Date: Wed, 21 Jun 2000 06:45:09 EDT
From: FishofHappiness@aol.com
Subject: Re: Remembering Petticoat Lane, part 7

	Hey, everyone! Quick, quick intro now. I know nothing about anyone
or anything. 18 or up, openminded only. Title comes from Stone Temple Pilots,
and I don't own them or their drug habit. Thanks for reading!

Remembering Petticoat Lane
Part Seven: "He wasn't happy on the day that he met her"


	There was one curve on the way to the psychiatrist's office that
had always absolutely fascinated Lance every single time he drove past it.
It was at the end of a good straightaway, and it was a fast, sharp turn. If
someone were to miss it, they would barrel into a hard cement brick wall
that, at this point in time, was covered in the dried, dead remains of
climbing ficus vines. At the right speed, it would be instant death. If he
lead-footed it, it would be sure to work. He slowly, almost subconsciously
started to speed up. Faster, and faster he climbed until he was just about
at the point of no return--

	"LANCE!"

	Shit! He had all but forgotten JC was in the car until that moment.
He swerved the car sharply, and just so very barely maintained control of
the vehicle, and kept it on the curb. A cold sweat poured through him, not
only at the though of what he'd been about to do, but at the idea that he
could have taken Josh with him.

	"What the fuck did you think you were doing, Lance?!?"

	"I'm sorry, JC.. I guess my mind isn't on the road." A Truer lie was
never spoken. his mind was completely on the road, just not in the capacity
it probably should have been. The Florida DMV tended to frown upon the use
of their highways as suicide tools.

	"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

	"No. I'm fine."

	"Alright. Whatever."

	Great. First he contimplated vehicular suicide/homicide, and now
Josh was mad at him. Add to that the fact he was going somewhere that he
-really- didn't want to be to talk to someone who he had no desire to know,
and this was just shaping up to be a -wonderful- day. They finally arrived
at the psychologist's office (3 minutes early! Nearly killing yourself on a
straightaway did have it's advantages, after all...), and made their way
into the sterile-seeming, tense feeling room.The other guys filtered in
one-by-one, each one muttering about the hour of the morning, or certain
members of the Jive management. They didn't have long to gripe, though.
Soon, a long-legged brown haired 20-something walked into the waiting room.
"Dr. Johnson will see the first patient now. She said that you'd already
know who that was?"

	Lance, who had been silently watching and daydreaming in the back
corner of the room, rose to his feet in a way that could only be described
as a walking bundle of nerves. He didn't speak-- almost couldn't, he just
nodded at the receptionist. The perky college kid seemed uneffected by his
somber mood, she chattered all the way into the Doctor's main patient room.
It was a pretty standard room, to Lance's eye. It had a selection of
different chairs and thing, presumably so that the patients would feel at
home. There were other sort of unusual things lying around. Books, pamplets,
 pads of papers, big crayons, dolls.. it all vaguely reminded him of
photoshoot props. his eyes slowly fell on the figure that was seated on an
overstuffed easychair, situated in the center of the room. She was about 40,
with light hair, and a solid, average build. She was the type of woman that
he would normally meet when kids drug their loving mothers to a concert and
a meet-and-greet. She had a sense of warmth and comfort coming from her, but
even that couldn't belay the butterflies in his stomach. She looked up from
the files she was looking over to give him a nice, motherly smile. God. She
reminded him of his mommy.

	"You must be the little injured lamb. Lance Bass, correct?" That
desturbed him.. how could she know his name? She looked at the expression on
his face, and smiled again. "Don't worry, my daughter's a fan. I stole on of
your albums to kind of get a feel for you. I recognized you from your picture
." He relaxed visibly when she said that, and even managed a small smile
back at her. "My name is Kathleen Johnson, and, as I suppose you've learned,
I've been hired to be your shrink. Go ahead and have a seat, I just want to
start with a few questions." He sat down in the seat next to her, stiffly,
but carefully. "First things first, Lance. How are you doing today?"

	"I've been better."

	"Nervous about meeting me?"

	"I guess you could say that." It seemed kind of silly now, that he
was nervous about meeting someone who was just like his.. mom. God, he
missed his mommy. "It's been a rough week, too."

	"I bet it has. What exactly has been going on?"

	"I'm having nightmares, about my past. I've sort of been.. unstable
for awhile."

	"Emotionally unstable, or physically?"

	"I guess you could say both. I feel like I can't control my emotions
anymore. I'm getting in a lot of fights and that kind of thing. Cried a lot
more then I should, too. Physically, well.. the life of a touring artist
doesn't really provide for a lot of stability."

	"That's one of the very reasons I suggested that management bring
you home for this. Otherwise, I doubt we could have made much progress. What
sort of things are you having nightmares about, Lance?" He paused, and
looked away from her. He didn't think he could do this, go through with
this. He liked her, but there was no way he could trust her. "Lance, you do
understand that, under doctor/client privilage, nothing leaves this room?"

	"Yes, I understand that."

	"Then you understand that whatever you tell me won't go any further
then that door over there, right?"

	"I do."

	"Then why don't you tell me what happened?"

	"Because everything's changed every time I've said it. I don't think
I can take that much more change. I'm -here- because I told people."

	"I promise that nothing will change, except, maybe I'll be able to
help make things a little better."

	"I.. I just can't not now."

	"Okay. Maybe later, then."

	The rest of the session went much the same way, both for Lance and
the other guys. No one was eager to open up, but they all seemed to like the
doctor well enough to not argue about seeing her again. Lance obviously had
the most appointments for the longest time, but she alao had goup sessions
planned for them to work through other difficulties that had been popping
up. All in all, it went rather smoothly.

	At least until JC and Lance drove home (with JC at the wheel this
time) to find a strange, white rental car in the driveway. Lance hopped out,
and went to the door, followed closely by JC.

	"Do you know who it could be?"

	"Not a clue..." It wasn't until he had wrestled the door open, and
walked into his kitchen that the bomb hit. Sitting at his dining room table,
with a cup of coffee, was Diane Bass.

	"Mom?!?"