There was a hollow sound as Justin’s knuckles hit the wood of Lance’s hotel room door. It echoed slightly, reverberating in his ears. He pressed his ear to the wooden panels after a few moments, but didn’t hear any sounds.

Justin pulled his head away from the door. "Lance?" 

He rested his hand on the cool, golden, brass knob. The skin of his palm skidded slightly over the surface as he turned. The door opened a crack. He saw that the room was filled with a warm glow that could only be created by a desk lamp. He could see a sliver of a pastel print--something that looked like a violet sailboat floating on gentle aqua waves--through the rectangle of space between the door and the jam.

"Lance?" Justin asked again. He pushed the door further open. There was still no answer, but he saw Lance sitting at the desk against the right wall of the room. His head was resting heavily on his clenched fists.

"What, Justin?" Lance’s voice was tight, controlled. He didn’t turn to look at Justin.

"How are you doing?" Justin rubbed a hand across his mouth and felt the prickle of day old stubble.

"How do you think?" The voice was still tight, still controlled. He did turn around, though, and his face looked as if it were carved from stone. He paused, as if waiting for Justin to say something, but then continued. "I’m getting things ready for an audit--"

"Yeah," Justin said. His hand traveled to the back of his neck and wiped at the sudden touch of sweat on his skin. "That’s probably a good idea."

Lance nodded once, curtly.

"I’ll let you, uh, do that," Justin said. He backed up a step, not totally sure how he’d entered the room in the first place, and balanced himself up against the doorframe. "We’re here, okay? You know, if you need anything."

"I know," Lance said. He turned back to the papers covering the desk in front of him. "Can you tell the other guys I don’t want to be disturbed?"

"Yeah," Justin said. He looked around the room once more. The aqua waves of the painting now seemed to be beating at the sides of the pastel boat; the warm glow of the desk lamp now seemed false. He stepped out of the room quickly and shut the door behind him.

He cringed at the suddenly loud sound of the latch catching. 

It was four months before Lance got back to Mississippi. 

After weeks spent in the tiny rehearsal room with Darren, of going to radio interviews with DJ’s that had never heard any of their songs, of filming a video they all knew no one was ever going to see, the small bus finally pulled into Jackson.

"This is where you live?" Justin’s golden curls clung in tight ringlets to his scalp. He scratched at his chest through his white t-shirt, and then clawed at the soft fuzz of his cheeks with chewed off fingernails.

Lance shook his head. "I live about forty-five minutes that way." He pointed to the window on the opposite side of the bus from where he was sitting.

"Woah," Justin said. "So, like, to get to a big city you have to drive forty-five minutes?"

Lance rolled his eyes. "I live in a city, Just."

Justin narrowed his eyes and looked disbelieving.

"I do," Lance said. "There’s a shopping center and everything."

"Oh." Justin gave Lance one last scrutinizing look. "So are we going to get to see your home and everything?"

Lance shook his head. "We have to head out tomorrow morning. You know that."

"Oh yeah," Justin said. He smiled stupidly, showing too many teeth. "I knew that. Doh."

Lance rolled his eyes again and put his headphones over his ears.

"So, like, you’re going to be up on that stage?" Tommy turned, looking around the venue. He stared at some of the workers setting up chairs. "Before Janet Jackson?"

"Sure am," Lance said. He smiled. "I’ll be the one in the back screwing up steps."

"You?" Tommy asked. He turned to Lance. "You’ve been dancing for years, man. Why would you screw up?"

"These steps," Lance said. "They’re complicated. There’re lots of simultaneous movements: you’ve got your hands, and your feet, and your head, and your smile." 

"You’re good at that shit." Tommy turned in another circle. "Shit, dude. Whoever would have thought you’d be the one of us to end up on stage?"

"Um, me." Lance laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound.

"I always thought you’d be the business major," Tommy said. "You’d be, like, an accountant or something with those thick black-rimmed plastic glasses."

"Thanks," Lance said. He narrowed his eyes and pouted his lips just slightly, jerking his shoulders in a sharp shrug.

"Seriously, I could totally picture you in an office." Tommy grinned. "But it looks like I’m going to be the businessman with the pasty white skin and the carpal tunnel syndrome."

Lance smiled too widely. "Well, when I start my business, you can be my accountant and blame me for your lack of tan and the perpetual pain in your wrists."

"Thanks man." Tommy clapped Lance on the back. "I knew I could count on you."

The desk lamp cast an oblong circle of white light over the papers sitting on top of the oak desk. A hand shifted the papers noisily. 

Lance chewed on the pink rubber pencil eraser, making the firm substance give underneath the incessant motion. He pulled the pencil away from his mouth and wrote a number on the paper in front of him. He mumbled soft words as he mentally added the numbers.

"Fuck," he whispered. 

He made another mark on the paper in front of him and then grabbed a different piece of paper sitting on the edge of the desk. He slouched down in his chair and compared the two sheets.

"Bitch," he said a few minutes later. 

He turned his head and looked out the nearly plate glass window and stared at the surrounding city buildings. He could see black windows covering the building’s surfaces. On the fifth floor of the skyscraper directly across the street, however, there was a room with a light.

Lance wondered what the person in that office was doing.

With a sigh he looked back at the papers in front of him. Grabbing a clean, dry eraser, he began moving it quickly across the sheet of paper. Soon rubber dust covered the desk. With one firm swipe of his hand he pushed it off of the hard surface and onto the floor.

Lance wiped the scratchy, white terrycloth towel over his hair and damp, red face.

"So, did we do good?" He turned to Tommy and raised an eyebrow. "You don’t want to pretend that you’ve never met me or anything, do you?"

"No, man, you were awesome," Tommy said. He sat forward on the sagging couch and folded his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. "You all sounded good, and were in step most of the time, and--"

"Good. I’m glad you liked it." Lance dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed a sweatshirt off of the back of one of the dressing room chairs. He pulled it on before he started speaking again. "I was really glad you could come."

"I wouldn’t have missed it." Tommy stood up. "Hey, I saw that girl Meredith the other day." He walked across the room and boosted himself up on one of the makeup counters. "She said she was going to try to call you tonight."

"Really," Lance said. He bent down to pick up the towel off of the floor and draped it over the back of a chair. "I didn’t think she’d ever call."

"She was totally timid," Tommy said. "You think she could do your whole celebrity thing? I mean, she was shaking talking to me and we all know how scary I am."

"You terrify me." Lance walked over to the door of the dressing room. "We need to get out of here. There’re sometimes fans who like to chase us."

"Chase you?" Tommy sounded incredulous. "Like, chase chase?" 

"JC lost a shirt the other day." Lance stepped out in the hallway and nodded at the guard standing outside his door. "Two weeks ago, Joey lost a shoe."

"Shee-it." Tommy bounced down the hallway in front of Lance. "Do you think they’ll chase me now, too? Now that I’ve been seen with the famous Lance Bass?"

"Maybe if you’re lucky." Lance looked over his shoulder at the bodyguard following them and rolled his eyes.

The bulky black man laughed.

"Lance," Chris called. "Your phone’s ringing."

"Answer it, could you?" Lance said as he stepped out of the bathroom. Water dripped from his hair and his eyelashes were sticking together in wet clumps. He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Hello?" Chris asked. He grinned, suddenly. "You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you. I knew he was holding out on us." He pulled the phone away from his ear. "Lanshey-poo. It’s your girlfriend."

Lance glared at Chris as he took the cell phone. "Hello?"

"Lance?"

"Meredith," Lance said quickly. He stuck a finger in his ear and mouthed a few choice words at Chris to make the older man be quiet. "I’m sorry about that. Chris sometimes doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut."

"Oh. It’s okay." Meredith did sound timid.

"Tommy told me you’d be calling me tonight."

"He did?" Meredith squeaked and Lance couldn’t help but chuckle.

"I’m don’t bite," Lance said. "Calm down."

"That’s a lie," Chris said loudly. "But he’ll only bite as hard as you want him to."

Lance made a chopping motion at his throat. "I apologize again for Chris."

"It’s okay," Meredith said again. She took an audibly deep breath. "I made a demo tape. Lisa helped me and she said it sounds good."

"Oh, really," Lance said. "You’ve made a demo already?"

"Yeah. I, um. You said that maybe you could give me a few names of where I could send it?"

"I could," Lance said. He nodded. "Yeah, I could totally do that. Why don’t you give me a copy of the tape first, though, so I could give it a whirl and try to figure out the best places to send it."

"Oh, no," Meredith said quickly. "You don’t have to do that."

"Mer, I told you I wanted to help. Most places don’t accept unsolicited material. I, at least, can figure out where to get it solicited."

"Wow," Meredith said. "That would be great. That would be so great."

"Let me give you an address to send it." Lance sat down on the bed and began flipping through his planner on the nightstand. "You got a pen?"

"Am I going to fit on the bus?" Tommy asked. He looked at the vehicle. "I mean, that thing’s small for five people."

"We bring guests on all the time." Lance slung his backpack over his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around the cushioned strap. "Come on, man."

Tommy blinked and lifted up his backpack. "You aren’t going to stick me in with the luggage if it gets too crowded, are you?"

"You could say you’d been in close contact with Justin’s boxers, then," Lance said. "You’d be the envy-object of hundreds of little girls."

"That’s my goal in life," Tommy said. "To be in close contact with Justin’s boxers." He paused. "Which one is Justin again?"

"The kid," Lance said. "The one who all the girls screamed for?"

"Oh, him." Tommy shuddered. "That was scary ass shit there. He’d shake his hips and the girls would, like, collapse."

"You get used to it," Lance said. He walked up the steps of the bus and looked over his shoulder to make sure Tommy was following him. "We all have, anyway."

"They’ll be screaming for you one day, Bass." Tommy slapped Lance on the back, propelling him up the aisle a few steps.

"With this face?" Lance turned around and pointed at his face. "And this hair. I don’t think so, man."

"They’ll be screaming for you one day," Tommy repeated.

Lance opened the door from his bedroom and walked into the dark suite common room. He saw that the TV was on, however, and in the flickering blue light saw Justin curled up on the couch.

"You’re still up." Lance walked over to the kitchen area and opened the mini-fridge. He pulled out a bottle of Evian water. "Why?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Justin said. He unfolded and sat up. "It’s late, man, and you’re stressed. You need to sleep."

"I can’t," Lance said. He walked back over to the common room. He sat down in the same chair he’d sat in earlier, when he’d told the guys what was going on. This time he seemed to fill it.

"Did you get everything sorted out?" Justin asked. He looked around the dark room at the other bedroom doors.

Lance nodded shortly. "It’s all ready to go to the auditor."

"Why would he do that?" Justin asked. "I mean, we all know Tommy. Why would he--"

"Why would Lou gyp us," Lance said. "Sometimes people just can’t be satisfied with what they have."

"But Tommy?"

"No one’s ever exactly what they appear to be." Lance took a long swallow from his bottle of water. His adams apple bobbed and his eyelids fluttered closed.

"So, dude." Tommy looked up at Lance from his position on the floor of the bus. "I got a job offer."

"You did?" Lance leaned over the edge of the couch. "That’s awesome, man."

"Yeah." Tommy grinned shyly. "It’s not anything huge, you know. It’s money, though, and I’m out on my own."

"Being out on your own isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Lance said. "Trust me on that one."

"Your life is hardly normal," Tommy said. He rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin up on his hands. "Even you can’t argue that point."

"My life isn’t normal, but I am." Lance rolled back onto his back and bent his arms, elbows spread out in inverted V’s, making a diamond behind his head.

"You’ve never been normal, Bass," Tommy said. "I, on the other hand, have been extremely normal my entire life."

"That’s bull." Lance laughed loudly. "You’re not normal. You’re the one who said that you thought I’d be an accountant with coke bottle lenses in my glasses. If that’s not normal, then I don’t know what is."

"That’s not normal," Tommy said. "That’s dorkish, and you, my boy, you are the epitome of dorkishness."

"Where’s your job?" Lance didn’t even try to be subtle about changing the subject.

"Jackson." Tommy sighed. "I really tried to get away from home. I really, really did, but I can’t seem to escape."

"You’ll get out some day," Lance said. He rolled back over so that he was looking at Tommy; his head cushioned on one of his still bent arms. "I told you. When I start my music company you’re going to be my accountant."

Tommy smiled with more enthusiasm. "And you’ll have lots of money for me to play with, right."

"Damn right," Lance said. "More money than you’ll know what to do with."

They laughed for a few minutes.

"You could start with Meredith, you know," Tommy said.

"Huh?" Lance furrowed his eyebrows. "Start with Meredith for what?"

"For your music company." Tommy rolled his eyes. "You say she’s good. You should start with her."

"I don’t have any experience," Lance said. "I’m so not qualified to do any of that stuff that would need doing."

"You don’t have experience?" Tommy asked. "You’re in a music group, for crying out loud. I’m riding on your bus, James. What better experience could you ask for?"

"I sing in a music group," Lance said. "That’s a lot different than doing the contracts and getting artists signed and developing their talent."

Tommy rolled his eyes again.

"And when would I have time," Lance continued. "I’m hoping to be on the road a lot. When would I have time to do the stuff that needed to be done."

"You’re on a bus," Tommy said. "A lot." He looked around the backroom. "This is the excitement. Right here. Lying on this floor talking to you. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have the time."

"I’m just going to help her get her name out there," Lance said. "That’s all. While I’d love to do the rest of it, come on, Tommy. I’m only 18. I’m relatively sure that’s too young to start my own business."

"You could get on the cover of Forbes or something!" Tommy sat up. He twisted and popped his back, a series of snaps filling the room.

"The only cover I want to be on is Seventeen," Lance said. "You get on the cover of Seventeen and you’ve made it."

"You’re a whimp, Bass," Tommy said.

"I’m 18, Wright," Lance said. "You remember what you were doing at 18? Parties. Beer. A woman on each arm--or so you liked to tell me."

"But you’re you," Tommy said. "You’re, like, super motivated."

"Eighteen," Lance said. "Maybe in a few years, but now. It’s not going to happen."

Tommy sighed and shook his head. "Well, as long as I get to play with your stacks of money once you start raking it in."

"Of course," Lance said. "I wouldn’t trust anyone else."

Lance looked at the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. They were in a neat, orderly pile. Their edges were all lined up, their corners perfectly straight.

He placed a manila folder on the desk, spread open wide. The sheets moved from their perfect alignment as he transferred them onto the ivory colored surface. Slowly he wrapped the folder around the papers.

He opened his briefcase with an audible click and placed the folder in the black cloth lined recess. There was a sharp contrast between light and dark.

Lance ran a hand over his pale face as he stared at the folder. He blinked once, twice. With a steady hand he closed the top of the briefcase and flipped the locks. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the palm-sized cell-phone. The sounds of the pushed numbers were almost musical.

"Detective Simon," Lance said calmly. "I'm afraid I'm the one that owes you an apology. Can you recommend a good accountant?"

He turned around so that his back was to the desk.

"Tomorrow morning?" Lance said. He sighed. "I'll see you there."

He flipped the phone closed and stuck it back in his pocket. He turned around again and looked at the briefcase.

"I’m sorry, Tommy," he said softly, to the otherwise empty room.

He stepped towards the desk and shut off the yellow light of the desk lamp, plunging the room into darkness.