| Lance dressed three times. Each outfit he slid on his body seemed all wrong. He wanted to downplay his fame -- downplay his life. He tried to think “college boy”. Fashion was not his strong suit. Deciding on black jeans and a ribbed white shirt he slipped on a pair of Gucci’s then kicked them off, trading them in for sneakers. A small dab of gel to spike his locks and he was out the door with a frightful feeling plaguing his gut. Joey and Chris would laugh at him -- tell him to chill and relax. Justin and JC would yell at him -- tell him he was insane to leave the house with no protection. He fell somewhere in the middle of the four thoughts. Lance stuck his hand out as a cab pulled up. He gave the driver the address and settled back with his thoughts. Theresa. Her name spun through his mind as he envisioned her. She had been so friendly and kind -- and witty. It was the freedom she had, he guessed, that radiated from her. It was something or other, and he knew that it was catchy. The taxi stopped outside the tiny bar and Lance felt his heart leap. There had to be three or four dozen people milling about outside. He considered jumping ship -- turning back and going home. Yet his heart urged him to go on -- to try this shot at being twenty-two for real. So he paid the cabbie, leaving a hefty tip, and stumbled unsurely from the car. No one even glanced at him as he made his way to the door. This amused him greatly, even if his palms were sweating and his heart was pounding. He swung the large, oak door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, and the music was thumping. Loud whistles and screaming invaded his ears and he squinted into the smoky bar to get a glimpse. Theresa was on top of the long bar that sat on the far side of the room. Her long hair was wild and curly and Lance smiled as she stepped over several mugs of beer pausing to collect money and pour shots down patron’s throats. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and made his way through the crowd of people all obviously eager to grab Theresa’s attention for a shot. Lance stood quietly nearby, soaking up the energy that radiated from the ‘normal’ people. He suddenly saw himself home in Mississippi in a life that didn’t include N Sync. He supposed what he always told the magazines was true -- that he’d have just gone to college and returned home to marry the girl next door and pop out some kids. He laughed at the prospect of it all. Inside, it was really all he wanted. “Hey cutie.” Lance blinked in surprise. Theresa nudged him with a wide grin. “I was thinking about yelling your name out, but considering you’re all famous and stuff, I figured you wouldn’t appreciate it.” Lance chuckled as her hand rested on the small of his back. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” She held the bottle out to him. “Shot?” “Why the hell not?” Lance replied, fishing for his wallet. Theresa held up her hand. “On the house. Open wide.” Lance closed his eyes and slanted his head upward as Theresa moved closer. Her hair tickled his neck as she stood on tip toes to pour the alcohol into his mouth. Instinctively, Lance placed his hands on her waist for support. He scrunched his face up as the pepperminty liquid burned a trail down to his belly. “Dang,” he drawled as his face tilted back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and his eyes squinted shut. “Ah, another satisfied customer,” Theresa winked. “I gotta go finish this. Every hour on the hour we do this. Stick around?” Her brown eyes stared up at him hopefully, and Lance nodded. “Thanks.” She turned and wandered back into the crowd, stepping back up on the bar. Lance found himself drifting around the club among dozens of people his own age. The occasional stare from a girl -- or bump from a guy was natural. It was only one person who screamed -- one foul little patron who brought attention to him and fucked it all up. “OH MY GOD!” she hollered into his face. “You’re Lance Bass. Oh My God. Why are you here? Lance! Bass! N! Sync!” Lance felt the fear curl in his belly like a snake. His palms began to sweat and his temples throbbed frightfully. “Shh,” he tried, with a anxious glance. “Can you just ... um, kinda be quiet. I don’t want people to ...” It was too late. A small crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was and soon Lance was lost in a tiny sea of hands and faces all crowding around him like some kind of freak show. He stood on tip toes as pens came flying at him and as college boys made threats. “Fucking thinks his shit don’t stink.” “I don’t see why the girls like him. Fucking pretty boy is all he is.” “I wonder if he can fight. I wonder what’d happen if we messed up his face. Wonder if the girls would like him then.” Lance tried to smile warmly -- to pull the people over on his side -- to have some compassion for him. Girls were hugging on him -- and his ass was a virtual pinching pillow. He shifted backwards trying to grab something stable. His world was dimming as pure terror raced through his veins. He could hear Justin now, “I told ya so. I told ya not to go out without fucking security. You’re stupid like that. You think the fans would never hurt you.” But they *were* hurting him. They were forcing their way closer and closer and he couldn’t breath. “Back the hell up!” he heard someone scream. Blinking up, he saw Theresa fight through the crowd, her tiny five foot two frame beating it’s way toward him. “I’m gonna say it once more then you’re all outta here. Back the hell up and give the poor guy some room.” “Poor guy? That asshole is a fucking multimillionaire,” one college boy hissed. Theresa spun around wildly -- he brown eyes almost black. “So fucking what?” she challenged as she shoved him. “That makes it alright to pummel him? To attack him when you don’t know him? Fuck that!” The man looked back at her as his friends ribbed him mercilessly. “Sorry,” he muttered. Theresa threw her hands up and yanked on Lance’s shirt. “Come on, break it up.” One girl turned around and shoved her back. “Wait your turn bitch.” Lance felt Theresa’s hand on him. He gazed into the faces and made out her dark hair -- her petite frame -- and her pissed off expression. Theresa shook her head angrily as she let go of Lance. Her fists twined in the girl’s hair and she tugged her back. “That’s for calling me a bitch,” she said, as she motioned for the bouncer to assist. The bouncer, a bald wrestler type named Flash, flung bodies carelessly to the side. Theresa made her way in and wrapped her arms around Lance securely. “You okay?” she whispered into his ear. And Lance didn’t know. His body was drenched in sweat and his head ached fiercely. He was trembling and the only thing he could really focus on was Theresa and the comfort of her arms around him. “Let’s move him, Ter’,” Flash said as he warned patrons against advancing. “Take him on outta here like now.” Theresa nodded as her delicate hands thread through Lance’s belt loops. She noticed the panic in his jade eyes and cringed. “Lance. Look at me, hon.” His eyes widened as the blood rushed from his head. He wanted to curl up under one of the tables and squeeze his eyes shut -- and wake up at home, safe, in his own bed. But her voice -- it was singing to him. He wobbled a bit as her hands touched his chin. “Look at me.” Theresa was scared for him -- terrified that she had endangered him. “Lance, we’re going out the back. Follow me okay?” Lance thought maybe he managed to nod. He wasn’t sure anymore as cigarette smoke cascaded in a haze past his eyes and infiltrated his lungs making him cough. He felt Theresa force his hands on her waist and let himself be pulled along as the bouncer called Flash pushed people back. Justin was right. Justin was always right. Lance felt the fresh air slap him as the doors slammed behind them. Theresa’s encompassing arms were around his neck and slowly he fell out of the dread that had filled him for so many minutes. “You okay man?” Flash asked as he stood solidly against the door. “You shouldn’t go out without a bodyguard. Fuck! I never saw anything like that shit!” “I know,” Lance answered. He tugged at his hair in relief as his eyes adjusted to the night. “I’m sorry I caused that.” Theresa blinked up at him with wide eyes. “No, Lance. I’m sorry I asked you to stay. That was my fault. I never expected that to happen.” She released her grip on him and touched his cheek. “Oh, Lance, I am so very sorry.” Lance tried to chuckle -- to simply laugh it off. The last thing he wanted was to look weak in her eyes. But something in the way she stared up at him gave him butterflies -- and chills -- and a feeling of safety he hadn’t felt in forever. He licked his lips nervously and debated on what to do -- how to sort out his feelings that were raging over his body uncontrollably. But she backed off before he could decide. “You’re alright then?” she asked. Her hands flew to her face and she pushed her hair from her neck. “Damn, is it hot or what?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” Lance mumbled, unsure at her sudden aloofness. “I should go now, I guess.” He was really at a loss for words -- hoping that she would beg him to stay, or at least offer her phone number. He felt like a loser in every sense of the word. “Back to work, girl!” A loud voice boomed from the door into the alley. “Ain’t got but one other bartender working her ass off in there.” Theresa rolled her eyes as she turned to nod at the bar’s owner. “Be right there,” she said impatiently. “I gotta go too,” she sighed, returning her gaze to Lance. “Again, I’m very sorry about all this.” Flash chuckled as he watched the two exchange niceties. “If you’re okay man, I’ll just head back inside.” Lance blinked. “What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. Theresa moved aside as Flash walked back into the bar. She laughed apprehensively. “Well, this has been ... fun.” “Oh, yeah. A lot of fun.” Theresa dug in her apron for a pen. “Gimme your hand.” Lance cocked his eyebrow at her as his heart jumped. “My hand?” he asked dumbly. “Yeah, that thing on the end of your arm. Let me see it.” Lance pulled his hand out of his pocket and stuck it out. She smiled up at him and scribbled her number down. “Now,” she said with a dimpled grin, “you can’t lose it. And if you don’t call me, I know that you’re just not feeling it.” “Okay,” he said slowly, unable to hide his own dimpled smile. “But I will use it.” “Ah, no need for promises you may not be able to keep N Sync boy.” Theresa curled his hand up into a fist and kissed it lightly. “No worries. No pressure.” Lance was dumbfounded. He nodded as her lips brushed against his knuckles. His stomach rolled excitedly -- and he wanted to take her somewhere -- get to know her better. “LA,” he blurted suddenly. Theresa tilted her head and tossed her curly hair over her shoulder. “LA what?” “I’m going to LA,” Lance wanted to smack himself in the head -- to fall into some black hole where his mouth wasn’t so trippy and his words sounded a lot better. “LA,” she repeated. “Well, okay. Have fun.” “No,” he said quietly. “You want to come with me?” Theresa stood back in shock. “Lance. LA?” He ducked his head in annoyance. Why he said the stupidest things was beyond him. Wanting to find love and asking a stranger to accompany him to Los Angeles was totally different. He felt like an ass -- like some pimply teen who couldn’t get any. “If you want,” he said softly. “No funny business. I’m going for fun -- I guess. My friends are begging me to go and...” “Theresa. Inside. Now.” Theresa waved her boss away with her hand -- quite intrigued by Lance’s offer. “Why not?” she said breathlessly. “I’ve never been there.” Lance looked up in shock. “Really? I mean, you could have your own hotel and ...” “Lance, I trust you,” she said solidly. “I don’t know why, but I do.” “Theresa!” “I gotta go,” she said with a toss of her head. “Call me and we’ll talk about it okay?” Lance didn’t even attempt to hide the grin on his face. He simply nodded and when she leaned up to kiss his cheek -- he felt the weight of life lifted from his body. |
| LITTLE WING 2 by destiny |