Date: Thu, 14 Nov 2002 01:23:55 -0700
From: xykos@earthlink.net
Subject: Elaborate Lives Chapter Two

Disclaimer:  I do not know N Sync.  This is a purely fictional story
created in the recesses of my warped mind.  Any similarities with actual
people is merely coincidental.  Furthermore, I really don't know all
that much about James Bass.  I don't do boy bands.  Then why am I
writing this?  I don't know, perhaps I'm a little crazy.  Comments are
welcome at xykos@earthlink.net

Thanks to everyone who wrote to me!

enjoy.

Elaborate Lives
Chapter Two

	It seems crazy but you must believe
	There's nothing calculated, nothing planned
	Please forgive me if I seem naive
	I would never want to force your hand
	But please understand I'd be good for you


I stood outside of Spielberg's offices, alone, waiting for the
elevator.  Dealing with that man had given me a splitting headache that
was slowly turning into a migraine.  All I wanted to do was get back to
the hotel room and crawl under the covers.  Closing my eyes didn't help
at all; the florescent overheads bore through the lids, straight to the
back of my brain.  I stood there, tapping my shoes against the marble
floors.  Finally, the elevator doors opened in front of me and I stepped
in.

"Hold the elevator."  A voice shouted out.  I hit the button and James
ran in.  Inwardly I groaned, outwardly I gave him a weak smile.  He
returned it and with the passing greeting, I closed my eyes again.

After a while James cleared his throat.  Irritated, I looked at him.  He
stood there, leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator, looking
at me expectantly.  After a while he spoke.  "Going down?"

I gave him a confused look.

"The elevator doesn't work unless you press a button, and you're leaning
right next to them."

Understanding hit me.  We weren't moving.  I hit the ground floor and
muttered a thanks.

After a few seconds, James spoke again.  "So, Alex, is it?  What do you
want to do first?"

I gave him an irritated look again.  What the hell was he talking
about.  I was crawling into my bed.  If we were in any other situation,
or if he were anyone else, I might have toyed with the idea of inviting
him, but instead I said "What?"

He continued.  "I figure we could do the sight seeing thing, if you've
never been here before.  Or we could get something to eat first, you are
looking a little pale.  Maybe we should . . ."  At that point I didn't
something that I would never normally do.  I placed my finger against
his lips.  Instantly I felt a shock, good ole static shock.  His head
recoiled back; obviously he felt it, too.  But call it fate or science
or whatever, it worked.  He stopped talking.

"You didn't take that pompous ass seriously back there, did you?"  I
asked.

He looked a little confused, again.  His green eyes clouded over a
little and his lips lost a little of the smile that seemed to be
permanently plastered to his face faltered a bit.  I'm sure he did
everything the big directors told him.

I continued, "We don't need to spent time to get to know each other."

He looked a little hurt.  "But I really want this part.  I want you to
at least give me a sh. . ."  He was interrupted by the ringing of the
elevator.  We had finally reached the bottom floor.  A few seconds
later, the doors whispered open and I stepped out, James close behind.

I turned my head to him and said "you'll get the part, don't worry.  I
won't object."  If that was the only sacrifice I had to make to keep my
publishing contact, well then, I'll take it.  This wasn't a battle that
was worth the fight.

James thought otherwise.  "What made you change your mind so suddenly?
Steven said you were adamantly against me playing this part.  What's
with the change?"

Now, anyone could tell you that I'm at my worst when I had a headache.
The remarks I usually kept bottled up always come flying out.  This was
not a special case.  I reached the revolving door and turned to face
James.  "Why?"  I answered.  "Because I would rather kiss a dead moose's
ass then waste my time with you."  I went out and tried to hail down a
taxi.  Having no luck, I looked around and glanced back into the
building.  My anger died instantly.  I never saw someone look so
dejected before.  The smile that lighted up his face was completely gone
and it looked like he had tears in his eyes.  Well, from what I could
see through the window.  He just stood there, looking blankly at the
door.  I took a deep breathe and when back in.  He didn't see me, just
kept on staring into space.  And his eyes defiantly were shimmering.  I
cleared my throat.  He looked around and spotted me.  He didn't look
angry or anything, just rejected.  My god, how fragile were these boy
bands anyway?  Did they need the approval of every single person, even
from someone who wasn't a fan?  Obviously they did.

"Hey, James."  I stammered out.  "Sorry about that.  It's just that
Spielberg rattled me, made me edgy and now I have a headache and . . ."
I rambled a few more excuses before I exhausted my supply.  I wasn't
very good at apologies.  I ran my hands nervously through my thick,
brown hair, noticing I still needed that hair cut.

I began again after a pause, realizing James wasn't saying anything.
"Look, I'm sure you'll be great for the part.  I'm sure you're a great
guy to be around, I'm just not in the mood right now, kay?"  Finally, a
nod, a response.  "Great."  I gave a half-wave and left again, still
feeling low for being such an ass, but now that the karma crisis was
over, my migraine took over again.  I tried waving a taxi down again,
and this time one pulled up.

Opening the door, I shouted "The Hyatt on Sunset, please," before
getting in.  I slammed the door shut and the driver began to pull away.
I glanced over to the building's lobby, hoping that James wasn't still
looking rejected.  But he wasn't there; the lobby was filled only with
people in suits running to and fro, hoping to make the deal, to kiss
someone's ass.  `Hollywood' I thought bitterly as I closed my eyes yet
again, praying that the ride would be a quick one.

* * * * * *

A knock on the door startled me from my sleep.  It was completely black;
I couldn't see the hands that were rubbing my weary eyes.  The sleep
helped enormously.  The pressure in my head was still there but a lot
milder.  But I could think again.  And the first thought that popped up
was "Who is it?"  Why was someone knocking at my door.

"Room service, sir."

How the hell did room service get called?  I've been dead to the world
for at least five hours.  I wearily got up and stumbled to the door.  I
debated shouting again, but that was the stupidest way to have a
conversation - through a door, shouting at each other.  It took less
energy to just open the door, and I'm all for expending less energy.  I
got to the door, opened and . . .

"James, what are you doing here?"  Was this guy stalking me now?  Is
this what celebrities do for fun?  James was standing there, pushing a
room service cart, dressed in a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans, a
cream colored shirt and a grin on his face.  `Well,' I thought, `at
least he's smiling again.'

"Room service, sir,"  he repeated.  "Where would you like the cart?"  I
motioned inside, more amused than anything else.  I stepped aside and he
came threw the doorway.  "There's no step here, is there?  I can't see."

I forgot to turn on the lights.  My eyes had all ready adjusted to the
blackness that I hadn't noticed.  I flipped on the lights and James
pushed the cart to the middle of the entry way.  He locked the cart
wheels and turned to face me, holding out his hand.

It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for a tip.  Giving him a
quirky smile I decided to play this game.  I reached down, ready to grab
my wallet when I noticed I was in my boxers.  My clothes were lying on
the chair next to the bed.  James looked me up and down, having the time
of his life embarrassing me to death.  I felt my face flush red hot, but
not to let my embarrassment get the best of me, I said, "Why, Mr. Bass.
I usually wait until the third date to take off all my clothes.  You
must have really wooed me off my feet."

It was his turn to blush.  James quickly glanced down towards the floor,
averting his eyes away from me.  A little too quickly.  I began to
wonder, but dropped it almost immediately.  Now was not the time for a
Hollywood fling, even if it was feasible.  I went over to the dresser
and grabbed my favorite pair of sweats, not bothering with a shirt.  It
was my room, and I hated wearing clothes, anyway.  If he was embarrassed
by it, he could leave.  Anyway, he all ready saw much more than that;
being topless should be no problem.

"So, James, would you like to join me?  I hate to eat alone."  Now that
the migraine was gone, I became much more social.  James started to
attract my eye, and I decided it might be nice to get to know him.

He looked up, a grin on his face.  "I thought you'd never ask."  Weird
response.  Maybe . . . but no.

I went over to the cart and lifted up the lid.  Pizza.  My favorite
food.  Looking to see what the topping where, my gray eyes gleamed with
amazement.  "How did you know I was a vegetarian?"

James gave me a little grin.  I noticed how his face lit up with each
smile, the eyes radiating an inner glow.  "Oh the joys of being famous.
People tell you everything.  What room people are staying at and what
food they eat."

I was touched.  He went through all that trouble to please me after I'd
been such an ass.  He must really want that part.  Or something else?
`Stop it' I scolded myself.

"So," I asked, "want to watch a little T.V. while we eat?  Talk?  Music?"

Lance gave me a nervous look.  "How about we watch a movie?"

I was surprised.  I was sure he would want to talk about the movie and
his part.  "OK.  What movie?"

Another nervous look, accompanied by a jittery laugh.  "How about `On
The Line?'"

I had never heard of that movie.  Being up for anything, though, I said
sure.  Eerily, James had a copy of the movie with him and stuck it into
the DVD player.  I brought over the food to the sofa and glanced at the
screen, the movie already playing.  A paper airplane flew through a high
school gym (great, a high school movie) a landed . . .

"James," I asked.  "Is that you?"  No reply.  "I think that's you."  I
turned to him, amused.

He was more nervous then I ever saw him.  His eyes wouldn't look up at
me.  "Well," stammering, James got out his planned agenda. "if you watch
this and tell me what you think about my acting ability, well. . ."

"Fair enough."  I decided to end his agony and watch the movie.
Hopefully, it wasn't a long one.

* * * * * *

James had fallen asleep during the movie, his head resting on my
shoulder.  To tell you the truth, I almost did, too.  Lots of cheese,
but it was amusing in it's own quirky way.  Deciding not to wake him, I
occupied myself by looking through the DVD extras.  I loved watching
that stuff; the extras sometimes making an unbearable movie watchable.
Not that "On The Line" was unwatchable, it just wasn't for me.  A little
too teeny bopper for me.  But I saw some potential.  Given the right
part and some good direction, he could become a great actor.  I was
debating watching the movie again with the audio commentary when I felt
him stirring.

James sat up, green eyes glossy with fatigue, his brown hair matted down
on one side.  He gave me a quick smile.  "Did I fall asleep on you?"

"Yeah, but don't worry about it.  I'm told I make a great pillow."  I
pointed toward the empty pizza box lying on the floor.  "Too many of
these I guess.  Makes for great cushioning."

He gave me a quizzical look.  "What are you talking about, Alex?  You're
in great shape."  He saw me shake my head, ready to reply but he cut me
off.  "I can't believe you think you're fat.  I mean, you look awesome,
that's what at. . ."  All of a sudden he stopped talking and shut up,
turning bright red.

I, however, didn't notice.  I didn't take praise very well, so I tuned
out when people started dishing it out.  I hated how I looked, too many
beauty marks for my taste.  My nose was overly large and the thought of
the pizza congealing around my waste, forming a spare tire sickened me.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the uncomfortable silence in the
room.  After a while, James changed the subject.

"So, how'd you like the movie?" he inquired, nervously tapping his foot
against the coffee table.

I looked at him.  He wouldn't meet my gaze.  "Truthfully?"  He nodded.
"It was drivel.  But you were good, considering the material," I added,
noticing his crestfallen look.  He looked at me, hopeful, as I
continued.  "I figure, you were sticking to the image of *N Sync and a
teeny bopper piece of crap was produced.  Since you're clearly
interested in my story, you're ready to branch out.  Smart move,
considering that you're fan base doesn't go out past the shallow end of
the pool."

A smile appeared on his face.  "So you think I should drop the *N Sync
act?"

I looked at him, confused a little.  "Isn't it dropped, all ready?  You
guys haven't been together since Justin went solo."

"Well, technically, we're still together," he answered.  "Me and the
guys are just taking a break from each other."

"The guys and I." I said, smiling.

"What?"

I cleared my throat.  "The guys and I are taking a break."  I felt bad
at correcting him right when we were bonding, but bad grammar was the
biggest pet peeve of mine.  Guess it comes from being a writer, from
majoring in English, from nit picking.

He decided not to comment, so I continued.  "Two years is quite a long
break."

"Yeah, well, things happen," he replied, gloomily.  I decided to change
course, figuring this road wasn't leading any where.

"I didn't know you wanted to be an astronaut."

He looked a little surprised.  "How'd you know about that?"

I pointed toward the T.V. screen.  "It was in your bio."

"Oh," he smiled sheepishly.  "Yeah, it's always been my biggest
childhood dream to go to space.  That's why I jumped at the chance to
join the Russian team."

"And I thought you were just being another celebrity."

Again, a confused look crossed his face.  "Being a celebrity?"

"You know, `look at me.  I'm rich and famous and I can do anything'."

Giving me a weird stare, he waiting a few seconds before replying.
"You're not a big fan of celebrities, I take it?"

"What makes you think that?" I asked, sarcastically.  "I LOVE famous
people.  Just love them to death!"

James began to laugh and after a while, I joined him.  I was loving the
time spent with him.  I usually didn't connect with people this fast.  I
didn't have very many close friends, just a handful that I trusted and
thought of as my extended family.  James and I, however, clicked right
away; something that's never happened to me.  After what seemed like a
lifetime, the laughter began to subside.  He looked at me with a look I
haven't seen before.  Determined, confident.  I wondered what brought
that on.  Like he came to some decision right then and there, and
decided to act on it.

"There are some advantages to being famous, you know," he said softy.  A
sly look appeared on his face.

"Yeah, what's that?" I asked.  I peered into his green eyes,
mesmerized.  `Careful, Alex' I thought.  `You're falling for a straight
guy.'  I thought my infatuation was pretty obvious, but James was
oblivious.

"Well, we can do things and go places that most people could never do.
I could never have gone to space without being in *N Sync first.  And
the people I've met.  There's amazing people out there with amazing
personalities that I've got to meet because I was famous for a while."

"OK, I give you that."  I said, half listening to him, trying to calm my
emotions.  "Who's the most intriguing person you've met, and why?"  That
question should buy me some time.

"Easy," he stated.  He looked right at me, leaned close and whispered
gently.  "You. You by a landslide."

And before I could form an answer to that from my startled mind, he
moved in, kissing me.


To be continued . . .