Date: Tue, 02 Apr 2002 10:25:46 -0800
From: D S <denis141@hotmail.com>
Subject: ALONE/TOGETHER- Chapter 27 ~ AXIS MUNDI: A Beautiful Thing.

This chapter took a little longer (and got a little longer) than I expected.
  I hope it was worth the wait.  The story here is something that I've been
working up to, and I have to admit, in the writing of it, the whole thing
turned out slightly different than I expected.  But I had to follow my gut
on this.  Weirdly, I have no idea where it's heading from here, which is
unlike me.  But, there you have it.  Anyway, I hope you like it, and I hope
you can keep up, because I three in a lot more plot here. In fact, I took
about ten pages of plot OUT.  LOL!  Write to me and tell me what you think.
  I've (finally) been getting a lot of emails, and it really does inspire me
to keep pressing on.  Oh, and I think there's a website in my future, so
stay posted!  The email address is at denis141@hotmail.com.

DEDICATION: This chapter is dedicated to Joan, who correctly guessed that
the character of Aaron is based on someone I love very much.  And to Lee,
who never fails to amuse and delight with her emails to me, and who is now
officially a character in my story.

DISCLAIMER:  I don't know any member of NSYNC, and this story purely a work
of fiction.  This story also contains male-male sex (albeit mostly implied),
so, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read such
things, you should stop reading now.

CHAPTER 27:  AXIS MUNDI: A Beautiful Thing.

	"I still shiver with a kind of astonished delight when a gay brother or
sister tells of that narrow escape from the coffin world of the closet.
Yes, yes, yes, goes a voice in my head, it was just like that for me.  When
we laugh together and dance in the giddy circle of freedom, we are children
for real at last, because we have finally grown up."
		-- Paul Monette, Becoming a Man, at 2 (1992).

	"Do you like being a parent-you know, being a father, having children and
all?" Linnet once asked me. "Yes," I said, after a moment. "It's like
dancing with a partner. It takes a lot of effort to do it well. But when
it's done well it's a beautiful thing to see."
		-- Gerald Early

"A memory is a beautiful thing, it's almost a desire that you miss."
		-- Gustave Flaubert

Part One:

	It was one o'clock in the afternoon and the kitchen smelled faintly of the
sea, and of lemon and cilantro too.  The window above the sink was fogged
from the inside with a thin film of condensation that sparkled as the sun
shined through it.  JC scraped olive oil mayonnaise he'd just made from a
food processor into a large blue ceramic bowl full of steamed, freshly
peeled prawns.  Sitting the bowl of the food processor in the sink, JC
filled it with water and then reached up to wipe the window with a
dishtowel.  As a swath of nearly clear glass appeared from beneath the
dishtowel, JC was startled to see Lance staring in at him, grinning and
waving, as if he'd been standing there and waiting for the chance to do so.
Lance slid the window open and stuck his head through.

	"Hey there," JC said, leaning forward over the sink and giving Lance a
quick kiss.

	"How's it going," Lance asked, leaning his arm on the window sill and
looking at JC over the top of his sunglasses.  "Lunch almost ready?"

	"Almost," JC said.  "I just need to mix the mayonnaise in with the prawns
and add the celery and red peppers and stuff."

	"Yum," Lance said.  "I love your prawn salad."

	"I hope everyone else does too," JC said, returning to the mixing bowl and
adding in several small bowls of other ingredients.  "Not everyone's as easy
to please as you."

	"Me?" Lance said, feigning incredulousness. "Easy to please?  Never!"

	Plunging a wooden spoon into the bowl in front of him, and beginning to
stir its contents, JC glanced back over his shoulder and saw another face
suddenly appear in the window.  It was Eric Bana, Lance's co-star in
Foucault's Pendulum, which was set for release in two days. The two of them
had returned late the night before from a thirteen-day publicity junket, and
Lance had convinced Eric to stay for the Thanksgiving weekend.  Eric's wife,
Rebecca, and his ten-year old son, Klaus, were scheduled to arrive the
following day, Wednesday.

	Eric had wavy black hair, a strong square jaw, and deeply tanned skin.  He
had taken off his shirt, revealing a smoothly muscled chest and stomach
covered in soft fur-like hair that was the same color as his bushy brown
eyebrows.  His dark eyes were large and guileless and faintly watery.  He
reminded JC of the men he'd seen in Barcelona: romantic, but vaguely
dangerous-looking too.  JC smiled at Eric as he threw his right arm across
Lance's shoulder, hugging Lance and then play-punching him in the stomach.
Eric laughed as Lance flinched, obviously thinking the punch might be real -
or real enough to hurt. JC laughed as he watched the two of them, Eric and
Lance, and their amusingly improbable, but nonetheless genuine, friendship.
It reminded JC of how Joey and Lance had always acted around each other -
Joey all buffoonery and extroverted high-jinx, and Lance slightly in awe of
his rambunctious sense of fun.

	"Hey there Joshua," Eric shouted, shouldering Lance out of the way and
taking his place hanging over the window sill.  "I'm hoping you'll give
Becka some tips when she's here.  Her cooking's a fright!"

	"I'll be sure to mention that," JC said, as he spooned prawn salad onto
five green-glass plates. "I'm sure knowing that ought to motivate her to
improve."

	"Now don't go getting me in hot water with the missus," Eric said, lapsing
into a thick Melbournian accent. "Cause, if you do, I'll be having to tell
Lance about our nasty romp in the storage closet last night."

	"Hey," JC said, unable to keep from laughing.

	"What's that?" Lance said, jumping up and down behind Eric, because he'd
been unable to dislodge him from the window.  "A romp in a closet?"

	"Calm down, JC said, laughing harder now.  "I thought it was you the whole
time, Lance.  Really."

	"Oh - puh-leez," Eric moaned.  "That tiny-pricked thing?  There's no
mistaking me for Lance, that's for damn sure."

	"Shut up," JC said, shaking his head and wiping laughter-tears from his
eyes with the corner of a dishtowel.  "When do Rebecca and Klaus get here?"

	"Probably 'round three tomorrow," Eric said, sliding to one side to make
room for Lance, who then quickly crowded in.  "School's out at noon
tomorrow, and I'm tipping they'll drive down right after that - to beat the
traffic."

	"Well, that's good," JC said. "It'll be good to see her again."

	"Yeah," Lance said. "It's been since the premiere party, I think."

	"Eight months at least," Eric said.

	"Has it really been that long?" JC asked, putting the last plate onto the
tray.

	"Sure has," Eric said. "I mean we wrapped on this flick - what? - two years
ago."

	"Talk about post-production hell," Lance said, pushing off the sill and
stepping back from the window.

	"Oh, but Mr. Marty had to get it all perfect," Eric said, watching JC pick
the tray up and head for the door that lead out onto the deck.

	Eric stepped back away from the window and blinked several times as his
eyes readjusted to the direct sunlight.  It was uncharacteristically warm
for November - nearly eighty degrees - and there were no clouds at all.
Justin and Mel were sitting at the patio table, talking quietly to each
other, as if unaware that there was anyone else around.  Eric smiled as he
watched them. Following Lance to the table, Eric sat down next to Justin and
poked him in the ribs.

	"Hey!" Justin said, turning to glare at Eric and then cracking a smile.

	"So you two set a date yet?" Eric asked.

	"Yeah," JC said, leaning the now empty tray against the deck railing and
joining everyone else at the table.  "When's the wedding?"

	"This salad looks delicious," Mel said.  "Don't you think Justin?

	"It looks great," Justin said, nodding at JC.  "Really great."

	"Okay - next subject," Lance said, picking up his fork and taking a small
bite of his salad.  "How about those Padres?"

	Everyone laughed and started to eat. There was the prawn salad that JC had
made, as well chunks of bread freshly torn from a crisp sourdough baguette.
There were also tumblers of chilled sauvignon blanc, and tall glasses of ice
water with a slice of lemon peel in each one. A small bouquet of red
camellias sat in a vase at the middle of the table.

	"I made lemon meringue pie for dessert," JC said, looking up from his
plate.

	"From scratch?" Mel asked, after putting her knife and fork down and
dabbing her mouth with the cloth napkin that had been resting on her lap.

	"My mom taught him," Lance said.

	"No way," Justin said, laughing.  "Are you serious?"

	"She did," JC said.  "It was totally fun."

	"We'd gone to Mississippi to - you know - to let 'em know there wasn't
going to be any little Lances running around."

	"Oh - gawd," JC said, remembering it.  "And he was such a wreck."

	"It was awful," Lance said, cringing.

	"Not the telling them though," JC said. "But the freaking out about it
before hand. My Mom and Dad pretty had much known from the start."

	"Yeah," Justin said, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could interrupt.
"Most kids tell their parents they're gay.  With JC, his parents told him."

	"Not exactly," JC said, blushing.  "Anyway - we'd been there three or four
days and Lance still hadn't worked up the nerve to tell them, and so I was
finally like - 'Uh, Lance, can you just tell them so we can get on with our
vacation.'...We were on our way to Europe, or somewhere."

	"No - it was St. Thomas," Lance said.

	"Whatever it was," JC said.  "I wanted to get there, so I told him he had
one more day, otherwise he'd just have to tell them another time."

	"So what happened?" Eric asked.  "Did you finally tell them?"

	"Sort of," JC said, laughing.

	"Yeah, sort of," Lance said.  "I decided to take a long walk -you know, to
work up my nerve and practice in my head what I was going to say.  Well,
when I finally got back to the house, I come up onto the back porch - it's
right off the kitchen - and I look in through the screen door, and there's
JC and my Mom laughing like best girlfriends and JC with his arms up to his
elbows in a big bowl of pie crust."

	"I was a natural," JC said, laughing.

	"Oh lord," Lance said, shaking his head.  "But anyway - somehow I knew the
gig was up.  JC had that look on his face, the one he gets when he thinks
he's outfoxed me on something - which he never really does..."

	"That's what you say," JC said, smirking as he folded his napkin and put it
on his now empty plate. "The gig was up though, because we weren't ten
minutes into making the pies - I think we were sitting at the table peeling
apples, and I was telling her about something or other we'd done, like those
picnics we always used to go on when we were touring...you remember those?"

	"Yeah," Lance said, leaning his chair back on two legs and smiling at JC.

	"You mean - like an excuse to do it outdoors," Eric said, laughing.

	"Anyway," JC continued. "I was blabbing away, not really thinking much
about what I was saying - you know, just enjoying myself telling a story..."

	"And trying not to cut your finger off," Justin said, interrupting.

	"Yeah," JC said.  "And trying not to cut my finger off, since this whole
peel-the-apples-thing was news to me.  So, I'd finished like my second apple
to her ten when I looked up from what I was doing, still talking, and
Lance's mom was just sort of staring at me and smiling, and I was like
...What? What? ... thinking, maybe I have flour on my nose or something."

	"Which he probably did," Lance said, reaching his hand under the table and
twice squeezing JC's knee.

	"So what did she say?" Melanie asked.

	"She said, 'You love him, don't you?' And...I just sort of stared at her
for a minute, not knowing what to say except..."

	"Except the truth," Melanie said, taking Justin's hand in her own and
pulling it on to her lap.

	JC nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.  His eyes were round and
watery, and his hand shook gently as he reached for his wine glass and took
a small sip.  Everyone at the table smiled at him, waiting.

	"I...uh, I remember I said, or just kind of blurted out, 'I love him so, so
much' - almost like I was apologizing, even though that's not how I felt at
all, except that I was thinking that Lance was working his way toward the
house by then... you know, up the back driveway, to the kitchen porch, and I
didn't want her to be all mad at him when he finally got there."

	"By the time I got there," Lance said, picking up the story where JC had
left off.  "They were done with the apples, and JC was in the middle of
learning how to make pie crust.  And the kitchen was full of all this
laughing, like I'd never heard before.  But it was a beautiful thing, a
really beautiful thing - to see and hear - the two of them there, my Mom and
JC, hanging out together like two old friends."

	"So, did you talk to her?" Eric asked.  "Your Mom?"

	"Later on," Lance said.  "That night, I think."

	"What'd she say?" Justin asked.

	"She said that I shouldn't worry about her being mad, and she said she
understood why it'd been so hard for me to tell her."

	"She knew all along then?" Melanie said.  "That you were gay?"

	"No, not really," JC said.  "But she knew...."

	"That we were in love," Lance said.  "That I was in love with Josh, and he
loved with me."

	"I remember her telling me," JC said, closing his eyes as if to remember
better.  "Right before we left to go to the airport.  She pulled me to one
side, and she told me: 'Joshua, you can hide a lot of things - some you
should, and some you shouldn't - but you can't hide love, and you shouldn't
try.' I'll never forget her saying that."

	"That's beautiful," Melanie said, squeezing Justin's hand,

	"I bet your old man wasn't quite so hearts and lace about it," Eric said,
contorting his face into a fake-cringe and pointing at Lance.

	"Uh....no," Lance said, shaking his head from side to side.  "Let's just
say..."

	"Wait," JC said, interrupting.  "Is that the phone?"

	"Yes," Mel said, leaning her head back and listening because she was
closest to the door.  "Yes, I think it is."

	"Excuse me," JC said, standing up and running inside to answer the phone.

*	*	*	*	*
  	Aaron was out of the car and running toward the house before JC had a
chance to shut the engine off.  Sighing loudly, JC listened to the engine
idle for a moment more and then shut it off, opened his car door, and got
out.  Aaron was already in the house as JC reached the open front door. JC
stood staring at the threshold, as if unsure to enter, and he felt a vague
tension across his forehead and down the back of his neck, which he
interpreted as the beginning of a headache.  Stepping finally into the
house, and closing the door, JC looked up the stairs and heard a door slam.
Aaron was in his room now.

	"Fuck," JC said, kicking the bottom riser on the staircase.

	JC turned away from the stairs and headed out to where he knew everyone was
still sitting enjoying the sun and probably, by now, eating the pie he'd
made for dessert.  It had been over an hour since he'd left to pick up Aaron
at school, not knowing as he left why the principal had demanded that he do
so.  Of course, now he knew, and it was this knowledge that had put the grim
expression on JC's face.  Crossing the kitchen, JC stuck his head outside
and quickly caught Lance's attention.

	"Is everything all right?" Lance asked, pushing his chair back from the
table and standing up.  "Is Aaron okay?"

	"Come inside for a second," JC said.

	Lance followed JC back into the house and grabbed JC's right arm as soon as
he was inside and both of them were out of sight.

	"What's wrong?" Lance said, turning JC around and staring at him.

	"Aaron was in a fight at school," JC said, shaking his head as if he
couldn't quite believe the truth of the words he'd just uttered.  "He's been
suspended for two days."

	"You're kidding me," Lance said, his eyes wide and disbelieving.  "Is he
hurt?"

	"Not too bad - I don't think," JC said.  "He's got a bloody lip.  There's
pretty big cut over his eye.  And his shirt was pretty much half-torn off,
and...."

	"Come on," Lance said, taking JC's arm and pulling him forward.

      "He's really upset," JC said.

      "Did he say what it was about - the fight?"

      "No. He wouldn't say," JC said, quickening his pace to keep up with
Lance.  "Ms. Wu, the principal, said there were five other boys involved -
fourth and fifth graders, and Aaron was fighting three of them."

      "Three?" Lance said, stopping suddenly at the top of the stairs,
causing JC to run into him.  "Three?"

      "Yeah, three," JC said.  "And all older than him - fifth graders."

      "Well, that's fucked up," Lance said.  "For what we pay to send him to
that damn school, we shouldn't have to worry about Aaron getting his ass
kicked by a pack of idiot fifth graders."

      "Ms. Wu said she thought Aaron started it."

      "What?" Lance said, about to open the door to Aaron's room, but
pausing now.

      "You heard me," JC said.  "Ms. Wu said it looks like Aaron started it,
that he threw the first punch, and that two of the kids ended up with bad
bloody noses."

	Lance stared at JC, struggling not to smile or laugh.  JC had been looking
down as he gave Lance the news about the fight.  When he was through, he
noticed that Lance had not said anything yet, and so JC looked up and saw
that Lance had buried his face in his hands, and it appeared that he was
crying, because his shoulders were convulsing and he was slightly bent over.

	"Are you all right?" JC said, putting his hands on Lance's shoulders.
"Lance?"

	"Yeah, I'm fine," Lance said, straightening up and taking a deep breath as
he took his hands away from his face and then started laughing again."

	"Lance!" JC hissed, almost starting to laugh too.  "It's not funny."

	"I know," Lance said, blinking back the tears that had formed from
laughing.  "I know. It's serious. It's not funny. It's not."

	"No, it's not," JC said, laughing now.  "It's serious."

	"Okay, now - stop," Lance said taking a deep breath as he struggled to
compose himself. "We can do this.  This is serious. No fighting.  Fighting
is bad."

	"Shut up," JC said, almost starting to laugh again.

	"Well - it is.  Fighting is bad.  And we need to make sure that Aaron
understands that he can't just haul off and clobber someone every time he
has a disagreement."

	"Exactly," JC said, nodding.

	"You ready?" Lance asked.

	"Yeah - let's go."

	Lance leaned against the door to Aaron's room as he slowly turned the
doorknob.  The door opened slowly, grudgingly, the bottom of its brushing
heavily against the carpet and making a soft whooshing sound.  Aaron was
laying face down on his bed.  The room was silent, except for Lance's
slightly labored breathing, and the light that leaked through the
nearly-closed blinds made it seem like a day turned nearly to dusk.  JC
crossed the room first, followed closely by Lance, who sat down on the edge
of the bed, near its middle, just below where Aaron's shoulders laid.  Lance
placed his hand on the small of Aaron's back, and he gently rubbed it,
looking up at JC who stood at the end of the bed, his arms crossed tightly
across his chest, watching.

	"Hey - big guy," Lance said, speaking softly, reassuringly, but getting no
reply.

	"Aaron," JC said, sitting on the edge of the bed.  "Come on - talk to us."

	Aaron's head moved from side-to-side on the pillow, saying 'no' without
words.  Seeing this, Lance slid one arm beneath Aaron's waist, and the other
under his knees, and lifted him up off the bed, as if he was going to cradle
him. As he moved him, turning him slowly over, Aaron resisted at first,
arching his back as if to twist away, but then swiftly sitting up, and
wrapping his arms around Lance's neck, and burying his face there too, as he
started to cry - unstifled gasping cries that made JC gasp himself to hear
them, and to clutch at his face, as if in fear, and to mutter Oh my god as
the room filled with the sound of Aaron trying to tell them what happened,
to explain, to confess, to say, saying:

	I didn't mean to hurt him.  I didn't want to.  I didn't want to fight, or
to hurt him, or anyone.  I didn't want to. I didn't.  But they wouldn't
stop.  They wouldn't stop.  They kept picking on him.  Every day.  Calling
him names.  Saying he was a girl. Calling him girlie, girlie, girlie, and
making fun of his clothes because they're old, and some days he wears the
same stuff, and it isn't new stuff - it's like used stuff, like
hand-me-downs, but bought at Value Village, because he doesn't have any
other family, so it isn't a hand-me-down - because he only has a mom and she
works all the time and he's like on scholarship, and they call him names ALL
THE TIME, and they won't leave him alone.

	But he doesn't hurt anyone, and he's nice.  He won't sit with me at lunch
because he says I'll get in trouble with my friends, and they won't like me
anymore, and he says he sorry, but it's okay cuz he's used to it...that's
what he said, he said he was sorry, he said he was sorry TO ME, and that he
was USED TO IT, and it didn't MATTER...but that's not fair, to be used to
it.

	So I told 'em to stop, I told 'em to shut-up and stop calling him names, to
stop calling him girlie-girl, but they wouldn't, they wouldn't stop, and
then they pushed him down, and I asked them to stop, I ASKED THEM, but they
wouldn't, they wouldn't ...so, I told them, I TOLD them to stop, I did, but
they still WOULDN'T, and James was crying, and Jared was laughing at him,
and kicking James, so...I hit him, I hit him to make him stop, only once, I
didn't hit him twice, and he kicked James again - really hard this time, and
he laughed, and said he wouldn't stop, so I had to fight, I had to fight him
Daddy, I HAD TO...I had to make them stop.

	 I'm sorry, Daddy.  But I had to make them stop.

	JC had slid up the length of the bed to where Lance sat holding on to Aaron
as he sobbed the anguished words of his story into Lance's chest, his head
pounding against it as he cried.  Now JC was holding Aaron too - Lance and
Aaron both - and he was crying as the words ceased to spill from Aaron's
mouth, replaced by fatigued sobs.

	"Sweetie, it's okay," JC and Lance said in unison, rocking back and forth
as they said it. "It's okay.  Really.  It's okay."

	  *	*	*	*	*
	Aaron was barefoot as he walked out on to the deck, blinking against the
glare of the late morning sun.  He was wearing yellow surfer shorts that
hung just below the knee, and a white tank-top.  Not yet nine years old,
Aaron was already five feet tall and notably athletic looking.   At the
moment, however, he seemed neither athletic nor big for his age; he seemed
small and young, and he was looking for one of his dads.

	"Hey, mate," Eric said, looking up from the book he was reading, and
smiling at Aaron.  "How's the lip."

	"Sore," Aaron said, sourly.  "Have you seen my dad?"

	"They're up at the school for a bit," Eric said, standing up.  "But, you're
in luck, 'cause I've been officially authorized to make you whatever it is
you want for breakfast."

	"I'm not really hungry," Aaron said, frowning.

	"Sure you are," Eric said, not taking no for an answer, and putting his arm
around Aaron and guiding him back into the kitchen.  "How 'bout some banana
pancakes.  I love 'em myself, especially if you got some Nutella hidden
'round here some place."

	"Yeah - my dad likes that," Aaron said, pulling himself up onto one of the
stools that sat next to the long kitchen counter that separated the kitchen
area from the family room and the doorway leading to the deck.  "It's in
that cupboard over there."

	"Right-o," Eric said, finding the Nutella and setting it on the counter
with a thud.

	Aaron sat silently, watching Eric make the pancakes, and a big mess.
Licking his lip, Aaron could tell that his lower lip was quite swollen, and
he could feel the blood that still stuck to it despite his long shower. The
bandage that Dr. Mel had put on his forehead was still stuck on too, so he
had not had a chance yet to look at the cut there. His stomach growled, and
Aaron knew that he was hungry, even though he didn't feel like eating. This
didn't make much sense to him, but he knew it was true nonetheless.  It was
as if the act of eating seemed like too much to bother with, and not worth
the effort.

	"Here you go mate," Eric said, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of him.
  "Just what the doctor ordered."

	"Thank you," Aaron said, picking up his fork and poking at the pancakes
almost as if he expected them to move if he poked them hard enough.

	"What's wrong?" Eric asked.  "Not to your liking?"

	"No-they look good," Aaron said. "I just...uh, I just need some powdered
sugar.  That's how I like them."

	"All right then," Eric said, turning and opening the cupboard in which he'd
found the Nutella.  "Let's see here..."

	"It's down there," Aaron said pointing at a large drawer near the floor,
and to the right of the stove.  "In that drawer."

	Before he could retrieve the powdered sugar, Eric heard the front door open
and close.  Aaron heard it too, and he looked up from staring at his
pancakes and saw his dad Lance walk in followed by JC who seemed to be in a
half-run trying to keep up.

	"Hey dad," Aaron said, putting his fork down.

	"Hey, Aaron," Lance said, tossing his car-keys onto the counter, and then
leaning against it.  "How you doing?"

	"I'm okay," Aaron said.

	"Good," Lance said, glancing at JC and smiling.

	"So, I guess you were at the school, huh?"

	"Yeah," JC said.  "We just got back.  You can start back on Monday."

	"But you're on probation," Lance said.  "So no more fights, okay?"

	"Dad - it wasn't my..."

	"Aaron," Lance said, cutting him off, while at the same time nodding at
Eric.

	"If you'll all excuse me," Eric said, picking up his plate of pancakes.  "I
think I'll be enjoying myself some pancakes in the sun."

	"Aaron," Lance said, watching Eric go out onto the deck and then continuing
with what he had to say.  "We're past that now, okay?  It's not about who
really started the fight, or whose fault it was - not anymore.  We need to
focus on what you're going to do from now on, okay?"

	"Okay," Aaron said, still staring at the pancakes.

	"And what we're going to do from now on," JC said, picking up where Lance
had left off.  "Is for you to tell us if those little monsters you beat up
try to pick another fight with you, or start making fun of James again.  But
no more fighting, because your dad and I will take care of that - okay?"

	"Okay," Aaron said, trying not to smile too obviously.

	"We met with Mrs. Wu this morning," Lance said.  "For over an hour.  And
the parents of those other boys were there too.  And I told them - Josh and
I did, together - that, as far as we were concerned you did a good thing
sticking up for James like you did, and that we were proud of you."

	"You said that?" Aaron said, looking up, his eyes round and full of
surprise.

	"Yes - we did," JC said, smiling.

	"We also said that we were grounding you for two weeks," Lance said. "And
that you wouldn't be able to play video games for ..."

	"What?" Aaron said, jumping off the kitchen stool and slapping his hands
against his thighs, his mouth agape.

	"For the rest of the month," Lance said, continuing.

	"All right," Aaron said, smiling sheepishly.  "I guess that's fair."

	"We talked to James' mom too," JC said.

	"You did?" Aaron said, looking at JC and then Lance.

	"We invited her and James for Thanksgiving dinner," Lance said.

	"That was nice," Aaron said.

	"So why don't you call him and make sure he wants to come," JC said,
handing Aaron a piece of paper that had a phone number written on it.  "I'm
sure he'd appreciate being invited by you personally."

	"Okay," Aaron said, taking the number from JC.  "I can do that."

	"Great," JC said.

	Aaron walked past Lance and JC on his way to the upstairs telephone but
stopped and turned back around.  He noisily cleared his throat and then
watched as each of them turned to look at him.

	"Thank you for sticking up for me," Aaron said, looking down at his feet
and then up again, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

	"You're welcome," JC and Lance said, nearly in unison.

Part Two:

	"What do you think?" James asked, turning his back to the mirror and
looking to see how low the bottom of black tuxedo jacket hung on him.

	"It fits fine across the shoulders," JC said, his arms crossed.  "And the
pants aren't too long.  How's the waist?"

	"A little tight," James said, opening the front of the coat and sliding
both thumbs inside the waistband and tugging on it.

	"That's easy to fix," JC said.  "And maybe we can have them shorten the
sleeves a little too when we drop it off at the drycleaners."

	"This is really nice of you to let me wear this," James said, blushing as
he turned and smiled at JC, his head lowered slightly so that he was
glancing up at him.

	"No - James, you can have it," JC said.  "I'm giving it to you."

	"No way," James said, his pink cheeks now suddenly red.  "This thing must
have cost a fortune. And didn't you where this when Lance won his second
Academy Award?"

	 "That's the one," JC said. "But - really James, don't worry about it.
Number one, it didn't cost me a thing.  And number two, it's not like I'll
ever wear it again."

	"But..."

	"No buts," JC said, stepping forward and putting his hand on James'
shoulder.  "I want you to have it, and that's all there is to it."

	"I don't know what to say," James said, stammering a little.  "Except thank
you."

	"That's all you have to say," JC said.  "Now, go ahead and get changed, and
bring the tux downstairs and I'll drop it off at the cleaners on my way to
the Red Fox Inn."

	"Okay," James said, as he watched JC leave Aaron's room, which is where he
had tried on the tuxedo.  "I'll be right down."

	James turned back to the full-length mirror and looked at his reflection
there.  The mirror was attached with four screws, one on each corner, to
inside of the closet door.  The tuxedo fit well, despite the need for a few
alterations.  He had never tried on a tuxedo before, or any suit so finely
made.  Looking up, James smiled at himself in the mirror, but the smile felt
forced and it quickly dissolved into a frown, and he closed his eyes to
avoid seeing it.  The Junior Prom was in two weeks, and he dreaded it.

*	*	*	*	*
	"Hey."

	"Aaron - it's me."

	"James."

	"What's going on?"

	"Nada," Aaron said.  "Waiting for the dads to get home."

	"They traveling?"

	"No," Aaron said.  "Mundane.  Parent-teacher  open-house.  Isn't your Ma
there?"

	"Yesterday."

	"Aaahh," Aaron said, leaning up off the bed and flipping his pillow over to
the cooler side and laying his head back down again.  "Juniors before
sophomore."

	"Uh-HUH," James said.

	"You suck," Aaron said.

	"You wish," James said.

	"No - you wish," Aaron said, laughing.

	"So, anyway - did Lee ask you yet?"

	"Yeah, this morning," Aaron said.  "In chem-lab."

	"You say yes?" James asked.

	"Totally."

	"She's pretty cool."

	"You mean - for a girl?"

	"Whatever - you know what I mean."

	"Yeah, just tugging on you," Aaron said.  "So how about you?  You ask
anyone yet?  You're the junior - tis be your prom."

	"Brian Sprackly's been laying down some serious hints," James said.

	"That dude in yearbook with you? The one with the hair?"

	"That's the one," James said.

	"I'm not one to judge," Aaron said, laughing.  "But I don't think I could
get past that whole 'Flock of Seagulls' thing he's got going on."

	"Tell me," James said.

	"How about Stephen Fortney," Aaron said.  "That dude on my lacrosse team
you're are always going slobber-face about."

	"You think he's gay?" James said, his voice perking up.

	"Might be," Aaron said.  "I mean, he's always checking me out.  And,
anyway, didn't he sign-up for that gay-straight alliance thing at school?"

	"I think," James said.  "But he never comes to any of the meetings."

	"So why not give him your digits," Aaron said.  "Or you want me to?"

	"No - that's lame," James said.  "Don't be fixing me up."

	"Well, you going to do it then?"

	"I don't have any classes with him."

	"Lee does," Aaron said.

	"Yeah?"

	"Yeah," Aaron said.  "And I'm sure she'd be down for taking the temp and
seeing what's up with him.  It don't hurt to try."

	"True," James said.

	"So - yea or nay?"

	"Yea."

	"Yea it is then," Aaron said, smiling.

*	*	*	*	*
	Aaron stood next to his date for the prom, Lee, blinking from the three
rapid-fire camera flashes that had just exploded in his face.  JC was armed
with a digital flash camera, while Lance had the video camera, and both were
circling like paparazzi.  James was sitting on the couch, on the edge of
this commotion, smiling bemusedly at the extent of Aaron's patience.  Lee,
however, looked as if she was in shock.

	"Okay - enough already," Aaron said, waving his hand in front of his face
as if he was swatting away flies.  "I'm going blind here."

	Oh - come on," JC said, his voice playfully sarcastic.  "Between your Dad
and me, I bet we've had a couple million flashbulbs go off in our faces."

	"Yeah," Lance chimed in.  "So two dozen or so isn't going to kill you."

	"All right," Aaron said, smiling weakling, and knowing that there was no
point in arguing.  "But how about a little break, already?"

	"I suppose," Lance said, setting the video camera on the table next to the
couch. "Besides, we'll be able to get more later, at the Red Fox Inn, after
the dance."

	"Is your mom there already?" JC asked, turning to James.

	"Yeah," James said, standing up and straightening the front of his tuxedo
pants.  "She said it was going to be a busy night, and she wanted to make
sure everything would be set up in time for the buffet after the dance."

	"Dad, that was super nice of you to put that on for us," Aaron said,
looking at JC.  "Everyone's really hyped about it."

	"Yeah - it's the after-party everyone wanted to go to," Lee said.

	"But can't," James said, laughing.

	"Don't let the power go to your head," Lance said, smiling at James and
punching him in the shoulder.

	"Are Justin and Mel stopping by?" JC asked.

	"I don't think so," Aaron said. "The twins have a thing at school tonight,
and I think Uncle J said Bronwyn's nanny could only stay for that."

	"Ahh," Lance said.  "Josh, aren't you glad we never had three?"

	"Yeah - raising the two of you was plenty."

	"So - James," Aaron said, rolling his eyes at JC's last remark. "Is Steve
meeting you here, or are we picking him up on the way?"

	"He said he'd meet me at the dance," James said.

	"That's weird," Lee said.

	"He has been acting kind of sketchy lately," Aaron said, sounding
concerned.  "I mean, ever since he said he'd go.  I'm not sure why though."

	"I don't think he's exactly out to his parents or anything," Lee said. "Is
he?"

	"I don't know," James said, shrugging.  "The couple of times I tried
talking to him about it at school, he was like climbing the walls shooshing
me, saying not to talk so loud because people will hear."

	"Well - I'm sure it'll all work out," JC said, crossing the room to stand
next to James and putting his arm across his shoulders.

	"Yeah," Aaron added.  "You can ride with us.  It'll be fun - won't it Lee?"

	"For sure," she said.  "For sure."

*	*	*	*	*

	Lance and JC stood together near the main door to the ballroom.  They had
agreed to act as chaperones, and had spent most of the night watching the
students - not just with a parental sense of supervisory responsibility, but
also with a kind of horrified curiosity.  Neither Lance nor JC had attended
high school - at least in not any ordinary sense - and watching the complex
social interactions, many of which appeared cruelly territorial, was
shocking to them, and at times intimidating.

	At one point, early on in the evening, Lance had leaned over to JC and
whispered, "And I thought Hollywood was vicious."  Still, it was with a
great pride that they allowed themselves the occasional glance in the
direction of Aaron, who seemed to have mastered the rules of the game while
not being too much a part of it either.  From where they stood, now that it
was late, Lance and JC surveyed the ballroom, but mostly they watched Aaron
and his friend, Lee, on one side of the room, and James alone on the other
side.

	James was staring out the window at the far end of the ballroom.  It was a
clear night, and from where he stood he could see all the way across San
Diego bay.  A filigree of lights that he knew was the Hotel del Coronado
glowed there, and he stared at it so intently the lights blurred together
into a single indistinguishable glowing, as if it was on fire. The Prom was
drawing to a close. A dozen couples had already departed for one of the
several after-parties he had not been invited to, but would not have wanted
to attend anyway.  He'd go back to the Red Fox for the buffet JC and Lance
had planned for all of Aaron's friends. Or maybe he'd just go home.  He had
the money for cab-fare, and it wasn't a long ride home, even though he knew
it would feel that way.

	Aaron stood watching James, while at the same time holding Lee's hand.
They had been friends for over a year, and she had asked him to the Junior
Prom even though he was still a sophomore.   Lee was funny, and outspoken,
and Aaron liked the way that she didn't allow people to interrupt her - not
when she was saying something that she thought was important; but then, when
she had said what she wanted to say, she was just as good at listening too.
She seemed strong to him, strong in the way his dad Josh was strong, in a
way that was not obvious at first, and he liked that about her.

	Looking once more at James, and frowning, Aaron leaned over and whispered
in Lee's ear.  She nodded as she listened to what he was saying and then
turned to face him and smiled.  She nodded again and stood on her tip-toes
and kissed him on the cheek.

	"Are you sure?" Aaron said, blushing.

	"Go," Lee said, smiling up at Aaron.  "Go!"

	Aaron made his way around the perimeter of the room, knowing that the last
song was about to start - the slow song. He could still see James standing
alone at the far end of the room, his hand pressed now to the glass as if he
was trying to push the window open and so escape.  Quickening his pace
slightly, Aaron walked up to James and grasped his shoulder and gently
turned him around.

	"So - will you dance with me?" Aaron, said, smiling at his friend.

	"Shut up!" James said, shrugging Aaron's hand off his shoulder and then
turning back to the window.

	"I'm serious," Aaron said, speaking softly while once more taking hold of
James' shoulder, but this time not turning him around.

	"Why?" James said, spinning around, his face obviously flushed.  "Because
I'm a pathetic loser and you feel sorry for me because I got stood up."

	"No," Aaron said.  "Because you're my best friend, and I can dance with my
best friend if I want to - I mean, if he'll let me."

	"But...but," James said, his voice a nearly indecipherable stutter.  "What
about Lee?  Won't she be..."

	"Pissed?" Aaron said.  "Nope.  I asked her, and she said it was all cool."

	"But..."

	"Come on," Aaron said, extending his hand.

	James took Aaron's hand and followed him out onto the dance floor.  When
they arrived near the center of the dance floor, Aaron turned around and
pulled James towards him, his arms open.  James stared at Aaron for a
moment, not sure what to do.  Finally, he walked toward him and let Aaron
wrap his arms around his shoulders.  He was ten inches shorter than Aaron,
and his head rested naturally on his shoulder.  As the music started, James
felt himself pulled forward - lead by Aaron - into a dance, a gentle
back-and-forth that settled into the song's simple tempo.  James shuffled
his feet to keep up, but it wasn't difficult, and soon he realized that he
didn't have to think about it; he was just dancing, and it felt good to him,
and so he relaxed.

	"So this isn't so bad, huh?" Aaron asked, speaking softly.

	"No - I guess not, not for me at least," James said.

	"Me either," Aaron said.

	"People will think you're gay," James said, his voice tentative and
apologetic.

	"So," Aaron said, matter-of-factly.  "People will think you're gay too."

	"People already think I'm gay," James said.  "No one thinks you're gay."

	"I don't care what people think," Aaron said. "I am what I am.  What people
think doesn't change that."

	"But you aren't gay," James said.  "Are you?"

	"James - shut up," Aaron said, laughing gently.  "You over-think things."

	"Maybe you under think them," James said.

	"That's possible," Aaron said, shrugging.  "But I try to trust my feelings
too.  And I try to do what's right, you know?"

	"I do know that," James said.  "How could I not?"

	"You should try it some time," Aaron said.  "Trusting your feelings."

	"You mean like agreeing to dance with your best friend?"

	"Yeah - like that."

	James closed his eyes as he felt Aaron's hold on him tighten unmistakably
into a hug.  It was strange how silly and sad and happy he felt - all at the
same time.  It had not occurred to James, not to the extent that it occurred
to him now, how much he relied on Aaron, not in any sort of dependent or
less than self-sufficient way, but relied on him to nearly always be the
person he'd grown to know over the last ten years.  James could not recall
one time that Aaron had ever let him down, ever promised to do something and
not at least tried to do it.  Aaron hated to disappoint, and he hated to
give in. James had never known anyone as stubborn as him, or anyone less
willing to admit defeat.  It was painful to watch him compete sometimes, and
even more painful to watch him lose.  Still, it was this strength of heart,
this courage, which is of the heart, which defined Aaron for him. And it was
this that James was thinking as he danced with his best friend, and was more
than grateful for it, and happy too.

	*	*	*	*	*

	James sat in the corner booth nearest the piano, the booth where Lance and
JC had spent more nights than they could now easily recall.  The after-prom
party had been going on for nearly an hour, and it was now ten minutes past
midnight.  JC had played a short set on the piano, singing two songs, and
Aaron was playing now - an old Aimee Mann song called "Wise Up".   Lee was
sitting next to James, watching Aaron play, and wishing he would sing
because she knew he had a beautiful voice. A plate piled high with scrambled
eggs and ham, hash browns, bacon, and a slice of watermelon sat in front of
James, most of it now cold.  Tired of smelling it, he pushed the plate away,
pushing it so hard that it nearly slid off the edge of the table, but he
reached out and caught it in time.

	"I think I'm going to go," James said to Lee, standing up.

	"How'll you get home?" Lee said, glancing at Aaron to see if he'd noticed
that James was getting ready to leave.

	"We don't live too far from here," James said, buttoning his jacket. "I can
walk."

	"But it's like three miles," Lee said.

	"I've walked it before," James said.  "I'll be fine."

	"Hey - what's up?" Aaron said, standing up after bringing the song he was
playing to a quick close. "Are you leaving?"

	"Yeah," James said.  "I'm tired and I...."

	James stopped speaking mid-sentence and his mouth slowly opened as he
stared across the room.  Aaron and Lee turned to see what James was staring
at and saw Stephen Fortney standing in the doorway, his overcoat stuffed
under his arm.  Stephen's auburn hair was dark and tousled, and fell across
his broad forehead in curly bangs. His nose was peppered with dark-tan
freckles, and his chin had a deep dimple in it.  He was nearly as tall as
Aaron, and broader in the chest and shoulders.  As the light from inside the
Inn hit him, it made his starched white shirt seem to glow, as if it was
somehow reflective.  His red tie was loosened at the throat and his top
shirt-button was undone.  Taking a one step forward, Stephen winced, as if
he had a sprained ankle, and he shrugged as he made eye contact with James.

	"I'm going to kick that guy's ass," Aaron muttered, grabbing James by the
arm.

	"Aaron," James said, softly, but insistently too.  "It's all right.  I can
do this."

	Aaron watched as James moved from behind him and walked slowly to where
Stephen stood nervously waiting.  When James reached him, he stood in front
of Stephen, his shoulders moving up and down as he spoke to him.  Aaron
could not hear what James was saying, and he did not try to imagine what it
might be - whether it would be words of anger, or disappointment, of fear,
or maybe even of gratitude.  James was still a mystery to him in that way,
in that way in which James' heart and mind seemed to operate at such
cross-purposes sometimes, like two people running in a three-legged race,
but as competitors rather than as a team, not understanding that they needed
to work together to win.  But after what seemed like a long time, even
though it was maybe five minutes at most, James walked back over to where
Aaron was standing, and watching.

	"Stephen's going to give me a ride home," James said, smiling faintly.  "He
has a car, so...uh, he said he'd give me a ride."

	"Are you sure?" Aaron asked.

	"I'm sure," James said.  "Don't worry."

	"Okay," Aaron said, not knowing what else to say.

	"Thanks for everything tonight," James said.  "Everything."

	Aaron nodded, but said nothing as he watched James turn to leave.  To
Aaron, his friend seemed suddenly older somehow, and maybe braver too.  It
was not something that he clearly understood - these feelings he felt.  Was
it pride, protectiveness, jealousy, joy, or what?  As Aaron watched Stephen
hold the door open for James, he realized that he was near tears, but he did
not know why.  Excusing himself, Aaron walked quickly into the bathroom, and
then into a stall, and he sat down on the toilet, the cover closed so that
it was like a chair.  Resting his chin in his hands, Aaron smiled as tears
filled his eyes and a few traced there way down across his tanned and
handsome face.