LeHigh Hill

By:  Lara

One

“I'm going out for coffee…want anything?”

JC looked up from the ledger and sighed. “Brian, didn't you bring coffee with you?”

“I did…but it's slow.” Brian smiled apologetically. “And I'm a little bored.”

JC glanced at his watch, shocked to see that it was already ten-thirty. HIS morning had flown by. “I never knew you for such a coffeeholic.”

“Well…” Brian's fair skin reddened slightly. “There's this new girl working the counter. She's amazing.”

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“Yes,” Brian said almost defensively. “I've said hold the cream, yes I want a lid, and have a nice day.”

“When's the wedding?” JC leaned back and stretched. “Yeah, go ahead. Get me an herbal, would you?”

“Honey on the side,” Brian replied before JC could say anything. “You and your nasty tea.”

“It's better for you than coffee,” JC retorted. “We're getting a shipment of books in this afternoon. Then you'll have something to do. I'm sorry it's so slow around here.” JC looked around his tiny shop. He sold copies of famous pieces of art, as well as books on art and sculpture.

“Maybe I'll redo the window,” Brian mused, studying the small vases that lined their display window. “The vases aren't selling. Maybe some abstract pieces?”

“Maybe not,” JC snapped. “You know how I feel about that abstract crap.”

“Right, right,” Brian sighed.

“I'll pull out some paintings and you can arrange them, okay?” JC said. “Now, go get your coffee before I change my mind.”

“Later,” Brian said, his sunny grin flashing out before he darted from the shop.

JC stood, cracking his back. He had been pushing and pulling numbers all morning, and nothing changed. The shop was barely holding its head above water. He looked down at his fingers, which were smudged with ink. He headed back to the tiny washroom to wash his hands.

He heard the bell merrily tinkle at the front door, and he called out, “I'll be right there, okay?” He hurriedly dried his hands and went back out to the shop. “Can I help you?”

“I was, uh, just looking,” a deep voice said, and JC felt a lump the size of Cleveland fill his throat.

Bright green eyes looked him over almost shyly as a crooked smile cracked the pale skin. Fair eyebrows went up almost in amusement as the man waited for JC to reply. “Is there…anything special you're looking for?” JC managed to croak.

“A birthday gift. For my mother.” The familiar southern drawl made JC think of mint juleps on a veranda as the insects buzzed nearby.

“Is there a special artist she enjoys?” JC asked, forcing himself into salesman mode. He forced himself to keep his eyes off the dress pants that seemed to perfectly cling to the perfect backside.

“She's into Impressionism, I think,” the man said. “I don't know much about art.”

“I have some books…two kinds. The kind you put on a coffee table to look good, and the kind you actually open and read,” JC said. “Or I could show you some prints.”

“I think I'd like to look through the stacks of books, thanks.”

JC drew back politely and sat down again, looking at his ledger. The numbers swam before his eyes as he tried to grasp just what was going on. He could not believe that this man was in HIS tiny shop, just walking around and looking at books. He was more beautiful than JC ever could have expected.

“I was lucky. The line was short and she had time to wait on me,” Brian said, bursting through the door. “Here you go, weirdo. They only had cinnamon apple. I know it's not your favorite, but I figured you'd prefer that over regular old tea.”

“Thank you.” JC winced as Brian brushed past the customer and handed him his tea. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yes…well…no…” Brian said, blushing. “So…do you need me to start on that window?”

“Break it down a while…I'm not sure what I want in it.” JC turned towards the customer as he approached. “So…find something?”

“I think she'll like these,” the man said, handing over some books. JC looked at them and nodded.

“And she'll probably actually read them,” JC commented, ringing them up. “But wait.” He dug under the counter for a moment. “Here.” He slid a small framed picture into the bag. “As a special gift.”

The man pulled the picture out, looked it over, and a small smile graced his face. “This is her favorite painting,” he whispered. “Mine, too, actually,” he said. “Excellent choice.”

“Most mothers enjoy Cassatt,” JC said, shrugging. “And I like that picture, too.”

The man looked down at the painting. A mother was sewing as her small daughter held onto her legs. “Something about it reminds me of home,” he said. “Well, thanks again.” He handed over some cash. “Have a great day.”

“Enjoy your stay here,” JC called after him. The man smiled and nodded, then was gone.

JC fell back into his chair. “Are you okay?” Brian asked, carefully sipping his coffee.

“Do you know who that was, idiot?” JC gasped. Brian shook his head. “Lance Bass.”

“Lance who?”

“Bass,” JC repeated. “The…”

“…actor,” Brian finished. “No way.”

“Way,” JC said. “Now that I think about it, I heard that a movie was being shot down by the river, but I didn't know he was in it.”

“And he was here. How interesting,” Brian said. “Maybe he'll talk about us to his friends.”

“Doubtful. Most people don't spread the word about art shops,” JC pointed out. “Lance Bass.” JC stared into space. Lance Bass was one of the biggest names in show business, for many reasons. He was incredibly talented, and also had an amazing mind for business. On the personal side, he hid his homosexuality from no one, and was currently involved with one of the most popular male models in the country. JC sighed and shook his head. Lance Bass was way out of his league, but it would still make the rest of the day more enjoyable, just remembering his face and his voice.

Two