3. Man in Need, Joey/Lance
Every Ship in the Sea
by Tiffany Rawlins
Well I've sailed every ship in the sea
But I traveled this world in misery
It's so hard to find
It's so hard to find
Who's going to cure
The heart of a man in need?
Joey loves women, he really does. And he loves Kelly. He always has. But all he can think about right now is fucking Marie Osmond. Not fucking her like how he fucks a woman he loves, warm and wet and silky smooth.
Just, fucking Marie Osmond, who was possibly on every single talk show all at the same time. Like, she has a freakout for three goddamned days and suddenly she's more famous than she ever had been before. He feels bad for the little kid, though. That's ripe playground taunt material right there. You're so ugly your momma took one look and ran as far and fast as she could.
Brianna, head to toe, is about the length of his forearm, and only a little wider. She's twelve days old and perfectly healthy and Kelly is fine.
Fucking Marie Osmond.
*Chris brings way too many clothes that won't fit for at least six months. JC has an armful of stuffed animals and spends an hour with the Kermit puppet up to his elbow, singing songs from the first Muppet Movie. Justin claps Joey's back a couple of times and says "whoa, man." Then he kisses Kelly's cheek and leaves, eyes wide.
Lance has FedExed a package almost every day, a rattle or a blanket or a set of blocks, nothing big, and in the two days since he got in from Toronto he's been by five times. When everyone else is gone, he hands Kelly a manila envelope and brushes his lips against Brianna's forehead. "Just in case, you know, y'all make some crazy child star out of her and go spending all the money. She should have something in her own name," Lance says. He pulls Joey into a hug, hand tight on Joey's shoulder, holding him steady and strong.
In the envelope, tucked inside a plain blue folder, there are three ridiculously large savings bonds with staggered cash-in dates twenty years down the road. And the bank book for a college fund with a year's tuition as starting balance. And the deed to fifty acres on the Delta. Brianna Fatone spelled out in neat embossed letters everywhere. "Love always, Uncle Lance" in curlicue ink.
*Joey sits in the driveway in his car for three hours, but he takes the baby monitor with him. She's already sleeping really good.
*New York, looping for the movie. Everyone in the neighborhood wants to see the pictures and Rae from the bakery says thank god she looks like her ma, huh. Lance spends the afternoon in the kitchen with Joey's aunts, talking Thanksgiving menus and sharing stories from the set, about half of them true.
Mark Farelli, Joey's best next-door buddy until they were thirteen, who's never moved more than ten blocks away from his folks, elbows Joey in the ribs and nods at Lance. "He's a little --" Waves a hand back and forth, wrist limp. "Right?"
Joey swallows and tastes the sharp acid of ripe tomatoes. "Grow the fuck up," he says, pushing up and off the couch.
In the car going back to the city and the hotel, Lance stretches his neck from side to side.
"Tired?" Joey asks.
"Mmm," Lance says, resting his head on Joey's shoulder.
Joey's tired. Not tired like how Kel sounds on the phone, Brianna in the nanny's arms but still howling. Babies just cry, Kelly says, everything's fine, everything'll be great if I can get a few hours' sleep.
"Thank you for coming," he says, putting his arm around Lance. "They're so fucking crazy about grandkids, man."
Lance chuckles and leans into Joey. He slides a hand around Joey's waist like they'd do after a long day of shooting when everyone else had gone home. "That lady from your aunt's spinning class, uh, Mary Ann?"
Lance says it like two words, like Jim Bob. "Yeah," Joey says. "It's Marianne, like Faithfull."
"She said, what's he gonna do for take your daughter to work day, send Brianna to introduce videos on TRL?"
"She said that?"
"Yeah."
There's a hush on the stereo between songs and Joey stares at the arcs of lights downriver. The tires click over rivets in the Manhattan Bridge and Lance falls asleep on Joey's chest.
*
Joey parks around the corner from his house and hides his face in his hands. It's not the first time he's crawled out of a dream like that, Lance's name on his lips and sweaty sheets tangled around his waist. But it's the first time he's woken up in the middle because the baby is crying.
Twenty minutes later there's a rent-a-cop from the security checkpoint knocking on the glass. "Oh, Mr. Fatone," he says, backing off. "Sorry, didn't realize it was you. I'm so sorry."
*
Three drinks at the hotel bar, post-junket, and then three more in the living room of the suite. Lance tastes like a Cosmopolitan and Joey smacks his lips like it's a joke but they both know better. They've done this before. This part, at least, the first part. The part that comes before Lance patting his arm and bringing him a glass of water so he doesn't throw up.
"I'm not that drunk," Joey says, fingers gripping the mantle of the door to Lance's room.
Lance smiles with half his face. He looks tired. "I think maybe you are."
"I'm not."
Lance turns back around, suit jacket hanging off one arm. "You're pretty drunk," Lance says, sounding so sure that Joey checks himself, shakes his head fast to see if he gets dizzy. He doesn't.
"Not drunk enough," Joey says. "To, uh, yeah." And Lance nods, of course, of course, same shit, different day, fucking Fatone who's been around the block and back again but still hasn't got the balls to fuck his best friend even if deep down it's really all he's ever wanted.
Joey puts a finger to his nose and walks a straight line across the room. Lance pauses with one hand on the hem of his shirt. Joey touches Lance's nose and kisses him again. "Not drunk enough to act like that was an accident," Joey says, and Lance smiles bright and beautiful.
*
Kelly's with her mom for three days and calls at eight, noon and eight again. Joey sends Laini home the first night and hums lullabies through the wooden dowel crib railing. He falls asleep on the floor of the baby's room, listening to her breathe in and out, whispering Lance's name to himself.
Crying and diapers and food at one thirty. Quarter after four. Seven twenty. Laini comes back at eight and Joey crawls into his own bed again and pulls the covers over his head.
Dusk and the dinner feeding and she's cooking something with lots of cheese if he wants some. He's going out for a run, he says, but he's got the car keys in his hands.
There's Dennis Miller and Monday Night Football on the big screen TV as he gulps from the faucet in Lance's kitchen. He watches the water run until Lance turns it off and puts a hand on his chest.
"What are you doing?" Lance says quietly, arm around Joey's neck. Joey takes Lance's face in his hands and drinks as greedily as he had from the sink.
*No wonder, he thinks, palm treading down Lance's ribs to where hips flare up. And she didn't even have this waiting for her.
"What's going on," Lance says, stomach muscles trembling under Joey's wide touch.
Joey curls up to Lance's side, resting his head on the pillow. He whispers, "I'm running away, I think."
Lance smirks like it's a line and Joey's cute and naked so he'll play along. Joey's seen that look before but never from a guy. It's not at all what he means.
He tries again, no whispering sexiness. Soothing like he was telling Oprah. "I think, I'm making a choice?" His voice breaks and becomes a question and Lance breathes in sharply.
"Joey. Joey, man." Lance sits up and tugs Joey's shoulders so they're cross-legged on the bed, facing each other, bare knees bumping. Lance shakes his head and stares seriously at Joey. "You don't have to choose," Lance says.
"I think I do." Joey bites down, teeth grating. Not gonna cry. At least he has something to run to. "I choose this," he says, but Lance shakes his head again.
"I'm not gonna let you choose, not like that," Lance says. "You don't --" Lance drags his hand across Joey's scruffy face and rubs at the corner of his mouth. Lance looks insistently at Joey. "You love that little girl."
Joey's throat burns and then Lance is stroking the curve of Joey's neck lightly, like he can tell. "But I love you," Joey says, emphatically, and Lance laughs like he can't help himself, low and kind.
"Alright," Lance says, kissing him. "We're all alright then. The kids are alright."