May 2002

Britney apprehensively chewed on the tip of the ballpoint pen. This was nuts. Over the past four years she'd been offered movie deals and television show deals, but that was tame compared to this.

A talk show. What were they thinking?

She'd just heard about it. The minute she'd gotten home Felicia had handed her a stack of papers to read. "It looks pretty interesting, Brit," she'd said, smiling.

Britney had shrugged, and taken the stack of papers to read. She'd gotten herself comfortable at the dining room table with a latte when she began reading. When she was halfway done with the drink, she couldn't believe what she was reading. The WB Network was offering her a talk show. It would just be a trial period of ten episodes, with one airing a week. If the show was a sucsess, more episodes would follow. If it wasn't... Britney was free to go.

"Man, I'm up a creek," Britney mumbled. She'd wanted to take some time off before going in to record for another album in three months. But as absurd as it sounded, she sort of liked this talk show idea. It sounded fun. Besides, she'd been on enough of them to know exactly how they ran.

But signing herself over for ten episodes, possibly more? What could that do to her career? What if she didn't have enough time to record for albums and she was faced with having to choose between the show and singing?

I need to think over this. Or better yet...

She reached for the cordless phone and began to dial a familiar number. But when the phone rang, she stopped and turned it off. "Why did I dial that number?" she wondered aloud. "It's not like Justin gives a damn about what I do anymore anyway..."

It's been five months...

As sad as it was, she kept a mental calendar of how many months it'd been since she'd broken up with Justin. She had finally gotten over him, but every now and then little things would trigger her memories of their time together. And sometimes she would dial his number on accident, just like she'd done a minute ago.

I need to stop doing that! she reprimanded herself. She hung the phone up, and lay her head down on the piles of papers for a brief second, trying to think of who to call.

Suddenly, in the back of her mind, she got an idea. It was crazy... but...

She reached for the phone, and dialed the numbers. Please pick up... she prayed. Please please please...

-----

"I hate insomnia," Lance moaned to himself as he stretched out on the couch. He'd declared it an official "chill" night, and he was settling in front of the TV to watch some movies, and he'd intended to keep things quiet and solitary. A bowl of popcorn was on the floor next to miscellaneous beverages: a Coke, chocolate milk, a Budweiser, and a bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. He blinked, surveying the drinks that he'd sampled so far. Half the chocolate milk was gone, he'd barely touched the Bud, and the Coke and the hard lemonade had long since vanished.

Great... all those drinks are gonna make me sick.

There was a slight moment of silence, and suddenly the phone rang. Lance jumped as the sound resignated throughout the mostly empty room. He got up to try to snatch the phone, but by sheer stupidity he stepped right into the bowl of popcorn and fell, spilling the food and the remaining chocolate milk on the tan carpet.

"Dammit!" He crawled over to the kitchen counter where the cordless phone was. "Hello?" he said, his voice sounding quite irritated.

"Lance?"

Why does that voice sound so familiar? "Who is this?" he asked.

"Lance? It's me... Britney."

"Oh... uh, hi Britney." Why is she calling? It struck Lance as odd. He knew that Justin had broken up with Britney months before, but he didn't know the details of what had happened. Besides... it'd been ages since she'd talked to him, Justin, or any of the guys in the group. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing major. How are you?"

"Sort of tired and I'm bored. I just got back from New York a couple of hours ago, so then there's the factor of jet-lag..." She paused for a minute to laugh. "Oh Lord, I'm rambling."

"That's okay."

Finally, after a brief silence, Britney spoke. "Lance, I really need someone's advice, and I don't know why, but something told me to talk to you about it."

Lance pulled himself onto one of the barstools. Advice? She'd just called him to ask for advice? Granted, he wasn't that attracted to Britney (he'd always thought she was a little cute) but hell, she could have called ANYONE for advice.

"Advice? About what?"

"Well, know how I always got offers to do TV pilots and stuff? I got another one, but this one is way different. The WB offered me a chance to film ten episodes of a talk show, and I have a few days to decide on if I want to go through with it."

"A talk show?" Lance repeated.

"Yeah. I mean, wow, how crazy, huh? What do you think?"

Lance lightly rapped his right hand against the counter, and his ring make a light clanking noise. "It's an intresting prospect," he confessed. "But the main question is, do you want to do it, Brit?"

There was slight silence for a moment on the other end. Britney hesitated, then finally said, "Yeah--it seems like fun."

"Then do it. And hey, if you need a producer for a few shows, call me." Where'd THAT come from, man?

"Really? You'd really work with me on it?"

"Um, yeah. It'd be fun." Lance smiled to himself.

"Thanks Lance! This'll be awesome. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah. You know where to get me?"

"Of course I do. Well, I've got this paperwork to do, and I need to get sleep... Lordy, I'm tired. 'Bye Lance. Thanks." She ended the sentence with a slight yawn.

"'Night Brit. Sleep well." Lance turned the phone off, and placed it on the counter. "Wow, Britney TV," he mumbled to himself. "This is intresting."

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