(unfinished fic) Cowboys & Angels
Someone posted to still_gay Lance's profile for this new celeb-driven social networking site. On Lance's page he names his pet peeves as "incompetence, ignorance and traffic!!" Of course Lance's pet peeve is incompetence [insert eye-roll]. It made me vaguely recall that somewhere I'd half-finished a story about Lance stuck in traffic and cursing his own incompetence at trying to have a threesome.
Anyway, I'm early for WIP amnesty day, but obviously I'm never going to finish this. Word is trying to tell me that I created this file in 1903, which seems to me like a bit of hyperbole, but then again it almost feels true.
I am pretty sure this story started off where they all do -- with me and J stuck in a car somewhere, talking. At the time we were deeply amused by Lance constantly being photographed with his cute little female friends and their (usually) cute husbands, who were so unfazed by Lance's omnipresence that it seemed like yet another validation of his gayness. (Cases in point: Jamie-Lynn and AJ Discala, Christina Applegate and Jonathan Schaech, Shannon Elizabeth and... ex-Mr. Shannon Elizabeth. All of them are divorced now, hmmmm.)
My original author notes say: This story is about Tim McGraw and Faith Hill like Static was about the Sprint Guy. Which is to say, not really at all. Mostly this story is about Lance.
I think that means it was going to be another in a series of stories about how even celebrities spend time fantasizing about the famous people they wish they could fuck, and how obviously their fantasies are also a way of working out what they really need to make happen in their actual lives, too.
Fair warning: I haven't gone through and changed anything to match what we know now about Lance's life the last few years. Also: The story's not complete. It even has the bad manners to stop mid-scene, though I've left in my notes for how things finish up. It is, however, nearly 5,000 words of Lance trying to have a threesome.
If that's your sort of thing, here you go...
Cowboys & Angels
All you do is love, and love is all you do
Lance has to figure out what he's going to do with the rest of his life. Right now all he has to decide is which entrée he wants for this fundraiser dinner, but then he has to make some plans. Call some people. Get some shit done.
He gets plenty done. Cartoons and movies and more production planning. Parties and fashion shows and little kids with calculator watches and wide-open eyes. Brunch on the sidewalk and shopping in the afternoon, gyms and salons and long phone calls with folks back home. He keeps busy but he's really just running in place, a long treadmill of the break away that was really the break up. The end.
"The sea bass looks pretty good," the guy sitting next to him says, leaning into Lance's space.
Lance isn't sure if he's making a joke, but he's pretty hot, thick dark eyebrows and a shock of brown hair falling into his eyelashes, so he smiles back anyway. "Aren't Cornish hens the little ones?"
"Yeah," the guy says. "Sometimes they give you two." He shrugs and drops the cream-colored menu back on his plate. "I'm going with the fish, personally. I'm starving."
He's solid across the shoulders but tightly so, like a swimmer or a gymnast. "You in training for something?" Lance asks, casually leaning an elbow on the table.
"I try to stay in shape, watch my meals." He tugs a little on the edge of the tablecloth and then looks up. "Oh, I'm David, by the way."
Lance reaches out a hand. "Lance. Nice to meet you, David." He smiles and David smiles back, then blushes a little. He's cute. Sweet.
"I coach soccer," David says, shrugging again. "High school kids. And some stuff for movies."
Very cute. Shy but --
"I didn't know you were sitting with us!"
Lance looks up to find Sasha, this lady from the kids' network where they pitched a show. She's squeezing David's neck and sliding into the chair on his other side. "Wow, neither did I," Lance says. He suddenly can't even remember what the fundraiser is for. Something with kids. Schools. "How've you been?"
"Oh, good, great," she says. "And you met David?"
"We met," David says, and he smiles at Lance conspiratorially. "We had a very important conversation about our dining options."
Sasha peers over at her menu for a split second. "I'm having the Cornish hen." She puts her hand over David's and the single diamond sparkles in the soft light. She says, "You're not here alone, Lance, are you?"
"Oh, no," he says, and looks around for his date. "There she is," he says, nodding towards Julie coming back from the bathroom. His mother taught him not to point at women and usually he remembers.
Sasha bends closer and whispers. "She's adorable."
"Oh," Lance says. Julie's wearing the new dress he helped her pick out last week, the same color blue as her eyes. She looks really pretty. "Thanks," he says, and gets up to pull out her chair.
*
Julie and Sasha go over to look at the silent auction table during dessert, and Lance scoots back and stretches out a little.
"How long have you two been, uh," David says, watching them.
"Oh," Lance says. He hates feeling like a liar even more than he hates feeling obligated to talk about his personal life. "We're not. We're just housemates."
"Really?" David sounds a little confused. Maybe intrigued. Lance still can't tell if they're flirting.
"I live with a whole group of people," Lance says. "Bunch of girls. It's easier that way."
David stirs his coffee slowly. "What's easier, exactly?"
Not having to put up with a bunch of queens in the morning, Lance would usually say. Not having to be alone. "Fun, I mean," he says. David looks unconvinced, and they're having some kind of a moment, lots of staring and half a conversation, even if Lance can't figure out the point. He gives up and says, "Hey, when's the wedding?"
David frowns just a tiny bit. "Next year."
"That's great. Congratulations." He'll have to buy them a blender. "Where'd you register?"
"I have no idea," David says, laughing, and he suddenly seems unfrozen. He leans forward again, almost touches Lance's leg with his thigh. "So I think I remember something about you going to space or something?"
*
In the car on the way home, Julie says, "They're a cute couple."
"Yup." Traffic on Sunset is always awful at night.
Julie turns up the air conditioning on her side of the car. "You didn't think he was a little gay?"
Lance laughs. "They all are."
"Not all of them," she says. Julie is studying psychology at UCLA and tells Lance her theories about all the people they meet. He thinks she's right about half the time and that no school is substitute for having to sink or swim in the good grace of powerful strangers at the age of sixteen.
"They all are a little," he says. Her cell phone rings and they turn around to meet up with a school friend for drinks. There's a boy at the bar wearing a t-shirt that says ROOKIE, and by the time Lance has asked where he's from he's got his hand on Lance's ass. The rookie is from Montana. Lance loves LA.
*
It's a clear, cold winter day in California but it's still colder than Florida or Mississippi ever seem to get. He's pulling on a second long-sleeved tee and rubbing his arms when someone's dog gently bites his calf through his jeans. "Hey," he says mildly, turning.
That hot soccer player Sasha's engaged to is standing there with a broken leash in his hands, looking sheepish. David, that's his name. David the soccer coach.
"Hey," he says, and then realizes he's repeating himself. "David, hey man, how're you doing?"
"I am so sorry," David says. The dog's run off down the hill by now and Lance is fine, but he still bends down and rubs at his leg a little.
"Doesn't know his own strength?"
"She's a little hellion."
"The best kind," Lance says, and slaps David's shoulder. That's how you're supposed to do this, he thinks.
David shrugs. "She's Sasha's."
Right. Lance starts to step away and David grabs his forearm. "Hey, I was going to ask you."
Lance smiles before he can stop himself. They're all a little gay, Julie was right about that much. "Sure," he says.
"Do you want to have dinner sometime?"
"Sure, yeah," Lance says. He bounces up and down a little, trying to get warm.
"Sasha makes a mean filet."
Of course she does. "Oh, yeah, okay, that'd be good, sure." Lance whistles for his dogs.
"You can bring someone, anyone, you know." David gestures vaguely with his hands, probably to indicate that it's okay if that someone's not a girl. David's cute but he's not an idiot.
"Okay, sure." Marie, Lance's housemate who works as a buyer for Fred Segal, is jogging down the canyon. He's not up for another round of introductions and explanations. "I think Sasha has my number," he says. "Or I can call her at work or --"
David pulls his cell phone out of some hidden pocket in his track pants and so Lance reads off his digits with about half the usual number-trading rush. He has a date on Saturday with David. And Sasha. He gives David a one-armed hug and sprints off before he thinks too much about it all.
*
"What you been up to? I hear there's this new place you can get your eyebrows done on La Cienega."
Lance feels better when Chris calls, because at least then he knows Chris is doing something concrete. Talking on the phone's not much, and Chris deserves a break more than any of them, but all the same it's reassuring to hear him sounding awake and crackling with sarcasm.
"You come out to visit, I'll take you there," he says, changing lanes. "You can come have dinner with my new friends."
"Make neeeewwww friends, but keee-eeep the-eee --"
"Yeah," Lance says. "It wasn't on purpose or anything. This lady I know from Nickelodeon and her boyfriend, fiancé, whatever."
"Oooh, kinky. What is it with you and couples?"
Lance jacks up the AC. "What? Nothing. What are you talking about?"
"I see these pictures of you, you're always hanging out with Shannon and her hairy oaf or Meadow and her hunka hunka. You got a thing for couples?"
"I think my dates just get cut out of the photos." There's a huge billboard for Tim McGraw's Thanksgiving special hanging over the 10. "Oh, hey, I take that back," he says. "Tim and Faith. That's a couple I could take home for Christmas."
Chris barks a laugh. "Yeah, your mom'd love that. Course, she's so used to the guy thing by now, maybe it's time to shake things up."
"Exactly," Lance says. "What good's all that if I can't shock anybody anymore?" The only good thing about traffic in LA is having time to call everybody while he's stuck in the car. Some asshole in a banged up Mazda cuts him off again and he swerves around, speeding up until he's out of range. He doesn't trust anyone who's already got body damage not to do him harm.
Lance can hear Chris puttering around, lighting up with a hiss and burn of paper. He exhales heavily. "You think Tim wears that hat while he's fucking?"
Lance's stomach flips like he's racing through the hills. He's so fucking predictable sometimes. "Mmm, Jesus, I hope so."
"Maybe you should sleep with these new friends of yours. Work your way up to Mr. and Mrs. Hill."
"So you're saying just for practice I should sleep with David and Sasha?"
"Ooh, sexy names for sexy friends. Horndog."
Lance laughs. "Me? I'm just driving home."
"You didn't try to sleep with him down at Atlantis?"
"I'm a professional, man."
"Professional what? You call me back when the deed is done." Chris hangs up and Lance drops his earpiece on the passenger seat.
*
Lance brings two bottles of Kosta Browne and a bag of dog biscuits because he can't show up for dinner empty-handed. On the phone Sasha was funny and friendly and gave excellent directions, three things he likes in a girl, so he's been thinking that this is going to be fine. They're nice people, he likes them, he's ready for some new folks to hang out with. He's still not totally sure how he's supposed to go about meeting new people when he's ready for some change, but if he's going to figure out what he's doing with the rest of his life he might as well start like this.
He's alone because Marie has dinner with her boss, Julie has a final on Monday, and Kat's girlfriend is going to Venezuela for three months on a midnight flight. There haven't been any boys worth taking along for a little while now, which is okay, too. Those are harder to find and almost impossible to hang onto.
Sasha answers the door before he can ring the bell, and he loves that about her, that she's not afraid to seem eager. She's wearing jeans and a black v-necked shirt with sleeves just past her elbows, and her hair is down, redder than he remembers. "You look gorgeous," he says, kissing her cheek. He catches half her mouth when she turns towards him too quickly, and he steps back. Her lips taste like A1 sauce.
David wanders up behind her with an apron tied around his waist and a dishtowel in his hands. Sasha bumps him back into the foyer. "Don't make the man stand outside all night, honey," she says.
Lance comes in and David hugs him off-balance, wet hands held away from his shirt. David turns his face into Lance's neck. "It's great to see you, Lance," he says, and Lance murmurs something incoherent. When David lets go Lance takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes. It's just dinner with friends. He's sure he can manage it. He's a friendly guy.
*
Halfway through steak and grilled squash, Lance admits to himself he really does want to sleep with David. David covers his mouth when he laughs and talks with his hands and does whatever Sasha tells him. Lance kind of wants to sleep with Sasha, too. She's talking about deciding to dye her hair so people would take her more seriously.
"A million fake blondes in LA and --"
She laughs. "And I'm a fake redhead, yeah. It's astounding how different you get treated." She squints in the half-light streaming through the sliding glass doors out to the patio, then reaches out and touches the tips of his hair. "So you're not really blonde, right? This brown is real?"
"Just don't tell my stylist," Lance says. "Only time I still get any input is whatever I can tell him Britney's been up to."
Sasha's eyes flare with interest. "Are you two friends?"
"Not really," Lance says, lounging back in the chair. Even people used to famous people get excited about Britney, and sometimes having known her forever is still as famous as Lance seems to get. "We run into each other now and then."
David folds his napkin on top of his plate and crosses his legs. "She a natural blonde?"
"Not even close."
Lance never tried to sleep with Britney and Justin, but it's been long enough now that he can admit to himself he thought a lot about it. If he hadn't been so sure it would lead to endless drama and ridiculous, endless conversations at three a.m. with Justin about what it all meant, he might have tried. Britney at least just does things because they feel good. Stupid things, maybe, but fun and sexy and at the end of the day no one really gets hurt too bad.
"David has the softest hair," Sasha says. "I think it's because he's never colored it."
"I thought all mine was gonna fall out once," Lance says. "I was going dark for a movie, then blonde for tour, and it got all gross and straw-like."
"Feel how soft David's hair is." Sasha grabs his wrist and so Lance runs his fingers through David's silky, long hair. It makes his spine tingle and David curves up into his touch like he's looking to be petted.
"Nice," Lance says, clearing his throat and pulling away. Sasha smiles at them and gets up to clear the table. "Let me help you with those," he says, standing.
"Your mother raised you right," she says. "David, will you clean off the grill?"
*
Sasha opens another bottle of wine. "We go up to Napa a couple times a year," she says.
"Oh yeah?" Lance is sure his conversation is getting increasingly stupid. The wine is going to his head, dark and dry and stronger, somehow, than a half-dozen shots off the stomach of a go-go dancer.
"That's where David proposed."
"Oh yeah?" He rubs his thumb over his lips and licks off a purple stain. The couch is wide and deep and really soft. He likes it. David is sitting on the floor, his elbow propped up near Lance's thigh. Sasha has her feet tucked under one of the cushions and Lance can smell her perfume, nutty and sweet.
"Took me out for a picnic in one of the vineyards and got down on his knee and everything." David nods loosely and Sasha pats him on the head, letting her hand fall onto Lance's knee. "Have you ever been in love, Lance?"
David turns his head, carefully, and Lance knows they've talked about him, talked about his roommates and his dates and whatever rumors they've heard. He's not all that careful and also he was in a goddamned boy band and plenty of people don't believe any of them are straight. "Sure," he says. If he hadn't learned not to kiss and tell from his folks, which he did, he sure as hell would've learned it as soon as he left home.
Sasha tucks her hair behind her ear. "Are you in love now?" she asks.
"Oh, no. No. I..." He takes a long swallow of wine. "I was, but I'm not now."
"Did it end badly?"
He laughs and tries not to sound bitter. "Which time?" David laughs and looks up at him, dark brown eyes clear and concerned. "Nah, it's not that bad. Had a couple of things, thought they might turn out to be more serious than they were, got over it. You know." Sasha looks unconvinced, but not like she's going to give him the third degree. He slowly, drunkenly remembers how to ask a question. "What about you two. How long have you been together?"
He gets it out of them, slow and still fairly unrehearsed. They met on a show Sasha was producing when she needed someone to teach the kid star how to kick a ball. Dated for three years. Found this house a year ago. Got engaged last summer. They make it sound so easy, like an accidental love story, and Lance is almost annoyed with them until he remembers how nice they are. It's not their fault they're in love and the world all seems organized around celebrating it for them. He's just a little jealous and sure he'll never grow out of thinking he'd grow up and get pretty and have handsome suitors at his door. His sister says she never should have watched Gone With the Wind so many times.
"I love that movie, too," David says, resting his arm on Lance's legs, and Lance realizes he was talking aloud. Shit. He still has to drive home. He's pretty sure he'll stand up and feel more sober than he does here, buried deep in the couch and stuck between David's arm and Sasha's leg. They're so warm and soft-skinned and if he wanted to make this happen right here, right now when they're all a little buzzed and intrigued, he probably could. He remembers how that goes. He just likes them a little too much already for a quick fuck. He wants them to want this, too.
He pushes himself up and out of their reach. "I'm gonna go," he says. He can drive with the window open, stop at the bottom of the hill if he's still feeling so floaty and high and call somebody to come get him. David strokes Lance's jeans with a small pout and Sasha makes him promise twelve times that he's all right behind the wheel. He gets a little confused at the door, about whether he really wants to leave, about whose hug is harder and whose mouth brushes what.
"We should really do this again," David says, and he's still holding Lance's hand by the fingers, half a handshake that's lasting too long to make sense.
"Absolutely," Lance says. "Absolutely." Sasha waves from the door as he pulls out of the driveway.
*
Lance slaloms around a Megabucks machine and Joey trips over the stool, neatly catching the brunette he displaces. Lance smiles and agrees to an autograph, then hauls Joey away. "I realize you're probably the last person in the world who can help me with this, but I have a question for you." He's been waiting for a moment like this.
Joey snags a drink off a cocktail waitress' tray with a wink and a smile. Somehow he makes her laugh at the interruption of her order. Lance digs into his wallet and gives her a twenty. "Okay, shoot."
"What do you do if you can't, like. Tell if someone is flirting with you."
Joey chokes on his drink. "Yeah, I am the last person who can help you. Usually they just pull up their shirt or something. Maybe you should ask --" He scans the crowd and points, while managing to wave and avoid spilling his drink all with the same hand. A tall blonde at the bar across the Keno lounge waves back.
"I am not going to ask some perfect stranger something like that."
"I thought you had, I don't know, finally decoded that secret thing you guys do to tell each other you want to fuck. That eyebrow thing."
Lance frowns and sits in the red vinyl chair across from where Joey's landed. "What eyebrow thing?"
"That, you know." Joey wiggles his eyebrows. "That thing you always do when you're about to go home with a guy."
"I do not!"
"You totally do. Wanna bet? I bet we could find a bookie here who would take that bet."
"Joey, I am not going to bet you on something stupid like that."
He shrugs. "You're the one who wanted to figure it out."
"Anyway, that's not what I'm talking about." Lance pulls out a black Keno crayon and circles every third number on the sheet. "What if, okay. What if someone you thought was hot and everything was being extra friendly to you, but, um, you know she doesn't want to sleep with you because, I don't know. She's a nun. So why is she being so hot and friendly?"
"Lance!" Joey covers his ears, still not putting down his glass, and closes his eyes. "Don't talk to me about slutty nuns while we're in Vegas, okay?"
"What about when we're in LA?"
Joey peeks his eyes open, does something totally indecipherable with his eyebrows and slams down what's left of his drink. "Don't think you can change the subject now. You made me think about Sister Margaret dancing on a craps table in a tube top."
"Sorry. You always get over that, you'll recover in no time." Lance slouches down. "I just, I don't know sometimes. Like, these, this person I met a while back, and we were hanging out, and they were really friendly and touching and stuff and all the things that normally would make you think they were flirting, but the person they were dating was there the whole time."
Joey taps at his lips with his finger thoughtfully. "Are we talking about who I think we're talking about?"
"I seriously doubt it." Lance hasn't even told Joey about Sasha and David. Though it's always possible Chris did.
"Is this about George Maloof?"
"Joey! What? No. He does not flirt with me."
"Oh, please. He's been auditioning you to be his kept man for like a year now. And you totally eat it up." He purses up his mouth. "'Oh Geooooorge, what a beautiful watch!' 'Oh Geooooorge, of course I want to come to Vegas this weekend, it doesn't matter that I have plans with my best friend, he can just sleep in the bathroom.' 'Oh --'"
Lance whacks him with a free weekly. "Shut. Up. You think they can't hear everything we say down here?"
Joey cackles and beats a rhythm on the chair in time with the lounge band playing some old George Michael song. "I knew it."
"That is not who I was talking about, for your information."
"But you don't deny the Maloof connection."
"I admit nothing." Lance doesn't know why he tries to talk to Joey sometimes.
"Hey, wait," Joey says. "Wait wait wait wait. You never even said it was a dude. Is it a chick? A chick and her dude?"
This is why he talks to Joey sometimes. When he's not being a pain in the ass, he's psychic. Lance sighs and Joey pats his knee.
"So what's the big deal? It's not like you've never done a three-way."
New numbers flash on the Keno board. Lance's pick one out of three strategy would've won him twenty thousand if he'd bothered to play a hundred bucks. "Yeah, I don't know. It's just not some post-show hook-up. They're getting married."
"So?" Joey looks carefully innocent, the last man on Earth to preach what married men should or should not do.
"So I'm not really looking to date them."
"Oooh," Joey says. "Now, that'd be kinky. Kickin' it up a notch. Wouldn't momma be proud?"
Lance frowns. "Have you been talking to Chris?"
"Why, does he agree that sucking dick's not stirring up enough shit for you with your mom?"
Lance crumples his Keno sheet and pushes back his plush chair. "Yeah, basically. And don't talk about my momma and me doing that in the same sentence, okay?"
"You could try doing it in public, that'd probably be enough trouble to slow you down awhile." Lance looks at his watch, and Joey says, "We getting out of here?"
"It's four thirty in the morning, Joe." He heads for the elevators and Joey keeps pace this time. "And I don't know where y'all got the idea I'm so interested in shocking my mom. They just have -- it's stupid."
Joey hits the up button. "What?"
Only because Lance has known Joey since forever can he have a conversation like this, and even so he feels a little ridiculous. "They have this really sweet relationship. You know? Like they're really in love. And it's --"
"Sexy," Joey finishes, nodding. Joey knows sexy.
"Yeah." Lance sighs. "It kind of is. But why would they be flirting with me?"
Joey drags him by the arm into the empty elevator and points at their reflection in the mirror. He squeezes Lance's cheeks. "How could they not try to sleep with this, man?" Lance rolls his eyes and Joey waves at the glassy black semi-circle hanging from the ceiling. "Isn't that right, George?"
*
Lance has a date with David and Sasha, an afternoon on the boardwalk and dinner and maybe the VIP lounge at a show if they want. He's spent a week making careful plans that will be fun but not too eager, impressive but not ostentatious, insider access without showing off. He doesn't know what they're calling it, but he's calling it a date, and he's picking them up at two. He's saved another soul-searching decision about whether the Aston Martin is too much by the fact that it would never fit all three of them. As it is someone will have to sit in the back, but he doesn't want to have a driver, so it'll have to do.
David answers the door. He called Lance three days after they had dinner and said, "Hey, we want to see you again." Just like that, like it made sense to him, and so Lance didn't know what else to say except yes. They wanted to go out, all three of them together. "Have some fun," David said. "You know."
Lance knows. He thinks he knows. He knows what he'd have meant if he'd said something like that, but he's not doing anything more interesting than dinner and a show unless David and Sasha make the first move. He's decided that much. This can't be a joke to them, they're getting married and he's not getting in the way unless they're sure they can deal with it. So he's going to sit back and let them decide what happens next.
What happens next after David answers the door is that he kisses Lance, a quick peck on the lips like even straight guys in New York do sometimes, over so fast Lance barely even has time to pucker up in return. Then David crushes him into a tight hug. "It's so great to see you," he says, and Lance mumbles something stupid back. He really, really wants David to decide this is what he wants, because Lance is not sure he can stand too much more teasing like this without going insane. Friends he can handle. Really hot friends who kiss him and ask leading questions might be enough to kill him.
[this is where i stopped writing the story, and here are my notes for the rest. even i only sort of understand them]
--Lance picks them up for a day of fun out somewhere. He holds the keys. Lance is ambushed by autograph seekers. Sasha sits in the backseat, then David on the way home (he can sense that he needs to preserve the balance).
--They come back to the house and have sex. Maybe a couple more times, too.
--Then David breaks up with him. Because he's sort of got feelings for Lance and if they don't stop he won't be as committed to Sasha as he's promised and wants to.
--Insert scene where he goes to see JC or vice versa (ex-bf vibe, you are the gateway drug). Chris tells him he is the king of breakups, the break-up artist, what JC and Freddy (?) said about Lance after being broken up with. Ted Casablanca.
--DING: Lance realizes he has to make his own destiny, that he wants/envies commitment, and that he can still be his kinky self. The end.
Anyway, I'm early for WIP amnesty day, but obviously I'm never going to finish this. Word is trying to tell me that I created this file in 1903, which seems to me like a bit of hyperbole, but then again it almost feels true.
I am pretty sure this story started off where they all do -- with me and J stuck in a car somewhere, talking. At the time we were deeply amused by Lance constantly being photographed with his cute little female friends and their (usually) cute husbands, who were so unfazed by Lance's omnipresence that it seemed like yet another validation of his gayness. (Cases in point: Jamie-Lynn and AJ Discala, Christina Applegate and Jonathan Schaech, Shannon Elizabeth and... ex-Mr. Shannon Elizabeth. All of them are divorced now, hmmmm.)
My original author notes say: This story is about Tim McGraw and Faith Hill like Static was about the Sprint Guy. Which is to say, not really at all. Mostly this story is about Lance.
I think that means it was going to be another in a series of stories about how even celebrities spend time fantasizing about the famous people they wish they could fuck, and how obviously their fantasies are also a way of working out what they really need to make happen in their actual lives, too.
Fair warning: I haven't gone through and changed anything to match what we know now about Lance's life the last few years. Also: The story's not complete. It even has the bad manners to stop mid-scene, though I've left in my notes for how things finish up. It is, however, nearly 5,000 words of Lance trying to have a threesome.
If that's your sort of thing, here you go...
Cowboys & Angels
All you do is love, and love is all you do
Lance has to figure out what he's going to do with the rest of his life. Right now all he has to decide is which entrée he wants for this fundraiser dinner, but then he has to make some plans. Call some people. Get some shit done.
He gets plenty done. Cartoons and movies and more production planning. Parties and fashion shows and little kids with calculator watches and wide-open eyes. Brunch on the sidewalk and shopping in the afternoon, gyms and salons and long phone calls with folks back home. He keeps busy but he's really just running in place, a long treadmill of the break away that was really the break up. The end.
"The sea bass looks pretty good," the guy sitting next to him says, leaning into Lance's space.
Lance isn't sure if he's making a joke, but he's pretty hot, thick dark eyebrows and a shock of brown hair falling into his eyelashes, so he smiles back anyway. "Aren't Cornish hens the little ones?"
"Yeah," the guy says. "Sometimes they give you two." He shrugs and drops the cream-colored menu back on his plate. "I'm going with the fish, personally. I'm starving."
He's solid across the shoulders but tightly so, like a swimmer or a gymnast. "You in training for something?" Lance asks, casually leaning an elbow on the table.
"I try to stay in shape, watch my meals." He tugs a little on the edge of the tablecloth and then looks up. "Oh, I'm David, by the way."
Lance reaches out a hand. "Lance. Nice to meet you, David." He smiles and David smiles back, then blushes a little. He's cute. Sweet.
"I coach soccer," David says, shrugging again. "High school kids. And some stuff for movies."
Very cute. Shy but --
"I didn't know you were sitting with us!"
Lance looks up to find Sasha, this lady from the kids' network where they pitched a show. She's squeezing David's neck and sliding into the chair on his other side. "Wow, neither did I," Lance says. He suddenly can't even remember what the fundraiser is for. Something with kids. Schools. "How've you been?"
"Oh, good, great," she says. "And you met David?"
"We met," David says, and he smiles at Lance conspiratorially. "We had a very important conversation about our dining options."
Sasha peers over at her menu for a split second. "I'm having the Cornish hen." She puts her hand over David's and the single diamond sparkles in the soft light. She says, "You're not here alone, Lance, are you?"
"Oh, no," he says, and looks around for his date. "There she is," he says, nodding towards Julie coming back from the bathroom. His mother taught him not to point at women and usually he remembers.
Sasha bends closer and whispers. "She's adorable."
"Oh," Lance says. Julie's wearing the new dress he helped her pick out last week, the same color blue as her eyes. She looks really pretty. "Thanks," he says, and gets up to pull out her chair.
*
Julie and Sasha go over to look at the silent auction table during dessert, and Lance scoots back and stretches out a little.
"How long have you two been, uh," David says, watching them.
"Oh," Lance says. He hates feeling like a liar even more than he hates feeling obligated to talk about his personal life. "We're not. We're just housemates."
"Really?" David sounds a little confused. Maybe intrigued. Lance still can't tell if they're flirting.
"I live with a whole group of people," Lance says. "Bunch of girls. It's easier that way."
David stirs his coffee slowly. "What's easier, exactly?"
Not having to put up with a bunch of queens in the morning, Lance would usually say. Not having to be alone. "Fun, I mean," he says. David looks unconvinced, and they're having some kind of a moment, lots of staring and half a conversation, even if Lance can't figure out the point. He gives up and says, "Hey, when's the wedding?"
David frowns just a tiny bit. "Next year."
"That's great. Congratulations." He'll have to buy them a blender. "Where'd you register?"
"I have no idea," David says, laughing, and he suddenly seems unfrozen. He leans forward again, almost touches Lance's leg with his thigh. "So I think I remember something about you going to space or something?"
*
In the car on the way home, Julie says, "They're a cute couple."
"Yup." Traffic on Sunset is always awful at night.
Julie turns up the air conditioning on her side of the car. "You didn't think he was a little gay?"
Lance laughs. "They all are."
"Not all of them," she says. Julie is studying psychology at UCLA and tells Lance her theories about all the people they meet. He thinks she's right about half the time and that no school is substitute for having to sink or swim in the good grace of powerful strangers at the age of sixteen.
"They all are a little," he says. Her cell phone rings and they turn around to meet up with a school friend for drinks. There's a boy at the bar wearing a t-shirt that says ROOKIE, and by the time Lance has asked where he's from he's got his hand on Lance's ass. The rookie is from Montana. Lance loves LA.
*
It's a clear, cold winter day in California but it's still colder than Florida or Mississippi ever seem to get. He's pulling on a second long-sleeved tee and rubbing his arms when someone's dog gently bites his calf through his jeans. "Hey," he says mildly, turning.
That hot soccer player Sasha's engaged to is standing there with a broken leash in his hands, looking sheepish. David, that's his name. David the soccer coach.
"Hey," he says, and then realizes he's repeating himself. "David, hey man, how're you doing?"
"I am so sorry," David says. The dog's run off down the hill by now and Lance is fine, but he still bends down and rubs at his leg a little.
"Doesn't know his own strength?"
"She's a little hellion."
"The best kind," Lance says, and slaps David's shoulder. That's how you're supposed to do this, he thinks.
David shrugs. "She's Sasha's."
Right. Lance starts to step away and David grabs his forearm. "Hey, I was going to ask you."
Lance smiles before he can stop himself. They're all a little gay, Julie was right about that much. "Sure," he says.
"Do you want to have dinner sometime?"
"Sure, yeah," Lance says. He bounces up and down a little, trying to get warm.
"Sasha makes a mean filet."
Of course she does. "Oh, yeah, okay, that'd be good, sure." Lance whistles for his dogs.
"You can bring someone, anyone, you know." David gestures vaguely with his hands, probably to indicate that it's okay if that someone's not a girl. David's cute but he's not an idiot.
"Okay, sure." Marie, Lance's housemate who works as a buyer for Fred Segal, is jogging down the canyon. He's not up for another round of introductions and explanations. "I think Sasha has my number," he says. "Or I can call her at work or --"
David pulls his cell phone out of some hidden pocket in his track pants and so Lance reads off his digits with about half the usual number-trading rush. He has a date on Saturday with David. And Sasha. He gives David a one-armed hug and sprints off before he thinks too much about it all.
*
"What you been up to? I hear there's this new place you can get your eyebrows done on La Cienega."
Lance feels better when Chris calls, because at least then he knows Chris is doing something concrete. Talking on the phone's not much, and Chris deserves a break more than any of them, but all the same it's reassuring to hear him sounding awake and crackling with sarcasm.
"You come out to visit, I'll take you there," he says, changing lanes. "You can come have dinner with my new friends."
"Make neeeewwww friends, but keee-eeep the-eee --"
"Yeah," Lance says. "It wasn't on purpose or anything. This lady I know from Nickelodeon and her boyfriend, fiancé, whatever."
"Oooh, kinky. What is it with you and couples?"
Lance jacks up the AC. "What? Nothing. What are you talking about?"
"I see these pictures of you, you're always hanging out with Shannon and her hairy oaf or Meadow and her hunka hunka. You got a thing for couples?"
"I think my dates just get cut out of the photos." There's a huge billboard for Tim McGraw's Thanksgiving special hanging over the 10. "Oh, hey, I take that back," he says. "Tim and Faith. That's a couple I could take home for Christmas."
Chris barks a laugh. "Yeah, your mom'd love that. Course, she's so used to the guy thing by now, maybe it's time to shake things up."
"Exactly," Lance says. "What good's all that if I can't shock anybody anymore?" The only good thing about traffic in LA is having time to call everybody while he's stuck in the car. Some asshole in a banged up Mazda cuts him off again and he swerves around, speeding up until he's out of range. He doesn't trust anyone who's already got body damage not to do him harm.
Lance can hear Chris puttering around, lighting up with a hiss and burn of paper. He exhales heavily. "You think Tim wears that hat while he's fucking?"
Lance's stomach flips like he's racing through the hills. He's so fucking predictable sometimes. "Mmm, Jesus, I hope so."
"Maybe you should sleep with these new friends of yours. Work your way up to Mr. and Mrs. Hill."
"So you're saying just for practice I should sleep with David and Sasha?"
"Ooh, sexy names for sexy friends. Horndog."
Lance laughs. "Me? I'm just driving home."
"You didn't try to sleep with him down at Atlantis?"
"I'm a professional, man."
"Professional what? You call me back when the deed is done." Chris hangs up and Lance drops his earpiece on the passenger seat.
*
Lance brings two bottles of Kosta Browne and a bag of dog biscuits because he can't show up for dinner empty-handed. On the phone Sasha was funny and friendly and gave excellent directions, three things he likes in a girl, so he's been thinking that this is going to be fine. They're nice people, he likes them, he's ready for some new folks to hang out with. He's still not totally sure how he's supposed to go about meeting new people when he's ready for some change, but if he's going to figure out what he's doing with the rest of his life he might as well start like this.
He's alone because Marie has dinner with her boss, Julie has a final on Monday, and Kat's girlfriend is going to Venezuela for three months on a midnight flight. There haven't been any boys worth taking along for a little while now, which is okay, too. Those are harder to find and almost impossible to hang onto.
Sasha answers the door before he can ring the bell, and he loves that about her, that she's not afraid to seem eager. She's wearing jeans and a black v-necked shirt with sleeves just past her elbows, and her hair is down, redder than he remembers. "You look gorgeous," he says, kissing her cheek. He catches half her mouth when she turns towards him too quickly, and he steps back. Her lips taste like A1 sauce.
David wanders up behind her with an apron tied around his waist and a dishtowel in his hands. Sasha bumps him back into the foyer. "Don't make the man stand outside all night, honey," she says.
Lance comes in and David hugs him off-balance, wet hands held away from his shirt. David turns his face into Lance's neck. "It's great to see you, Lance," he says, and Lance murmurs something incoherent. When David lets go Lance takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes. It's just dinner with friends. He's sure he can manage it. He's a friendly guy.
*
Halfway through steak and grilled squash, Lance admits to himself he really does want to sleep with David. David covers his mouth when he laughs and talks with his hands and does whatever Sasha tells him. Lance kind of wants to sleep with Sasha, too. She's talking about deciding to dye her hair so people would take her more seriously.
"A million fake blondes in LA and --"
She laughs. "And I'm a fake redhead, yeah. It's astounding how different you get treated." She squints in the half-light streaming through the sliding glass doors out to the patio, then reaches out and touches the tips of his hair. "So you're not really blonde, right? This brown is real?"
"Just don't tell my stylist," Lance says. "Only time I still get any input is whatever I can tell him Britney's been up to."
Sasha's eyes flare with interest. "Are you two friends?"
"Not really," Lance says, lounging back in the chair. Even people used to famous people get excited about Britney, and sometimes having known her forever is still as famous as Lance seems to get. "We run into each other now and then."
David folds his napkin on top of his plate and crosses his legs. "She a natural blonde?"
"Not even close."
Lance never tried to sleep with Britney and Justin, but it's been long enough now that he can admit to himself he thought a lot about it. If he hadn't been so sure it would lead to endless drama and ridiculous, endless conversations at three a.m. with Justin about what it all meant, he might have tried. Britney at least just does things because they feel good. Stupid things, maybe, but fun and sexy and at the end of the day no one really gets hurt too bad.
"David has the softest hair," Sasha says. "I think it's because he's never colored it."
"I thought all mine was gonna fall out once," Lance says. "I was going dark for a movie, then blonde for tour, and it got all gross and straw-like."
"Feel how soft David's hair is." Sasha grabs his wrist and so Lance runs his fingers through David's silky, long hair. It makes his spine tingle and David curves up into his touch like he's looking to be petted.
"Nice," Lance says, clearing his throat and pulling away. Sasha smiles at them and gets up to clear the table. "Let me help you with those," he says, standing.
"Your mother raised you right," she says. "David, will you clean off the grill?"
*
Sasha opens another bottle of wine. "We go up to Napa a couple times a year," she says.
"Oh yeah?" Lance is sure his conversation is getting increasingly stupid. The wine is going to his head, dark and dry and stronger, somehow, than a half-dozen shots off the stomach of a go-go dancer.
"That's where David proposed."
"Oh yeah?" He rubs his thumb over his lips and licks off a purple stain. The couch is wide and deep and really soft. He likes it. David is sitting on the floor, his elbow propped up near Lance's thigh. Sasha has her feet tucked under one of the cushions and Lance can smell her perfume, nutty and sweet.
"Took me out for a picnic in one of the vineyards and got down on his knee and everything." David nods loosely and Sasha pats him on the head, letting her hand fall onto Lance's knee. "Have you ever been in love, Lance?"
David turns his head, carefully, and Lance knows they've talked about him, talked about his roommates and his dates and whatever rumors they've heard. He's not all that careful and also he was in a goddamned boy band and plenty of people don't believe any of them are straight. "Sure," he says. If he hadn't learned not to kiss and tell from his folks, which he did, he sure as hell would've learned it as soon as he left home.
Sasha tucks her hair behind her ear. "Are you in love now?" she asks.
"Oh, no. No. I..." He takes a long swallow of wine. "I was, but I'm not now."
"Did it end badly?"
He laughs and tries not to sound bitter. "Which time?" David laughs and looks up at him, dark brown eyes clear and concerned. "Nah, it's not that bad. Had a couple of things, thought they might turn out to be more serious than they were, got over it. You know." Sasha looks unconvinced, but not like she's going to give him the third degree. He slowly, drunkenly remembers how to ask a question. "What about you two. How long have you been together?"
He gets it out of them, slow and still fairly unrehearsed. They met on a show Sasha was producing when she needed someone to teach the kid star how to kick a ball. Dated for three years. Found this house a year ago. Got engaged last summer. They make it sound so easy, like an accidental love story, and Lance is almost annoyed with them until he remembers how nice they are. It's not their fault they're in love and the world all seems organized around celebrating it for them. He's just a little jealous and sure he'll never grow out of thinking he'd grow up and get pretty and have handsome suitors at his door. His sister says she never should have watched Gone With the Wind so many times.
"I love that movie, too," David says, resting his arm on Lance's legs, and Lance realizes he was talking aloud. Shit. He still has to drive home. He's pretty sure he'll stand up and feel more sober than he does here, buried deep in the couch and stuck between David's arm and Sasha's leg. They're so warm and soft-skinned and if he wanted to make this happen right here, right now when they're all a little buzzed and intrigued, he probably could. He remembers how that goes. He just likes them a little too much already for a quick fuck. He wants them to want this, too.
He pushes himself up and out of their reach. "I'm gonna go," he says. He can drive with the window open, stop at the bottom of the hill if he's still feeling so floaty and high and call somebody to come get him. David strokes Lance's jeans with a small pout and Sasha makes him promise twelve times that he's all right behind the wheel. He gets a little confused at the door, about whether he really wants to leave, about whose hug is harder and whose mouth brushes what.
"We should really do this again," David says, and he's still holding Lance's hand by the fingers, half a handshake that's lasting too long to make sense.
"Absolutely," Lance says. "Absolutely." Sasha waves from the door as he pulls out of the driveway.
*
Lance slaloms around a Megabucks machine and Joey trips over the stool, neatly catching the brunette he displaces. Lance smiles and agrees to an autograph, then hauls Joey away. "I realize you're probably the last person in the world who can help me with this, but I have a question for you." He's been waiting for a moment like this.
Joey snags a drink off a cocktail waitress' tray with a wink and a smile. Somehow he makes her laugh at the interruption of her order. Lance digs into his wallet and gives her a twenty. "Okay, shoot."
"What do you do if you can't, like. Tell if someone is flirting with you."
Joey chokes on his drink. "Yeah, I am the last person who can help you. Usually they just pull up their shirt or something. Maybe you should ask --" He scans the crowd and points, while managing to wave and avoid spilling his drink all with the same hand. A tall blonde at the bar across the Keno lounge waves back.
"I am not going to ask some perfect stranger something like that."
"I thought you had, I don't know, finally decoded that secret thing you guys do to tell each other you want to fuck. That eyebrow thing."
Lance frowns and sits in the red vinyl chair across from where Joey's landed. "What eyebrow thing?"
"That, you know." Joey wiggles his eyebrows. "That thing you always do when you're about to go home with a guy."
"I do not!"
"You totally do. Wanna bet? I bet we could find a bookie here who would take that bet."
"Joey, I am not going to bet you on something stupid like that."
He shrugs. "You're the one who wanted to figure it out."
"Anyway, that's not what I'm talking about." Lance pulls out a black Keno crayon and circles every third number on the sheet. "What if, okay. What if someone you thought was hot and everything was being extra friendly to you, but, um, you know she doesn't want to sleep with you because, I don't know. She's a nun. So why is she being so hot and friendly?"
"Lance!" Joey covers his ears, still not putting down his glass, and closes his eyes. "Don't talk to me about slutty nuns while we're in Vegas, okay?"
"What about when we're in LA?"
Joey peeks his eyes open, does something totally indecipherable with his eyebrows and slams down what's left of his drink. "Don't think you can change the subject now. You made me think about Sister Margaret dancing on a craps table in a tube top."
"Sorry. You always get over that, you'll recover in no time." Lance slouches down. "I just, I don't know sometimes. Like, these, this person I met a while back, and we were hanging out, and they were really friendly and touching and stuff and all the things that normally would make you think they were flirting, but the person they were dating was there the whole time."
Joey taps at his lips with his finger thoughtfully. "Are we talking about who I think we're talking about?"
"I seriously doubt it." Lance hasn't even told Joey about Sasha and David. Though it's always possible Chris did.
"Is this about George Maloof?"
"Joey! What? No. He does not flirt with me."
"Oh, please. He's been auditioning you to be his kept man for like a year now. And you totally eat it up." He purses up his mouth. "'Oh Geooooorge, what a beautiful watch!' 'Oh Geooooorge, of course I want to come to Vegas this weekend, it doesn't matter that I have plans with my best friend, he can just sleep in the bathroom.' 'Oh --'"
Lance whacks him with a free weekly. "Shut. Up. You think they can't hear everything we say down here?"
Joey cackles and beats a rhythm on the chair in time with the lounge band playing some old George Michael song. "I knew it."
"That is not who I was talking about, for your information."
"But you don't deny the Maloof connection."
"I admit nothing." Lance doesn't know why he tries to talk to Joey sometimes.
"Hey, wait," Joey says. "Wait wait wait wait. You never even said it was a dude. Is it a chick? A chick and her dude?"
This is why he talks to Joey sometimes. When he's not being a pain in the ass, he's psychic. Lance sighs and Joey pats his knee.
"So what's the big deal? It's not like you've never done a three-way."
New numbers flash on the Keno board. Lance's pick one out of three strategy would've won him twenty thousand if he'd bothered to play a hundred bucks. "Yeah, I don't know. It's just not some post-show hook-up. They're getting married."
"So?" Joey looks carefully innocent, the last man on Earth to preach what married men should or should not do.
"So I'm not really looking to date them."
"Oooh," Joey says. "Now, that'd be kinky. Kickin' it up a notch. Wouldn't momma be proud?"
Lance frowns. "Have you been talking to Chris?"
"Why, does he agree that sucking dick's not stirring up enough shit for you with your mom?"
Lance crumples his Keno sheet and pushes back his plush chair. "Yeah, basically. And don't talk about my momma and me doing that in the same sentence, okay?"
"You could try doing it in public, that'd probably be enough trouble to slow you down awhile." Lance looks at his watch, and Joey says, "We getting out of here?"
"It's four thirty in the morning, Joe." He heads for the elevators and Joey keeps pace this time. "And I don't know where y'all got the idea I'm so interested in shocking my mom. They just have -- it's stupid."
Joey hits the up button. "What?"
Only because Lance has known Joey since forever can he have a conversation like this, and even so he feels a little ridiculous. "They have this really sweet relationship. You know? Like they're really in love. And it's --"
"Sexy," Joey finishes, nodding. Joey knows sexy.
"Yeah." Lance sighs. "It kind of is. But why would they be flirting with me?"
Joey drags him by the arm into the empty elevator and points at their reflection in the mirror. He squeezes Lance's cheeks. "How could they not try to sleep with this, man?" Lance rolls his eyes and Joey waves at the glassy black semi-circle hanging from the ceiling. "Isn't that right, George?"
*
Lance has a date with David and Sasha, an afternoon on the boardwalk and dinner and maybe the VIP lounge at a show if they want. He's spent a week making careful plans that will be fun but not too eager, impressive but not ostentatious, insider access without showing off. He doesn't know what they're calling it, but he's calling it a date, and he's picking them up at two. He's saved another soul-searching decision about whether the Aston Martin is too much by the fact that it would never fit all three of them. As it is someone will have to sit in the back, but he doesn't want to have a driver, so it'll have to do.
David answers the door. He called Lance three days after they had dinner and said, "Hey, we want to see you again." Just like that, like it made sense to him, and so Lance didn't know what else to say except yes. They wanted to go out, all three of them together. "Have some fun," David said. "You know."
Lance knows. He thinks he knows. He knows what he'd have meant if he'd said something like that, but he's not doing anything more interesting than dinner and a show unless David and Sasha make the first move. He's decided that much. This can't be a joke to them, they're getting married and he's not getting in the way unless they're sure they can deal with it. So he's going to sit back and let them decide what happens next.
What happens next after David answers the door is that he kisses Lance, a quick peck on the lips like even straight guys in New York do sometimes, over so fast Lance barely even has time to pucker up in return. Then David crushes him into a tight hug. "It's so great to see you," he says, and Lance mumbles something stupid back. He really, really wants David to decide this is what he wants, because Lance is not sure he can stand too much more teasing like this without going insane. Friends he can handle. Really hot friends who kiss him and ask leading questions might be enough to kill him.
[this is where i stopped writing the story, and here are my notes for the rest. even i only sort of understand them]
--Lance picks them up for a day of fun out somewhere. He holds the keys. Lance is ambushed by autograph seekers. Sasha sits in the backseat, then David on the way home (he can sense that he needs to preserve the balance).
--They come back to the house and have sex. Maybe a couple more times, too.
--Then David breaks up with him. Because he's sort of got feelings for Lance and if they don't stop he won't be as committed to Sasha as he's promised and wants to.
--Insert scene where he goes to see JC or vice versa (ex-bf vibe, you are the gateway drug). Chris tells him he is the king of breakups, the break-up artist, what JC and Freddy (?) said about Lance after being broken up with. Ted Casablanca.
--DING: Lance realizes he has to make his own destiny, that he wants/envies commitment, and that he can still be his kinky self. The end.