Date: Sun, 15 Oct 2000 02:31:19 EDT
From: NCC1701DS9@aol.com
Subject: Every little thing i do 10

	Hey wassup?!  OK, so I can't talk ghetto.  Big deal.  All of you
know that!  Or, at least, those that I talk to.  Anyway, yes, I finally
finished this chapter! It took a while...between a few blocks and some
CRAZY schedules, and LOTS of sleep deprivation, I'm happy that it's finally
done.  And I'm sure that many of you are glad that it's done too!  I've
gotten WAY too many people bugging me for this chapter!  But like I said,
it's been really hectic and I ran into a few blocks, probably from the
sleep deprivation.  So if there's ANYTHING wrong (save for some grammar or
spelling problems), PLEASE tell me!  You all know my style by now, having
read the first nine chapters.  Seriously, if there was a decrease in
quality, I want to know.  I can't tell you when the next chapter will be
out...consider yourself lucky if it's out near Thanksgiving.  After all, I
am a STUDENT first, a performer second, a sleep-deprived person third, and
a writer fourth.  I know, it's far down the list, but with my crazy
schedule, the only time I can write is late into the nights on Saturdays
when I'm not exhausted.  But rest assured that Chapter 11 is already in the
works...the first few lines, at least.
	I must say thank you to those who have kept me company and kept me
sane (well, kept me from going farther into insanity) through all the days
and nights of being a student.  It goes to Ken, Kris, Rob, Jake, for just
talkin' to me.  Thanks!  But even more thanks to Michael McCall, author of
"Lance and Michael," an AMAZING story, and Jeff Kaiser (I know, Jeff - and
JLS), author of "Twist of Fate."  Thanks for just being there and being so
entertaining!  That's for all six of you!
	OK, and here are the boring, various disclaimers.  This is a
FICTIONAL story involving the band NSync, specifically member Lance Bass.
I do not know NSync in any way, shape, or fashion with the exception of
what I can get off of fan pages, their official site, various interviews,
and the like.  I do not know the sexual orientations of any members,
although a guy can dream, can't he? :-) I do not claim to know the
personalities of any member of NSync either, and all reactions are the
product of one deranged author.
	If you're part of NSync, please e-mail me!  If you're not, e-mail
me anyway!
	Iff (test your math/science terminology here!) you are offended by
homosexual relationships, or are under 18 or the legal age in your area, or
your local laws/customs do not permit the reading of such material, then
don't continue, even though this section contains no sex.  GASP!  Yes, I'm
not one for writing porn stories.  This is (hopefully!) a real story with
emotions beyond passion.  If those rules apply to you, then don't get
caught reading this if you do decided to go on and read it.

Previously in "Every Little Thing I Do"...

	Once inside, I reached for the menu, flipping through it and
finding something to eat.  I glanced at my watch.  0:12.  OK, that really
limited my choices from the menu.  After finding something that sounded
semi-decent, I passed the menu to Lance, who read it without a word.  He
then picked up the phone and dialed room service.  Our brief conversation
during the time was limited to asking me what I wanted to eat and what I
wanted to drink.  Basic room service/food service questions.  He hung up
the phone, and turned to me, facing me across the gap between our beds.
	"OK, you promised that you would tell me.  So tell me."


Every Little Thing I Do
	Chapter 10
	By Mahka

	I sighed, leaning back on the bed, knowing that I wouldn't be able
to weasel my way out of this one.  This was all this soul-bearing stuff,
stuff that I had never, ever done with anyone before.  I mean, yes, I have
told people about my life, and what I feel about certain topics, but never
anything this deep, this...clean.  Even all my previous conversations with
Lance had been brief, never too deep on my side, always deep on his side,
just because I managed to ask the right questions at the right time.  Comes
from my training as a reporter, I guess.  You know, the training to get all
the info out of someone without revealing anything on your side?
	"Where do I start?" I asked, propping my sore ankle on a pillow.
	"How about who you are, where you're from.  That's generally a good
place to start.  Especially since I've managed to get myself into this nice
little relationship without really knowing who you are.  But I don't think
I'll care that much if you've done anything bad.  I just want to know you."
	I chuckled lightly, and he looked at me.
	"What?" he asked.
	"Nothing, just that the whole speech reminded me of that song...the
one that's like 'I don't care who you are, where you're from, don't care
what you did, as long as you love me.'  Did you guys do that?"
	A pillow came flying in my direction, and I couldn't duck out of
the way fast enough.  It smacked me in the shoulder and landed on my ankle,
causing me to wince slightly.
	"No!  That's a Backstreet Boys song!"
	"Oh, oops.  I'm sorry!  I haven't really followed the boy band
scene, well, at least, not until now."
	"OK, tomorrow you're getting all our CDs and all of their CDs and
every other current pop artist, and since you can't do anything with that
ankle of yours, you're gonna lie here and listen to all of them and
memorize them all so you'll never get us confused!"
	"Hey!  Wait, I can't sit here all day!  I might have a sprained
ankle, but it's not THAT bad, and I can sorta walk on it!"
	"No, I'm not going to let yourself get hurt again.  That's a
dangerous city out there, you know."
	"I know.  And I'm your protector!  That's why I have to go with
you!"  I grinned at him.  "I even have the battle scars to prove it!"
	"OK, OK.  Fine, I'll let you out tomorrow, but the instant you get
tired or can't go on, I'm bringing you back here."
	"Fine, it's a deal."
	"Good, then first thing tomorrow morning we start with a work out,
then some dance rehearsal, a meeting, wardrobe shopping..."
	"I get it, I get it!"  I threw my hands in the air in mock defeat.
"I give up."
	"See, I told you so!  We're on tour...we're not supposed to get
hurt.  This is what touring is about."
	A knock came from the door, interrupting us.  "Room service!" came
a muffled voice.  Lance got off of his bed, and took care of the food,
tipping the waiter.  He wheeled the cart into the sitting area between the
chairs.
	"Come over here," he said, waving.
	"I'm crippled!" I cried, waving my hands helplessly in the air.  It
would have been rather convincing if I didn't have a huge grin plastered on
my face.
	"Oh, alright."  He came over and bent over to carry me.
	"Hey, no need to do that!  You just recovered from massive shock,
remember?  I'm kidding!"
	"I know," he said, straightening up again.
	"Wait, come back down, you need to help me up!"  I stuck my arms
out toward him, like a toddler wanting to be carried.  As he leaned back
down and took hold of my hands, I jerked down and twisted slightly.  I
caught him by surprise, and he came tumbling onto the bed next to me.
Luckily I had calculated the torque correctly, and he avoided my ankle.  I
leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, then sat up, stood, and
limped over to the food.  I sat down in front of my plate, piled with an
attempt at eggs and some sort of meat.  Oh well, it was better than school
food.
	"You coming?  It's getting cold!"  I put a stupid smile on my face.
I must have really shocked him with that peck, for he didn't move for
another thirty seconds or so.  "Lance!  Come on!  I wanna eat!"
	He finally dragged himself off of the bed, a goofy looking smile on
his face.
	"You look like you've just fallen in love," I kidded him.  I put a
forkful of eggs in my mouth as he sat down.
	"Well, if I wasn't in love before, I certainly am now!" he replied,
grinning.  "Can we do that again?"
	"What?  Get hit by a car?  No way!"
	"No!  Are you crazy?  I'm not going through that again!  Besides,
tomorrow we're gonna have a lot of legal work to go through.  I mean kiss
again."
	"Wait, what legal work?"  The mood was suddenly broken, and the
playful atmosphere dissipated like alcohol on a hot stove.
	"Oh, stuff along the lines of you not suing us, or speaking to the
press, similar to that."
	"OK, I get it.  But I can't make my own legal decisions, can I?"
	"Actually, I think you can, the way the law is worded.  So someone
like Kristin or Mel will give you a bunch of forms and say "sign here and
here and here and here" and try to confuse you.  Don't sign anything until
I look at it, ok?"  He gave me one of those looks that said "You better or
else."  "I've read enough contracts in my life, since I handle everything
for the guys."
	"That's right, you're the business minded one!"
	"Yeah."
	The conversation ended there, the silence broken only by the clink
of silverware on plates and the plunk of our glasses on the table.
	"So..." Lance said.
	I looked up from my plate.  "What?"
	"You gonna tell me?"
	"Tell you what?"
	"About why you are the way you are.  Your life story.  I mean, you
know mine.  If not from me telling you, from whatever interviews you've
seen."
	"Now?"  It was 1:04.
	"Yes, now."
	"But it's late!"
	"So?  Some of the best conversations take place during the wee
hours of the morning."
	"I can attest to that," I replied, thinking back to my 3AM romps
online with friends across the country.
	"Alright, now that we're in agreement, go ahead."  He placed
another mouthful of his food in his mouth.
	"Where do I start?"  My plate was nearly empty, as was my glass.
	"How about your early life?  Where you were born, when, moves,
friends, the like."
	I sighed, finished off my eggs and took a swig of water.  I
launched into my story, my life story, one that no one knew.  Each person I
had ever met only knew the life story that they had been a part of.  My
mother didn't know what I did with my friends, my friends didn't know what
I did with my other friends.  I wore a million different masks, and now
Lance was asking me to take it apart?  Could I do this?  I had never been
an expert at communication.  Writing had been my forte in communication.
Writing and music - those were the ways I communicated.
	I told him about my early childhood, how I was born in California,
but lived there for only 18 months before moving to the Philippines, where
I had lived for six years.  I told him how my dad was never home because he
traveled extensively, and how I was raised by a single parent for most of
the time.  Another move, another set of friends, another school.  It was
all narrative, not revealing any emotion.  It was quite literally a story
of "this happened then this happened," with few anecdotes.  I knew that I
was still making it very sheltered, that I wasn't revealing myself.  I
simply couldn't do it, couldn't reveal what I had felt at all those
moments.  I remember some emotions, but I simply didn't tell him.  I
recounted my tale up to the present, through the death of my dad, through
high school, through whatever dramas and traumas came of school.  Up
through the point of meeting him.
	"And that's it," I concluded, sitting on the bed.  During the
course of the tale Lance had removed the table to the hall, and we had
returned to our beds.  I glanced at the clock.  1:48 AM.  I hadn't taken
long, and it hadn't been deep.  I knew it, and from the look on his face,
he knew it too.  Lance hadn't asked any questions during the story, just
sat and listened, looking concerned, intrigued, I guess what a boyfriend
should look like.  Hell, what any special someone should look like.
	"So, uh, I guess, how do you feel?" Lance finally asked.
	"What do you mean?"
	"Well, about your whole life.  I don't know too many people that
have been through what you've been through.  I know people who have moved
out at a young age, the result of lack of love, but I don't know too many
people that have been cast out, so to speak, because of love."
	"I dunno.  It's weird, I guess.  Since I don't have any siblings, I
always learned to rely on my friends."
	"But you never told anyone your real feelings, right?  They were
just there as a 'fun house,' somewhere to escape to."
	Damn, right on the money.
	"Ye-yeah, I guess.  I don't know!"  I slammed my hands on the bed
next to me.  If I wasn't supposed to be gentle on my ankle, I would've been
pacing.  "I've never had to express my emotions to anyone before."  I
flopped back on my bed, exhausted and distraught.  I stared at the ceiling
for a few seconds.  "Why are you doing this to me, Lance?  I thought you
loved me!"
	"I'm doing this BECAUSE I love you, Mark!  This way I can
understand you, and understand why you do what you do when you do it.  All
your life you've been taking people apart, finding out what makes them tick
so that you won't screw up and mess up a friendship."  I looked at him in
disbelief.  I hadn't said anything close to that, nor implied anything.
"Yes, I figured that much out.  So that's you.  But you have to let me know
what you are, what makes you tick.  I can figure out people pretty well,
but I've only known you formally for three or four days...if you count
today as a day.  You've known your friends for years!  I need to know if
we're going to continue as we are, as boyfriend and boyfriend without
getting into major arguments."  He had been walking about the room, and now
sat next to me.
	I continued to look at the ceiling.  I knew he was right despite my
desire to cling to my view, and he knew he was right, which is why it was
so painful.  If I had known myself to be right, even if someone had opposed
me, I wouldn't care.  If someone proved me wrong, but I understood the
logic and reason behind it, I wouldn't care.  This was something different,
sort of a cross between the two, and it made it difficult.  A tear crept
its way out of my right eye and dribbled down my cheek.  I made no move to
wipe it away.
	"You're right, Lance.  You always are, and that's why I like you.
Not because you're always right, but because you think so clearly.  Well,
at least, usually you think clearly.  I guess cars have some sort of block
on you."  I tried a weak grin, which managed to get a small smile out of
him.  "But I can't do that.  I don't know why, and even if I did, I
wouldn't know how to explain it.  But let me tell you this: I love you for
everything you are, the unknown and the known, the understood and the
enigmatic.  And somehow or other you're going to have to figure me out.
Think of it as a challenge, as a sign of your true devotion for me.  I need
guarantees, Lance.  I've never had a permanent, solid, tell-all friend, all
because I never got a guarantee.  Give me a guarantee, and I'll give you
all of me.  Until then, though, I'm tired, and I'm going to take a shower."
It was 2:26 AM, according to the large red numbers on the digital clock.
After showering, contacts, and other business, it would be three before I
got to bed.  I swung an arm over Lance, gave him a hug, and got up, limping
to my suitcase to grab new clothes.  As I went for the bathroom, I heard
Lance sigh, and the bed squeaked as he moved about.
	Fifty minutes later I stepped out of the bathroom into a room that
was as bright as I had left it.  Odd, had he not gone to sleep?  I padded
awkwardly into the sleeping area, all the lights still on.  I could hear
either Chris or Joey snoring through the walls.
	"Lance?" I whispered.  I placed my dirty clothes on top of my
suitcase, putting things where they needed to be.  I looked up from my
suitcase.  Lance had fallen asleep on my bed, without changing or anything.
He looked so peaceful just lying there, eyes closed, blond-tipped hair a
mess.  I guess he had tried to wait up for me, but had simply fallen
asleep, since all the lights were on.  I guess he was really, really tired!
Remember, he can't sleep with any lights on.
	I decided against sleeping in the same bed with him, just in case
of anything.  I pushed and pulled him gently into a better position on the
bed, and pulled the covers over him, tucking him in.  I noticed that his
contact case was resting on the night stand, and he was wearing his
glasses.  Good, at least he wouldn't scratch a cornea.  I removed his
glasses and placed them on the night stand.  I turned off the bathroom,
hallway, and sitting area lights and found his bed.  I settled in, and
tucking myself in, turned off the night stand light.  Before I closed my
eyes, however, I offered a quick prayer for everyone and everything.
Between Lance's light breathing and the muffled snores from next door, I
fell asleep, my thoughts for once not running amuck and causing me
distress.  I was too tired for that.
	The need to urinate woke me the next morning.  Stumbling from the
bed, I remembered too late that my ankle was still sore and needed special
treatment, and would be for the next four weeks or so.  I cried out as I
fell against the bed, grimacing in pain.  The sound of running water could
be heard.  I limped slowly to the bathroom door, only to find it locked.
Lance was taking a shower at whatever hour it was.
	I pounded on the door.  "Lance!" I shouted.  I really, really had
to go, and I was beginning to do the urination dance, jumping around, or
more accurately, hopping around.  "LANCE!"
	The water stopped, and a few seconds later Lance opened the door,
wrapped in a towel, his hair slicked down, soaking wet.  I would've kissed
him right there had I not a more pressing matter.
	"What is it?" he asked.
	"Move, I have to PEE!" I said, shoving him out of the way and
making a beeline for the toilet.
	"You want me to leave for a minute?" he asked, still standing in
the doorway.
	"I don't care, leave if you want, stay if you want."  Lance turned
and walked out the door as I relieved myself.  The power of
suggestion...works wonders as an alarm clock.  A minute later, I was
relaxed again, no longer tense and having a pressing need.  I washed my
hands and dried them off, and walked back into the room.
	"All yours," I said, motioning behind me.  Lance got up from the
chair he was sitting in, passing by me.  Feeling a bit frisky and much more
chipper, I slapped his butt as he walked by.
	"Hey!" came his surprised response.  I jumped onto my (the one
Lance slept in) bed facedown so I couldn't look at him.  I heard him
chuckling, and Lance closed the door behind him.  However, there was no
click indicating that it had been locked.  Hmm, do I want to go and open it
at some random time, just sorta scare him?  Nah, I said to myself.  I've
scared him enough for one morning.
	I searched for my glasses, and finding them, I looked at the clock.
Ugh, 8:23 AM.  Just five hours of sleep!  This was their BREAK from tour!
Breaks were to have a lack of schedule!  Maybe Lance just had to learn how
to sleep longer.  I guess I really WILL go stay with either Justin or JC,
the heavy sleepers.  I put my glasses back on the table and buried myself
back among the sheets.  The water was running again, and it provided a nice
bit of white noise for me to fall asleep to.
	I was sleeping peacefully and quite soundly when a sudden pressure
on top of me woke me up again.  What is up with pressure waking me up?  A
pillow was pressed over my head, and I struggled to breathe.  Not that I
could do much since my entire body was under whatever was above.  I figured
it had to be Lance, taking his sweet revenge from earlier that morning.  I
struggled some more, and managed to get a hand free.  I started punching
upwards into the sheet, trying to find something to hit that was solid.
	"Lemme up!" I called out, or at least, tried to.  The pillow was
still in my face, and I could hear deep chuckling above me.  "Lance!
C'mon!"
	"You gonna interrupt me next time?"
	"No!  No!"
	I continued my frantic punching, and still managed to hit nothing,
since he was directly on me.  A slight blow was delivered to the pillow,
and the force transferred itself to my head.  The pressure was relieved as
he got up, and the pillow was taken away as well.  I took a deep breath of
air and sat up, only to be met by a pillow as it hit my head.  I fell over
again, twisting my bad ankle slightly.
	"Agh!"
	"What?  I didn't hit you THAT hard did I?"
	"No," I said through clenched teeth.  "But you did make me twist my
ankle!"
	"Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry."  The playful attitude he carried was
suddenly gone, replaced by concern, and he removed the sheets, leaving me
exposed to the cold air of the room.  He examined my ankle, which I was
treating carefully as I rolled about on the bed in pain.  "Are you ok?"
	"Yeah, I'll live," I said.
	"Note to self: be careful with Mark due to ankle."
	The pain subsided and I rolled onto my back, looking up at a badly
blurred image of Lance.  I couldn't tell if his hair was still down or
spiked up.
	"What time is it?" I asked wearily.  This was really taking its
toll.
	"Uh, 8:47," he replied.
	"Oh, yuck.  Why did you wake me up?"  I turned over on my side
again, pulling the covers up as I did so.  I buried my head under the
covers, trying to get back to sleep.
	"Because...I needed revenge for what you did to me earlier."
	"Oh, you woke me up the first time!  I had the right to do that."
	"Ok, fine, you win."  He continued to stand there in silence as I
tried to sleep.  I knew he was still there due to his breathing.  Finally,
after several long minutes, he pulled back the covers slightly and slid in
next to me.  My back was still to him.
	"Why didn't you wake me up last night and reclaim your bed?" he
asked.
	"Because I'm too nice to wake people up for no reason, and you
looked all nice and relaxed and peaceful, something that I haven't seen too
much of in the few short days we've been together.  Why?"
	"Ah, ok.  Just wondering."
	We continued to lie on the bed together, Lance just lying there,
myself trying to sleep.  He shifted positions and moved farther down the
bed, only his head on the pillow now.  An arm was placed around me, and I
could feel the comforting warmth and weight on my shoulder.  I sighed in
contentment, and wiggled a bit, trying to get his arm in the right
position.
	"Why didn't you just sleep with me last night?" he asked.
	That question caught me off guard.  My eyes opened again, and the
sleep I had fought for so long to regain fled back to where it had come
from, apparently somewhere that I was forbidden to go to.
	"You know that I wouldn't have minded, right?" he continued.
	"Lance, I-I, uh, just didn't feel right about doing that at this
point in time."  I felt awkward, wondering why he was even bringing up the
matter.  I flipped onto my other side, and found myself staring straight
into the face of Lance, the most beautiful, cute face I had ever seen.  He
was only a few inches away, which was sort of frightening, but I got used
to it.  Actually, it was quite enjoyable.  Few people get to wake up to
Lance's face on his actual body in the bed next to them.  Sure, there are
posters and what not, but this was the real deal.  And with it came all the
stress and emotions of any sort of relationship.
	"Ah, ok.  Well, I understand.  I was just somewhat confused,
because after all, I DID take your bed, and this bed, being a queen, is
definitely big enough for both of us.  Oh well.  Don't worry, I'm ok with
it."  The look on his face revealed something slightly different from
complete apathy, but it was close enough that I didn't press the matter.
	"So now that you've pulled me from my sleep, what are we doing?"  I
ran a finger through his perfectly spiked hair.  How did he get it so
right?  After numerous attempts, I had finally given up on doing anything
with my hair, which simply refused to do whatever the gel told it to do.
	He rolled over onto his back and sighed.  "Well, there's all that
legal mumbo jumbo.  And you still don't have your cell phone and other
things.  I was kidding about the rehearsal yesterday.  We don't have one.
I think after the morning, it's just free time.  Go chill in the city or
something like that."
	"Ah, ok."  I looked back at the clock.  "Anyway, when does that all
start?"
	The phone rang as I finished my last word.  Lance reached over me
and grabbed the receiver from the base.
	"'lo?"  He nodded slightly in response to what the other person was
saying.  "Yes...yes...uh-huh...right."  A longer pause where he listened
intently.  "OK, we'll be there."
	He hung up the phone and rolled back onto his back.
	"That was management, and your question has been answered.  We are
to meet with them at 10 in the management suite, which is upstairs."
	"That's in...an hour!"  I practically leaped from the bed, still
shocked at the quickness of the tour scene.  "What am I supposed to wear?
What are we doing?  I don't get it!  We should be early right?"  I swung
out of the bed and limped to my suitcase to find clean clothes.
	"Relax!  You can wear whatever you want, and don't worry about
being early or on time.  They obviously want you there on time, but if
you're just a bit late, it's ok."
	"Alright, well, you're taking care of everything, right?"
	"Right."
	The next thirty minutes or so was dedicated to getting myself to
face the day.  Since it would be a more laid back day, I decided to dress
laid back.  We were soon out the door, and Lance led me up to the next
floor and into the suite that their management company had staked out for
use as the office.  Lance knocked on the door, and a muffled "come in" came
through the door.  We entered the double doors into a large, open,
living-room like area.  It would have looked very hospitable had the
various frills been removed and replaced with fax machines, telephones,
computers, and a large table surrounded by chairs.  Mel and the man from
the day before were sitting in two of the chairs, reading various pieces of
paper scattered about the room.  They looked haggard, as if they hadn't
slept.  Maybe they hadn't, considering the events of the day before.  Some
other people bustled around the room, pouring coffee and helping themselves
to pastries set out on a table.  What was the man's name again?  Evan,
that's right.  Mel looked up from her paperwork and took a sip from a cup
resting by her.
	"Lance, Mark.  Have a seat.  Johnny'll be here in a minute, as will
the rest of the guys.  While you're waiting, you can read this."  She
tossed a newspaper in our direction.  It landed on the table with a thud
and stopped in front of the two chairs nearest us.  "Look on page three."
	Lance gave me an inquisitive look as we took our seats.  I glanced
at the day's front page headlines, the weather, and sports scores and other
teasers before I turned the page.  There, in large headline print, were the
words "NSYNCER NEARLY STRUCK BY CAR."  Below it was a large picture of
Lance on the ground, me next to him, the paramedics over us, and the
ambulance in the background.  The edge of Justin's face could be seen in
the corner.  The caption read "Nsync member LANCE BASS being treated by
paramedics at the scene."
	"Uh-oh," was all I could say.  Lance was speechless as he stared at
the picture.  I delved into the brief article that accompanied the picture.

	Bass taken to hospital after accident
	By David Rolston
	The New York Times
	NEW YORK - Nsync member Lance Bass, 22, was taken to the hospital
early last night following a brush with a car.
	Police were chasing a suspect in a car on 5th Avenue as Bass
crossed the street.  According to eyewitnesses at the scene, Bass froze in
the crosswalk.
	An unknown person ran into the street in an attempt to push Bass
out of the path of the oncoming car.  The person succeeded in pushing Bass
out of the way, but eyewitnesses said the unknown person was struck by the
car.
	The police car did not stop and followed the suspect.  Supervisors
at the police department could not be reached for comment.
	Also at the scene was fellow Nsync bandmate Justin Timberlake, who
placed the call in to 911.  Eyewitnesses also reported the unknown person
performing first aid on Bass.  Paramedics appeared on the scene shortly,
and took Bass and his unknown savior to St. Mary's Hospital, where they
were treated and released.
	Hospital staff did not comment on their conditions or treatment due
to a privacy contract the hospital has with many celebrities.  Nsync
management was also unavailable for comment.
	The band is schedule to perform four shows at Madison Square
Garden, with the first show on Monday, at 7 P.M.

	I finished the article with a sinking feeling.  Lance was still
reading the article.  I waited until he looked up before speaking, but he
spoke before I could open my mouth.
	"Did they really try to contact you?"  The question was directed at
Mel.
	"No, which is what sorta pisses me off.  Johnny wasn't too happy
about that either.  So we're going to hold a press conference later today
at 1 at the MTv studios, who have graciously lent us their press room."
	A door opened on the side, and another person entered the room.
	"How're you feeling, Lance?" he asked.
	"Fine, Johnny."
	"Good.  And you, Mark?"
	I assumed this was Johnny, their manager.  That would explain how
he knew my name.  "I'm ok.  Ankle isn't hurting me anymore."
	"That's good.  I'd start the meeting, but the rest of the guys
aren't here yet.  So before they get here, I'd like you to read and sign
this contract.  It says that you won't go public with any information you
have about the band unless it is approved by us, as well as the fact that
you won't sue us for any injuries or other forms of defamation as a result
from touring with the band.  We should have done this earlier, but
everything just happened so fast.  And this sheet outlines the guidelines
for usage of your cell phone, credit card, etc."
	Evan flipped through a few pages, then slid a stapled packet and a
one page sheet across the table.  I picked up the packet first, and started
reading it.  Two paragraphs in and my head was already spinning from the
legal double-speak.  From what I could decipher, it accurately reflected
what Johnny had told us in his summary.  I picked up a pen to sign and date
the last page, but Lance grabbed the pen from my hand.
	"Mind if I read it?" he asked.
	That's right, he wanted to read it before I signed it to make sure
I wasn't screwed over.  "Sure, no problem."  I gave him the packet to read,
and picked up the guidelines sheet.
	The sheet outlined the usage parameters of the things management
was giving me.  The cell phone was to be used only for communication with
other band and management people, with the exception of emergency 911
calls.  I was also allowed to call immediate family, but not friends.  All
calls would be paid for by management, unless I used the phone to call
other people not listed above.  The credit card was to be used for business
related purchases only, including new wardrobe for the shows or photo
shoots, and food.  Hmm, really, that could count for a lot of things.  "Oh,
the slinky?  Stress relief, from the show, y'know.  What about the yacht?"
	Lance was busily arguing with Evan, Mel, and Johnny about something
in my agreement.  Something about insurance coverage, I think.  I tuned it
at a rather awkward time.  Pens and hands were waved in the air as crosses
appeared on the paper over text and notes scribbled in margins.
	In the course of the exchange, a knock sounded from the door, but
none of the other four people gathered at the table made any move towards
the door, or gave any indication that they had even heard the knock.  The
other people that had been in the room had long since vacated the area.  I
decided to open the door.
	Four faces stared at me, and then suddenly broke into smiles and
shouts of greeting.
	"Shh, they're having a meeting," I said, pointing to the arguing
foursome.
	"Oh, oops, ok," said JC sheepishly.  They slunk into the room.
	"Lance the businessman back at it again," came a sigh from Chris.
"It'll be another hour before he finally finds an agreement that's suitable
for him.  What's it for, by the way?"
	"Something about me not saying stuff to the press and not suing."
	"Oh, that one.  Right."  The five of us stood just inside the door
in silence, listening to the business people go over the agreement time and
time again.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lance leaned back
in his chair as Evan ran out of the room, Mel following him scribbling
notes on her legal pad.
	"Oh, hey guys," Lance called.  "Didn't see you come in.  Have a
seat.  Mark, they're just revising the agreement, which you can sign.  This
one had some holes in it and didn't really give you the benefits you
deserve."
	"Oh, ok.  Thanks?"  I wasn't really sure what my reaction should
be.
	"No problem.
	"Anyway, guys," interrupted Johnny.  "I called this meeting so that
we could discuss what we were saying at our press conference in about two
hours.  We've compiled-"
	"Wait, what press conference?" asked Justin, munching on a bagel.
	"We need to have a press conference after yesterday's little
incident.  It was in the papers, and I'm sure if we don't get it straight,
it'll hit tabloids and E!'s gossip columns."
	"What are we so concerned about again?  What are we covering?"
asked Joey.
	"Who Mark is.  The "unknown savior," as the NY Times so eloquently
put it," responded Johnny.
	"Oh, ok."
	"Anyway, like I was saying, we've compiled a packet for all of you
to read so that we all have the same stories."  Johnny passed around a
folder, and each member took a copy of what was inside.  I took a copy as
well, and glanced at it.  So this was the other side of the pop music
industry.  I didn't know if I could handle this part.  All of this covering
up, PR stuff.  At the top of the page was the heading "CONFIDENTIAL" and
under it was a line with the cover story's premise, about who I was.
	"So anyway, as a quick summary, Lance and Justin were out shopping
with Mark during the incident.  Mark is the son of one of the crew members
who's on tour with us, and was just hanging out with them since they're
much closer in age.  Details as to treatment and what happened will be
covered by Mel.  No talking about it to anyone else unless they've been
authorized by us, ok?  It'll probably be only MTv News that gets proper
coverage.  Any questions?"  Johnny surveyed the table.  All five guys were
engrossed in their briefs, busy reading.  I felt awkward not really
reading.
	"Oh, Mark, you need to read this."  Johnny slid another set of
papers across the table.  "It's our procedure with public appearances and
press conferences.  You need to commit it to memory, along with the cover
story we have right now.  Whenever we need to hold a conference, we'll do
the same thing, and you're going to need to memorize all of them and hold
them there so we get constant reports.  If you need any help, just ask
anyone on the management team, or your PA, or one of the band members."
	"Johnny, this part here, paragraph four, line eight.  Can you
clarify that?" asked JC.
	Johnny complied, and the members grabbed pens from the middle of
the table and scribbled notes.  There were many various clarifications, as
well as modifications to the original story.  I finally got lost after the
fourth change and started making notes myself.  I usually pride myself in
being able to remember small, minor changes, but it was just too much, even
though it was past noon and my mind was fully awake.
	All the questions were finally exhausted, and there was a
collective sigh of relief.  I glanced at my watch.  12:28.
	"Alright guys, let's go," said Johnny, grabbing his sports coat
from a nearby chair.  Mel and Evan came rushing out of the other room,
waving a thick sheaf of papers in the air.  Must be the revised agreement.
	"Mark, here.  Sign here, and here, and here, and here," said Evan
as we walked down the hall.
	"Wait, gimme that.  I'll read it in the car."  The agreement was
snatched out of my hands by Lance once again.
	The nine of us trooped neatly to the elevators, and split up as the
elevators took us to two waiting limos.  The band members and I piled into
one, while the three management people were joined by four other people in
the other.  Doors slammed and we were off, weaving through afternoon New
York traffic.
	"So you ready for this?" asked JC.  He was always the concerned
one, always on top of things.  No wonder Lance spoke of him like a big
brother.
	"I guess," I replied, unsure if I really was ready for a real press
conference.  I tried to imagine how the interviewee usually reacted when I
wrote a story for the paper.  Usually calm and collected, answering
everything truthfully.  Truthfully because the student's had a right to
know.  But this was different.  We weren't telling the full truth.  We
weren't even bending the truth.  This was blatant lying.  I wasn't the son
of a crew member.  Hell, I didn't even know any of the crew!  I was the
boyfriend of a band member!  And wouldn't that seem rather suspicious?
Since when did big shot pop stars allow kids to tour with them and hang
out?  This was becoming a headache for me.
	The limo fell silent, each staring out a window.  Probably going
through the cover story in their minds like I was.  Lance was the only one
not staring out the window; he was still reading through the final copy of
the agreement that I was to sign.  I was tempted to lean on him and rest my
head on his shoulder, but I restrained myself.  We hadn't told the guys
yet, and as far as they knew, I was just a straight person who Lance had
met and invited along.  Maybe it wasn't that uncommon to do, to simply pick
up some people on the tour and then drop them off later on.  I slouched
lower in my seat, leaning back and resting my head on the back rest.
	Lance gave a "humph" and handed the thick sheaf of papers to me.
	"Looks good.  Just flip through and sign at the X's."
	"Now?"  The limp was bouncing quite a bit in the uneven New York
streets.  "I can't sign anything under these conditions!"
	"OK, when we get out and into the studios.  Because they also added
an appearance clause to the contract, which you must agree to before we can
do this press conference."
	Before I could say another word, Joey spoke up.
	"Looks like we're here, and we've got a crowd."  He pointed out the
window.  I stretched across Lance's lap to look out the other side.  A
billion screaming girls were standing behind NYPD sawhorses, waving signs.
I had seen this scene before - on TRL, safely from 100 miles away, in my
own home.  Now I was in the middle of it.  I took several deep breaths,
trying to calm my nerves.  I was all worked up, and I knew that I would
break out in a sweat soon.  I kept telling myself that it would be alright,
that I wouldn't have to say anything.  Lance will take care of me, I
thought.  Lance'll take care of me.