Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 07:03:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: Michael Bryan <mzbryan2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: JC and the Actor (Chapter 19)

JC and the Actor, Chapter 19, Copyright 2003

----------

The following story is entirely a work of fiction.  It is not meant to
imply anything about the sexuality or the personal lives of the members of
NSYNC, or any other celebrities mentioned.  If you are underage, or if it
is illegal to read sexually explicit gay material where you live, don't
read this.

It's back, and better than ever!  (Well, I guess I am not the judge of
that) This begins what I guess could be called the fourth season of "JC and
the Actor."  I hope you all enjoy and continue to share your comments,
criticisms and suggestions...mzbryan2003@yahoo.com

Now, on with the show!

----------

Chapter 19

	"Action!" Larry yelled.

	I started running.  Instantly I could feel large droplets of sweat
falling off of my forehead as I began to tear through the jungle; leaves,
branches and thorns pulling at my already tattered clothes.  My goal was to
get through the dense brush and across a large piece of swamp.  Biting my
lower lip, I headed straight into the mud, watching it splash all over me
as I continued to run.  Wiping the mud from my eyes as I neared the edge of
the swamp, I pulled myself out and dove behind a group of large bushes.  I
looked straight up into the camera a few feet away from me, and breathed
heavily.

	"Cut!" I heard Larry yell in the distance from a megaphone.

	"Nice work," Tim said, stepping from behind the camera in front of
me and extending his hand to help me up.  I got up on my own, placing my
hands on my knees and smiling briefly at him while I slowly regained my
breath.  My hands and arms were full of tiny scratches and were bleeding in
parts.  Ah, the life of an actor.

	"When you get real famous, you get to use a stunt double," Tim
laughed.  I laughed and nodded, knowing that I would always want to do
everything required of any character I may play.  Still, it wasn't fun
watching myself get more and more injured everyday.  The make-up artist was
originally going to apply a fake cut to my right cheek, but I spared her
the trouble when I tripped during filming a few days ago and opened up my
own face.  Despite the rather intense pain I felt at the time, all I could
think to myself was that if it ended up scarring, I may just jump off
Mt. Kilimanjaro.

	My accident was the most serious of the injuries I had sustained in
the two months I had been in Kenya.  There were scratches and bruises, but
it all helped get me into the character of a man on the run.

	When I arrived in Africa, I quickly learned that film was not an
actor's medium.  The movie was being made out of sequence, which didn't
allow me to take my character through any type of evolution.  The first
part of the film hadn't even been made yet, and it was decided that those
scenes would be done back in Hollywood.  Our time in Africa was mostly
spent filming extensive action sequences that required enormous time and
money to complete.

	"That's all for today, thank you."  Larry's voice boomed in the
distance.  They had wanted to get a long, single shot of me in the setting
sun, doing what I had just did, and they were successful.  I found myself
being quite impressed with the scenes Larry was creating and I started
flirting with the idea of actually respecting him.

	I climbed into the jeep that would take me back to the hotel, and
fantasized about how enjoyable a long shower was going to be.  There
wouldn't be many more days of enjoying them since this was our last week
staying at the beautiful lodge in Kenya.  For the next few weeks, we would
be camping deep in the jungle.  Sure we would be camping in first class
style, but camping was still camping.

	"Mr. Murray," called a receptionist, waving me toward him, a phone
in his hand.  "A call from Germany."  My eyes lit up as I rushed over and
took the phone from him.

	"Hello?"  My voice was practically smiling.

	"Hello yourself," JC said.

	"Oh my God, it is so good to hear your voice."  Our locations and
our scheduling weren't making it very easy for us to stay in contact
lately.  We had been able to spend quite a bit of time together in August
since NSYNC's tour began in the northeast.  Whenever he could, JC would fly
to New York and we would have our much-needed time together, even if it was
just for the day.  JC was even able to come into the city for his birthday,
which turned out to be a quiet, enjoyable day with absolutely no drama.

	"Did you get the last email I sent you?" he asked.

	"Yes, I did.  Not until late last night though.  I wanted to take
more time to respond.  Josh, how are you doing?"  He told me that he was
fine.  The group had started the European leg of their tour in the
beginning of October and they were performing almost daily.  His voice
sounded hoarse.

	"So is everything ok down there?" he asked with concern.  As I
prepared to leave for Africa at the end of August, all of my friends and
family began to grow quite concerned for my health and safety.  No one was
particularly keen of the idea of me going somewhere for so long that had
little Western amenities.  They were worried about traveling in the jungle
and the political instability of the region, as well as things like
malaria.  I did my best to reassure everyone that I would be as careful as
possible, but that was really all I could offer.

	I told him that everything was fine, but that we were leaving in a
couple days at which point I wasn't sure how much communication I would be
able to have with him.  JC was disappointed that we were leaving the lodge
because he had been thinking of possibly trying to visit the next time the
boys had a few days off.

	"It's best you don't," I said sadly.  "I'm not really sure how you
would even get to where we are going."

	"Man, I can't believe I haven't seen you since September.  How you
lookin', boy?"  Being on tour had made him go back to NSYNC speech.

	I laughed when he asked that question, and decided not to mention
any of my mishaps since everything sounds worse over the phone.  "My hair
has gotten pretty long."  (I had started growing it in August.)  "And I'm
tanner than I ever thought possible."  I laughed in response to his next
question as well.  "No, I'm not tan all over."  The receptionist gave me a
strange look when I said this, and shifted to the other side of the front
desk.

	"I miss you so much, Josh," I said quietly into the phone.  I had
made the decision not to tell anyone involved with the film who I was
dating.  Since beginning production in early September, numbers of
journalists from magazines and television had been visiting the film-site.
Now that I was getting my own publicity, people were beginning to be
interested in my personal life, and while I didn't really care what they
wrote about me, I didn't want JC to get involved with anything he didn't
want to be involved with.  I found out from JC that my picture was in
"Entertainment Weekly."  In it, I was described as a sexy New York
stage-actor making his film debut in a leading role of a major motion
picture.  The film was scheduled to be released next summer, at which point
the world would find out if I had what it takes to be a star.

	"I miss you too," he said.  He paused for a moment and then
suggested that maybe he could try to come down for the weekend.

	"Josh, 'Entertainment Tonight' is sending someone here this
weekend.  How are we supposed to explain why a boy-band member is running
around the set?"

	"I'll tell them I got lost," he laughed.  His voice then turned
serious and he said, "So is this how it's going to be from now on?"

	"I don't know."  I responded, my voice getting even quieter.  "I
mean, I don't really mind if it becomes known that I'm gay.  It's probably
bound to come out sooner or later anyway since I've been open and in the
theater for so long.  But if you become too associated with me, your career
is totally going to take a backseat to people's speculation."

	"Well this fucking sucks," he snapped.  "I mean, now that we're
together we basically have to break up for the sake of the public?"

	"No, Josh, of course not.  I just mean that I'm willing to do
whatever it takes for you to have both your career and me.  You don't have
to worry about me getting fed up living like this.  You just have to be
careful and make sure you are doing what you want."

	"I'd like to be laying underneath you right now," he laughed.

	"Josh!"  My cheeks reddened and I looked to see if anyone was
around me.  This was how most of our few conversations went since I got to
Africa.  We had to cover it all quickly - the updates, the missing, the
flirting.

	"How's Robert doing?" he asked suddenly, very dryly.

	"Uh," I laughed.  "He seems fine.  A little broken-hearted, but
fine."  Robert was a very young, very cute production assistant that had
professed his love for me a couple of weeks ago during one of our many
drunken nights in the jungle.  I told him as nicely as possible that I was
spoken for, and neither of us had spoken a word about it since.

	"Yeah, just tell him to lay off my man," JC kidded.

	"I will give him your regards."

	"Oh, Edward told me to say hi to you."

	"You've been talking to Edward?"

	"Well, not like everyday.  He emails me though and calls me
sometimes."  Edward had emailed me once since I left New York, but for some
reason I didn't mention that to JC.

	"It's nice of you to take the time to talk to him, Josh.  But he
really shouldn't keep bothering you."

	"Oh, it's not a bother.  I like talking to him.  He's a nice kid.
And I think it kind of boosts his confidence to be talking to a major
superstar."

	"Amazing," I sighed.  "You have two big heads."

	He laughed.  "Well," he began.  "Both of them miss you very much."

	"Ok, Josh, I think I better go before I put a dent in this desk I'm
leaning against."  He laughed and reminded me that he would be all mine in
less than a month.  I told him that I loved him and slowly hung up the
phone.  I hadn't even jerked-off since leaving New York, and at times I
thought I was going to start climbing the walls.  It felt good and exciting
to be waiting for our eventual reunion, but it also kind of pissed me off.
Aside from JC being on tour, the real reason we weren't seeing each other
in all this time was because of our desire to be discreet.  The straight
people involved with the film had their husbands, wives, girlfriends and
boyfriends visiting or even staying during production, but we couldn't do
that without becoming fodder for the tabloids.  I had a strong belief that
I was going to become very popular, so I was really starting to wonder how
I was going to deal with all of this.  It was all so easy in the theater, I
even used to thank Mark, my love, in the programs to the shows I was doing.

	But Hollywood was a different story.

	Upon realizing I was gay, Larry Ridgecliff told me that he didn't
care if I fucked goats so long as I didn't do anything to mess up his film.
Part of me thought I should just go back to Broadway after production
wrapped, but I had to weigh those feelings against the fact that I had
already received offers for two more movies, each one for more money than
the next.  Apparently, lots of producers had seen the dailies that Larry
would send back to California, and they liked what they saw.  In a few
short months, I had gone from a successful stage actor to a potential movie
star worth millions of dollars.  All of my thoughts were cloudy.

----------
	We all ate as a group around a large long table in the lodge.
Until recently, I always sat with the other actors, but most of the
principal members of the cast had left, aside from Scott and several extras
that didn't speak too much English.  Scott was an actor from Chicago, also
getting his big break playing a CIA agent sent to find my character.  Since
we were adversaries in the film, we actually made an effort not to get to
know each other that well.  Sounds kind of strange, but it's how I like to
work.  Aside from Robert, or Bobby, as he preferred to be called, no one
else in the large group seemed to be gay, and since the crew was mostly
made up of men, it was kind of like living in a frat house.  They all liked
to hunt and drink, and being around them twenty-four hours a day made me a
bit nostalgic for a good old-fashioned gay club.

	I had gotten used to drinking with the crew on a regular basis, as
it seemed to be a requirement of some sort.  Honestly, there was little
else to do at night, but I had started warning myself that I should cut
back.  What would be the point of having all this fame and money if I
wasn't going to be aware of it half the time?

	After dinner, we were all gathered in the large lobby, laughing and
drinking.  Some of the people were expressing their profound upset about
moving into the jungle while many others couldn't wait to rough it.  Larry
was obviously one of these people and I realized that for him, this trip
wasn't just about making a good movie.  He was also giving himself the
vacation of a lifetime.

	I sat in a large, overstuffed leather chair, talking to Tim and
Bobby.  Bobby really was a nice kid, and Tim was very nice guy; a husband
and father, and seemingly contented with both roles.

	"You have really been shooting some gorgeous close-ups," I said to
Tim.

	"Ha," he laughed.  "Is that your way of saying how flawless your
face is?"

	I rubbed my bruised cheek and pretended I was thinking about better
times.  "It used to be," I sighed.  We all laughed and clicked our glasses
together.

	"Don't you think I have been doing a great job too?" Bobby laughed.
He reminded me a bit off Edward, though it was probably just because he had
similar coloring and was close to Edward's age.

	"Yes, I do," I responded.  "I have never had my lunch brought to me
so quickly in my entire life."

	Bobby reached over and slapped my arm.  "Hey, I could have just
told my dad to find me a movie to direct, but I said no, that I want to
work my way up.  I don't mind really," he said, half to himself before
looking back at Tim and I.  Bobby was the son of a big-time Hollywood
producer, and loved everything about the movie business.  He had only gone
to college for a year before realizing that being involved with movies was
the only thing he wanted to do.

	"I actually kind of like that I'm starting out on the bottom," he
affirmed to us and, I suppose, to himself.  I started to laugh and soon
Bobby was as well.  Tim didn't seem to know what was funny.

	"Bobby, you're the nicest, nineteen year old trust fund kid I've
ever met.  I commend your desire to start on the bottom."  We started
laughing again and Tim shook his head and walked away.  Bobby bounced over
to Tim's chair, which was next to mine.  He smiled and leaned closer to me.

	"I am very drunk," he said.

	"You realize it's illegal for you to drink in the U.S., don't you?"
I responded.

	"Aww come on," he laughed.  "Stop trying to act like you're some
old man.  I can imagine what you used to do at my age."

	"Hmm, you have a point there," I smiled.  Bobby took my glass from
me and went to go get us some more drinks.  I felt kind of awkward being so
friendly with him, but if he was grown up enough to move past the feelings
he had for me, then so was I.  Besides, I didn't really want to talk to
anyone else.

	Bobby seemed to be taking a bit longer to return, so I decided to
get up and wobble toward the bar.  As I got closer I could hear voices
getting louder, and my eyes eventually focused on Bobby, staring up at a
very tall, very large-framed man.

	"What did you just say?" Bobby said sternly.  He placed the drinks
he was holding on the bar, and I could see his fists clenching.  The man
was not part of our crew, so he must have been staying at the hotel on his
own safari trip.  He looked like he may have been two feet taller than
Bobby, and he looked like he came to Africa to hunt.

	The man met Bobby's angered expression with his own, and stepped
toward him.  Without really thinking, I pushed myself in between them.
"Whoa, wait a minute.  What the hell is going on here?" I said, my hands up
against each of them.  A crowd was starting to form around us.

	"Nothing," the man said calmly.  "This little fag here just keeps
getting in my way."  As soon as he finished talking I felt myself get
pushed out of the way as Bobby lunged at the man with his fist.  Given my
level of intoxication, all I could hear was the crowd gasp as I steadied
myself, and as Bobby apparently made contact with the man's face.  Before
my eyes could refocus on what was going on, I heard the crowd give a second
gasp, which I guessed must have been in response to the man's return
attack.  I looked to see Bobby laid-out flat on his back, his nose
bleeding.  He was having trouble getting up and the beastly looking man was
lumbering toward him.  I ran in between them again and pulled the man away
by his arm.

	"For Christ's sake," I yelled.  "Why did you go and do that for?
He's just a little kid."  The man stared at me, obviously unfazed from
Bobby's attack.  I wondered why no one was doing anything.  The crowd had
become an audience.

	"That little faggot hit me," he yelled in my face.  His breath was
not pleasant.

	"Well, maybe you should stop calling him a little faggot, jackass."

	"You should mind your own business buddy.  What, are you a little
fag too?  His little faggot fuck-buddy?"  His face was getting
uncomfortably close.

	"I'm not little," I said, clenching my jaw and moving toward him
until our noses were practically touching.  I pulled back my fist and
landed it square with his cheekbone.  He stumbled backwards and fell to the
ground.  I heard the crowd offer another gasp and I stood there in total
disbelief of what I had just done.  It was my first bar fight.  And it
wasn't over.

	The man stood up, shook his head, and came rushing toward me.  I
didn't have time to dodge his fist as he hit me directly in the left eye.
I moved backwards, but managed not to fall.  Steadying myself, I looked him
directly in the eye (with my one good eye) and flew at him, tackling him to
the floor.  As strong as I was, I knew we were not evenly matched.  He
pushed me off of him and soon fists were flying once again.  Before long,
bottles could be heard breaking, and I started to have trouble finding my
target through the sea of other bar brawlers.  I don't know how the fight
grew so quickly.  Maybe it was just what everyone was looking for that
night.  I briefly wondered how I had gotten into all of this in the first
place, but before the man landed his final blow, all I could think to
myself was that I wasn't really having a bad time.

----------
	I couldn't open my left eye without wincing, so I just opened the
right one.  It took me a moment to realize that Bobby was kneeling over me,
smiling.

	"Hi," he said.  He was strangely chipper.

	"Hi," I said calmly.  "Where am I?"

	"On the barroom floor," he laughed.  I noticed he had some tissue
in his nose, and his cheeks were looking a bit bruised.

	"How long have I been here?" I asked, trying to sit up.

	"Just a couple minutes," he said, helping me up.  "The hotel people
just broke up the fight like five minutes ago."

	There was a lot of shattered glass on the floor and I saw that a
bunch of people from the crew were standing around me.  I waved at them and
gave a small smirk.  Everyone started laughing and I heard them all
reporting to each other that I was fine.

	"Wait until Larry sees his face in the morning," I heard someone
laugh.  I reached up and touched my face.  It was sore all around my left
eye and I could feel that my cheek had been split open again.

	"Does it look really bad?" I asked Bobby.

	"Not any worse than mine does," he said.

	"But you don't look too good," I said calmly.  He laughed again and
helped me stand up.  Tim came over and gave me a light punch in the
shoulder.

	"You're quite a scrapper," Tim smiled.  "I'm glad I've never pissed
you off."  A nurse that the hotel kept on staff came over to me and cleaned
up the cut on my face with some ointment and a couple small bandages.

	"How does the other guy look?" I asked her.

	"Not too good," she said.  "Though, not as bad as you do."  I
rolled my good eye and thanked her for patching me up.  Before leaving she
wrapped some ice cubes in a napkin and told me to hold it against my eye to
keep down the swelling.

	The crew slowly started to file out of the bar, joking about
wishing they had seen the actual fight.  Bobby came over to me, waving a
large bottle of wine.

	"Want to dull the pain?" he asked.

	"Absolutely," I answered, getting up and taking the bottle from
him.  The public areas of the hotel were closing down so we went back to my
room and stepped out onto the porch.  My room was on the ground floor, and
the porch contained two lounge chairs and a gorgeous view of the African
safari.  During the day you could see Zebras running about, but a fence
enclosed the porch in the event that a lion or cheetah should arrive on the
scene.

	It was around three in the morning, and Bobby and I were still
laughing our asses off, sitting on the lounge chairs.  The temperature had
lowered and the moisture in the air felt good against my aching face.  I
was lying back on my chair, but Bobby was perched up on his, reenacting the
fight for me.

	"How do you even know what happened?" I asked.  "I thought you were
knocked out after the first punch."

	"No way, man.  I was fighting right alongside you.  Where do you
think these other bruises came from?"

	"Bobby, why did you hit that guy?"

	He squinted his eyebrows toward me and jumped off of his chair.  "I
was defending our people," he laughed.  "I was just trying to get us more
drinks when I bumped into Paul Bunyan.  I apologized, but he rudely
responded, 'Watch it fag!'"  Bobby started laughing some more.  "I guess my
sexuality permeated through my apology."

	"Maybe it was because you apologized while putting your hand down
his pants," I jokingly suggested.  We both started laughing again Bobby
walked up to the fence and yelled out, "Come and get me you big overgrown
faggot!"  I waved at him and told him to stop.  I really was hoping not to
ever see the guy again.

	Bobby smiled and came over and sat at the foot of my lounge chair.
He passed me the wine bottle we were sharing and I took another sip.  My
mind was cloudy and my face hurt, but I was definitely under the impression
that I was having a good time.

	"You know something," I said, suddenly feeling very philosophical.
"Tonight may have been the first time I lost something."

	"For some reason, I can believe that," Bobby said, taking the
bottle back from me.  "But you definitely got some good shots in there.
Thanks for coming to my rescue."  I nodded and told him to pick his
opponents more carefully in the future.

	We joked around a bit more before Bobby said, "So come on Nate,
tell me, who is this mystery boyfriend of yours?"

	"I can't," I said, touching my finger to my lips.  "Then it
wouldn't be a mystery."

	"Is he everything you want and more?"  I nodded.  "Well, I'm glad
you have someone nice in your life," he said.  "You deserve it."  He looked
as though he was blushing a bit in the moonlight and turned his eyes down.

	"You have plenty of time to find that special someone," I said.  I
though to myself what complete messes we looked like.  Both of us drunk off
our asses, both of our faces bruised.  Bobby's nose had stopped bleeding,
but I could see the bruises on his cheeks darkening.  He was blond and
blue-eyed, and had a rather angelic looking face, which was still obvious
despite his injuries.

	"God," I started laughing.  "We look like pretty butch dudes right
now don't we?"  He started laughing and reached up to touch his sore nose.

	"Man," he said.  "Your eye is really black and blue."

	"Fuck," I said.  Larry was going to be so pissed in the morning.

	"Can you open it?" Bobby said, leaning over me, his arms on either
side of the chair.  I managed to open it a little, but it hurt like hell.

	"How's that?" I asked, my own eyes focusing in on his own.  His
face suddenly felt very close and I felt very warm.

	"It's uh, it's..."  He stopped talking and pushed his lips against
mine.  Instinctively, I closed my eyes and kissed him back.  He didn't use
his tongue but he was applying significant pressure and I could feel myself
growing excited.  My hands moved behind his back and pressed him closer to
me.  He was so young and so sexy, and it felt so good to feel someone
against me.  His body felt warm and hard, and for a moment it was like I
had left reality.

	Bobby moved to bring his hands up to my face, but in doing so
dropped the wine bottle from his hand.  The sound of the bottle cracking
against the stone floor called like a whistle, signaling that it was time
to stop.  "Stop," I said, holding him back.  In the past few minutes I
hadn't thought about JC once.  Now, he was all I could see.

	"I'm sorry," Bobby said quietly.  "I'm sorry, I'm drunk and I'm..."

	"You should go," I said, looking down.  Bobby slowly climbed off
the chair and moved toward the entrance to my room.

	"Sorry, Nate," he said.  He stood there for a few more moments but
I couldn't bring myself to even look at him, much less say anything to him.
"Goodnight," he said with real honesty.  He exited the room.

	I stared out into the darkness thinking about how I really
specialized in fucking up my own life.  It would have been one thing if I
was just horny and engaging in a mild flirtation.  JC probably wouldn't
even care if I just told him I was drunk and kissed someone.  What worried
me more was that part of me knew that I liked Bobby.  Part of me wanted him
to stay.  Shit.


To be continued