He had received constant chiding from the other four for being such a homebody, opting to stay in the hotel and work on his laptop. Now that he had the free time, they were the ones who suddenly didn't want to go out.

So he threw on black clothes to fit his mood, stomped out of the hotel, and reminded himself that he could go out on his own. He was a big boy now, he was. Even though he only felt like it about half of the time.

Yeah, a big boy, now with a big migraine. He had been drinking screwdrivers, instead of the usual beer, and they had caught up with him all at once. Not to mention the club he stumbled into. Whoa. A little too much leather, and not enough music that he recognized.

Not that he wanted to dance anyway. He had headed straight for the bar. He couldn't even remember why he had wanted to get smashed tonight.

A smile crept over his face. "Good, I can't remember," he said aloud.

"Can't remember what?" said a voice next to him.

He looked over and saw a leather corseted... transvestite(?) leaning on the table. She (he?) was smoking a black cigarette through a cigarette holder. He simply stared.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the transvestite said. He (she?) sat down and held his hand out. "I'm Cheshire. Sounds like you have a problem -- I excel at solving them."

"Hi, I'm --" he hesitated. He almost used a fake name, but who here would know who he was? "I'm Lance."

"Hi Lance," Cheshire said. "You look like you don't know where the hell youare."

"I don't actually," he looked around the room, shrugged his shoulders.

"Not a problem. Just let out what's bothering you, and then we'll get you dancing."

"You heard, I don't remember," he smiled.

"I bet you do," Cheshire said, and playfully swatted at Lance's shoulder.

"Yeah, but I dunno," he started. "I've never told anyone. Not even my best friends."

"Why can't you tell them?"

"Well, it's, uh, about one of them."

"Boy problems, huh? I know ALL about that."

Lance laughed and relaxed.. "Was is that obvious? Do I have queer written on my forehead or something?"

"Gaydar, baby. Was the best thing I ever had installed."

Lance looked around, as if someone was watching him. Someone was, actually. He spied a bodyguard standing in a dark corner. "I'm in love with one of my friends. But I don't think he's gay... or even bisexual."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"He's got a girlfriend, too."

"Oh."

"But he doesn't see her a lot."

"Okay, so, drag him out here one night and I'll see what I can do."

"We travel a lot, so that wouldn't work."

"Travel? Like I won't be able to convince you to come back and see me tomorrow night?"

"Nope. We're touring." Lance regretted it before it came out of his mouth.

"Touring?" Cheshire grinned. "Are you in a band?"

"Sorta. A singing group."

"Have I heard of you?"

"Probably, but let's not get into that."

"Okay." Cheshire paused, and took a drag from his cigarette. "Must not be anything that would be played in this club though."

"No," he laughed. "It probably wouldn't."

They didn't say anything for a few minutes. Lance swirled the ice in his glass, Cheshire smoked and eyed boys as they came into the bar.

He turned back to Lance. "How about I buy you another drink, and then you dance with me," he said. "We'll figure out this boy problem of yours later."

"Okay." Lance stood up and was lead by the hand over to the bar. If he was dancing, then he could *really* forget about Chris, at least for a little while.

End.

Originally written as an *Mprov on 11/29/00, with the words socialite, transvestite, migraine, excel.