silver-haired but still middle-aged man in a wheelchair. And of course he had recognized him, as he had their hostess and the bearded epitome of the Southern Gentleman, the elderly ‘Shelby,’ looking for all the world like a Confederate general come to life.

He only faintly heard Lance saying, ‘Miz Eudora, I’d like to present my friend and … companion … JC Chasez. JC, sugar, this is Miz Eudora Welty. Mr Shelby Foote. And Mr Reynolds Price.’