*copyright Jimi Hendrix 1968* Well, she's walking through the clouds, With a circus mind that's running wild Butterflies and Zebra, And moonbeams and fairy tales That's all she ever thinks about. Riding with the wind. When I'm sad, she comes to me, With a thousand smiles she gives to me free. It's alright, she says it's alright, Take anything you want from me, Anything. Fly on little wing. Lance sat uneasily under the shaded oak tree. His mind spun with a million duties, a hundred things he needed to do. His watch was a careful reminder that his life was not free, his life was chained and he had to be responsible. Central Park was a land he could lose his fame in. Famous people strolled along daily without entourages or bodyguards, without sunglasses or hats to hide their identities, without fear of who they were. He wasn't that comfortable. Not yet. NYC still scared him, still made him shake when the sun went down and his bodyguards weren't around. But Central Park was not NYC to him. Central Park was the land of beauty, of freedom. Uneasy eyes were not something he could simply discard. Not yet, not at 22. Every scream made him flinch, every teen age girl that roller bladed by made him lower his gaze, and footsteps falling too quickly made his gut wrench. Fame sucked...sometimes. A couple strolled by with pushing a baby carriage and Lance sighed. Babies. He wanted babies someday. And he didn't want to wait ten years. Joey had a baby, a beautiful little girl with pink Velcro bows in her hair and chubby little cheeks. When he held her, his heart ached for something more in his life, something like a wife and kids. But he was only 22. Lance shook the images from his mind and pulled his Yankee baseball hat down lower over his eyes. No use thinking about what was impossible. He didn't even have a girlfriend and he was dreaming of babies. He let out a short laugh and picked up his newspaper to continue reading. The collision was innocent. Long dark hair fell over his shoulder as a lithe body toppled into him. One wheel of a roller blade embedded in his shin and Lance winced as he cushioned the young lady's fall. Laughing brown eyes stared down at him. "I'm so sorry," she chuckled. "Really. Are you hurt?" Lance shook his head as the rollerblader pushed herself up. His eyes were drawn to her, his heart captured so suddenly it sent a rolling pain past through his temples. His soul screamed at him, jumping up and down to let him know this was his butterfly. This was the one he needed to capture. She wiped her hands off on her denim shorts and retrieved her fallen Mets hat. A dimple graced her cheek and Lance was dumbfounded by her natural beauty. She placed her hands on her hips and looked down at him. "Can I buy you an ice cream?" she asked. "Since I rammed right into you and all." "What?" Lance stammered. "Oh no. No thank you. I'm fine." He scrambled to his feet dishing in his mind for something to say, something to convey what the feeling rumbling inside him. She shrugged and smiled in such a carefree manner it made him tremble. "Okay, well I'm sorry again." Her laugh was infectious, feminine and free. A short wave and she was gone, rollerblading her way to the ice cream cart down the path. "Nice going, Bass," he muttered as he watched her leave. "You look and fucking look for a nice girl and here's one and you blow it!" He crumpled up his newspaper in frustration and tossed it into the barrel. His pale eyes never left her figure and he grinned as she headed back toward him with two Creamsicles in her hands. "I know what you said," she grinned, handing him one, "But I think deep down you really wanted an ice cream but were too shy to say so." "Ah ha," he said with a blush. "You got me." She sat on a bench and patted the seat next to her. "I'm Theresa," she said as she unwrapped her icy treat. "And you are?" He raised an eyebrow at her before remembering he was in NYC, not "Anywhere USA". This was the land where celebrities were a dime a dozen, and he was nothing special. "Lance," he said with a hint of southern charm peeking out. It felt good to let himself come back, the real Lance, the one who shook with fear at every take off and landing, the one who cried everytime Bruce Willis said goodbye to Liv Tyler in Armageddon, the one who was allergic to cats and cat hair and anyone who had cat hair on them. "Well, Lance," Theresa giggled. "Let's finish our ice cream and get to know each other how about it?" Two hours later they were lying side by side under that same oak tree and Lance was spellbound. He let her talk the entire time. She'd allowed him to pluck a stray piece of grass from her hair and he sucked in his breath at the silkiness of it. He imagined holding her in his arms while her long hair fanned out on his chest, he thought of waking with her everyday and sucking in all her charm and goodness. Theresa had told him all about her family in Puerto Rico and had even tickled him into speaking a few lines of This I Promise You in Spanish. He couldn't recall ever having such a completely good and normal time, not since long before N Sync, and maybe a few stray dates with Danielle. "Ooh, I gotta run," she said suddenly as she checked his watch. "I have to get my butt to work." "Work?" Lance asked with disappointment. "Where do you work?" Temporary insanity struck him. Real people worked -- he'd almost forgotten not everyone had time off like he did. She hopping to her feet and slung her roller blades over her shoulder. "Foxy Rox in the village. I bartend." She stuck her hip out and shaded her eyes from the fading sun shining at her. "You should come by if you don't have anything to do tonight." Lance didn't want her to go. His heart thudded against his ribs. Did he dare show his face in a bar? On a Saturday night? In the village? Images of a stampede crushing him to death seared into his mind. Maybe he could call one of the bodyguards to come in and go with him. Bodyguards might draw more attention to himself and.... "Hey Lance? You alright?" Theresa laughed as she touched his chest innocently. "You look like you're a million miles away hon'." Hon'. He liked that. It was real, she was real. "Roxy Fox," he said backwards. "Got it." Theresa shook her head and tossed her long mane back. "Foxy Rox," she corrected. "It's in the book. See you tonight." She pecked him lightly on the cheek and headed off down the path leaving Lance dumbfounded for the millionth time that day. *************************************************************************************************************** Lance Bass was not free to do what he liked. He owned material goods and could afford everything life had to offer. Everything except freedom. Sitting home in his bay window overlooking the Hudson River, he sighed and debated. Theresa was imbedded in his mind, her carefree nature and positive outlook on life. Her life intrigued him as did her rich laugh and insightful view on things. She was sweet and outgoing, two of the very things he needed in his life at that moment. He sighed as his phone jingled next to him. "Yeah?" he said, moving from the window seat. "Lance! My man!" Justin's chipper voice attacked him across the line causing him to smile. "Justin? Where you at?" "LA baby! Gettin' me some sun and fun!" Maybe it was the laugh in Justin's voice, or the fact he was soaking up Los Angeles' ambiance, but Lance longed to feel that happy. "Listen, JC and I are wondering if you wanna come out for the weekend. Get your stodgy ass outta that hell hole city you like to call home and come play with the big boys!" Lance thought he was offended. "New York City has been the stepping stone of our career," he reminded him as he moved through his penthouse. "Everything's here!" His brows furrowed as he swung open the door to his refrigerator and grimaced. Sour milk and a bottle of ketchup were lonesome next to a bottle of chilled Cristal. He slammed it shut as Justin chuckled in his ear. "Man, now I *know* you need a vacation. Come on," Justin pleaded. "What else you got going on? Sitting around with Free Lance paperwork and old I Love Lucy reruns?" "Hey!" Lance cried in defense. "I go out." He thought of Theresa and grabbed his apartment keys. Grocery shopping was a dreaded job, but he refused to hire people to keep his life going. Besides, Justin did make a point. "Look, JC and I are going to have a ticket ready for you at LaGuardia Friday morning. Show up okay?" "Justin I...." It was too late. The click was definite and Lance threw his phone down angrily. Sunglasses on, he headed out to the elevator with a scowl. Justin was always like that, getting under his skin with his cheery disposition and LA digs. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Shopping in NYC was always a chore. He longed at times for his Mississippi home -- or even Orlando, where you could drive to the market, grab a cart, and drive home. This was insane. Lance trudged along the streets with a packed bag in each hand. His sunglasses slid down his nose as the heat attacked his brow. He sighed as the doorman swung the door open. “Need help, sir?” he chuckled. “No thanks. I got .. it.” Lance frowned as one bag crashed to the stairs -- it’s contents spilling all over the place. “Shit.” The doorman knelt down and helped. “It happens,” he said easily. Lance nodded. Yeah, it happens, but why always to me, he thought bitterly. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Darkness fell over the city and Lance realized he’d been sitting in the same spot for nearly two hours. The sun cast shadows over the river and he wondered about life -- and his lack thereof. Theresa’s face flashed in his head. His stomach knotted as he recalled her dimple -- and her smiling face. And Foxy Rox, or Roxy Fox. Fuck, which was it? He jumped to his feet and grabbed the enormous yellow pages, running his finger over the soft pages until he found “BARS”. There it was staring back at him. Foxy Rox. He noted the address and tossed the book tot he floor. Heading for the shower, he decided it was high time he let himself go -- and try to be happy. |
| LITTLE WING by destiny |