Wanna Tell Me About It? part 1

[pensnest]

It wasn't much of a dressing room, but at least there was a good-sized mirror over the cluttered table, and light enough to check out his makeup. Adam peered at his reflection, tilted his head, and nodded. Theater makeup was the best thing ever, in his opinion. Awesome coverage.

He was perfecting his eye glitter when Tommy and Danielle burst into the room, apparently in the middle of a quarrel. Why they had to do it in here, he did not know. Neither of them took any notice of him. Adam returned his attention to the mirror-lucky he hadn't striped right across his cheek when the interruption came.

"He had his arm around her! Don't tell me he isn't interested!" Tommy announced.

"They're friends. Anyway, he's gay. He came out, don't you remember, I'm sure it was him-"

"So why'd he come in here with a girl, then? Wouldn't he be looking to hook up? I say she's protection for him."

Danielle paused. "Yeah, maybe. I mean, if he's not looking to hook up, then-but they're friends. I told you. She was in season four, she was that girl, the one with pigtails like spaniel's ears, she was the cutest thing ever. And they used to do red carpet stuff together. What's her name, wait, wait, I know this-"

"Do you actually need to be discussing this in here? It's not like there's room for three of us, and I do need to move my elbow," Adam said, trying to sound superior but probably, he thought, achieving only plaintive.

"Emmanuelle!" Danielle burst out.

"What?" said Adam. "Emmanuelle who?"

"Emmanuelle Chriqui, who played the girl next door in the fourth season of Synchronicity."

"Oh, right. She was cute, you're right."

"Adam, do not tell me you watched that show!" Tommy said.

"Of course." Adam turned back to the mirror, hoping the stage makeup would cover the warmth he could feel in his cheeks. "Had to see what the cool kids were wearing that week."

"Yeah, right," said Tommy. "Anyway, there's one of them out there.

"What?" said Adam, startled. "Who-"

"Which one was your favorite?" Danielle interrupted. "Mine was Joey. Especially when he had the red hair."

"Joey?" Adam said, momentarily diverted from his train of thought. "Joey? Seriously?" He'd never really had a thing for Joey, well, except for moments, because he had a great smile, and the red hair had been pretty cool, but still, Joey?

"He looked like he wouldn't break, know what I mean?" Danielle had the dirtiest laugh, she really did.

"Oh my God," Adam muttered. "You were a child when that show was on!"

Danielle rolled her eyes so hard she probably sprained something. "Who was your favorite?"

"Oh, come on. Like I cared enough to have a favorite." He'd made a mistake admitting he knew who Emmanuelle Chriqui was, Adam knew, but he might get out of this one with his dignity intact if he didn't-

"I bet it was JC," Danielle said. "Or was it Justin? Did you like him best when he had curls or after he shaved his head?"

When he pouted, Adam thought. Justin's mouth.... Although it was true that JC, with those incredible cheekbones and that endearing, slightly bewildered look he sometimes had in his pretty eyes, and the way they scrinched up when he laughed, had turned out adorable. His hair had been amazing after he outgrew the hideous season one Caesar. Adam had definitely had a JC phase. Chris first, because Chris was funny and sharp-edged and had ridiculous hair. Adam had admired anyone who could carry off some of those styles without appearing ever to notice they were ridiculous. Or at least, never to care. Chris first, then JC, then maybe a little bit Justin, because of the pouting and the smile, and then-

"Hey, Lance Bass is out there." It was Monte, sticking his head around the door to drop his casual bombshell. "C'mon, Adam, did you warm up yet?"

"Yeah, I mean, no. These two are distracting me," Adam said, and Monte ushered Tommy and Danielle sternly out of the room and left Adam to put his eye makeup away with a suddenly shaky hand, and start vocalizing.

Yeah, he'd had a favorite. Not at first, because right at the beginning Lance had looked like some kind of alien life form who'd landed there by mistake and wasn't sure he belonged, and besides, there had been Chris and JC to occupy his attention, but somewhere in the middle of season three, Lance had suddenly gotten hot, really, really hot, and Adam didn't care anymore that his storylines had mostly been kinda stupid. He'd started rating the episodes by how much screen time Lance got, and had once actually made a list of the Best Lance Moments and disputed them hotly with other people on the Lancephiles newsgroup. There was not enough alcohol in the world to make him admit this to a living soul, but, still.

It wasn't like the Bowie crush, which would never leave him. Hell, if he ever got within twenty yards of Bowie, Adam would probably lose his mind, his ability to speak, and all sensation in his legs. But Bowie was to all intents and purposes a god-the Synchronicity boys were different. Approachable. The boys next door, if the boys next door were unfeasibly pretty and wore the most ridiculous street clothes ever. So he'd spent a lot of time fantasizing about Lance. About meeting him unexpectedly in some hangout somewhere and getting to be his friend. About impressing him. About auditioning for the show and getting to play scenes with Lance and hang out with him after. And of course, of course, about doing all kinds of dirty and delicious things with him.

Lance Bass was in the audience tonight.

Holy shit.

Adam did not get stage fright, not ever. A little nervous, sure, a little adrenaline buzz that kept him sharp and made him give his best. The flutter in his belly was a bit more than usual tonight, like the butterflies were wearing boots, but he could use it, channel it, pour it into the singing.

He really wanted to do his best tonight. Really, really.

"Where's he sitting?" he hissed at Monte as they waited for the curtain to open.

Monte gave him a knowing grin (probably knowing the wrong thing, though, for which Adam was grateful). "Second row table, a bit left of center."

And they were on.

He blazed onto that stage like a comet, and from the first note that came out knew that this was going to be a killer performance. He was absofuckinglutely "on". He could feel the reaction shivering through the audience and it picked him up even higher, like a wave he could ride all night.

Adam spared just a little bit of his attention for that table in the second row, a bit left of center. He wasn't going to play the show to him, he wasn't stupid, but he couldn't help hoping for a reaction. Was that a smile? Adam suppressed his glee and strode across to the opposite side of the tiny club stage and slid to his knees, swayed back, shimmied up again and strutted back across and-

-and Lance Bass was no longer at his table.

It took Adam's brain a moment to process that. Monte's solo-which he noted disinterestedly was fucking awesome-gave him a moment to glance back to that table, where a woman whose face he also recognized was sitting alone.

In those scant seconds the fantasies he'd had about meeting-praise, admiration-something in common-wanna have a drink-I know a record producer who-wanna stay over?-oh, yeah, do that more-flashed into oblivion and were replaced by a fiery resentment which fueled his performance just as well as, maybe even better than the excited optimism of a few moments ago.

The table was still half-empty when their set closed and Adam bowed to a tsunami of applause.

Fuck.

The others were high-fiving one another as they ran offstage. Tommy fisted the air in triumph as he skipped down the steps. Someone-Monte-slapped Adam heartily on the back as he went by. "You did great tonight. Exceptional." Even LP was pleased.

It was true. That had been a brilliant show, one of those lightning-strike performances that just works incandescently well. Adam was still feeling the glow from it, the pure satisfaction of having done a perfect set. At the same time his gut was roiling, disappointment curdling in his stomach and making him feel like he might actually vomit. He'd never seriously expected to meet Lance Bass, he'd stopped hanging out online with other fans after the show finished, hadn't really thought about him for years (excepting the masturbatory fantasies), but knowing he was here, for a few minutes the old daydreams had blossomed in his head and it had seemed like the sky was the limit, it had seemed like at least, at least he'd get to say hello, shake hands, something. Lance might tell him he'd enjoyed the show, enjoyed his performance. Something. Instead he'd cut out half-way through the first number.

What with the headrush from the performance high and the queasy feeling in his belly, Adam needed a drink. Danielle leapt to hug him, though she wrinkled her nose a bit-what did she expect when he was in leather under those lights? And there was Brad, unexpectedly smirking at him from the bar and waving what looked like a vodka martini with Adam's name on it. He fought his way through, smiling his thanks at the comments he got from other customers en route, grabbed his drink and downed it fast.

By the time his second drink arrived, the rest of the band and the usual crowd had got to the bar, an exuberant cluster all calling for the bartender's attention at once. There was a lot of back-patting and hugging and shouting, but they calmed down eventually, and someone-possibly Tommy, Adam wasn't sure-asked him if he thought Lance Bass would have been impressed.

"Oh, who gives a shit," Adam said, loudly. He did not care, he would not care. He certainly wouldn't let anyone guess that he might have cared. "He doesn't know anything about music anyway. He's just a talentless has-been, he hasn't done anything for years, and he only got into that show on his looks. Sure couldn't act. So why should we care if some C-List celebrity liked us or not? We killed it tonight!"

Danielle, staring past him, looked as though she had a wasp on her tongue.

"Hi," said a horribly familiar bass voice from behind Adam's left elbow. "I just wanted to say, great show. You're an amazing singer."

Adam couldn't even turn around. Monte stepped into the breach, shook hands with Lance Bass and said the requisite thank yous on behalf of the group. Adam just stood, frozen.

He could see in everyone's faces when Lance Bass went away. "I guess there's no chance he didn't hear that?" he said.

"None at all," said Monte.

"Who cares?" Tommy said breezily. "Like you said, he's a has-been. Doesn't matter if he heard you."

Only it did, Adam thought. It really did. "Nah," he said, flinging his arm over Tommy's shoulders. "Of course it doesn't." He could have had his stupid daydreams come true, at least the plausible ones, if only he hadn't been such a prick.

He got very, very drunk. When he threw up on the way home, nobody knew why.

* * *

"Good morning, Lisa!" Lance said.

"Hi, boss!"

"Do me a favor?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I need flowers sent to my cousin Lainey, in Clinton. Here's the address-"

"Oh, did she have the baby?"

"That's right. Boy, uh, eight pounds, three ounces, they're calling him Farrell." He handed over his credit card. "Lots of love and congratulations, you know the drill."

"No problem. Your meeting with Johnny's been moved up to nine thirty, everything's on your desk."

"You're a star. Joey in yet?"

"I haven't seen him, want me to find out?"

"Nah, I'll call him."

He went into his office and settled down to check his email, prioritize his day, and re-read the file on the Jason Friday project for the meeting with Johnny. Made-for-TV movies weren't usually Lance's thing, but he was stuck being the resident expert on stuff that was supposed to appeal to the prime 15-24 market, and Johnny wanted him to sort out a couple of script problems and sit in on the auditions. The stupid thing was all but cast, and the bit parts weren't going to be a problem, they just had to find the singer. Someone unknown but plausible as a talent being pushed by the actual hero, didn't need to be able to act but singing ability would be useful and they might even release a single off the soundtrack if it went well. Nice little opportunity for someone.

Lance glanced down the list of candidates, and stopped.

Okay, there's a coincidence, he thought.

Adam Lambert certainly had star quality. He'd been unbelievable last night, with that voice which just went up and up and out and sideways and wherever, and that fine long-legged body strutting and writhing on the stage like he was having sex with the audience, which from the size of the bulge in his leather trousers he practically was, Lance thought, grinning to himself. He'd been kinda pissed to have to go outside to take the phone call, but it wasn't the kind of news he wanted to miss. Em had not been too pleased with him for deserting her, but there was such a crush around the bar, it was next to impossible to shove his way back to their table. He had been happy enough standing in the crowd, feeling their responses. Guy certainly knew how to work an audience.

Pity he was a jerk.

Lance was used to jerks. He met them all the time. Too many people assumed that because he'd been in one of the nation's top teen TV series a few years ago, he must be an imbecile. People who liked to make it clear that they weren't impressed by him-whether he'd even tried to impress them or not. Lance did like to impress people, but not by reminding them of his famous years. He liked to impress them by being damn good at his job, which he was. Hell, he'd gotten his first story credit when he was eighteen, and had earned his producing credit on the show for the last two seasons. He knew what he was doing. But there was always some jerk like Adam Lambert who'd call him talentless and a has-been so they could feel superior.

Whatever. Didn't matter if Lambert was a jerk, they weren't auditioning his personality.

Thinking about it, he might be exactly what the movie needed. Assuming the charisma came across on the small screen, he'd be a totally plausible star-in-the-making. Script might need a bit of reworking, though-Serena and Marty would kill him, but it wouldn't hurt them to spend a bit more time on it, bring in a more leather-oriented feel, maybe. Right now the singer character was a bit bland. Yes, Adam Lambert could work, definitely.

Lance wouldn't object to having the chance to show Adam Lambert that he was damn good at his job, either.

Joey bounced into his office just as Lance was thinking of heading out to lunch-Joey was real good at doing that, and at cajoling Lance into going for burgers instead of salad or sushi. Ten minutes later they were settled in a booth in Joey's favorite burger restaurant and Joey was explaining that he'd figured it out, exactly what they needed for the show.

"You remember how they had that bar in Ally McBeal, right? And the green demon in Angel who listened to people sing karaoke and knew what they were thinking?"

"You know I didn't watch that science fiction stuff," Lance reminded him with a straight face. Joey's forehead creased with the effort of not reminding Lance, yet again, that Angel was not a science fiction show, which restraint meant that Joey was really excited about his idea. "All right, tell me what you got."

"We talked about needing a counterbalance to the big problem every episode, yeah? So we need a bartender. Someone people tell their troubles to, only this bartender doesn't just listen, he-or she, haven't decided yet-actually gives them answers. Like, an agony aunt."

"A what?"

"You know, like Dear Abby or Emily Post. You never heard them called agony aunts? Except ours should be maybe more like Dan Savage than Emily Post."

Lance thought about it. He liked the idea… "It's going to be a bit limiting, though, isn't it? I mean, if we move the dilemma into the bar every week, isn't that going to get stale real fast?"

"Well, I thought we could really make the bartender into a character, you know? And it doesn't need to be the leads going into the bar, they might sometimes but it can be the clients, or the secretary, or family when they come visit, or-there's all sorts of ways we can play this. And once we have the character really established we could have him or her be the problem, one week, like, be kidnapped or something, so that Ace and Mickey have to-"

"Wait, hold up, we have to sell it first!"

"I know, but the bartender fits into the structure perfectly, I don't know why we didn't get it before. Also it's a regular set, we can fit all kinds of scenes into the bar if we have a regular set."

Lance considered. Yes, he could definitely see the potential. They could play with the idea, sometimes it'd be C-plot, just a bit of filler, sometimes it'd be part of the B-plot, once in a while they could sneak it into the A-plot and if the audience was already used to it being a sideline, that'd be a neat twist, keep it fresh. "We could use the bar as a practical reason to get the music in-maybe have a jukebox."

Joey considered. "Is it getting a bit clichéd, having music? Walking through the rain looking sad while some emo singer wails in the background?"

"Maybe, but it works. Hey, they can do it on House, we can do it too. Especially if we have one of the characters go up to the jukebox at the end of the episode and hit whatever it is for the playoff. And you know I get half my story ideas from songs. More than half. And you can say things in music that you can't say in the script."

"All right. So, bartender, jukebox, okay?"

"Okay. Did you work the agony aunt bartender into the outline yet?"

They had their heads down over the script when the burgers arrived. "You know," Lance said, "it'd be way more practical to have salad. We could eat that with a fork and not get grease on the pages."

"You just wanna keep slim and beautiful," Joey said, and took a cheerful bite.

"It's all right for you," Lance said, slightly wistful. "You already found somebody who loves you. Besides, men are way more demanding than women. I have to keep in shape."

* * *

Lance tried not to yawn through the auditions. He and Joey had been up till two last night working on the script for their pet pilot, rejigging the proposal, poking at every detail. Lance really wanted this. Or, well, this or the other show, the one he was working on with Doug, but if they got that one Doug would be the show runner, whereas this one was his baby. He was ready to be the guy in charge.

Right now, he must concentrate on this movie. Write his little notes on a dozen bland and boring candidates, even though they were wasting everyone's time. Lance was already more than half in love with the idea of casting Adam Lambert to bring a little pizzazz into the story, and nobody so far had made him change his mind. But he had to give them all a fair chance.

Willing himself not to display any particular emotion, Lance kept his face bland when it was Lambert's turn to be ushered into the room. And wow, what a contrast. This was not the slinky, painted creature in feathers and leather who'd glittered under the club's spotlights. He was wearing a suit, button-down shirt and tie. Shoes with a bit too much personality, maybe, but his hair was neat and his earrings restrained. Interesting. Versatility. That was good.

Lambert handed his music to Kevin Antunes, who'd been roped into this-seriously, Johnny must have something on everybody in the business, he was incredible at getting people involved in his projects-and produced, to Lance's astonishment, a near-perfect rendition of Tracks of my Tears, then Born to be Wild for his up-tempo piece. A brief scene reading-there wasn't much dialog for the role, but Lance read in the lead's lines and Adam handled it well. Then questions-yes, he had done quite a bit of performing, his only television experience was extras but he'd done clubs and theater, yes, musical theater, mostly chorus but some understudy work and a couple principal roles. Lance scrawled 'range of experience' on his notepad. Surely everyone could see this guy was the one they needed?

There were only two more on the list, a forgettable guy who was more ego than talent, and then a cute kid who brought along his guitar and sang-Lance had to admit, this was genius-an acoustic version of Heartless and then a Beatles number. He was actually pretty good, and being able to play guitar didn't hurt his chances, except for the obvious fact that Adam Lambert had nailed this one already.

Except, he hadn't.

"A little too much musical theater," Johnny said, which pissed Lance off because he knew exactly what Johnny meant by that, and, "Not quite the image we're looking for," and "We need somebody wholesome, all-American." Karen and Bruno agreed, and Lance found to his astonishment that they were seriously going for the cute kid with the guitar instead. Kris Allen. Who was, okay, certainly the best of the rest, but-all his notes for revitalizing the script could just go straight in the recycling, Lance thought. They were going with bland. In all fairness, Allen was going to appeal to the young teens demographic, and he did have something going on, he might just manage to break out of the puppet characterization they had written so far, but, hell. At least Lance wouldn't have to get into the rewrite, just when his precious pilot was-

Oh.

The most perfect idea burst into his brain like a supernova.

Lance couldn't wait to get out of there and call Joey.

* * *

"Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely. No, fine, I'll talk to you soon. 'Bye now." Adam disconnected, and flopped onto his ratty couch.

"You didn't get it," Brad stated.

"No. I mean, I knew I wasn't going to get it the instant I saw Lance Bass was one of the audition panel. After what I said, no way was he going to cast me."

"So we're assuming Lance Bass is a petty, vindictive bitch, are we?"

"No!" Adam said, indignantly. "But if you heard somebody mouthing off about you like I did, would you want to give him a job?"

"No, but then, I am a petty, vindictive bitch." Brad crunched a large bite out of his apple. Adam's apple, actually, the last one in the bowl. "I'm very good at it. You, on the other hand, suck at it, so don't behave like one."

"I'm not! Seriously, how do you get from me not blaming him to me being a bitch?"

Brad looked at him pityingly. "You're just a teensy bit obsessed with this, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Adam said with dignity. "Only it was so fucking stupid to say what I said, and the fact he actually heard me probably means he's going to remember my name in the worst way, and he does have connections. He's a television producer. I don't exactly know what kind because producer can mean, like, anything, but he's in the industry and I'm not."

"I think you should stop worrying," Brad said. "This one was just bad timing. It's not like he's going to remember you for long, and he probably won't be so petty and vindictive that he'd stop other people giving you work. Anyhow, there's nothing you can do about it."

Which was true. Adam had thought about it. He'd quite seriously considered writing a letter of apology, or even sending a fruit basket or something, except he didn't have enough spare cash to send a gift that a millionaire ex-superstar would even notice, and besides, he hadn't been able to figure out any kind of message that didn't sound like he was an ass-kisser as well as a jerk. He was just going to have to forget the whole thing, if he could, and learn from it.

"And we all know what you learn from this, don't we?"

Adam scowled. Brad could be so fucking supercilious.

"Not to mouth off about people who could be good for your career," Brad said, and flicked the apple core towards the trash. "Hey, you want consolation sex? I have twenty minutes."

* * *

"Will you please sit down?" Joey said. "Geez, you're making me exhausted just looking at you."

"Nah, things to do, people to see," Lance said.

Joey huffed. "Ever since we got the go-ahead you've been manic. Did you even sleep yet?"

"Eh, sleep is for the weak. There is a lot to get done, you know."

"You should get another assistant. Or give Lisa more to do. Of-"

"Lisa's doing plenty. Incidentally, if we get the series, I think we should make her an AP. She can do more."

"Agreed. But-"

"So what are you doing in my office, anyhow? This is the Executive Producer's office. You can't be Executive Producer, it's the best job ever and I'm keeping it. You have your own job, Mr Supervising Producer. Shouldn't you be working on the script?"

"Yes," said Joey, and there was a hint of exasperation coloring his ever-so-patient voice. "I should be working on the script, that's why I need to talk with you. Would you please sit down for five minutes?"

Lance sat, but jiggled his knees, just to make a point. "So, what's up?"

"See, I think we maybe made a bad call with the bartender. I know we got the pilot okayed on the basis of this script, but it was kind of a rush decision, and I think we need to revisit."

Lance frowned. "What's the problem?"

"Look, I like the idea of having the bartender sing in every show, I do. And getting JC on board to write some songs for us was genius. But you know, I just don't see how it's going to work. Plus, we haven't cast the part yet, and-"

"You're right. Damn, I knew there was something I forgot," Lance said, grinning at him. "We should get right on that."

"We should go back to the original concept and get an actor and a jukebox. It's not such a big deal. You have to get someone on the music rights either way."

"I still like the singing bartender. I think it ties everything together way better than a jukebox. Plus, it has more potential. We can't include JC's original material if we have a jukebox, and I think it'll be a selling point."

"Yeah, sure, but-"

"I will sort out the audition. You'll see."

Joey looked at him warily. "You mean, you have someone in mind?"

"I actually have."

"Man or woman? I mean, I can work with either, but it'd be good to know."

"It's a guy. Though he should be an equal opportunities flirt, if you know what I mean."

"Women, men, potted plants...."

"Yeah. Kinda like you," Lance said, and waited for the snort of indignation, which came, right on cue. Joey totally flirted with everyone, and he knew it.

"So you found a guy who can act, everything from serious, concerned problem page counselor stroke therapist to omnisexual flirt, and looks cute on TV, and can sing whatever kind of song we need to make the story work?"

"Yep," said Lance. At least, he wasn't certain about the acting part because the Jason Friday audition hadn't been all that demanding, but, he told himself, someone who could be that versatile with his image ought to be able to cope with the acting.

"Tell me this is not some guy you wanna sleep with," Joey said.

"God, no. Well, I would, but he's…" No, Lance thought, he couldn't announce to Joey that the guy was a jerk, that'd be an awful way to start a professional relationship. Joey was honor bound to be on Lance's side, if it came to it, and Lance didn't really need that. He needed his cast and writers to be a team, and he had no reason to suppose Adam Lambert was a jerk to everyone. Just to sometime teen TV stars, maybe, and if that was the problem, Joey would find it out soon enough. "Anyhow, I wouldn't give someone a job just so I could sleep with him."

"Because that would be a terrible idea."

"Because I don't need to," Lance said, and smiled. "I really don't." Joey muttered something Lance was pretty sure wasn't polite. "You're just jealous because Kelly has you locked down and you can't run a casting couch like a big, old-fashioned movie mogul."

"Just get the guy in to audition," Joey said. "And I have a veto, remember, so if I think you're just falling for a pretty face and he can't do the job, I will say so."

"Of course you will, wouldn't expect anything less. I should get JC along for it, too. But you'll like him, you'll see. Hundred bucks says you will."

"What? You want me to tell you you're right and give you money?"

"Oh, okay, uh-if I'm right, I'll give you the hundred bucks, if you don't think he's up to it, you have to pay me. Deal?"

"Deal," Joey said, suspiciously, but he shook on it. Lance wasn't worried. He knew he was right about this one. It'd be worth putting up a grand to get Joey to admit it, but Joey was a wuss and never bet more than small change.

* * *

Adam sat on the ostentatiously comfortable leather couch opposite the receptionist's desk and did his best to be cool, calm and collected. Which of the other people waiting here were his rivals for the part? He couldn't tell, but some of them must be.

It seemed like he had a real shot at this one. His agent had been guardedly excited about it. The production company had called her, not the other way around, which meant someone there had remembered him from something else they'd seen him do and thought he was a possibility for this role.

And it was such a peach of a role, such a great character. Even with just the one scene they'd sent him he could see the potential in it, and it'd be so much fun to play. He wanted it, he really wanted it. A chance to sing on national television, every week-if it got turned into a series, if they kept him on after the pilot, if he got the part in the first place. Too many ifs. Wasn't he supposed to be less nervous when he had a real chance?

He hoped they'd let him sing first. He was more nervous about the acting. What if his interpretation wasn't what they were looking for? Would they ask him to do a re-read, or just dismiss him? Should he stick with the black button-down shirt he was wearing, or take it off and go with the purple-spattered black T-shirt underneath?

There was no way he could answer his own questions, so he might as well do something useful. Forcing himself to concentrate, Adam mentally started running through his lines again. He wasn't very far into the scene when a plump, cheerful young woman approached him and said, "Adam Lambert?"

He stood, and she introduced herself as Lisa Delcampo and told him to come with her to the audition room. Lisa chattered inconsequentially as she led him to the elevator and along a couple of corridors.

"Do you happen to know if they want something kinda formal or a more relaxed look?" Adam asked. "I was wondering whether to take my shirt off."

"I don't think you're supposed to be topless," she said, and gave him a quick once-over with her eyes. "Although I could maybe make a case for it."

Adam laughed. "No, no, I have a T-shirt underneath. You don't want my blinding white flesh on display, trust me."

"Leave the shirt on, then if they want to see a different look, they'll ask. I'll make sure they ask. I'm sitting in on your audition," she told him. "It's my first one where I'm actually, you know, where I get to say what I think, because my boss says if we get the series I'll be an Associate Producer, which is so great! I love my boss. Here you go." She opened a door and he followed her through.

Adam blinked as he took in the array of people here to watch him. Then he recalibrated, and nearly whimpered.

"This is our chief writer, Joey Fatone," Lisa announced, and Adam shook hands with Joey Fatone, who had the same huge, friendly grin he'd had as a teen idol on Synchronicity. Lisa took a seat at the end of the table, and it was Joey who introduced the others: Jonathan Frakes (Neil would be so jealous, he'd been an avid Trekkie when he was a kid), who'd be directing the pilot; Wendy Thorlakson, Anthony Giordano and Melinda Bell, all Producers, unspecified; and Kevin Antunes, Director of Music.

"I think we met already," Adam said. "At the Jason Friday audition?"

"That's right. You sang the Smokey Robinson song, I remember you. And this is JC Chasez, he'll be our Consulting Music Director, or our Visiting Songwriter, or something."

JC was still absolutely gorgeous, Adam thought, a bit dazed. Good thing he didn't have a crush on him anymore, he'd probably screw this up. He smiled instead, as JC said,

"I don't think they figured out what to call me yet. I'm going to be writing songs for the show, that is, provided they get signed up to make the series."

"Did you get a chance to do your warm-up? Are you ready to sing?" Kevin Antunes asked.

"Yes, I'm ready." Adam had a good feeling about this. Was Kevin his inside man? He handed over his sheet music and Kevin moved to the keyboard.

From what Adam could tell from the script and character sheet he'd been sent, Chance the bartender was a nosy, well-intentioned guy who gave the main characters good advice, and who would sing something that reflected their problems, or maybe the solutions. At least, that's how he thought it would work if they got to make the series. He was just auditioning for the pilot, nothing else mattered right now.

But Mad World was the kind of song that would really work with the people-have-problems deal, and he could put his heart and soul into it, and he did.

There was a brief silence after he finished, then Joey Fatone asked about Adam's previous experience, and he explained about the band, and the musical theater stuff going right back to grade school, and they asked him to do another song, so he took off the button-down shirt and did Black or White, and they seemed to like that one, too. Then he had to do the scene at the bar. Then he had to do it again, only really earnest and gentle and serious, then again really camp, then again like he was flirting with the camera-they had the camera right in his face, which freaked him a little bit, but if he was going to be on TV he'd have to get used to it, right?-and one final time with a little bit of everything all thrown into the same few lines, and Jonathan Frakes fine-tuning the balance.

After that, JC went across to the keyboard and asked him to sing a few scales, and was very complimentary about his range, and handed him a song to sight-read. After he sang it through they spent a while working on details. Adam was vaguely aware of the other producers murmuring to one another, but fuck, he was working on a song with JC Chasez, so he didn't pay them much heed. After he sang the song again, JC beamed up at him with that adorable crinkly-eyed smile and said it sounded great, and Adam felt like someone had just given him a gold medal. JC! Liked him! Liked his singing!

Joey asked him a couple of questions about availability after that, and said thank you, they'd let him know, and he was done.

His agent called two hours later.

"I thought it went well," Adam said. "I know I sang the shit out of those songs, and they got me to do the scene over and over, and I really thought I nailed it, but who knows. And they asked me so many questions about what I'd done, and what I thought of the character, and oh, God, it's so perfect for me. I guess I just have to wait until they auditioned everyone."

"Not really," Cecile said. "You got it."

"I-I got it? Really? Oh, my God!" Yes! Yes!

"Congratulations, babe. Great work. They're going to send the contract over, and the complete script, and confirm dates, but I thought you'd want to know right away. I'll call you as soon as it gets here and you can come in and sign." A few more pleasantries, and they were done.

Adam felt almost giddy. He fell back onto the couch and punched the air. "I got it!" He laughed. Wow. Now, he could start feeling nervous about whether the show would be picked up.

Tonight, though, he needed to celebrate. Who was he going to call first?

* * *