Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 22:30:18 EDT
From: FishofHappiness@aol.com
Subject: Remembering Petticoat Lane, Part 4

	Hey, everyone! I'm gonna make this short and sweet. I slammed out
this sucker in two hours. I hope it meets all of your expectations. I
enjoyed it, once I got into it. My disclaimer is short and sweet tonight:
I know nothing about anyone or anything they do. Don't read if you're a
youngin' or a homophobe, and don't read if you don't want to think about
real people doing the dirty. The title is from Goo Goo Dolls' "Name", which
is a true classic.

Remembering Petticoat Lane
Part Four: "You can hide beside me, maybe for awhile,
	    and I won't tell no one your name."



	He would later swear that it was the smell of the warmed up coffee
that woke him up, but everyone knew better then that. It was one vibrant,
loud yell that accomplished the task that even The loss of JC as a pillow
couldn't accomplish.

	"DAMMIT, Joey! He's going to KILL you! What the hell did you say?!?"

	Lance had long ago mastered the art of looking like he was asleep
when he wasn't. Sometimes, it had proved useful against Lou. Sometimes it
was the only thing that kept one of the other guys from finding out -about-
 Lou. He could never quite figure out which one was more beneficial. He used
 that skill now, as the guys argued in the connecting kitchen.

	"I didn't say anything to them, Justin! All I said was that he needs
 therapy. All I said was that Lance needed help."

	That one sentence practically stopped Lance's heart. His breath
caught in his throat like a butterfly in a net, and a choked half-sob,
half-angry declaration was the only thing to escape. It was then that the
guys realized that Lance had woken up.

	"Lance? James, are you okay?"

	JC's voice was soft, but concerned. It was a sweet gesture, but in
 Lance's mind it was too late for sweet gestures. A Betrayal had occured.
Lance sat up, only partially noticing that somoene had managed to not only
put his shirt back on him, but cover him in a blanket as he slept. It was a
funny thing, because Lance had long been a light sleeper. It was a survival
skill.

	"What the -hell- did you do, Joey? Who did you tell?"

	"I called Johnny, Lance. I told him --"

	"I heard what you told him! That I needed help, huh Joey? What did
you promise me? That no one else would know? Way to keep that fucking
promise!"

	The rant was in full swing. All the anger and frustration at being
forced to tell, and then having to promise to get therapy was wearing inside
him. It was like an acrid inferno that was eating its way out of his stomach
through his mouth. A small, sick part of his mind, the same one that he had
always retreated to in the midst of the worst times with Lou, was envisioning
the flames as they shot out and enveloped everything, Lou, the guys, and
himself included.

	"But Lance, I didn't --"

	"Shut up! No one else, Joey! It was supposed to be no one else! You
called management, and you blabbed to them. You bastard, how could you do
that? I can't believe you would turn around like that and tell them what
happened to me! You stupid --"

	"I didn't tell them your name."

	"-- pri.. What?"

	The softness of Joey's voice, in contrast to his reverberating
screams was what had made him take notice in the first place. It was the
meaning of the words that held him, though.

	"I didn't give any names, James. I told them that one of us needed
serious help to deal with a past issue, and that we should peobably all go
into therapy. The only thing they -do- know is that it isn't me."

	"You didn't tell them it was me."

	"No, Lance. I promised you. I keep my promises."

	That was probably the truest sentence of the speech. Joey was the
type of person whose honor code would make the Knights of the Round Table
envious. He lived and loved and fought for his friends. Anything they needed
became his personal quest. Anything they told him went to a wealth of
knowledge in Joey's mind that only he was privy to. That, combined with the
fact that he had -doubted- that slowly penetrated Lance's mind. He stood
stark still for just a few seconds, before he started shaking. His eyes were
watery, but he wasn't crying. In his opinion, he had done enough of that
this week. His voice, when he spoke again, was shaky and broken, but it was
there, in a solid stream of bass.

	"What did Johnny say?"

	"They're pulling us home."

	It was Justin's voice this time. Evidently, he was the last to know.
That was okay, the twisted little voice in his head spoke, at least he was
the first one to know that Lou was a child molester. He was still ahead in
the polls.

	"Back to Orlando?"

	"Yeah. They said that they think that a more stable environmant is
needed to make the therapy effective. Evidently we aren't the first
recording artists to have.. issues."

	Lance half chuckled. There was a touch of irony in that. Him, the
shy all-American boy next door had 'issues'. It was the perfect commentary
on the state of world society today. He nodded and absorbed the information.
He had regained his composure when he spoke this time. He was no longer the
on-the-edge lunatic that had screamed his head off, and then turn into a
shivering freak. He was Lance Bass. Control personified and then improved
upon. He was who he had forced himself to be for much of his life.

	"That isn't all that bad."

	With that single sentence, he pushed past Chris, and the hovering
form of JC into the hallway.

	"Lance, what are you doing?"

	He answered JC's query calmly and cooly. He was making sense, his
mind was his again. "To my room. I need to pack, and I want to call my mom
to tell her where I'll be. Justin, I would suggest that you do the same with
Lynn."

	He looked back, and watched Justin's startled nod before he finished
his walk, and shut the door tight behind him. Once he was inside, he let his
walls break down. It was too much. It was -all- too much. He didn't want to
go into therapy yet. He was dreading it with his entire being, and he didn't
know what he would do. It was with a shaking hand that he dialed the one
support pillar that he -hadn't- exhausted yet.

	Diane Bass's voice over the phone was smooth and soothing to his
ears, like any mothers' voice is to their offspring. "Hello, Bass residence,
this is Diane speaking."

	She had a very subtle accent, unlike the sometimes heavy, sometimes
non-existant drawl of her son. Lance's voice was harsh and weighted with
tears that he was just barely holding in.

	"Mommy?"

	Concern immediately sparked in Diane's tone. "Lance, honey, is that
you? What's wrong?"

	"Mommy, we're going home tomorrow."

	"Going back to Orlando? Why on earth, Lance? What's wrong?"

	It was only the distance and detatchment of the phone that allowed
Lance to follow trough with the next part of the conversation. If it weren't
for that, he would never have been able to -think- about telling his mother.

	"I need therapy, mom. That's why we're coming back."

	"Therapy? Lance, you've always been so well grounded, what's going
on? You're worrying me, honey."

	The next words were carried through the wires on the breath of a sob.
The desperation of the phrase made them sing true.

	"Lou abused me, mom. He made me have sex with him from the time we
broke out, until the lawsuit."

	There was one split second as the news hit.

	"WHAT? That bastard! My poor baby, I can't believe he did that to
you. God, James, why didn't you tell me? Lance, sweetie, are you okay? Lance?
JAMES!?!"

	The words, as comforting as the were, were pointless. Lance had
dropped the phone onto the base, hanging it up as she spoke and curled into
a ball, shaking and emotionally scattered. He never heard a word of her
reaction.