Lance Bass ignored the crackling sounds that came from his bodyguard’s headset. With long, smooth strides, he kept walking down the dimly lit hotel hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis.

"Bass." The voice behind him was low and gruff, a deep rumble. "Go back to the car."

"Huh?" Lance stopped short and turned around. His right hand impulsively left his pocket and he rubbed at the back of his neck.

"We’re leaving again. There’re some people who need to talk to you. Now." The bodyguard moved to the side of the hallway, giving Lance room to pass.

"There’re lots of people who need to talk to me," Lance said as he started walking back in the direction he had just come from. He smiled in what he hoped was a carefree manner. "Care to be a little more specific?"

"These are detectives," the guard said.

Lance felt himself pale; he physically felt the blood drain from his face. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Law enforcement officials," the guard continued. "Someone like that. They’re investigating Tommy."

Lance blinked. "What?" He took a step backwards. "Tommy? For what?"

"We need to go." The guard motioned for Lance to continue to head back to the elevator that they’d just left.

"They didn’t say?" Lance narrowed his eyes. "Or you won’t tell me."

"They didn’t say. Come on, Bass." The guard waited until Lance had walked past him before he moved into his normal spot two steps behind the singer.
--

"You aren’t supposed to be leaving home yet, Jimmy," Tommy said. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree. "I mean, who am I going to come visit when I get back home? What am I going to do?"

"Probably the same things that I do when you’re gone for nine months out of the year," Lance said. He took a swig from the coke can fisted in his right hand. "Be bored."

"But you’ve got school here still," Tommy said. He gestured out, away from where they were sitting. "I’ve got school *there.* You were supposed to go to school at Ol’ Miss and we’d get a house or something."

"I know," Lance said. He shifted his weight around and the leaves underneath him snapped and squished.

"And now you’re going to Florida." Tommy sighed heavily. "Not cool, kid."

"Maybe it won’t work out," Lance said. "Then I’ll be back."

"And maybe you’ll be a star." Tommy sipped at his beer. "But you won’t be here."

"Visits," Lance said quickly. "We’ll coordinate."

"Yuh-huh." Tommy took another sip of beer.

"Our friendships not going to change, you know?" Lance said. "We’ll still be friends. I mean we’ve survived you being at college for a year and a half."

"I know," Tommy said. "But it’s not going to be the same."

"Nothing stays the same, Tom," Lance said slowly. "You know that as well as I do."
--

"Mr. Bass." The voice was hard with just a slight nasal-twinge. "My name is Detective Simon. That’s my partner back there, Detective Bristol."

"Good to meet you," Lance said. He slouched down in his chair.

"You’re probably wondering why we called you in here today," Simon said. Before Lance could nod, he leaned forward and continued. "We called you in here because we’ve been investigating an employee of yours, a Tommy Wright. He is an employee of yours?"

"Yes," Lance said. "He’s my accountant. And my friend."

"Well, he’s a thief," Bristol said. The man crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the back wall of the room.

"We suspect he’s been embezzling money from your firm FreeLance," Simon said quickly. He reiterated himself: "Suspect."

"Why would you say that?" Lance asked. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "It’s impossible."

"Because it’s happened at every other firm he was employed at. Both of them." Bristol took a step towards Lance.

Lance heard his bodyguard shift behind him and took a deep breath. "You must be mistaken. Tommy wouldn’t do that."

"Go over your records, Mr. Bass," Simon said. "Send your books to an outside accountant. If there’s no evidence of any wrong doing, we’ll apologize. We know he’s been doing it, though. Men like that don’t just *stop* because they’re suddenly working for their friends."

"I’ll go over the records," Lance said as he stood up and stuck his hands back in his pockets, "but I trust Tommy and I know I won’t find anything out of place. I can almost guarantee it."

"We hope you’re right, Mr. Bass, because if you aren’t, your firm could be in some financial trouble." Simon stood up and held out a hand for Lance to shake.

Lance turned on his heel, ignoring the hand, and walked to the painted white door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway in one fluid motion. He didn’t wait to see if his guard was following him or not.

The suite was decorated in a cream-white and a dark, navy blue color. The carpet was soft and squishy and spotless, and the curtains were striped to match the thin strip of border that edged the white walled room.

One man, shorter than the others, with dark hair tipped fire engine red, was curled into a chair. He was sketching; the pencil was moving almost frantically across the clean page of the notebook resting on his lap. Occasionally he would hold up the notepad and show the drawing to the other three men sitting in the room.

"This?" he’d ask as he took the pad back down to his lap and altered a line or a word, "Or this?"

He wouldn’t stop asking until all of the other men had given their opinion.

Another man was stretched out on the couch. His long, dark but highlighted hair was held away from his face by the headband of his headphones. His lanky legs were propped up on the cushioned arm at the other end of the couch and the laptop rested on the rise of his thighs. His wrists were bent at an odd angle as he tapped away at the keys and played with tracks on his computerized music program of choice. He hummed a tuneless song quietly, just under his breath, making the notes come together in his head.

The third man danced by the window of the room. He counted out the steps: one and two and turn and thrust. His bandanna--the only thing that used to keep his mass of curls out of his eyes--slipped as he moved, and he stopped after every song to readjust it.

"J." Chris gave Justin a heavy stare. "Dew rags don’t work unless there’s something to hold back. You don’t have no hair, yo."

Justin raised his middle finger and scratched the tip of his nose.

The fourth man watched the TV. He laughed every few minutes and slapped at the flesh of his knee.

"Oh that’s funny," he’d say. He’d smile and the laughter would bubble up, again.

Suddenly, breaking the monotony of the afternoon, the door to the suite banged open. The movement was hard enough so that the door hit the wall on the right side of the doorframe, leaving a small dent in the plaster, before it slammed shut again behind the man who had stepped into the room.

"Mother*fucker*," Lance said. His face was pale; his lips tight and a dusky pale pink.

Justin stopped dancing mid-thrust and had to balance himself quickly, regaining his center of gravity.

JC pulled his headphones off and stared at Lance.

Joey muted the TV.

Chris, startled, drew a line across his latest sketch.

A tear dripped down Lance’s cheek. He blinked and another tear followed the first.

"Motherfucker." More quietly this time.

"What is it?" Joey asked cautiously.

Lance shook his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself. Papers the other guys hadn’t noticed Lance was holding fell from his hand in a rustling of leaves. He slowly folded to the ground, still holding himself.

"It’s bad?" Justin asked.

Lance nodded.

"How bad?" Chris asked. His eyes narrowed.

"Bad." Lance’s voice was muffled, spoken into his solid knees. He continued crying and all the other guys could do was stare.

JC stood up from the couch, carefully setting his laptop on the empty cushion beside him, and walked across the room. He picked up one of the fallen sheets of paper, noticed the scrawled FreeLance at the top and stared at the columns of numbers.

"I don’t understand." He looked down at Lance.

"Tommy," Lance said. He swallowed convulsively. "The numbers don’t add up. Money’s missing." He gestured helplessly.

"Motherfucker," JC said.

Then the room was silent.
--

The airport was cluttered with noise: constant announcements over the intercom ("Will Lucy Perez please report to a white courtesy telephone? Lucy Perez, please report to a white courtesy telephone."), children screaming, and families saying goodbye.

"God, I hate the airport," Joey said. He looked around the building and stepped forward suddenly as someone bumped into him.

Lance nodded his agreement. "I hate flying more, though."

Joey moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Bah. Been there and done that *way* too many times."

"And I have to do it again," Lance said. He looked over at the gate his flight was leaving from. "And then again at the end of the week."

"I envy you *so* much, Lansten," Joey said. "Let me count the ways. One--" He raised his right hand and spread all of his fingers out. With his left hand he pretended to tic fingers off.

Lance glared at Joey.

"Final boarding call for Flight 2178 to Jackson, Mississippi." The electronic voice cut through the surrounding conversations. "Final boarding call for Flight 2178 to Jackson, Mississippi."

"You better go," Joey said. "Don’t want to make Mama Bass mad now, do we?"

Lance shook his head. He punched Joey lightly on the arm and proceeded to walk towards the gate.

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!" Joey called after him.

Lance raised his middle finger, showing it over his left shoulder, and didn’t turn around. Behind him he could hear Joey laughing.
--

The ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign flicked off with a bling and Lance slowly uncurled his fingers from around the airplane armrests. He took a shaky breath and looked at the people all around him standing up, stretching, and unlatching the doors of the overhead compartments.

"Well," the old woman (with almost blue hair) next to him said, "we survived."

"That we did, ma’am," Lance said, his drawl pronounced. He stood up and began to pull his own bag down. He paused. "May I get your bag for you?"

"Why, thank you." The old woman nearly cooed. "That would be very nice."

Lance smiled.
--

The Jackson International Airport air was harsh and disinfected. It stung Lance’s nose, throat, eyes. He blinked, eyeing the flat blue walls and the modern architecture that had been attempt at making the building look appealing.

"James!" It was a familiar voice--not the voice he was expecting, but familiar none the less.

Lance turned around and smiled at his mother. The smaller woman was walking quickly towards him. His adams apple bobbed as he pushed his fingers through his too bleached hair.

"Mom," he said. "What are you doing here? I was expecting Stacy."

"Like I wouldn’t leave school early to come pick up my son whom I haven’t seen in six months." Diane wrapped her arms around Lance and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "You know me better than that, James."

Lance pulled away. Then he smiled.
--

"It is so good to have you home," Diane said. She spun the steering wheel and cornered the car into their driveway; the driveway that led up to the perfect white house with brown trim and an immaculate yard.

"It’s good to be back," Lance said. "Been gone too long."

"Well, when you’re off cavorting in Europe and seeing places we never thought you’d get to see, I guess we really shouldn’t complain." Diane gave the wheel a final spin.

"I’ll always think of this as home, Mama," Lance said. "You know that."

Diane nodded. "I moved all of your father’s stuff out of your room this morning. He just likes to take it over, I swear. I told him that you were going to be coming home today and that it needed to be out, and he still left it all there."

Lance smiled wanly.

"Oh, and Lisa called today, too. Did you tell her you were comin’ home?"

Lance shook his head, but he looked more alert at the mention of the name of the director of the Mississippi High Steppers.

"Well, she knew somehow. She said that you were welcome to drop by the studio at anytime while you were here. She said that all the kids there really wanted to see you. Not that you probably know too many of them anymore, but--"

"Okay, Mama," Lance said. "I’ll go say hi tomorrow, if I don’t have anything else planned?"

Diane shook her head. "Would I plan your schedule for you?"

"Of course not," Lance said quickly. "I just didn’t, you know, know."
--

The stage looked exactly like Lance remembered it. The curtains were the same heavy, burgundy velvet dust traps that they had always been. The floor still had the too shiny floorboards.

He had a flash of dejavú as the performers came out, practicing their entrances onto the stage. The song was different, but it was the same atmosphere. Two years before, he had been one of the guys in pinstripe suits and brimmed hats, tapping a cane in time with the beat of the peppy show tune.

Lance sank, slowly, into one of the seats at the back of the theater. He watched with rapt attention as the girls tapped on stage, singing: lips a bright red, eyes shiny even from where he was sitting.

One girl tapped forward to the front of the stage. Lance remembered her. She’d joined the group a few months before he had left. She had been twelve and still anxious about getting up on stage.

To his sixteen years, she had been a little girl and he’d barely given her a second glance. Now if only he could remember--

Meredith. That was her name.

She opened her mouth--Lance could see the whites of her teeth from the back row--and sang.

Lance blinked. He bent his elbow, resting it firmly on the armrest, and propped his chin up on his knuckles.
--

"Oh my *god*."

Lance remembered the girl in front of him now.  Elizabeth. She gushed, had always gushed, and would probably gush for the rest of her life. Lance cringed at that thought.

"You’re like *so* famous now," Elizabeth said. She lay a hand on Lance’s arm. "And now you’re standing in front of me." She squealed.

"I’m not famous," Lance said. He shook his head and plastered a grin on his face. "Who over here has even heard of ‘N SYNC?"

"*I* have," Elizabeth said. She looked around the theater area. "We all have. You’re, like, the most famous graduate we have."

"Nah." Lance shrugged. Then he pointed at his hair. "I’m just the dork who dunked his head in a bucket of bleach."

Elizabeth laughed too hard, showing too much emotion.

Lance swiveled his head, trying to find someone else he could talk to. He saw Meredith walking up the aisle.

"Meredith?" Lance asked.

Meredith turned curiously. She blinked.

"James." Her smile was genuine, but hesitant.

"You sounded good up there," Lance said. "When I last saw you, you were this tall." He held out his hand to a level somewhere in the middle of his chest.

"Thanks," Meredith said. She shrugged and her dusty-brown hair bounced. "When I last saw you, you had brown hair."

"Yeah, well." Lance blushed. "They seem to think I look better this way."

"Uh-huh." Meredith shook her head.

Lance saw Elizabeth opening her mouth, so he spoke again quickly. "I was serious when I said you sounded good. Have you ever thought about pursuing it?"

Meredith shook her head and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Me? This is just for fun, James. You know that. It never goes anywhere."

"I’m somewhere," Lance said.

"Except you." Meredith corrected herself quickly.

"You should think about it," Lance said. He grabbed her hand and pulled a pen out of his pocket. With sloppy strokes he scrawled his number on her hand. "Give me a call if you change your mind."

He walked away before Elizabeth could corner him again.
--

"Do you remember Meredith Edwards?" Lance asked as he poured three glasses of milk. He recapped the jug and rested it on the white tiled counter.

Diane pursed her lips. "Refresh my memory." The sound of the knife chopping carrots was in sharp contrast to her soft voice.

"She only joined a few months before I left," Lance said. "She was twelve."

"Poofy hair?" Diane asked.

Lance nodded.

"I remember her," Diane said. "She was a cute girl."

"She’s got some talent." Lance took a sip of milk from his glass.

"All you kids had talent," Diane said. "You all were the best in the state."

"No." Lance shook his head. "I mean, like, she’s got real talent. She sang a solo today, and it was just, *wow.*"

"Well, that’ll be good for the group," Diane said.

"I think she could go solo." Lance walked the jug of milk over to the refrigerator and stuck it in. He shut the textured white metal door that still had alphabet magnets covering the whole surface. "She hasn’t even thought about it. How can she not have thought about it? Remember how much I used to talk about performing?"

"Well, what can you do for her?" Diane asked.

"I gave her my number," Lance said. "Told her that if she changed her mind she should give me a call."

"And what could you do?" Diane asked again.

"I know people, mother," Lance said. "I have connections. I could totally help her out."
--

"Dude," Tommy said. "Look at your hair." He reached out with his left hand and picked at one of Lance’s short spikes.

"I know." Lance batted Tommy’s hand away. "It’s blond."

"It’s not blond, it’s blinding." Tommy laughed. "It’s like you’re emanating *light* or some shit like that."

"It’s bleach," Lance said.

Tommy narrowed his eyes. "Was it radioactive? ‘Cause, dude, you fucking glow."

Lance punched Tommy in the arm and ducked as Tommy playfully swung back at him. After a few minutes of scuffling, Lance stepped away. "Can’t, you know, risk a bruise or something."

Tommy frowned. "I know you’re just chicken shit, Bass. There’s no need to lie."

"Screw you," Lance said. "I have to be beautiful for the ladies."

"’Cause they’ll look at that hair and want to jump your bones, right?" Tommy jumped on Lance’s back. "The hair’ll scare them away. A bruise or two might make you look more manly."

Lance smiled as he disentangled himself from Tommy’s grip.

"You’re just jealous, dude." He straightened his shirt. "There’s no need to lie."
--

"Boys!" Diane stood at the bottom step of the house. Her hands rested on her hips. "Dinner’s on!"

Lance and Tommy moved quickly down the stairs, their feet pounding over the carpeted boards.

"James," Diane said. "Meredith called while you boys were gone."

Lance turned to his mother. "Who?"

"Meredith," Tommy said. "You got a girl you haven’t told me about?"

Lance shook his head. "Meredith? High Stepper’s Meredith?"

Diane nodded. "She said that she wanted to talk to you about something you guys had talked about earlier. Maybe about the offer you made her?"

"An offer?" Tommy slapped Lance on the flat of his shoulder blade. "Bass, you dog."

Diane glared at them.

"She’s a singer," Lance said. His cheeks were slightly pink. "I thought maybe I could giver her name to a few people or something. Help her with stuff."

Tommy smiled widely. "Is she hot?"

"She’s 14," Lance said.

The smile on Tommy’s face faded. "She’s a kid, man."

"LeAnn Rimes was how old?" Lance asked. "This girl. You’d have to hear her, but she’s got some talent."

Tommy shook his head. "I’ll take your word for it."
--

The phone was solid between the top of Lance’s shoulder and his ear.

"Meredith, please," he said when an older man answered. He tapped his pen against the bedspread a few times.

"Hello?"

"Meredith." Lance sat up straight on his bed. "It’s Lance. I mean, James."

"Hi." Her voice was tentative.

"I was returning your call," Lance said.

"Oh," Meredith said. She sounded flustered. "Well, I was calling, because. Were you serious about what you said?"

"You mean about whether you have talent?"

"Yeah," Meredith said.

"You have a good voice; I think you’d have a chance." Lance tapped the pen against his bent knee. "Honestly. I could give your name to a few people, and, you know, you could see where it would go from there."

"You wouldn’t be doing it yourself?" Meredith asked. "Doing whatever it is that needed doing? Like, managing, or whatever?"

"I’m not qualified," Lance said quickly. "But, I mean, I could help you. Get you in touch with some really good people. I’d be there with you if you wanted me to."

"Why are you doing this?" Meredith asked.

"I know talent when I see it," Lance said, "and I can’t let talent go to waste."

"Oh," Meredith said. She sighed. "Well, I guess that was what I wanted to know."

"Have you talked to your parents about it?" Lance asked.

"No," Meredith said. "I don’t think they’d really--"

"Talk to your parents," Lance said. "Let me give you my cell-phone number, so you can call me in Orlando or wherever we are, okay? All you can do is try, you know?"
--

The sky was a royal blue dotted with millions of white specks. The trees were scraggly black shapes against the horizon. The moon was a white circle, larger than Lance had ever seen it before.

His legs swung aimlessly, dangling from his sitting position on the edge of the hatchback of the truck bed.

"You will come to my show, right?" He turned to Tommy. "When we come to Jackson, you’ll be there."

Tommy shrugged, before he smiled at Lance. "You think I’d miss the opportunity to see you make a fool of yourself on stage?"

"You’ll have to meet the guys," Lance said. "I think you’d like them a lot. Joey, probably. You guys would get along really well."

"Well, I feel like I know them already," Tommy said. "You’d think you’d be able to shut up about them for a few hours out of the day, but it seems as if even that is too much to ask."

"Heck, Tom," Lance said. "I live on top of them all year round. You talk about all the people at your college that I don’t know."

Tommy shook his head. "Touché, Bass."

"I’ll get you good seats," Lance said. "And whomever else you want to bring, too, I guess. I mean, it’s Janet, too, so you should be able to find someone to come with you."

"I’ll be there," Tommy said.

Lance nodded.

"You anxious to get back?" Tommy popped the tab on a can of Coke.

"Yeah. It’s like, I thought I’d be glad to get away from them because they’re always there, but at the same time, they’re always there."

"I don’t think I could do that." Tommy kicked his feet and tapped something metal hanging out of the back of the truck.

"You get used to it," Lance said. "They’re my brothers. Love ‘em, trust ‘em, know everything about ‘em."

"And they know everything about you?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah." Lance pulled his legs up and rested his chin in the ‘v’ of his knees.

"I’d hate that," Tommy said. "I need to keep some secrets to keep my sanity."

"I don’t have secrets," Lance said.

"Everyone has secrets," Tommy said. He paused, then smirked. "Maybe you should get some."

"Maybe," Lance said slowly.
--

"It seems like you just got here," Diane said. Her lips were tight and she looked as if she might cry. She blinked a few times.

"I know, Mama," Lance said. "I’ll be back through sometime in the next year, though."

"Oh," Diane said. "Sometime in the next year." Her tone was just on the not side of biting.

"At least I’m not on the other side of the ocean," Lance said. He tried to smile. He hugged his mother to him. "And I might be able to come visit again. I’m sure we’ll get some vacation, or something, again. And Christmas. They can’t keep me away for Christmas."

"I may just have to come visit you," Diane said. "Maybe I’ll take some vacation days."

"I’d like that," Lance said. "I’d like that a lot."

Diane gave him a delicate push in the direction of the boarding gate.

"Go get on your plane, James."

"I’ll talk to you soon, Mama," Lance said. He shifted his backpack on his right shoulder.

"Be good," Diane said. She sounded as if she’d started crying already.

"I always am." Lance smiled at his mother reassuringly. "I’m always good." Without a backward glance he boarded the plane.
--

Chris stared at the balance sheet in front of him. "I don’t understand," he said. "Tommy’s been taking FreeLance money?"

Lance blinked; his eyes were wide. He looked small in the hotel armchair. "Yeah. And Happy Place money."

Chris turned towards the window of the suite and then spun back to his original position. "Sort of like Lou did to us?"

Lance shook his head. He swallowed heavily. "No. Lou’s was contractual. Tommy’s just been taking money, making loopholes and stuff."

"What are you going to do?" Justin asked.

"I don’t know," Lance said. He leaned back in the chair and immediately leaned forward again. "He’s been my best friend since I was five."

"God, man." Joey stood up and walked across the room. He sat down on the arm of Lance’s chair and rubbed small, gentle circles over the bumps at the top of Lance’s spine.

Lance swiped at the wetness beneath his eyes. "How do I confront him on this? How do I go up to him and say, ‘Man, I know you’ve been taking the money.’"

"Tell him that," Chris said. "See what he says. Maybe he’ll give it all back."

Lance blinked, slowly, the expression on his face changing from one of undeniable pain, to something unreadable. "I don’t think he has the financial capability to give it all back."

"How much?" Justin asked. "I mean, FreeLance isn’t worth that much, is it? And Happy Place?"

"I thought we were up to five million a year for FreeLance," Lance said. The look of anguish was back. "And then Happy Place, well, it’s been doing better in the last year. A lot better." He sighed. "From what I can tell he’s taken close to, but maybe over, 500 thousand in the last couple of years. But you all know Tommy. Do you think he has 500 thousand just stashed away?"

The rest of the guys shook their heads.

Lance nodded. His expression was serious, but bordering on unreadable. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."
--

There was a hollow sound as Justin’s knuckles hit the wood of Lance’s hotel room door. It echoed slightly, reverberating in his ears. He pressed his ear to the wooden panels after a few moments, but didn’t hear any sounds.

Justin pulled his head away from the door. "Lance?"

He rested his hand on the cool, golden, brass knob. The skin of his palm skidded slightly over the surface as he turned. The door opened a crack. He saw that the room was filled with a warm glow that could only be created by a desk lamp. He could see a sliver of a pastel print--something that looked like a violet sailboat floating on gentle aqua waves--through the rectangle of space between the door and the jam.

"Lance?" Justin asked again. He pushed the door further open. There was still no answer, but he saw Lance sitting at the desk against the right wall of the room. His head was resting heavily on his clenched fists.

"What, Justin?" Lance’s voice was tight, controlled. He didn’t turn to look at Justin.

"How are you doing?" Justin rubbed a hand across his mouth and felt the prickle of day old stubble.

"How do you think?" The voice was still tight, still controlled. He did turn around, though, and his face looked as if it were carved from stone. He paused, as if waiting for Justin to say something, but then continued. "I’m getting things ready for an audit--"

"Yeah," Justin said. His hand traveled to the back of his neck and wiped at the sudden touch of sweat on his skin. "That’s probably a good idea."

Lance nodded once, curtly.

"I’ll let you, uh, *do* that," Justin said. He backed up a step, not totally sure how he’d entered the room in the first place, and balanced himself up against the doorframe. "We’re here, okay? You know, if you need anything."

"I know," Lance said. He turned back to the papers covering the desk in front of him. "Can you tell the other guys I don’t want to be disturbed?"

"Yeah," Justin said. He looked around the room once more. The aqua waves of the painting now seemed to be beating at the sides of the pastel boat; the warm glow of the desk lamp now seemed false. He stepped out of the room quickly and shut the door behind him.

He cringed at the suddenly loud sound of the latch catching.
--

It was four months before Lance got back to Mississippi.

After weeks spent in the tiny rehearsal room with Fatima, of going to radio interviews with DJ’s that had never heard any of their songs, of filming a video they all knew no one was ever going to see, the small bus finally pulled into Jackson.

"This is where you live?" Justin’s golden curls clung in tight ringlets to his scalp. He scratched at his chest through his white t-shirt, and then clawed at the soft fuzz of his cheeks with chewed off fingernails.

Lance shook his head. "I live about forty-five minutes that way." He pointed to the window on the opposite side of the bus from where he was sitting.

"Woah," Justin said. "So, like, to get to a big city you have to drive forty-five minutes?"

Lance rolled his eyes. "I live in a city, Just."

Justin narrowed his eyes and looked disbelieving.

"I do," Lance said. "There’s a shopping center and everything."

"Oh." Justin gave Lance one last scrutinizing look. "So are we going to get to see your home and everything?"

Lance shook his head. "We have to head out tomorrow morning. You know that."

"Oh yeah," Justin said. He smiled stupidly, showing too many teeth. "I knew that. Doh."

Lance rolled his eyes again and put his headphones over his ears.
--

"So, like, you’re going to be up on that stage?" Tommy turned, looking around the venue. He stared at some of the workers setting up chairs. "Before Janet Jackson?"

"Sure am," Lance said. He smiled. "I’ll be the one in the back screwing up steps."

"You?" Tommy asked. He turned to Lance. "You’ve been dancing for years, man. Why would you screw up?"

"These steps," Lance said. "They’re complicated. There’re lots of simultaneous movements: you’ve got your hands, and your feet, and your head, and your smile."

"You’re good at that shit." Tommy turned in another circle. "Shit, dude. Whoever would have thought you’d be the one of us to end up on stage?"

"Um, *me.*" Lance laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound.

"I always thought you’d be the business major," Tommy said. "You’d be, like, an accountant or something with those thick black-rimmed plastic glasses."

"Thanks," Lance said. He narrowed his eyes and pouted his lips just slightly, jerking his shoulders in an sharp shrug.

"Seriously, I could totally picture you in an office." Tommy grinned. "But it looks like I’m going to be the businessman with the pasty white skin and the carpal tunnel syndrome."

Lance smiled too widely. "Well, when I start my business, you can be my accountant and blame me for your lack of tan and the perpetual pain in your wrists."

"Thanks man." Tommy clapped Lance on the back. "I knew I could count on you."
--

The desk lamp cast an oblong circle of white light over the papers sitting on top of the oak desk. A hand shifted the papers noisily.

Lance chewed on the pink rubber pencil eraser, making the firm substance give underneath the incessant motion. He pulled the pencil away from his mouth and wrote a number on the paper in front of him. He mumbled soft words as he mentally added the numbers.

"Fuck," he whispered.

He made another mark on the paper in front of him and then grabbed a different piece of paper sitting on the edge of the desk. He slouched down in his chair and compared the two sheets.

"Bitch," he said a few minutes later.

He turned his head and looked out the nearly plate glass window and stared at the surrounding city buildings. He could see black windows covering the building’s surfaces. On the fifth floor of the skyscraper directly across the street, however, there was a room with a light.

Lance wondered what the person in that office was doing.

With a sigh he looked back at the papers in front of him. Grabbing a clean, dry eraser, he began moving it quickly across the sheet of paper. Soon rubber dust covered the desk. With one firm swipe of his hand he pushed it off of the desk and onto the floor.
--

Lance wiped the scratchy, white terrycloth towel over his hair and damp, red face.

"So, did we do good?" He turned to Tommy and raised an eyebrow. "You don’t want to pretend that you’ve never met me or anything, do you?"

"No, man, you were awesome," Tommy said. He sat forward on the sagging couch and folded his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. "You all sounded good, and were in step most of the time, and--"

"Good. I’m glad you liked it." Lance dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed a sweatshirt off of the back of one of the dressing room chairs. He pulled it on before he started speaking again. "I was really glad you could come."

"I wouldn’t have missed it." Tommy stood up. "Hey, I saw that girl Meredith the other day." He walked across the room and boosted himself up on one of the makeup counters. "She said she was going to try to call you tonight."

"Really," Lance said. He bent down to pick up the towel off of the floor and draped it over the back of a chair. "I didn’t think she’d ever call."

"She was totally timid," Tommy said. "You think she could do your whole celebrity thing? I mean, she was shaking talking to me and we all know how scary I am."

"You terrify me." Lance walked over to the door of the dressing room. "We need to get out of here. There’re sometimes fans who like to chase us."

"Chase you?" Tommy sounded incredulous. "Like, *chase* chase?"

"JC lost a shirt the other day." Lance stepped out in the hallway and nodded at the guard standing outside his door. "Two weeks ago, Joey lost a shoe."

"Shee-it." Tommy bounced down the hallway in front of Lance. "Do you think they’ll chase me now, too? Now that I’ve been seen with the famous Lance Bass?"

"Maybe if you’re lucky." Lance looked over his shoulder at the bodyguard following them and rolled his eyes.

The bulky black man laughed.
--

"Lance," Chris called. "Your phone’s ringing."

"Answer it, could you?" Lance said as he stepped out of the bathroom. Water dripped from his hair and his eyelashes were sticking together in wet clumps. He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Hello?" Chris asked. He grinned, suddenly. "You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you. I *knew* he was holding out on us." He pulled the phone away from his ear. "Lanshey-poo. It’s your girlfriend."

Lance glared at Chris as he took the cell phone. "Hello?"

"Lance?"

"Meredith," Lance said quickly. He stuck a finger in his ear and mouthed a few choice words at Chris to make the older man be quiet. "I’m sorry about that. Chris sometimes doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut."

"Oh. It’s okay." Meredith did sound timid.

"Tommy told me you’d be calling me tonight."

"He did?" Meredith squeaked and Lance couldn’t help but chuckle.

"I’m don’t bite," Lance said. "Calm down."

"That’s a lie," Chris said loudly. "But he’ll bite as hard as you want him to."

Lance made a chopping motion at his throat. "I apologize again for Chris."

"It’s okay," Meredith said again. She took an audibly deep breath. "I made a demo tape. Lisa helped me and she said it sounds good."

"Oh, really," Lance said. "You’ve made a demo already?"

"Yeah. I, um. You said that maybe you could give me a few names of where I could send it?"

"I could," Lance said. He nodded. "Yeah, I could totally do that. Why don’t you give me a copy of the tape first, though, so I could give it a whirl and try to figure out the best places to send it."

"Oh, no," Meredith said quickly. "You don’t have to do that."

"Mer, I told you I wanted to help. Most places don’t accept unsolicited material. I, at least, can figure out where to get it solicited."

"Wow," Meredith said. "That would be great. That would be so great."

"Let me give you an address to send it." Lance sat down on the bed and began flipping through his planner on the nightstand. "You got a pen?"
--

"Am I going to fit on the bus?" Tommy asked. He looked at the vehicle. "I mean, that thing’s small for five people."

"We bring guests on all the time." Lance slung his backpack over his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around the cushioned strap. "Come on, man."

Tommy blinked and lifted up his backpack. "You aren’t going to stick me in with the luggage if it gets too crowded, are you?"

"You could say you’d been in close contact with Justin’s boxers, then," Lance said. "You’d be the envy-object of hundreds of little girls."

"That’s my goal in life," Tommy said. "To be in close contact with Justin’s boxers." He paused. "Which one is Justin again?"

"The kid," Lance said. "The one who all the girls screamed for?"

"Oh, him." Tommy shuddered. "That was, like, scary ass shit, there. He’d shake his hips and the girls would, like, collapse."

"You get used to it," Lance said. He walked up the steps of the bus and looked over his shoulder to make sure Tommy was following him. "We all have, anyway."

"They’ll be screaming for you one day, Bass." Tommy slapped Lance on the back, propelling him up the aisle a few steps.

"With this face?" Lance turned around and pointed at his face. "And this hair. I don’t think so, man."

"They’ll be screaming for you one day," Tommy repeated.
--

Lance opened the door from his bedroom and walked into the dark suite common room. He saw that the TV was on, however, and in the flickering blue light saw Justin curled up on the couch.

"You’re still up." Lance walked over to the kitchen area and opened the mini-fridge. He pulled out a bottle of Evian water. "Why?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Justin said. He unfolded and sat up. "It’s late, man, and you’re stressed. You need to sleep."

"I can’t," Lance said. He walked back over to the common room. He sat down in the same chair he’d sat in earlier, when he’d told the guys what was going on. This time he seemed to fill it.

"Did you get everything sorted out?" Justin asked. He looked around the dark room at the other bedroom doors.

Lance nodded shortly. "It’s all ready to go to the auditor."

"Why would he do that?" Justin asked. "I mean, we all know Tommy. Why would he--"

"Why would Lou gyp us," Lance said. "Sometimes people just can’t be satisfied with what they have."

"But Tommy?"

"No one’s ever exactly what they appear to be." Lance took a long swallow from his bottle of water. His adams apple bobbed and his eyelids fluttered closed.
--

"So, dude." Tommy looked up at Lance from his position on the floor of the bus. "I got a job offer."

"You did?" Lance leaned over the edge of the couch. "That’s awesome, man."

"Yeah." Tommy grinned shyly. "It’s not anything huge, you know. It’s money, though, and I’m out on my own."

"Being out on your own isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Lance said. "Trust me on that one."

"Your life is hardly normal," Tommy said. He rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin up on his hands. "Even you can’t argue that point."

"My life isn’t normal, but I am." Lance rolled back onto his back and bent his arms, elbows spread out in inverted V’s, making a diamond behind his head.

"You’ve never been normal, Bass," Tommy said. "I, on the other hand, have been extremely normal my entire life."

"That’s bull." Lance laughed loudly. "You’re not normal. You’re the one who said that you thought I’d be an accountant with coke bottle lenses in my glasses. If that’s not normal, then I don’t know what is."

"That’s not normal," Tommy said. "That’s dorkish, and you, my boy, you are the epitome of dorkishness."

"Where’s your job?" Lance didn’t even try to be subtle about changing the subject.

"Jackson." Tommy sighed. I really tried to get away from home. I really, really did, but I can’t seem to escape."

"You’ll get out some day," Lance said. He rolled back over so that he was looking at Tommy; his head cushioned on one of his still bent arms. "I told you. When I start my music company you’re going to be my accountant."

Tommy smiled with more enthusiasm. "And you’ll have lots of money for me to play with, right."

"Damn right," Lance said. "More money than you’ll know what to do with."

They laughed for a few minutes.

"You could start with Meredith, you know," Tommy said.

"Huh?" Lance furrowed his eyebrows. "Start with Meredith for what?"

"For your music company." Tommy rolled his eyes. "You say she’s good. You should start with her."

"I don’t have any experience," Lance said. "I’m so not qualified to do any of that stuff that would need doing."

"You don’t have experience?" Tommy asked. "You’re in a music group, for crying out loud. I’m riding on your bus, James. What better experience could you ask for?"

"I sing in a music group," Lance said. "That’s a lot different than doing the contracts and getting artists signed and developing their talent."

Tommy rolled his eyes again.

"And when would I have time," Lance continued. "I’m hoping to be on the road a lot. When would I have time to do the stuff that needed to be done."

"You’re on a bus," Tommy said. "A lot." He looked around the backroom. "This is the excitement. Right here. Lying on this floor talking to you. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have the time."

"I’m just going to help her get her name out there," Lance said. "That’s all. While I’d love to do the rest of it, come on, Tommy. I’m only 18. I’m relatively sure that’s too young to start my own business."

"You could get on the cover of Forbes or something!" Tommy sat up. He twisted and popped his back, a series of snaps filling the room.

"The only cover I want to be on is Seventeen," Lance said. "You get on the cover of Seventeen and you’ve made it."

"You’re a whimp, Bass," Tommy said.

"I’m 18, Wright," Lance said. "You remember what you were doing at 18? Parties. Beer. A woman on each arm--or so you liked to tell me."

"But you’re you," Tommy said. "You’re, like, super motivated."

"Eighteen," Lance said. "Maybe in a few years, but now. It’s not going to happen."

Tommy sighed and shook his head. "Well, as long as I get to play with your stacks of money once you start raking it in."

"Of course," Lance said. "I wouldn’t trust anyone else."
--

Lance looked at the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. They were in a neat, orderly pile. Their edges were all lined up, their corners perfectly straight.

He placed a manila folder on the desk, spread open wide. The sheets moved from their perfect alignment as he transferred them onto the ivory colored surface. Slowly he wrapped the folder around the papers.

He opened his briefcase with an audible click and placed the folder in the black cloth lined recess. There was a sharp contrast between light and dark.

Lance ran a hand over his pale face as he stared at the folder. He blinked once, twice. With a steady hand he closed the top of the briefcase and flipped the locks. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the palm-sized cell-phone. The sounds of the pushed numbers were almost musical.

"Detective Simon," Lance said calmly. "I'm afraid I'm the one that owes you an apology. Can you recommend a good accountant?"

He turned around so that his back was to the desk.

"Tomorrow morning?" Lance said. He sighed. "I'll see you there."

He flipped the phone closed and stuck it back in his pocket. He turned around again and looked at the briefcase.

"I’m sorry, Tommy," he said softly, to the otherwise empty room.

He stepped towards the desk and shut off the yellow light of the desk lamp, plunging the room into darkness.