Tommy’s dress slacks were tan. He was wearing a white dress shirt and a red, just slightly patterned tie. He looked like the epitome of a businessman. Just as his office looked like the epitome of a business office.
"You sounded serious, Bass," Tommy said. He propped his feet up on the desk and Lance noticed a hole--just above the shoe line--in one of his deep brown socks.
"That’s because I was serious." Lance leaned back in his own chair and bent his right leg, resting his ankle on top of his left kneecap. "I am serious."
"And what, may I ask, is so serious?" Tommy asked. "The business is doing fine; you’re on the brink of making obscene amounts of money."
"But I should be making more," Lance said. He raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Shouldn’t I, Tommy?"
Tommy moved so that his feet were back on the floor. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and folded his hands in front of him.
"You’re the one running the business," he said. "You should know how much money you’re making."
"No one knows how much money I’m really making but you, man." Lance leaned forward also. His face was hard.
Tommy face stayed carefully calm. "What are you talking about. You know--"
"I’m talking about the money you’ve been taking from me since we started this thing," Lance said. He leaned back in the chair again, a compulsive shift. "The money you thought I wouldn’t notice was missing."
Tommy’s face was neutral.
"Well, I noticed, Tom, and now we have to decide what to do about it."
Lance smiled calmly.
--
(1998)
"The first thing you’ve got to do," Johnny said as he leaned back in his leather covered chair, "is get someone to do the demo. The more professional it sounds—you know this—the more likely someone will hear it and say, ‘we’ve got to have this girl.’" He emphasized his words with snaps from his right hand.
Lance nodded and scribbled some words down on the notepad in front of him.
"Do you have some names?" he asked. "I’ve got a few, but I thought that maybe you’d be able to recommend some."
Johnny nodded and began to dig through one of the file cabinets behind
his desk.
--
"How much?" Lance used his heel to kick at the floor, turning the spinning chair around. He rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair, and palmed his forehead. "We just want to record a demo, not do anything fancy."
He sat straight up, his back going rigid, when he heard the answer.
"Five thousand dollars?" Lance asked. He blinked. "To just record a demo tape?"
There was silence in the small room at the studio as Lance listened to the man on the other end of the phone line talk.
"I’ll get back to you," Lance said. He flipped the phone shut and rested
his head and splayed arms on the desk in front of him.
--
The hotel room door was a plain, brown wood. It echoed just like wood, too, when Lance knocked on it.
"Knock on wood," he muttered softly as he lowered his hand back to his side.
He stood out in the hallway for a few moments, until the door opened and JC smiled at him.
"Lance, man," JC said. He gave Lance a dopey grin—too wide, showing too many teeth, and too much happiness. "What can I do for you?"
"I have a favor to ask." Lance walked into the room uninvited.
"What?" JC sat down on his bed and motioned for Lance to sit.
Lance perched himself on the clean surface of the flimsy, teak-stained dresser.
"What can I do for you?" JC asked again.
"You know Meredith?" Lance asked. He ducked his head slightly as he mentioned Meredith’s name.
"Yeah." JC grinned widely again. "We all know Meredith, dude. How could we not? You sure talk about her enough."
JC winked twice in quick succession.
Lance glared, made a motion as if to get up off of the dresser, but then stopped.
"I need to record a demo tape for her," he said. "I mean, that’s what I signed her on to do. Record a demo and get her signed to someone else."
JC nodded. "Yeah, man. We know."
"It’s going to cost five thousand dollars if I get a professional to record the demo for her."
JC let a slow breath leave his mouth and nose in a gentle whoosh.
"I don’t have that sort of money," Lance said. He ran his hand over his soft, bleached spikes.
"You need money?" JC asked.
Lance shook his head. "I want you to record the demo for me."
JC stood up from the bed, quickly. "You want me to what?"
"Record the demo," Lance said. "Sit in that little booth in the studio and push the buttons and record the demo. Nothing fancy." He got a thoughtful look on his face. "This girl doesn’t need anything fancy. Her voice should do it all."
"I can’t." JC shook his head back and forth several times. "You’ve got to understand, Lance. I’m not a professional and you’ve said over and over again that you want professional quality for this tape."
"But you are a professional," Lance said. "Or you will be, someday. You certainly hang out in the booth enough. You know what goes on in there. That’s more than I can say."
JC shook his head again. "I’m not going to be the reason this girl fails. I’ve never produced anyone before, and—"
"This could be your place to start." Lance looked at JC imploringly. He blinked his wide, green eyes. "I’ll pay you."
"I wouldn’t feel right taking your money," JC said. He shook his head again. "I don’t have the experience you need. I wouldn’t know the first thing about putting together a demo." He paused for a few moments. "Okay, maybe the first thing, but definitely not the last things."
Lance pushed himself off of the dresser and nodded. "Yeah, man. Okay."
"I’m sorry," JC said.
Lance smiled once, tightly, and said a tight, "it’s okay" before he
turned, walked out of the room, and shut the door behind him.
--
(2003)
Tommy blinked. He looked around the office nervously.
"What are we going to do about it, Tom?" Lance asked. His voice got higher pitched as he continued talking. "Do you have the money still? Can you write me a check?"
Tommy blinked again. He attempted to look confused.
"I didn’t think so," Lance said. He sighed. "That would have made it so much easier." Resting one elbow on the armrest of the chair, Lance propped his chin up with his cupped hand. "The police know, Tom. Just like they know about all of the money that disappeared from your previous places of employment. They were the ones who called me, because I’ve always been your clueless, trusting friend." Lance looked down at his watch. "In fact, their accountant is looking over the books right now."
Then Tommy paled.
--
(1998)
"I don’t know what to do, Tom," Lance said into the cell phone. He pressed it tightly up against his ear. "I don’t have the money to be spending five thousand dollars on a freaking demo tape."
"But you want it to be good, right?" Tommy asked. He sighed over the phone. "I’m looking at your numbers now."
"Yes, I want it to be good," Lance said. "JC would have made a good one."
"But he won’t do it," Tommy said.
Lance shook his head. He sighed. "No."
"Why not?" Tommy asked. "I’d do it if I knew the first thing about that sort of thing."
Lance could hear Tommy’s body shifting through the telephone connection.
"He’s a perfectionist," Lance said. "He doesn’t believe in doing anything unless he’s sure he can do it perfectly."
"That sounds like someone else I know." Tommy laughed shortly.
"He would have done it perfectly," Lance said. "He has this way. Things that he thinks won’t turn out perfectly, well, they just do."
"But he won’t do it," Tommy said. "So you’re going to have to spend the money. It’s as simple as that."
"And I have the money to spend?"
"Yeah," Tommy said. "It’s here. It’ll deplete your resources a lot, but. It’s here."
"Thanks." Lance sighed, one last time. "Bye."
"Bye," Tommy said.
They hung up the phones at the same time.
--
The hallway outside Lou’s office was lined with the same pictures that Lance had remembered from his previous visits. The same pictures of them and the same pictures of the Backstreet Boys. It looked different, though. Lance couldn’t quite figure out how, exactly. It was darker, maybe, and he saw a thin layer of white dust had settled on the edges of some of the picture frames.
Lance knocked timidly on the door of Lou’s office.
"Come in." Lou’s voice was raspy as the sound traveled through the wood of the door.
Lance opened the door, gently, and stepped into the office. It looked the same as before, no hint of the lack of care that had touched the hallway.
"Lance," Loud said, drawing out Lance’s name. "My boy. I wasn’t expecting to see you today."
"Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to be here." Lance tried to laugh, but tried too hard, and the sound ended up coming out strangled.
"Well," Lou said. "What can I do for you?"
"I’m having some difficulties," Lance said. He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed noticeably.
"Difficulties?" Lou asked. "Well, you know I’m here to help in any way that I can."
Lance nodded. He didn’t continue speaking, though, instead staring down at his hands.
"What sort of difficulties," Lou prompted. He leaned forward at his desk, clasping his pudgy hands and his mouth attempting to form a friendly smile.
"I need more money," Lance said quickly, softly. "And, I was, um. I was wondering if you’d be willing to lend me some more."
Lou had leaned backwards in his chair at the first mention of money. His hands went behind his neck. "Money," he said slowly, rolling the word over his tongue. "You need more money."
Lance nodded. "It seems as if the demo tape is going to be a little bit more expensive than I’d previously thought."
"So you need more money," Lou said. He smirked. "It does take more than 10,000 dollars to get a business off the ground, doesn’t it?"
Lance nodded again, silently.
"I will still hold you accountable for this money," Lou said. "No matter what happens in the next few years. Whether you guys make it or not."
"Yes, sir."
"Another ten thousand?" Lou asked.
Lance nodded.
--
(2003)
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Tommy said. He swallowed harshly.
Lance rolled his eyes and flipped his right foot, bouncing it against his left knee.
"Don’t give me anymore bullshit, Tom. We all know you took the money. What was it? Drugs? Women? Gambling?"
Tommy was silent for a few moments, then his expression became resigned, although Lance thought that he saw a twinkle in the other man’s eye.
"What do you want me to do?" Tommy asked.
"I want my money back," Lance said.
--
(1998)
"Oh, *wow*," Meredith said. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and looked around the Los Angeles airport. "This place is huge."
Lance nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. He smiled at Meredith’s mother. "Your flight was good?"
Mrs. Edwards smiled. "It was very nice, thank you."
"Good," Lance said. "I wish it could have been first class, but."
"Oh no, no." Mrs. Edwards spoke quickly. "We were fine weren’t we, honey?"
"It was the first time I’d been on a plane," Meredith said. "I liked it." She looked up at Lance and smiled in a semi-adoring fashion.
"Well," Lance said. His fingers spread out over the flat of her shoulder blade, gently guiding her through the throngs of people. "I hope you’ll be doing a lot more hopping around the country on planes soon."
Meredith’s hair bounced as she nodded enthusiastically.
--
"Oh, James," Mrs. Edwards said as Lance let her and her daughter into the hotel room. "This is too nice."
"I want you guys close at hand." Lance smiled genuinely. "I’m afraid it’s not up on our floor, but the only people allowed up there are family members and girlfriends."
"This is too nice," Mrs. Edwards said again.
"None of that now, ma’am," Lance chided gently. Then he smiled at Meredith. "My client is going to be a star and she should be treated as such."
Meredith blushed.
Lance pulled two paper tickets out of his pants pocket. He handed them to Meredith. "These are for our show tonight, if you would like to come. Then tomorrow we’ll go get you acquainted with the studio and try out some songs."
Mrs. Edwards took the tickets from Meredith. "And what time will we need to be ready to go tomorrow morning?"
Lance looked down at his watch. "Ten, I’d say. That’ll give us about five hours before I have an interview with one of the radio stations around here."
Both women nodded.
Lance looked at his watch again. "A limousine will be downstairs at 6:30 to take you to the venue. I need to go now, but."
"Go," Mrs. Edwards said. She looked at Meredith. "We’ll be fine, won’t we, Mer?"
Meredith smiled. "We will." She looked directly at Lance for a moment. "Thank you for everything you’re doing, Lance."
"Believe me, Meredith," Lance said. "It’s my pleasure."
--
(2003)
"So, what are we going to do about it?" Lance asked. He turned his bored look on Tommy, completely ignoring the small smirk he saw shining through Tommy’s expression.
"What do you mean?" Tommy asked. His voice cracked. "The police know."
"I want the money back, Tom," Lance said agaub.
Tommy nodded. "But I don’t have—"
"You could get it for me, couldn’t you?" Lance’s gaze was intent.
"I don’t—"
"If you left right now," Lance said, "could you get it for me?"
"If I left—" Tommy tipped his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"I want my money," Lance repeated. "But I don’t want to see you go to jail." His face cracked into a smile, as if the action were unfamiliar. "You used to be my best friend, man."
"Those days are long since past, aren’t they," Tommy said.
--
(1998)
"I wish you could be out here, man," Lance said into the pay phone in the hallways of the studio. "This is something you should really be seeing. Our business is taking off."
"I wish I could be there, too." Tommy said. "It would be so cool to see someone famous on their first day." The telephone connection crackled.
JC stuck his head out the door of one of the studios and into the hallway. "Come on, man. They’re getting ready to start."
"I’ve got to go, Tom," Lance said.
"Yeah," Tommy said. "Go. I’ll talk to you later."
Lance hung up the black plastic phone on its silver painted metal holder and walked down the hallway towards the studio.
He walked into the producers’ booth and sat down in one of the hard, metal folding chairs that had been set up against the back wall.
In front of him were the plate glass windows showing the inside of the recording studio.
"It’s odd being on this side, isn’t it?" JC whispered in Lance’s ear.
"Yeah." Lance watched as JC hovered around the shoulders of the man working the boards.
Meredith sat in the middle of the recording studio, surrounded by beige walls and tinted glass, all alone. She had headphones on that seemed to dwarf her head, and the large microphone in front of her nearly covered her face.
"Okay," the man at the boards said. "Why don’t you warm up for me, okay, Darlin’?"
"Okay." Meredith’s voice was loud through the speakers, but was distorted by the microphone. She paused for a few moments. "What do you want me to sing?"
The producer looked over his shoulder at Lance.
Lance stood up and walked over to one of the microphones. "Just sing a little something, Mer, okay? He just wants to get a feel for your sound."
"But what should I sing?" Meredith asked again.
Lance looked over his shoulder at JC.
"We always sing what we’re about to record," JC said.
The producer nodded.
"Mer," Lance said into the microphone. "Sing one of the songs we’re going to be recording today. Just the opening verse, okay?"
Meredith nodded, opened her mouth, and began to sing.
"Wow," JC said quietly from his place along the back wall. "You were
right, Lance. She is good."
--
(2003)
The sun had set, slightly, making the office look more cluttered than it had earlier.
"They’re going to come get you," Lance said. "You know that, right? You’ll be in jail before the end of the week."
Tommy swallowed.
"You should probably alert your lawyer." Lance sat forward and dropped both of his feet to the floor.
Tommy nodded.
Lance stood up and looked down at his watch. "Well, I’m sure you have other things to be doing so I’ll let you get back to them."
He watched as Tommy blinked and nodded.
"I can see myself out," Lance said. "See you around, Tom."