Date: Sun, 15 Sep 2002 16:25:17 -0700 From: D S <denis141@hotmail.com> Subject: ALONE/TOGETHER, Chapter 37: FAR, AND AWAY: A Welcome Home. Finally, chapter 37 has arrived. This one took some time not only because it's a bit on the long side, as the chapters have been lately, but also because a lot of what happens will have an impact later on, so I wanted to get it right. I also tried out something new in this chapter, something I've not really done before. Several of the scenes are conversations in "real" time. That is, rather than dropping into the middle of a scene, as I usually, this time I wrote entire conversations, beginning to end. It was really hard, and I'm not sure it worked, but I wanted to try. This is another reason why this chapter is so long (and why it took so long to write.) This is the last Australia chapter, but not the last to involve the Star Wars film and various of the actors in it. For those that are wondering, we will be back to the "mailbox" scene in two or three more chapters. I hope you like this chapter. I put a lot into it and really stressed out over it, deciding which way to play certain aspects of it and the plot, and trying really hard to get it right. I hope you think that I did. And, if you'd like to let me know how you think I did, or offer other feedback, I would really appreciate hearing from you. (I always write back.) The email is denis141@hotmail.com. DEDICATION: This chapter is for my faithful online friend Zack with the hope that this chapter, perhaps more than others, is meaningful to him; and for my new friend, Eimear, who tells me that I got Colin's Dublin accent right, and that made me pretty happy. Thanks Em! DISCLAIMER: I don't know NSYNC, and this story is purely a work of fiction. This story also contains male/male loving (and occasionally some smut). Thus, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read this, you should stop reading now. Sorry. ALONE/TOGETHER CHAPTER 37: FAR, AND AWAY: Part Six: A Welcome Home. TODAY I have been happy. All the day I held the memory of you, and wove Its laughter with the dancing light o' the spray, And sowed the sky with tiny clouds of love, And sent you following the white waves of sea, And crowned your head with fancies, nothing worth, Stray buds from that old dust of misery, Being glad with a new foolish quiet mirth. So lightly I played with those dark memories, Just as a child, beneath the summer skies, Plays hour by hour with a strange shining stone, For which (he knows not) towns were fire of old, And love has been betrayed, and murder done, And great kings turned to a little bitter mould. ~ One Day, Rupert Brooke, Collected Poems (1916). "But then my mind was struck by light that flashed and, with this light, received what it had asked. Here force failed my high fantasy; but my desire and will were moved already--like a wheel revolving uniformly--by the Love that moves the sun and the other stars." ~ Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Canto XXXIII, "Paradiso" "Childhood is the world of miracle and wonder; as if creation rose, bathed in the light, out of the darkness, utterly new and fresh and astonishing. The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us." ~Eugene Ionesco Aaron stared straight ahead as the car slowly climbed up the long drive toward the house. JC tried hard not to glance too often at him, but it was impossible to hide all of his concern. Lance had asked JC to take Aaron home as soon as they were done shooting the last scene, saying that he would pack their things and Colin would drive him back to the house. It had been a closed set for over five weeks so JC had waited in front of Aaron's trailer, waiting for this last day of shooting to finally be done. Now as the car pulled up to the house, JC could not rid his mind of the image of Aaron walking towards him, his light saber clutched to his chest, tears streaming down his face, his eyes puffy and red, his lips quivering as he tried not to cry. Then when he had seen JC standing there, waiting for him, Aaron had run towards him, his arms outstretched, as if he feared he was about to fall, crying hard, his voice choked by confused and anguish fear. JC had, at that moment, never felt so panicked and afraid, so unprepared, and so unable to think of what to do or say, or how to act. He had not said anything at first. He had just held him, held Aaron and smoothed his hair, and kissed his neck, and rocked him back and forth in his arms. Then he had cupped Aaron's face tightly in his two hands and looked at him through tear-filled eyes, looked at him and said, "Everything will be okay." Aaron had shook his head, slowly up and down, unable to speak. He had seen the tears in JC's eyes and seen how they'd seemed to plead with him to believe in the truth of what he was saying, that everything would be okay. Aaron had believed him, grateful for the reassurance, and grateful too for the fact that JC had been there, just like he'd hoped he would be, his Dad waiting for him, ready to wrap his arms around him, and embrace him, making everything in the world but the embrace fade away, the warmth of it, and the truth of it. In the car, now stopped in front of the house, the engine silent, Aaron looked up at JC, meeting his gentle insistent gaze, and he smiled. "Today was hard," Aaron said. "Really hard." "It's over now." "For now I guess," Aaron said, shrugging. "It was just a story," JC said, squeezing Aaron's knee and leaving his hand there, resting on it. "Make-believe, a movie." "No Dad," Aaron said. "It was more than that. But I know what you mean, and it's okay. I understand." "All right," JC said, perplexed by what Aaron had just said, but not wanting to press the issue either. "Let's go inside then. You should eat." "Okay," Aaron said. "But I want you to eat too." "I was going to wait for Lance," JC said. "But I'll have something with you too." "Good," Aaron said, smiling as he got out of the car and followed JC to the house, his always overstuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Aaron dropped his duffel bag on the floor just inside the house, right next to the door, and then kicked off his Puma trainers, which were already unlaced. He had changed from his costume before coming home, and washed his make-up off. He was wearing a favorite pair of jeans, which had once been baggy, and were now verging on tight, and a baggy gray t-shirt that had EX-SHARPIE printed across the chest in black letters. Sprinting to catch up with JC, Aaron popped into the kitchen and sat on one of the stools there next to the counter. JC tossed his keys into a bowl on the kitchen table, which is where he always put them. Turning around, JC pulled opened the door to the refrigerator, and peered inside, his face illuminated by the light shining out of it. Glancing back over his shoulder, JC smiled at Aaron, who now had his elbows on the countertop and his chin in his hands. He looked tired. "How about grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup?" JC asked. "That's my favorite," Aaron said, smiling at JC. "Gee, what a lucky guess, huh?" JC said, laughing as he turned and looked back into the refrigerator and then busied himself with pulling out the things he needed. "No, it's because you're so nice." "Well thank you very much," JC said, turning around with a block of cheese held in each hand. "Swiss or cheddar?" "Can I have both?" "Both it is," JC said, setting the cheese on the counter next to the stove. "And tomatos." "And no mustard, only mayo I know." Opening a cupboard door, JC pulled out a cutting board and a frying pan. He put the cutting board on the counter, the frying pan on the stove, and pulled a knife out of a nearby drawer. The jars of tomato soup were stored in the cabinet above the stove and JC reached up and got one and then twisted the lid off and poured the contents of the jar into a small sauce pan. Adding several glugs of milk into the pan, JC used a wooden spoon to stir the soup, moving his hand back and forth, and then slowly in a circle. Aaron watched the gas-flame underneath the pan sparkle and flash; it was brilliant blue, nearly the color of JC's eyes. JC tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pan, set the spoon on the counter, and started to unwrap the cheese for slicing. Aaron had seen JC do these things hundreds of times before, not just making him tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, but making him waffles in the morning from scratch, not the frozen kind he had when he stayed at James' house. One of his first clear memories of JC was him making him tomato soup, pouring it into a mug for him, and blowing on it until it was not too hot. He had been maybe four years old, and he had not been with Lance and JC long. But he remembered that he had already thought of that house in San Diego as his home, and these two men as his parents. And he remembered drinking the soup in small sips, holding the mug between his small hands, and JC sitting across the table from him, smiling, just smiling and watching him drink his soup. Aaron did not know why it made JC happy to cook for him, but he knew that he would be sad if for some reason he couldn't do it anymore. Aaron had been thinking a lot about the meaning of things lately, about how the meaning of things was measured not just by how happy they made you feel, but by how sad their loss would make you feel. He had never before thought of things in terms of their loss. He had always assumed that the things he had come to depend on, especially the people, Lance and JC, that they would always be there for him. But that assumption had been impossible to maintain in the face of him having to imagine himself in situations in which Lance, or Lance's character, was killed. Now that it was over, and he had somehow managed to find his way to the end, to Aaron was disappointed that he did not feel better about it, that he did not feel a greater sense of accomplishment. Instead, he felt disoriented, and unsure of what it was exactly that he'd just been through, what did it mean, and how did it happen, like you would if you were hit from behind, unexpectedly, leaving you thinking, wow, what just happened? It bothered him that he only half-understood the things he was feeling, and this was what he was struggling with as he sat there watching JC make him dinner. "Have you ever worried Dad would die," Aaron said. "That something real bad might happen to him someday." "Aaron," JC said, without turning around, his back stiffening, and the muscles in his neck visibly tightening . "What sort of question is that?" "I just wanted to know if it was something you worried about. That's all." "No, it's not," JC said, turning slowly around, one hand on his hip, the other one holding the knife he'd been using to slice the cheese. "It's not. And Aaron, I don't think you should either. It will make you sad, and I don't want you to be sad, or afraid." "But I want to talk about it," Aaron said. "Sweetie," JC said, frowning as he turned around. "No." "It's not like I don't know about dying," Aaron said, staring at JC. "I know how bad things happen, and that people can die all of a sudden." "I know you do," JC said, the edge in his voice disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "I know." "Why don't you want to talk about it then? Does it scare you?" "No, it doesn't scare me," JC said. "I don't let it scare me. Your Dad and me are going to both be around for a long, long time. So you shouldn't let it scare you either." "But how do you know?" Aaron said. "You can't know that. No one can. I mean, it's not like Dad couldn't be driving home and get in a car accident or something and..." "Aaron," JC said, shouting, his face flushed red, his right hand slapping the top of the counter. "Stop it. Just stop it." Aaron slid off the stool and stood there staring at JC, his mouth open in shock. He said nothing. He just stood there, staring. The fear and the frustration on JC's face was so obvious that it hurt Aaron to see it, and to know that he had caused it. He hadn't meant to upset him like this. More than anything else, Aaron had brought up the subject of Lance dying, not to be upsetting or morbid, but because he had felt the need to acknowledge out loud the possibility of it, and to not deny it, like JC had just done. "It scares me too," Aaron said, speaking softly. "But it's okay to be scared Dad." JC walked over to where Aaron was standing and he took his hands into his own. He gripped them tightly, pressing them together. He pressed so hard it almost hurt but Aaron did not mind or wince or try to pull away. Smiling weakly, JC kissed Aaron's cheek and wrapped his arms around him, whispering in his ear. "I'm sorry sweetie. I'm sorry for yelling." "I didn't mean to make you mad." "You didn't sweetie," JC said, kissing Aaron's cheek again. "You didn't. I just don't like to talk about things like this, horrible and sad things. Maybe that means I'm weak, or dumb, or a big coward. I don't know. But it's the way I am Aaron. I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry Dad," Aaron said, smiling at JC. "And I don't think you're a coward just because you don't want to talk about something that makes you sad." "Is this something you really want to talk about?" JC asked. "Because if it is, we can talk about it. I don't mind." "At first I didn't want to talk about it," Aaron said. "I didn't even want to think about it. But then I couldn't stop thinking about it." "My god, sweetie," JC said, pulling Aaron closer to him. "I'm sorry." "No, it's okay," Aaron said, laying his head on JC's shoulder. "I mean, it's in the movie Dad's character might get killed, that's one way it might turn out. But I have to make this decision first, my character does, to choose what to do, to try to save him, or to stop some other bad stuff that's about to happen. It was so hard, and I didn't know how to do it, you know, to do the scene, because I couldn't imagine being in a situation like that. With all my other scenes, I could imagine it, but not this one. It was too hard." "It's just a movie," JC said, knowing he'd said this before, but saying it this time more for his own benefit, as for Aaron's. "I don't want you to be confused by that." "I know," Aaron said. "I'm not confused." "That's good," JC said. "Real life isn't like that." "No," Aaron said. "It is like that sometimes. Maybe not with light sabers and space ships and Jedi powers. But there's lots of hard stuff to decide, and bad things that can happen if you choose wrong. I never really thought about that before, because you and Dad always make such good choices for me. It won't always be that way though." "No it won't," JC said, his voice suddenly so sad-sounding that it hurt Aaron to hear it. "And I'll be honest with you. I'm not afraid of you or Dad dying, of losing one of you that way. Like I said, it's not something I think about because, you're right, I can't know whether or how something like that might happen. But there is something I know will happen, something that I think a lot about, and that makes me sad. I know that you'll be all grown up someday, and in not too many years you won't need me as much, not that that's a bad thing, because that's what parents do, they raise their children to no longer need them anymore, to be self-sufficient, to be on their own. And well, that's just going to be a really sad day for me, the day that you move out of our house, and..." "Dad please don't cry. Don't. Please." "I'm sorry," JC said, wiping his eyes. "I didn't..." "No, it's okay," Aaron said. "But you will always be my Dad and I'll always be your son. No matter what happens, that won't change. And so that was the thing I figured out when I had to do that scene, that I had to focus on the things that don't change, that don't go away. And that gave me the courage to the do the right thing." "You never stop surprising me, you know that?" "I do now," Aaron said, laughing and hugging JC tighter, happy that he was not crying anymore. "Because you just told me." "I suppose you have me there," JC said. "The other thing, with that one scene, which helped a lot, was Ang telling me that he didn't know if this was how the movie would end. He told me he wasn't shooting all the different scenes just to keep the ending a secret, he really didn't know." "I think can understand where Ang's coming from there," JC said, stepping back and leaning on the counter as he continued talking to Aaron. "Because when you start off to make something, to tell a story, or for me, writing a song, I never know how it'll turn out, not until I'm done with it, or give up on it and leave it undone." "You have songs you never finished?" "Hundreds." "That seems kind of sad." "Why?" "I don't know," Aaron said. "It just does." "That's funny," JC said, a vaguely surprised look on his face. "I mean, maybe I just never thought about it that way, but for me it has always been finishing a song that makes me sad." "Even if it's a really good song, like one you're proud of?" "Especially then," JC said. "Which is one reason I don't like to listen to a song once it's recorded. I hear it and there are always like fifty things I want to change, but I can't, because it's finished, and it's done. I love to write songs, I love to sing, I love the process of recording, but once a song is recorded, it like it's no longer alive anymore." "For other people maybe it is," Aaron said. "Like when they hear it, and it means something to them, and makes them feel a certain way. It's alive then." "Maybe you're right," JC said, shrugging his shoulder as a wistful smile appeared on his face. "At least I hope you are." "I think I am," Aaron said, smiling. "Like that song you and Dad sang together for the new record,." "Which song?" JC said, surprised. "Your duet," Aaron said. "I really love it. James too." "Wait a second," JC said, looking even more confused than before. "How do you know about that? You heard it?" "Uncle J emailed it to me from San Diego. He said it would make me proud." "Man," JC said, slapping the countertop lightly. "That guy...sometimes." "Don't be mad at him Dad," Aaron said, suddenly worried that he shouldn't have said anything. "No it's fine. I'm just a little surprised, that's all." "Good, because I really love that song," Aaron said. "I'm not sure that I get what it's all about, but I know it's a love song, and I think it's going to be super-popular." "It's just a bonus-track," JC said. "Something we kind of threw in. We won't release it as a single. But I'm glad you like it, because I really liked doing that one." "I want you and Dad to sing it for me sometime." "I'll think about it," JC said, reaching out and gently squeezing Aaron's arm. "But I think that we should stop all this jib-jabbering and get you fed." "That'd be cool," Aaron said. "I'm starving." "Go get washed up then," JC said. "And I'll finish up here. Then we can eat out in courtyard, how about that?" "That sounds great," Aaron said, giving JC a quick kiss on the cheek and then running out of the room. JC turned back to the stove. The tomato soup was a thick creamy deep red and it gently bubbled. Its sharp sweet smell reminded him of his own childhood, growing up in a small dusty house that seemed always to smell of sour laundry. After school, he would stand before a battered electric stove and make tomato soup for him and his brother while their parents were at work or away somewhere. He used water instead of milk only half a can, because that way the soup was at least semi-thick. What he remembered most was the thin pale taste of it, and how it seemed always to taste faintly of the can it had come in, a can with a white label that said simply: TOMATO SOUP. Staring at the soup he was making now for Aaron, JC laughed softly to himself and wondered how so much could depend on soup. But he knew it did. * * * * * "I'm so feckin' glad that be over with," Colin said, setting his bottle of beer on the floor between his legs. "Tell me," Lance said, closing his eyes and shaking his head back and forth. "So is it true that Ang hasn't decided how the movie's going to end?" JC said, looking from Colin to Lance as the three of them sat on the floor in the living room. "I was talking to Aaron, and that's what he said." "Ah, shite," Colin said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Who the feck knows? That Ang's a wily bastard, I'm telling you. We shot so many feckin' scenes for the end he could be making a dozen flicks for all we be knowing." "Did anyone not die?" Lance said, laughing and then taking a swig of beer. "Feck he had me dying three different ways." "I killed you once." "And A-Bomb lopped me feckin' head off saving your character's sorry ass." "No," JC said, pulling a cushion off the chair he was leaning against and putting it behind his back. "Really?" "That was tough one," Lance said. "For all of us." "He was bang on though," Colin said. "Feckin' brilliant. And he right did it in one bleedin' take." "Maybe Ang took mercy on him," JC said, a trace of anger in his voice. "It's bad enough that he'd write a scene like that, but to make him do it more than once..." "He really did nail it," Colin said. "And I knew he would. He's like that, A-bomb is, he's a feckin' perfectionist, and I sure as shite didn't wanna be the eejit that made us do it over again." "I thought he nailed it too," Lance said. "But I was surprised Ang didn't have us do it again. This is my second film with him and I've never seen him shoot just one take before. Never." "I'm just glad it be over," Colin said. "Me too," JC said. "It'll be good to get back home to a semi-normal life again." "Are you going back to Ireland?" Lance asked. "Yup," Collin said, smiling. "To visit me Mam, and get a bit of rest." "When we do post-production, you should come stay with us." "We've got plenty of room," JC said. "And Aaron would be glad to see you." "I got to tell the two of you it's meant the feckin' world to me to spend time with your boy. Serious and true." "He really adores you," JC said. "He told me you'd make a great dad." "Now you be shutting your hole," Colin said, wagging the top of his beer bottle at JC. "You'll have me going scarlet on ya." "Have you been to San Diego?" Lance asked, sliding over next to JC and taking his hand. "It's great, because it's close to L.A." "But it's not L.A.," JC said. "Which is one of the best parts." "Exactly," Lance said, smiling at JC. "Well, I'd be pleased to stay with you," Colin said. "And grateful too. But you got to be promising me that you'll come visit too `cause I know you ain't never been to Dublin Aaron told me so." "No we haven't." "That would be great." "It's settled then," Colin said, drinking the last of his beer and standing up. "And with that I best be going." "We'll see you Thursday?" JC said, standing up now too. "At the party?" "Sure thing. I wouldn't be missing that." "Good," Lance said, reaching up and taking JC's hand as JC pulled him up. Colin set the empty beer bottle on the table next to the couch and looked at it as if he was trying to remember something. His eyes squinted and he shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets. JC and Lance looked at each other and then at Colin, wondering what had caused this sudden unsettling pause. Looking up from staring at the empty beer bottle, Colin turned to look at Lance, whose head was tilted slightly to one side. Lance could see the tears in Colin's eyes and his obvious need to say something. "What I said about Joshua and you letting Aaron spend time with me. I meant that true. And I want you to know well, I've been wanting to tell you...I had a boy once me self, and a wife. And well, they be long gone now for having died in an accident. It was a feckin' tragic thing and I...uh, I just..." A choking sob caught in Colin's throat and he could not speak further. Lance was now near tears too, and he stepped forward and put his hand on Colin's shoulder and he looked into his eyes. He said nothing. He just looked, his look saying all that needed to be said right then. JC sat slowly down, picking up the cushion he'd been leaning against and clutching it to his chest. He realized that these two men, Lance and Colin, had found a meeting point that neither had expected was there, a meeting point far further than they had even ten seconds ago thought possible. It stunned him to think that Lance now stood facing in Colin the personification of the one thing that he had always most feared: losing the two people in his life that he most loved, him and Aaron. "I've been puttin' it on the long finger tellin' ya both `bout this," Colin said. "But I been meanin' to and all and...well, it just be good that you know." "I'm glad you told us," Lance said, his voice deep and steady. "Have you told Aaron?" JC said, looking up at Colin. "Jaysus," Colin said, pulling the front of his t-shirt up and then using it to wipe his eyes. "That be some right heavy shite to be putting on a fella his age. And I don't be wanting him thinking that be the reason I'm so fond of `im." "He adores you," JC said. "He really does," Lance said, smiling at Colin. "He's always talking about you." "And that don't bother you, not a little bit?" Colin said, sniffing hard. "Oh, at first maybe," Lance said. "But that was before I knew you." "We did rather get off on the wrong foot," Colin said, laughing. "So it weren't none of your fault." "It doesn't matter now," Lance said. "I don't suppose it do." "I've been grateful for the help with Aaron," Lance said, patting Colin on the shoulder. "And for your friendship too." "You're a right good man," Colin said. "And a right good father. Both of you is, and you should be feckin' proud." "We're really proud of him," Lance said. "Yes we are." "Nah, I feckin' meant the two of you," Colin said, point at each in turn. "I'd be proud as the peacock at the head o' a feckin' peacock parade if I was one of you two." "That's nice of you to say," JC said, squeezing Lance's hand. "Yeah, maybe so but I didn't say it to be nice. I said it `cause it be true." Lance looked at Colin for what seemed like a long time, and maybe it was. But it didn't matter, not to Colin, because he'd seen this look before, and knew what it was. It was Lance getting ready to say something. It was the same look that he had when he was about to start a scene with him, only this time it was not a scene, and he knew what Lance was about to say would be both true and truly meant. "Colin, I just want you to know that you'll always be welcome in our home, as if it were your home too, and you were part of our family, which is what I think you are." "I ain't really the type to be intruding on folks." "You wouldn't be," Lance said. "Never." "And it ain't like I don't got no family of me own," Colin said, looking down at the toes of his scuffed black boots. "It's up to you," Lance said. "But if spending time with Aaron lifts your spirits, and gives you back a bit of what you lost, then you're welcome to think of us in anyway you want friends or family. Whatever you want to do." "We're Aaron's legal guardians," JC said, breaking what had been a short silence. "But the three of us are a family because of what's in our hearts, and Aaron calls us Dad because he wants to, not because we asked him to do it." "I don't feckin' know what to say," Colin said. "You don't need to say anything," Lance said. "Your smile says it all." "I'll at least be saying thank you then," Colin said, leaning forward and hugging Lance and then JC. "For everything." "You're very welcome." "Yes you are." "Okay this time I truly be off," Colin said, taking a deep breath, his strong wide smile seeming almost to glow. "When he wakes up tomorrow, tell A-bomb I'll be by at mid-day for going to lunch and shopping and stuff." "Shopping?" JC said. "Aaron usually hates to go shopping." "He's making me buy a suitcase and more clothes," Colin said, laughing. "I am kind of sick of seeing you in those jeans everyday," Lance said, playfully poking Colin in the arm. "But, yeah, we'll tell you'll be here at noon." "Hey I got two pairs," Colin said, pulling his car-keys from the front pocket of his jeans. "It's not like I be wearing the same feckin' pair everyday." "Drive safely," Lance said, patting Colin on the side of the arm. "I will for sure," Colin said, smiling that smile again. "I have a right good reason to as well. A right good reason." * * * * The wrap party was postponed five times before it finally occurred and now it was almost over. Most of those who had attended had left by now, and less than twenty guests remained, lingering in groups of two and three, talking quietly, or not talking at all. Each had their own reason for staying a little longer to finish a drink, or a conversation, or a story. It was just past midnight and the air outside had cooled considerably. There was a strong wind blowing inland and you could hear it in the mad-tinkling of the wind-chimes and feel its chill against shuddering prickled skin. It had early on pushed people back inside. Two people remained outside though, sitting near the bottom of the long sloping lawn, a few feet from where it seemed to simply fall away, leaving nothing but night sky and the tops of trees to look at. They had not been sitting there long, but it seemed like a long time to James. He had followed Stephane out here knowing that his smile had been an invitation to follow. Letting him leave the party first, exiting through the high wide doors that opened onto the courtyard, his heart had pounded so hard, and his chest had felt so tight, that James feared he might stop breathing. He had watched as Stephane had wandered across the courtyard, his shadow stretching behind him like a path. And once he'd gotten beyond the light, and into the darkness that flowed down the lawn like spilled ink, James excused himself from talking to JC and slipped outside himself, following the path made by Stephen's shadow. Sitting in silence, James tried not to be nervous. Thoughts and fears and feelings and wants filled him, competing for his attention. No single thought or fear or feeling or want was discernible or clear. It was all a tangled mess, of thinking and of feeling, and it prevented him from speaking, or even moving. He had freely followed Stephane, but now he felt trapped by an inability to understand why he was there, or what it was that had brought him to this place. It was as if he'd been thrown overboard into a stormy sea, and to this place tossed by wild waves and wind, washing ashore someplace he'd never been before, and could not possibly have found except perhaps by chance. That was why, finding himself there, he suddenly had no idea where he was, or why he was there, alone with Stephane sitting next to him, his arm so close that James could feel it. James touched Stephane's arm, laying five fingers there one by one. He felt Stephane shudder and inhale deeply, not in surprise, but deliberately, as if steadying himself, or preparing. Stephane turned slightly, his face illuminated by the moon, and he looked at James, with no expression on his face, unsmiling. Grasping suddenly the hand that James had laid on his arm, Stephane lifted it and moved it back to where it had rested before, on the small strip of grass between them. "And so now we are alone together," Stephane said. "It is this you wanted, no?" "No uh," James stammered. "I mean, yes. Yes. Or I don't know." "You do not know," Stephane said, quietly, his voice flat but not unkind. "And it is to me you look to decide for the two of us how this will be, because what you want you can not quite admit you want. But you hope that I want this certain thing too." "I don't know what I want," James said, his voice strained and filled with panic. "I thought I did, but..." "You feel more fear than excitement," Stephane said, turning and staring straight ahead, and no longer looking at James. "But then I think you find that this fear is exciting too, the not knowing. And all these things compete in you." "You're confusing me," James said, more panic sneaking into his voice. "I apologize." "Don't you like me," James said, turning to Stephane, his eyes pleading. "James," Stephane said, speaking softly, kindly, and looking at him again. "It is not a question of me liking or not liking you." "What is it then?" "It is this," Stephane said, cupping his hand under James' chin, his thumb gently stroking his cheek. "You are a fine young man. You are smart, and you are lovely. This I truly believe. But you are too much in a hurry to grow up I think." "I just wanted..." "No I know what you wanted," Stephane said, taking his hand from James' face and resting it gently on his knee. "To be wanted. It is what we all want. But it is not for me to want you in this certain way that you have imagined." "You must think I'm dumb?" James said, lowering his head and pressing his chin against chest. "Dumb no," Stephane said, sliding his hand once more beneath James' chin, raising it, so that he would look at him. "Only foolish." "I'm sorry," James said, his eyes filling with tears. "No, no, no," Stephane said, placing his hand on James' shoulder. "James, there is no need to be sorry. There are many ways to be foolish, and most are not bad. Please." "I just wanted you to like me." "But I do, I like you very much. Just not in the way you want." "You're not gay." "No, but I am," Stephane said. "I am. I'm just not the clichι you imagined me to be, or may have. And you see, I do not want you to be this clichι either. One can be gay without being a clichι or a stereotype. You must endeavor to be yourself instead, not what other people want you to be, or think you should be. Life is not a matter of playing roles, of fitting into something, like a movie, where the lines have been written for you. It should not be like that. And if you let it be so, if you let others in your define you through their expectations, then you will never be happy. Of that I can assure you." "I don't understand." "Then let me tell you this. When I was not much older than you, maybe fourteen, I was acting in my very first film, a film called Wild Reeds." "I've seen it," James said, sniffing softly. "Like twenty times." "No?" Stephane said. "This is true?" "I bought the DVD in San Diego, before we left. I...uh, I knew you were going to be in the movie with Aaron and, I don't know, you seemed so interesting, your picture did, and I wanted to see what you were like in other movies, so I bought it. It was kind of sad though." "The movie?" "Yes." "Well, with this I agree," Stephane said putting his arm around James' shoulders. "The movie is sad, and I did not much like my character in it. He is dishonest." "You were very handsome." "And I no longer am?" Stephane said, laughing as he leaned forward and looked at James, a broad smile on his face. "You're more handsome now," James said, blushing as he smiled back. "It seems that you are already good at locating the male ego, yes?" "I know that people like to have nice things said about them. That's pretty basic." "For some," Stephane said. "But for many, no." "Wild Reeds is not the only movie of yours I've seen. I saw Come Undone too." "Ahhh, so you have seen much of Stephane's how you say private parts." James laughed and blushed again. He had a hard time believing that he was sitting there with Stephane. It felt good now. Not like he'd imagined, but it was no longer scary or as confusing as before. There was something about the easy way that Stephane had put his arm around him, and talked to him without treating him so much like a little kid that made James feel suddenly more at ease and affirmed. Other than JC and Lance, he had never had any man of Stephane's age to spend time with, to talk to, or to hear stories about their youth. "Did you like kissing that guy who played Cedric?" "His name was...or I should say is, Jeremie. And yes I very much liked kissing him. He was not gay though. Or so he said, and I had no reason to doubt him, well, I had some reason, but that is of no importance now. But you see, when I kissed him, I did not care what the truth of his sexuality was, or his feeling for me. In those scenes he was gay, and I was in love with him, and that was enough for me." "It wasn't real love though." "No, it was imaginary love," Stephane said, smiling. "Which is not always a bad thing. Of course, what I had with Jeremie or I should say, Cedric had no future. It was never going to become real love. Jeremie did not share my imagination, he did not imagine himself with being with me except in this movie. Do you understand?" "Yes," James said. "I think I do." "But this imaginary love of which I speak, it is important I think. I did not know this at the time, but I feel I know it now. Indeed, there is a favorite song of mine, by an by an American Rufus Wainwright. Do you know him?" "No." "That is too bad," Stephane said. "On his first CD there is a song called Imaginary Love, and it is a beautiful song which helped me very much to comprehend my feelings. I don't recall if I knew of the song then, or discovered it later, but it was very meaningful to me. There is a line in it that goes, `Every love, at least my kind of love, must be an imaginary love to start with.' When I heard this for the first time, I thought to myself, of course, of course. So simple but so true." "Because you imagine being in love, like before you really are?" "Perhaps that is part of it," Stephane said. "What else?" "It is like this I believe. We see people from a distance. Perhaps not from too far away, but it is still far. This allows us to imagine them as being anyway we want. And, of course, with this imaginary person it is easy to fall in love." "Like I imagined you." "Exactly my friend. I was but a character in a movie made in your head. And you imagined yourself with me, in that movie, is that not right?" "Yes." "To be closer to me. To be with me, to hold me, to move from the outside of me, to the inside of me. Of course, not literally so..." "It's okay," James said, smiling as Stephane became flustered for the first time that night. "I know what you mean." "Good," Stephane said. "Thank you." "I sort of knew that you would not be how I imagined. But I wanted to find out." "And that is what is especially courageous about you," Stephane said. "You were not afraid to find out who I really was, at least to the extent that I would show you. There are so many who will not to take this risk out of fear of rejection, or solely because they are content with their imaginings. There is no love without risk, my friend. None." "Did you ever ask Jeremie out on a date or anything? Or talk to him about how you felt about him, or maybe felt." "No. Never. I was convinced that he did not have such feelings for me, so I left it at that. I revealed nothing." "So you never found out." "I thought I knew." "But you didn't." "This I now know," Stephane said. "Not that I believe today anything would have become of it. But, you are right my friend, I do not know, and never will." "You should call him," James said. "Find out how he's doing." "No what is past is past. For me it is. I try always to look forward. It is better that way, for me it is." "What if he is sad too? What if maybe he wonders about you. I mean, that one scene, between you two, on the beach...you know, where he's... "Yes, I know." "It looks so real, like he wanted you so badly." "This is where your imagination got perhaps in the way," Stephane said, sighing in a way that sounded not impatient, but sad. "This scene you speak of, it is very violent really, not sexy at all, because it was not love or desire that fueled what Cedric did to me there, fucking me excuse me, but there is no other word for it. What he did was driven by a kind of self-loathing, a disgust for having given into me. Of course, this is only one interpretation, since the film is not at all clear about anything, which is what I loved about it but I believe that Cedric, perhaps like Jeremie, I do not know, that they cannot come to terms with being in love with a man, and so it is more like he is trying here to show that, even if he is not in control of himself, for this one moment he can control me. C'est tragique. It is tragic." "Watching it..." "You became very excited," Stephane said, smiling. "But this is fine. It is only a movie, but a movie with a lesson in it. Next time you should watch it, you should watch it with less romantic eyes." "I imagined myself there." "That is fine too," Stephane said, turning his head and seeing that James was already looking at him. "But please do not tell me that you have already done such things with other boys, because..." "No," James said, smiling as he recognized the concern in Stephane's voice. "Not in my real life. Just in my imagination." "Which is where it should remain, for now," Stephane said, his voice firm but not scolding. "It is fine to imagine such things. Do not be ashamed of that, or for wanting this. But do not seek to make it real. There is time for that. Trust me. It will arrive to you soon enough, and the troubles too. So trust me." "I do," James said, quietly, nestling further under Stephane's arm. "That is good," Stephane said, tilting his head toward James and resting his cheek against the top of his head. "I will honor this trust and not betray it. And that is what you must demand from any man you are with. Do you understand?" "That I trust him?" "Non that he be worthy of your trust. It is this which is most important. That is what I intended to tell you with my story." "Will you still tell me?" "Of course." "It was while you were making Wild Reeds." "You see, it was like you with me that I was with Andre, wanting him in many ways but mostly one. This is what I thought was love, this constant thinking of him, this man who... well, he was much older than I, and me I did not know better. I was only 14, so maybe a little older that you, but not much. And like you, I had no father. It was always only me and my mother, and well she did not much care for being a mother, that I will tell you. " "Did you, I don't know, think about him, like sexually? Like you wanted him like in that way?" "Oh my yes," Stephane said, laughing. "But, again, as I said before, you see that much is fine. We all need our fantasies. And I do not mind that you made me yours." "You don't?" "No," Stephane said. "But it must be only a fantasy. It cannot be anything more. This I know too well, because with me, with Andre, he was all but happy to indulge my fantasy with him. I fell very much in love with him." "Was he your boyfriend then?" "I do not know what to call it really. I was with him on and off for a very long time. But you see, it was never I who decided when or where. It was him. And it took me a very long time to understand that this was not a good thing for me, to be taken care of by this man, to be in his control. But by the time I realized, then I was no longer young, or optimistic about love. Perhaps I'd lost the ability to imagine what love might look like with me as a part of it. I don't know. But I think, with Jeremie, you see, it was so intense for me. I did not want him. What I wanted was my freedom, and I thought that being in love or having someone else in love with me that it would give this to me, make me free and not afraid of being alone." "Free from Andre?" "Yes from Andre. From his control over me." "What did you do?" "Oh, I don't know. Mostly I did nothing. Over time I saw other people. Men and women. But I continued to see Andre, when he was in town or when I was available, which I always was for him." "Do you still see him?" "No no more," Stephane said, his voice lowering. "He died three years ago." "I'm sorry." "Yes, so was I. He loved me. I knew he did." "Did you love him?" "No." "Never?" "I thought I did at first. But it was merely desire, a kind of longing that I mistook for love. Then it was like a debt I felt I had to pay for the kindness of his attention, even though it was sporadic and sometimes insincere. You see, my mistake was to mistake his attention for love, and my longing for attention as desire. This mistake is quite easy to make my friend. Quite easy." "I'm not sure what I was thinking with you," James said. "But I did want your attention. That's true." "And now you have it," Stephane said, his soft and full kindness. "You've been really nice to me," James said. " Thank you." "I believe in kindness. I may not believe in love for me at least. But I believe in being kind. Always kind." "My friend Aaron is like that too," James said, turning toward Stephane but not pulling away. "He's always kind to me. And patient." "These are very good traits in a man," Stephane said. "And rare." "I never really thought about it until now. He's the only other guy I've ever spent a lot of time with, you know, being close. We tell each other everything." "Perhaps not everything." "No, I told him that I'm gay. Or that I think I am." "Are you attracted to him?" Stephane asked. "Sexually?" "A chair could probably turn me on at this point." Stephane and James sat laughing for several minutes, their laughs lobbed out into the night, joyously, like confetti thrown in celebration of a wedding or a new year. It was a simple moment, but one they enjoyed together. When their laughing finally stopped, a short silence followed, a silence finally broken by Stephane. "I remember the first time that Andre went away from me. The shooting of the movie was over and he returned to his wife." "He had a wife?" "And several children. The youngest was my age." "Oh man," James said. "How can that be?" "Ah, but it is like this in France," Stephane said, feeling James shiver and gently tightening his embrace of him. "Of course, not so often between men, and perhaps the difference in age seems like a lot. But I did not think it strange, although now I wonder how I might have thought it any other way at all. I knew little of such things, except from the perspective of my longing." "You continued to see him all his life?" "Yes," Stephane said, nodding. "I never found a reason not to see him, not for a long time, and by then it had become convenient for me as well, and it was too late for the both of us. It was only after he died that I fully understood that he had never belonged to me, never given himself to me as I had at such a young age given myself to him." "It hurts me to think that you were alone so much," James said, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against Stephane's shoulder. "When Andre was not there." "I was," Stephane said, looking at James, sighing. "But I kept busy with my work. I would see people from time to time, mostly women, since with women there was nothing at stake. It was not very often that I would be with a man. It was difficult for me. I felt as if I belonged to Andre. Perhaps that was an excuse. I think it was. With Andre, like with the women I have been with, there was never any risk that I'd be hurt, which is of course why there was no love. So voila, there it is. My story for you." "It is not too late," James said. "To be in love." "I fear for me it is." "It can't be." "Well we will see then." "I wish I was older," James said. "To be with you. To make you happy." "You are with me," Stephane said. "Right now you are. And you do make me happy, very happy." "You know what I mean." "Yes, I do. But do you know what I mean?" "I guess." "No," Stephane said, firmly. "Do not guess, because this you must understand I think. There are many ways to be with someone, and what matters is whether it is true, whether it is genuine, and whether it is honest. It is not good to pretend that something is what it is not, or cannot be. You understand?" "Yes," James said. "I understand." "You are a sweet boy," Stephane said, leaning forward and kissing him gently on the forehead. "And wise in many ways. But being wise with the heart, that is a difficult thing. As we say in France, Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaξt point." "What does that mean?" "The heart has its reasons that reason cannot know." The two of them lapsed into silence. James could still feel the near-moist traces of Stephane's kiss on his forehead, glowing and warm. He felt safe in his arms, held in a way he had not been held before by anyone in his life. It made him think of the times before when he and Aaron would lie on the couch together, with Aaron the bigger of the two behind him, his arms around him, innocently holding him. Stephane's hold on him was no less innocent, but it was different too. It was intentionally protective, and maybe even a little possessive, as if Stephane in holding him was making a claim of some kind. He wanted to stay like this, feeling safe and warm in this man's arms. He did not know if this is what love felt like, but it was how he wanted it to feel. "Can I stay in touch with you?" James said, finally breaking the silence. "I mean, if I write to you will you write back. Or could I maybe call you sometime?" "I would be quite angry if you did not," Stephane said, his voice serious. "I am very fond of you, and it will be my hope to see you again. Perhaps one day you can visit with me too. It is beautiful where I live, a small village near Lyon, Chβtillon-sur- Chalaronne." "Would you really let me visit you?" "As my good friend, of course," Stephane said, smiling at James, his dark eyes squinting to see him in the darkness. "You will always be welcome in my home." "You are nothing like I'd expected you'd be," James said. "This is a disappointment?" Stephane said, emphasizing that it was a question. "No," James said quietly. "It's not. It's really not." "It is good then. As are you and me. We are good." "Do you think we should go in?" "If you wish," Stephane said, smoothing the hair from James' forehead. "But I do not mind the night air, if you would like to stay out a while longer." "If you really don't mind, I'd like that." "I don't mind at all." Stephane shifted James, turning him gently around so that James could wrap his arms around his waist, while he held him. This felt good to Stephane, loving, but not at all sexual. This was in some ways how it had eventually become with Andre when he had gotten much older, late in his sixties and no longer so active or well. He would hold him like a father holds a child. It was a reversal of sorts, and so unlike it had been early on when Andre was in control, and his hungry hands had preyed endlessly over his body, giving Stephane every pleasure that he had thought he had wanted, before discovering that the satisfaction was fleeting and its meaning endlessly elusive. Sitting with James, breathing the cool night air, and listening to sparkling metallic melody of the wind-chimes, Stephane knew that the meaning of the present moment was neither fleeting nor elusive. He could feel it in his heart, which was not dead, but alive, and beating still, faintly perhaps, but it was still there. Andre had not taken that from him after all, his heart, and a second chance at love. Stephane hoped that this was true, and knew that if it was, he would have James to thank for it, a boy both foolish and wise, fearful and brave, patient and impulsive. Just like he had been at his age. Just like him. * * * * * "Come on," Eric said, poking Lance's shoulder with his finger. "Sing it." "Eric no," Lance said, blushing slightly. "Doesn't everyone want to hear JC and Lance sing?" Eric said, spinning around to get everyone's attention. "What do you think Lance?" JC said, whispering in Lance's ear. "Oh lord," Lance said, cringing. "I haven't sung in front of people in what, like 15 years? I just can't." "Come on dad," Aaron said, tugging on Lance's arm. "Yeah," Colin said. "Give it a go Lance." "All right," Lance said, only half smiling. "But only if Aaron here plays the piano for us." "What?" "It's only fair mate," Colin said, laughing. "You can't be shoving someone off a cliff and not be expecting them to pull ya over with `em." "I taught you how to play it yesterday," JC said, looking at Aaron. "So I know you know how to do it." "But I only practiced it like three times." Aaron looked at Lance, then JC, then Colin, then Eric and then at all the people gathering around the piano that sat at the far end of the living room. The buzz of conversation that had filled the room moments before quieted, replaced by an expectant silence. Lance put his hand on Aaron's shoulder and then crouched down and looked him in the eye. "Seriously, I'll do it if you will," he said. "Okay," Aaron said. "But don't laugh if I make mistake." "The same goes for you," Lance said, smiling. Aaron walked to the piano and sat down, lifting lid to reveal the keys. JC and Lance followed him, and took up position on the right side of the piano, facing everyone in the room. Lance wiped his hands on the front of his pants and then took JC's hand and held it. JC smiled at him and took a deep breath. Putting his hands on the keys, Aaron started to play the long slow prelude. When it was through, JC and Lance started to sing, Lance taking the first part by himself: A nervous boy in several ways I never knew the world could operate this way I was nervous when we stopped to speak And the world came crashing around my feet JC then joined, singing with Lance. We don't talk of love We're much too shy But nervously we wonder when and why JC now sang alone, turning to look into Lance's eyes. A nervous boy, in spite of which I never thought I could tremble as much as this Your flashing eyes and sudden smiles Are never quite at ease, and neither am I Oh, we'll talk about it all some night But nervously we never get it Waiting one beat, Lance finished this verse with JC, them both hitting the first word hard. RIGHT >From the start I approved of you Right from the moment you turned to face me Lance took over, singing by himself again, returning JC's gaze as he sang. A nervous boy from another town With a nervous laugh and a concentrated frown I spoke too fast with watchful eyes Of a recent past and some nostalgic surprise We don't talk of love We're much too shy But nervously we wonder when and The two of them then finished the song together. SMILE Knowing why I approved of you Right from the moment you turned to face me A nervous boy Aaron played the last notes of the song, each note softer than the one before, until finally there were no more notes at all. When he was through, he took his hands from the piano and looked up. Lance and JC were looking at each other as if there was no one else in the room with them, that is until the room filled with applause, and they turned smiling to face everyone, blushing slightly, but happy that the song had gone so well. Colin was looking at Aaron, his eyes beaming. He gave Aaron a big thumbs-up and winked at him. It had gone well, Aaron thought, and he smiled. * * * * "You're really beautiful," Ryan whispered. "You're just saying that because I'm holding your hand," Brendan said. "And in public too. How about that?" "It's nice," Ryan said, leaning forward and whispering in his ear. "And I don't mind admitting it at all. But I'd think you were beautiful even if you weren't holding my hand, because you are." "Well thank you very much then," Brendan said, squeezing Ryan's hand and smiling at him. "Flattery will get you everywhere." "Or so I've found out." "Fucker." "Fucker of you, that is." "I suppose you've got me there." "Actually, I'd like to get you there right now." "Maybe we should sneak upstairs," Brendan said, whispering again. "You know, and sully your ex-loverboy's bed." "Are you serious?" "Only half," Brendan said. "Which half?" "Your bottom half." "You have a one-track mind," Ryan said. "Not that I'm complaining." "That's good," Brendan said. "Because you're stuck with me now, at least until I manage to wear out my welcome." "That's not going to happen soon," Ryan said, stepping in front of Brendan now and smiling at him. "Not if I have anything to do with it." "So you're happy about this? You and me." "Happy and surprised." "Me too actually," Brendan said. "I guess it's because I wasn't really looking for anything other than a hook-up and, you know, it just sort of snuck on up me that maybe I could make a go of something other than just fucking around all the time." "This is way new territory for me," Ryan said. "You've been in relationships before." "Is that what we're calling this?" Ryan said, winking at Brendan. "We ain't calling it nothing," Brendan said. "But you know what I mean." "Yeah, I do. And that's why I think it's working. It is what it is. I didn't chase after it, and neither did you. It happened and, I don't know, so long as it keeps happening, I'm totally up for it." "I didn't think I'd like you," Brendan said. "Not at first, I mean, you know, except maybe in bed." "Why not?" "I don't know," Brendan said, shrugging. "I don't usually go for dudes that don't smile. And I mean, man Ryan, you never smiled. It was like there was some big mother- fucking black cloud over your head." "Maybe I felt like there was. But I'm smiling now." "Yes you are," Brendan said. "And I like it a lot." "Well, you put it there," Ryan said, leaning forward for a kiss. "And I'm gonna try to keep it there," Brendan said, kissing him. "Not that I want you to turn all soft and cuddly on me, because I kind of like that dark moody thing you had going on too." "Don't worry," Ryan said, laughing into Brendan's kiss, which was lingering and only slowly ended. "I got dark and moody for days." "If I didn't know better," Toni said, walking up to Ryan and Brendan with a fresh martini in one hand, and the other hand on her hip. "I'd say the two of you were in love." "Oooh, no," Brendan said, scrunching his up face and pretending to recoil. "The dreaded L-word. No, no, no." "We have agreed never to use the L-word." "Oh, dear lord," she said. "I swear you two give me a headache." "Oh, listen to the Queen of Romance," Brendan said, laughing. "Proud defender of all things heart related." "Fuck you," she said, sneering and slurring her words. "There is nothing wrong with love well, there is plenty wrong with love, true, but that's not what I meant. Not at all. What I meant...oh, fuck I don't know what I meant. So just never mind." "That was an eloquent defense," Ryan said, looking at Brendan and nodding. "Oh, I certainly agree," Brendan said, arching one eyebrow and looking back at Ryan. "Indeed, it practically made me swoon." "I have not thrown a drink in someone's face in a long time," Toni said, scowling as she raised her glass in front of Brendan's face. "So don't press your luck." "I'm not worried," Brendan said, smiling wryly. "You'd never waste the gin." "It's vodka darling," Toni said, lowering her glass and taking a sip from it. "Gin is for peasants and the great unwashed." "Whichever it is," Ryan said. "It's plainly worked." "La-de-dah," Toni said, smirking at Ryan as she fished an olive out of her glass, popped it into her mouth, and then licked the vodka from her fingers. "I'm drunk. You're in love. We're both intoxicated." "Toni," Brendan said, warning her. "Love, love, love," Toni said, laughing as she held her glass in the air and turned around in a circle, spinning slowly, as if dancing. "Love, love, love..." "It's not funny," Ryan said, angrily grabbing her shoulder. "Love, love, love," Toni said, pulling away as she continued to revolve and dance. "Let's all drink to love." Catching her heel on the corner of a large Persian carpet, Toni lost her balance and fell down, landing hard on her butt. Her martini glass flew from her hand, spinning in a long slow arc until it land with a tinkling crash five feet from where Lance stood next to JC talking to Colin. Toni sat on the floor where she'd fallen, plainly stunned by what had just happened. Then, after several seconds had passed where everyone in the room did nothing but stare, Brendan started to laugh loudly. "Love takes a tumble," he said, laughing even louder now. By now Lance and JC were on each side of Toni, helping her up. Ryan was trying not to laugh and was nudging Brendan in the ribs with his elbow in an effort to get him to stop laughing. He was still laughing, but not as loudly as before, and he'd stopped pointing. Once on her feet, Toni smoothed the front of her black dress, as if dusting herself off, and she gave her hair two hard shakes, causing it to halo outward and then settle back down on her shoulders. "The two of you are hereby cursed," Toni said, pointing at Ryan and Brendan. "Hereby?" Lance said, snorting dismissively. "You mean still." "Lance don't be mean," JC said, frowning at him. "Yeah, Lance, don't be mean," Brendan said, speaking in a sarcastic falsetto sing- song. "You'll hurt our tender, tender feelings." "I see you forgot to bring his leash," JC said, suddenly glaring at Ryan. "We save that for the bedroom," Ryan said, giving JC an intentionally fake smile. "You should really think about getting one, it does wonders for a sex life assuming you still have one." "You know, like with each other," Brendan said, smirking at Lance. "Now-now girls," Toni said. "Don't be ugly, because mama just hates it when old lovers fight. I mean, seriously sweeties, the four of you are practically a daisy-chain." "What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Lance said, spitting out the words as he turned and glared at Toni. "Lance come on," JC said, taking his arm and tugging on it. "Just leave it alone." "Yeah, maybe the two of you should move out of the temptation zone," Brendan said, clearly enjoying the chance to taunt Lance. "Brendan stop," Ryan said, nudging him with his shoulder and turning to JC. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. That wasn't right. And I'm sorry." "Okay," JC said, looking at Ryan and watching him extend his hand to him. "I, uh...okay. I'm sorry too." "We should go," Brendan said, glancing at Ryan, and then Toni. "Do you want a ride back to the hotel?" "I might as well," Toni said, frowning. "This party's down to the dregs." "Thanks for everything," Brendan said to JC, eyeing Lance warily now out of the corner of his eyes, as if he half-expected Lance to sucker-punch him. "It was fun," Ryan said. "Yes, an absolute de-light," Toni said, kissing JC and Lance one after the other on the check. "I'll walk them out," JC said, turning to Lance. "Okay?" "Fine," Lance said. "I'll see you all later." "Take it easy man," Brendan said, shaking Lance's hand. "Yeah, you too," Lance said, managing to force a smile, but only because the fact that Brendan was leaving made him happy. "I'll see you in post-pro." "Cool," Brendan said, turning around and following the others. Brendan caught up with Ryan and took his hand. JC was on Ryan's other side, and he was whispering something to him. Turning to look at him, Ryan smiled at JC and slowly nodded his head. Brendan was curious what JC had said to make Ryan smile that way, but not so curious that he was likely to ask about it. He assumed it was some kind of simple pleasantry and a further effort to smooth over the sharp remarks of moments ago. Once at the door, JC stopped and Ryan turned to him, still holding Brendan's hand. "I think it's going to work out good," Ryan said, smiling even bigger now. "And I'm actually kind of excited about it." "That's good," JC said, putting his hand on Ryan's arm. "Because I meant what I said. I'm happy for you." "Thanks," Ryan said. "That means a lot to me." "Good bye then," JC said. "And a have a safe trip back." "You too," Ryan said. "You too." * * * * * "I like to watch the boats at night," Aaron said, pointing over the balcony railing toward the bay. "How their running lights trace across the water. It looks like fireflies." "Fireflies?" "They're not really flies though," Aaron said, smiling at Colin. "They're soft- bodied beetles, in the Lampyridae family." "In the what?" "Lampyridae its mean lamp-burning, in Latin." "Is there anything you don't know about," Colin said, squeezing Aaron's shoulder and then sitting down on the arm of a wooden deck chair. "Oh, there's lots of stuff I don't know about," Aaron said, turning around to face Colin, his hands behind him as he leaned against the railing. "I start seventh grade next month and I'll be taking lots of stuff I never took before, like pre-algebra and German." "You excited?" "Really excited. I like school. Well, I didn't so much like it here, because I didn't know that many people, and had no time for sports or anthing." "I hated me school," Colin said. "I was always on the doss, foostering `bout, or going on the hop. It drove me Mam nuts." "Why didn't you like it?" "It made me feel like a right feckin' eejit," Colin said. "Me older brother Eamon, he was a right smart fella, like you but me feck, I was hopeless." "It's good that you like being an actor," Aaron said. "I really do," Colin said. "It keeps me busy, and I like travelin' about a bit. And I don't much mind being away from home. " "I miss San Diego," Aaron said. "I'm looking forward to going back." "When ya leaving?" Colin asked. "In three days," Aaron said. "We have a lot to pack still." "Me, I travel light," Colinn said. "Feck sometimes I don't bring nothing but what I be wearing. Keeps it simpler that way." "You should come to San Diego with us, like to visit." "I be going back to Dublin first," Brendan said, sliding off the arm of the chair he was sitting on and then into it, his legs stretched out in front of him. "To see me Mam and the rest of the brood. But maybe sometime after that, after the first of the year." "Like on me birthday maybe?" "There you have it then," Colin said, smiling. "I'll show up with a bow on me head and a present under each arm. How'd that be?" "That'd be great," Aaron said. "Especially the bow." "Yeah, I'll be quite the cute one then, won't I?" "I was just kidding about the bow. But it would be cool to see you." "Ah, don't be worrying yourself," Colin said, frowning and shaking his head. "You and me will be seeing plenty o' each other in post-pro, I guarantee you that. And then there's the fekkin' publicity tour." "My Dad is already complaining about post-production," Aaron said. "He said it's really, really boring." "That it fekkin' is. But it's got to be done." "Yeah, that's what he said too." Aaron turned slightly and looked back over his shoulder at the bay. The lights he'd noted before seemed further away now, and dimmer. The boats were probably all headed back to shore, to dock somewhere. Thinking again about fireflies, he remembered that it was the mostly males that flew, while the females sit on the ground hidden in high grass looking for a certain male with which to mate. She chooses him based on his flash pattern, its rhythm and intensity, and when she sees the one she wants, it is only then that she turns on her own light, flashing in response to him, signaling her desire. Lost in this thinking, and remembering how his dad had first shown him fireflies, in the backyard of the house where he'd grown up, Aaron did not hear Colin stand up. He noticed only when he laid his arm gently across Aaron's shoulders, standing beside him as the together once more looked out at the bay. "I'm going to be bolting," Colin said, his voice soft and low and hesitant. "And I don't be wanting no long eye-wetting good-byes, all right?" "All right," Aaron said, turning to face Colin, and taking a deep breath. "We'll be seeing each other soon anyway, right?" "That's bang on," Colin said, smiling at Aaron. "And when we do we'll pick back up right where we left off, like twas only a day or two." "Or like an hour," Aaron said, playing along, and trying not to cry at the thought of not seeing Colin for probably six months at least. Colin could see the beginnings of tears in Aaron's eyes and he felt them now in his eyes too. He wrapped both of his arms around Aaron and pulled him close and tight. Aaron began to cry, and Colin softly too. "I guess we ain't such bloody good actors after all," Colin said, whispering it in Aaron's ear. "But it's no matter. Truth be told, I'll be fierce missing you, A-bomb. Plus there ain't be a fekkin' thing wrong with a man havin' his self a good bawl." "Yeah, I know," Aaron said, sniffing loudly, and resting his chin on Colin's chest. "I'll be fierce missing you too." "How's about this?" Colin said. "How about you and me be setting aside the first Sunday of every month for having us a bit of kite-flying. I'll do it where I be in the afternoon round three, and you fly yours in the morning in that big backyard of yours I heard so much about. It'll be pretty near like we're doing something together. How's about that?" "That's a good idea," Aaron said, smiling. "And I'll send you lots of emails to tell you how things are going." "Oh, Jaysus Mary and Joseph," Colin moaned. "You mean I gotta be getting me a fekkin' computer now?" "You don't have a computer?" "What do you think?" "I guess not," Aaron said, laughing. "But I'll be bloody getting one," Colin said. "For fekkin' sure I will." "Good," Aaron said. "Because you should have one." "All right," Colin said. "It'll be like the first thing I do when I get back. O' course I'll be having my brother get it for me, and he'll be having to show me how to work it and all, so they're may be a bit of a delay." "That's okay. I don't mind." "So this time I'm off," Colin said. "I want you to take good care of yourself and study hard in school and stuff. I don't want to be hearing `bout you slacking off or going on hop like I was always doing." "Yes Da," Aaron said, smiling now at Colin. "Da?" Colin said, barely a whisper. "You were sounding like my Dad," Aaron said, not sure how Colin was feeling. "Da," Colin said again. "Did I say something wrong?" "No, it's fine A-bomb. You just caught ol' Colin here a bit off guard. I ain't never been called `Da' before. He...uh. Colin paused and cleared his throat. "A-bomb, you can call me anything you like." "Cool," Aaron said, relieved that Colin no longer seemed upset or confused or whatever it was he had been feeling moments ago. "You want to walk me to my car?" Colin asked. "Because I best be going." "Okay," Aaron said, taking Colin by the hand. "Let's go." Colin and Aaron silently made there way downstairs and out of the house. Once at Colin's car, Aaron hugged Colin for a long time. Neither one cried because they trusted the other to stay in touch and knew that they'd see each other again. Colin then climbed into his car, started it and drove slowly away, not forgetting to honk the horn like he always did. Watching the tail-lights on the car recede into the distance down the long drive, and then disappear, Aaron was once more reminded of the boats on the bay, their lights disappearing as a signal that they were heading back home. "Bye Da," he whispered, knowing now that it had been the right thing to say. * * * * Aaron had been asleep for nearly an hour when James got back to their bedroom having just said good-bye to Stephane. As he undressed, James continued to think about all that Stephane had said to him, and how everything had turned out so differently than he'd expected, and better. Stripped down now to his boxers, James sat down on the end of the bed and pulled off his socks. The light from the moon filled the room with a diffuse glow that seemed to spread like a puddle from the middle of the room to Aaron's bed. He had kicked the sheet mostly off, and only one leg was covered by it. Aaron had grown three or four inches at least while in Australia and was not as tall as Lance. James had grown too, but not so noticeably. Standing up, James picked up the edge of the sheet on Aaron's bed and pulled it slowly up and over him. Aaron stirred and shifted on to his side, from his back, and then halfway opened his eyes. Seeing James standing there, he smiled up at him. It was an easy happy smile, and it made James feel good to see it. "Did you have fun tonight?" Aaron asked, his voice thick with sleep. "Totally," James said, sitting on the edge of Aaron's bed. "But it was kind of sad too. Saying good bye to people." "I saw that you were talking to Stephane. Out back. Was that okay?" "I'm not really sure how to describe it," James said, pulling his feet up and off the floor and stretching them out on the bed. "Can I tell you about it later though, because I want to think about it more first." "Sure," Aaron said, pushing a pillow over for James. "Do you want to lie down?" "That'd be nice," James said. "I'm kind of tired." James slid up next to Aaron on the bed, lying on his side, his head on the pillow. Reaching down, James grabbed the edge of the comforter from wear it hung down on the floor, at his side of the bed, and then pulled it up over him. Aaron was slightly surprised that James had got in bed with him. He hadn't done that once since they'd arrived in Australia and it was something that Aaron had missed, although he was not sure why. They had continued their nightly talks, but in their own beds, and it had not felt the same as before not bad, just different. Closing his eyes, Aaron felt James lay his arm across his chest, his fingers softly grasping his side, holding him and pulling him closer. Aaron smiled and laughed and nudged James with his elbow. "Do you mind if I sleep over here tonight?" "No, it's okay," Aaron said. "It's just for, I don't know, like before," James said. "Like at home." "It's okay," Aaron said, laughing again. "It's not like I'm worried you're going to kiss me or something." "You're a dork," James said, giving Aaron a gentle shove. "You're a double dork," Aaron said. "With crap on top." "Oh yeah?" "Ooooh, nice come back." "I'll show you come-back," James said, laughing now too. James sat up and shoved Aaron, rolling him off the bed and on to the floor with a thud. Flopping across the bed, James hung his head over the side and grinned at Aaron and then stuck out his tongue. Aaron was laughing so hard there were tears coming from his eyes and his face was flushed. When the two of them finally stopped laughing, James helped Aaron up of the floor and they both crawled back into bed, this time with both of them under the covers. Soon they were asleep, smiles on their faces, and the remnants of laughter still caught in their throats. They were happy. * * * * JC had sealed the last box. It was half the size of the others, but doubly important to him. In it were all the photos they'd taken, menus from the restaurants they'd eaten at; the Post-it notes that Lance stuck to the bathroom mirror every morning that he'd gone to work before JC was awake, saying things like "I love you," and "Have a great day, I'll miss you"; wrapping paper from his birthday presents; and dozens and dozens of other small mementos that JC had managed to collect during their stay in Australia. This box wouldn't be shipped with the others; it would be carried on the airplane, and kept nearby, like any other thing that JC held dear. And when it arrived home, JC would unseal the box, and look through everything again, remembering all the things he and Aaron and Lance had done together. When he was done looking at everything once more, JC knew that he would smile, maybe even a sadly, because he would know that the box and what it held was proof of the passage of time, proof that he and Lance and Aaron, especially Aaron had together all grown a little older. Staring at the box, JC could hardly believe that more that ten years had passed since Aaron had first come into their lives. Aaron would be starting seventh grade in less than two weeks. By the time the movie came out he'd be in the eighth grade and nearly done with it. Then there was a mere four years of high school before Aaron would leave for college. JC did bother to count the years until that day, or the month or the hours. He knew them without counting them, knew them as a kind of emotional truth. And knowing this truth, he sat down on the box he'd just sealed and cried. * * * * Lance did not know why he'd awoken so early. Maybe he hadn't fully adjusted to the change in time zones, or maybe it was just because he was no longer tired. Slipping quietly out of bed, he stood up and pulled on the pair of boxers that he'd left lying on the floor next to the bed. The bedroom door made a sharp creaking noise as Lance opened it, but it was not loud enough to disturb JC or risk waking him up. Walking down the hall, he wondered what to do. For nine months nearly everything he'd done each day had been scheduled for him, or if not scheduled, done because it needed to be done. But now he was free to do mostly what he wanted, when he wanted. Post-production for him and the other actors would not start for another nine months, and Lance had no other movies lined up to do. He was going to take some time off, spending more of it with Aaron, and covering for JC as he and Justin prepared to tour and promote their new album, which was set to be released in late November. The kitchen was filling with sunlight, and Lance smiled seeing it. Unlike JC, he had always been a morning person. He liked to watch the day begin, the sun rising, and the sky brightening, and the birds begin to appear. Crossing the kitchen to the doors that led out to the deck, Lance decided that he'd sit outside for a while. August having only a day ago given way to September, he knew it would not be too cold. The air felt good on his skin as he stepped outside. There was only a slightly breeze and it tickled. Closing his eyes for a moment he did not at first notice that Aaron was standing at the far edge of the lawn, right at the point where the grass gave way to the hard red clay that preceded and warned of the cliff's edge. When Lance saw him he was puzzled why Aaron would be up so early. Like JC, he loved to sleep in, and rarely got up early unless it was for school. But there he was, standing there barefoot, wearing the white soccer shorts that Colin had given him, and a t-shirt, one of several dozen he owned. Aaron's back was to the ocean. He was trying to fly a kite, to get it safely aloft as wavered and half-dived and then slowly fitfully climbed above his head. Feeding it more string, Aaron stared skyward as he watched the kite continue its unsteady ascent, rising, swooping, rising, and then diving hard, its tail whip- snapped by the steep sudden descent. Seeing the kite dive, Lance gasped and held his breath. Just as the kite was about to hit the grass fast and hard, Aaron began to run hard along the edge of the lawn, holding the kite string over his head, willing the kite higher into the air. And it soared. It soared.