Interlude #3—Up Against the Wall

 

It took Joey three days before he gave up and let Justin have his way.

            Chris thought that must be some kind of new record.

            “It was just a CD, Justin,” Joey had kept saying in that tone of voice he used when little Brianna was being unreasonably fussy.  The connection Joey was making between the baby and him hadn’t been lost on Justin.

            “It was a Miles Davis CD, you asshole,” Justin would say back, and then start the copyrighted Timberlake pout, beginning with the lower lip protrusion. 

            “It was an accident,” Joey shrugged.

            “Oh, geez, Joe, if it was an accident that my CD just happened to grow wings and throw itself out of the bus window somewhere in buttfuck Indiana, then how could I possibly blame you?”

            “This is exactly what I’m saying,” Joey would spread his hands out wide in front of him, smirking and failing miserably at looking innocent.

            Lance’s eyebrow always went up at that point.  Joey didn’t even look in his direction before he’d point and say, “Oh, stay out of it Lance ‘I once ran over Justin’s smelliest sneakers with my car about 100 times’ Bass.”

            Lance’s eyebrow lowered.

            “You owe me a new CD, Fat-one.”

            “Shut UP, Tiny Tim.”

            And thus it continued for the three longest days of Chris’ life.  Outside of Huston, Joey finally gave up and promised to take the next opportunity he could and replace Justin’s CD.  Lance, JC and Chris each quietly thanked whatever deity they happened to be praying to that week.

 

 

            So, at six in the morning, Joey had had the buses pulled over into the parking lot of a twenty four hour Best Buy in a suburb of Austin.

            Justin lurched down the steps of the bus with a scowl.  The scowl deepened when he saw the smirk on Joey’s face.

            “You told me I had to replace it the first chance I got,” Joey was barely containing his laughter.

            “It’s six in the morning, you bastard.”

            “And this is the first record store I could find.  So giddy up, baby, we’re goin’ fishin’ for some Miles Davis,” Joey turned on his sneakered heel and headed towards the store entrance.

            “You know he’s doing this on purpose,” Justin carped to Chris.

            “You know you kinda deserve it,” Chris answered, hiding a yawn with his hand.

            Justin gave Chris a hard glance.  “I never really did like you,” he said.

            Chris turned to JC and Lance instead.  “You guys coming?”

            JC shrugged.  “Um, I think I’m going to go back to sleep.  Wake me up if we decide to have breakfast.”  He stretched his arms above his head.

            Lance nodded.  “I might as well come in.  I bet I can get some pretty decent country stuff here.”

            “Well come on then, Lancey-poo.  Timesawastin.”  Chris led the way into the store while JC staggered back up the steps of the bus.

 

 

            Justin’s shaved head, wife beater and jeans were clearly visable at the customer service counter.  A completely uninterested woman in her early twenties was standing behind the counter, staring at Justin.  It was clear that she either didn’t recognize him, or couldn’t care less that he was Justin Timberlake.  It was also clear, from Justin’s increasingly loud voice, that she had no idea where he might be able to find a Miles Davis disc.

            “Miles Davis,” Justin was saying, for about the tenth time.

            “Did you try the soundtrack section?” she asked.

            Justin was working his jaw in small, circular patterns.

            “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually speechless, J,” Joey snickered.  Justin just glared at him.

            The phone rang behind the counter and the woman answered it. “Hi, babe,” she said.  “You gonna pick me up so we can go to Denny’s?  Yeah, I missed you too last night, baby,” she continued.

            “Excuse me,” Justin said.

            The woman continued her conversation.

            “EXCUSE ME,” Justin said again.   Joey giggled.

            The woman cupped her hand over the bottom of the phone and glared at Justin.  “Yeah?” she asked.

            Justin took a breath.

            Before he could get anything out, Joey pulled on his arm.  “C’mon sweetcheeks,” he said, pulling Justin away from the counter.  “I bet we can find it ourselves.  Don’t blow a fuse.”

            “But . . . but . . .” Justin stammered.

            Chris and Lance were laughing silently by the door.

            “Go follow Joey like a good boy,” Chris instructed.  Justin glared at him as he and Joey went past.

            Lance pointed and gestured towards the country section.  “Um, I’m, over there.”

            “Sure,” Chris said.  “Mind if I come?”

            Lance shook his head.  “You don’t wanna look around?” he asked.

            Chris shrugged.  “I’m not looking for anything in particular right now.  Besides, do these look like records to you?”

            Lance laughed.  “Allow me to lead the way,” he said, threading his way through racks of DVDs.

 

            The good thing about Lance’s taste in country, Chris thought, was that he usually had good taste.  Though he tolerated and sometimes listened to the latest country-pop like Shania Twain and Faith Hill, and, frankly, Meredith, Lance really liked the old stuff, the real country about losing your woman and crying into your beer.  Hank Williams, good Johnny Cash, even Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn.  There wasn’t a whole lot of pop to what Lance really cherished in the country world, and Chris could respect that.  It was different than what they wrote and sang and breathed all the time, and though Chris liked their sound, and knew Lance did, too, it was nice to get a glimpse of another world now and then.

            Lance’s taste even extended to bluegrass, and his eyes lit up when he saw the new Dolly Parton CD.  “Wow,” he said.  “I’ve been looking for this.  I’ve heard it’s really good.”

            “Uh-huh,” Chris agreed absently.

            Lance picked up the CD, and eyed Chris from the side.  “Yeah.  I mean, I know people kinda think she’s cheesy with her wigs and boobs and all, but she’s got a good voice, and is a heck of a songwriter,” Lance continued, semi-lecturing.

            “Uh-huh.” Chris repeated.

            “I mean, you’ve gotta respect the woman who wrote ‘I Will Always Love You,’ even if Whitney Houston hijacked it.”

            “Hmmm,” Chris agreed.

            “Also, I bet if I stripped buck naked right here in the middle of the store, that sales girl still wouldn’t get off the phone, not even if I asked her to blow me.”

            “Uh-hum,” Chris said.  “HUH?”

            Lance didn’t laugh so much as rumble deep in his chest.  “Just checking to see if you were paying attention, Kirkpatrick.”

            “Yeah.  I am.”

            “Uh-huh,” Lance managed to make it sound skeptical.  He followed Chris’ eye line to where Joey and Justin were trading shoves in, no less, the soundtrack section.

            “Wonder why ‘C decided to stay on the bus,” Lance thought out loud.

            Chris didn’t move his eyes. “Dunno.  He’s JC—he sleeps like 16 hours a day of you let ‘im.”

            “Yeah, that’s true,” Lance agreed.

            At his tone of voice, Chris finally turned to look at him, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

            “What’re you getting at, Lancelot?” he asked.

            Lance had the nerve to bat his eyelashes.  “What do you mean?  Just making conversation.” 

            Chris rolled his eyes and sighed.  “You are a lousy liar, man.”

            “You’re the one who told Jay Leno I was so good at it.”

            “I didn’t say you were good at it, I said you did it the most.  As a matter of fact, you kind of suck at it,” Chris corrected.

            “I stand corrected.”

            “So what’s on your devious little mind, Lance?”

            “Nothing.”

            “I’m gonna kick the shit out of you in about six seconds if you don’t start talking.”

            “You’re grumpy.”

            “It’s six in the morning.”

            “Actually, it’s 6:23.”

            Chris pulled back into a fake Kung-Fu stance.

            Lance rumbled again.

            “I was just hoping JC was okay, that’s all,” Lance admitted.

            “He’s fine.  Why wouldn’t JC be okay?”

            “Um, I don’t know.”

            Chris made an exasperated “uhhhrrrggg” sound.

            “Maybe because you switched buses with me.  And ‘cause he came out of his dressing room looking like he’d been crying.  And ‘cause he didn’t come into the store with us.  And you two didn’t look each other in the eye this morning.  And . . . stuff,” Lance finished lamely.

            “What did he tell you?” Chris sighed.

            “He didn’t tell me anything.”

            Chris went Kung-Fu again.

            It was Lance’s turn to sigh.  “He was just upset.  He told me you two had had a fight.  That’s all.”

            “Oh.”  Like he had pointed out, Lance was a lousy liar, so he knew he was telling the truth this time.  “Well.”

            “It’s not like it’s any of my business, or anything . . .” Lance started.

            “Right.”

            “But, you know, if there’s anything I can do . . .”

            “Yeah, man.  Thanks.  I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

            “’K.”

            The two of them watched Joey chase Justin up the stairs in the back of the store.  Only the classical section was upstairs.  Chris had to check the instinct to follow them.

            “Um.  Chris.  It’s not like you’re his dad or anything.”

            Chris raised his eyebrows at the non-sequiter.   Lance gestured with his head towards the stairs the other two had disappeared up.

            “Oh,” Chris said.  “If you’re referring to Justin, I know that.  If you’re referring to Joey, then I’m not so sure.”

            No rumble from Lance this time.

            Chris sighed.  “He’s my best friend.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So I gotta look out for him.”

            “Sure.  But he’s a big boy now, Chris.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Yeah.  In fact, I’d say he’s pretty much a man now.”

            “Hmmm,” Chris hummed.

            “You know, with the big feet, and the new hair, and the long fingers, and the big, strong arms . . .” Lance trailed off.

            “Snap out of it, Lanceton.”

            Lance grinned.  “I’m just sayin’.”

            “Yeah.”

            “So, you know, if this thing with Joey kind of, um, gets going, then, he can kinda take care of himself,” Lance said.

            Chris didn’t say anything.

            “Dude, I’ve never seen you so quiet before.”

            “You really think he can take care of himself?  With Joey?”  Chris was asking an honest to God question.

            Lance didn’t waver.  “Yeah.  I think Justin can handle himself with Joey.  Just like I think Justin can handle himself with you or me or Johnny or Lou or Britney or anyone else.  He’s kinda got an old soul, and he’s tougher than you think.”

            Chris digested that for a second. 

            “Why?  You don’t think he can?” Lance asked him.

            Chris shrugged.  “I guess.  Maybe I just still have this picture of him as a fifteen year old with those curls.”

            “Hum.  I think we all do, Chris.  Joey, too, in a way.  He’s not gonna hurt him.”

            “Sure.”

            “Right.”

            Lance elbowed Chris in the ribs.  “Besides, you weren’t worried about him with Britney.”

            Chris snorted a laugh.  “It was Britney.  You gotta love her, but . . .” Chris laughed again.

            Lance laughed again, low and loud.  “You know she’s saying she’s having a hard time saying no to Justin now.”

            Chris nodded.  “As if.  She’s just setting it up so that she can admit soon that she’s having sex.”

            “Like she didn’t lose her virginity three years ago.  And not to Justin.”  Both laughed.

            “Man, was he pissed,” Chris shook his head at the memory, Justin stomping around the bus, huffy and uptight, yelling over his cell phone.  Chris paused.  “But he survived.”

            Lance nodded sagely.  “There’s a lesson in that for all of us.”

            “That Britney’s kind of stupid?”

            “Close enough, Kirkpatrick.  Now go take care of JC.”  Lance whapped Chris with the Dolly Parton CD.

            “You’re a good man, Lance Bass,” Chris saluted Lance as he jogged away.  He saw the display near the cash registers, and had an idea.

 

            When Chris got on the bus, it was silent, so he walked back to JC’s bunk.  The curtain was open.  JC was curled up under the blanket, his back to the hallway, his shoulders a little hunched.  He looked like he was asleep.  Chris knew from experience that he wasn’t.  He tapped JC, but the other man didn’t even stir.  He leaned down and whispered into JC’s ear.  “I brought you a present.”  JC gave up and rolled over, eyes open, looking into Chris’.

            Chris felt a jolt go through him.  He held out what was in his hand.  “Here,” he handed the present to JC.

            JC took the package from Chris.  He took a look at it, but didn’t say anything.  After a minute, Chris could see JC’s shoulders shaking from his effort not to laugh.

            “I hear they’re not bad,” Chris said.

            JC choked a little.

            “That Chris guy isn’t even that bad looking,” Chris said.  “I’m not so sure about that JC, though.  I mean, I hear he has this weird facial hair.”

            “You like that facial hair,” JC answered.

            Chris thought about the smoothness of JC’s cheeks, his slight stubble in the morning, the way he liked Chris to run his fingertip down the strip when Chris was on top of him.

            “Humm . . . maybe,” Chris replied, climbing onto JC’s bunk.

            JC lifted up his legs and made room for Chris.

            Neither one said anything for a long while.  “Hey, JC . . .” Chris started.

            “Apology accepted, Chris.” JC finished.

            The tightness in Chris’ chest started to ease.

            “I’m not jealous, you know.”

            “I know.”

            “It’s just that . . . sometimes.  Um.  It feels like you care more about him than you do about me.”

            For JC, that was quite a speech, Chris knew.

            “I do care about him, you know.  But not like I do you.”

            “Yeah,” JC said, with a hint of irony that Chris didn’t like.

            “ ‘C.”

            “Hhumm . . .”

            “Look at me.”

            JC drew his eyes up, startled.

            “It’s you I love, not Justin.”

            JC didn’t say anything for a long time, and Chris started to worry.

            “Josh?”

            “I’m thinking.”

            “Okay.”  That didn’t strike Chris as a very good sign.  But he worked on trying to stay quiet and still for as long as he could.

            “Chris?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Kiss me, please.”  JC never demanded.  He always asked.

            Chris leaned over and down, and kissed JC lightly on the mouth.

            JC began to laugh, great big giggles that soon left him gasping for air.  Chris really didn’t see what was so funny.

            “Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry . . . sor . . .” JC kept laughing.

            Chris still managed to stay quiet.

            “You . . . you . .”

            Chris had the sudden urge to flee the bus.

            JC gasped.  “You.  Brought me.  Our CD!” he managed.

            Chris started to laugh, too.  “That’s an old joke by now, baby.”

            JC pulled Chris down so that Chris was lying down next to him.  “Old, but good,” JC said.

            Chris pulled back from JC a little.  “Are you calling me old?”

            JC shrugged.  “If the shoe fits . . .”

            Chris shut him up by kissing him.  It was the sweetest kiss Chris thought he’d ever had, especially since JC was still laughing.