Same Time, Next Year

Same Time, Next Year
by Scotty

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Lance wasn't picking up and his voice mail was full. He'd said it was a digital quirk, that his mailbox read full when it really wasn't. Chris knew better. Lance never picked up messages. If you didn't catch him live, leaving voice mail was a waste of time.

A waiter who'd stopped at the next table looked over expectantly and Chris shook his head, waving him off. His voice was loud under normal circumstances. It was much too loud for a place like Quintamilla's. The room was small. Intimate. Heads bobbed and mouths moved, but no real words were spoken, at least not loud enough to be heard. It was one of the reasons they'd decided to come there. No one would bother them.

Chris keyed Lance's number again. When there was still no answer, what should have been a sigh came out somewhere between a growl and a bark.The waiter looked at him again and this time Chris lifted his chin and held his gaze, letting some of the frustration he felt heat up his eyes. At that point, the mask of studied geniality suddenly slipped away and the waiter raised up and squared his shoulders, as if he expected trouble and wanted to look as big as possible. Chris sized him up quickly. He was 21 or 22, no older than that. Normally Chris would have had no problem if the guy wanted to fight. He'd been a punk himself most of his life. He knew what it felt like, the stare, the rush that came with it. That overwhelming need to do something, anything. But tonight he would look away. The guy had a point. This was a nice place and he was being an ass. It was bad enough that he'd been loud. It was decidedly worse that there was no one sitting across from him to have been talking to in the first place.

Chris decided on a simple gesture of conciliation, but when he looked back at the spot where the waiter had been standing, there was no one there to acknowledge it. He was gone. The table, cleared and reset.

It was just as well. If he wanted to fight anyone tonight, it wasn't some testosterone king in a Cuban restaurant. It was Lance Bass. If he'd just answered his phone, none of this would be happening. Chris would have the information he needed or at least enough information to keep from getting his head ripped off. He thought briefly about calling Joey, then let go of the idea just as quickly as it had come. Even after two glasses of wine, Chris knew that Joey was not the one to talk to. Joey hadn't seen Justin in weeks and even if he had, he would remember nothing of their conversation. Lance accused Joey regularly of not paying attention. Chris knew otherwise. Joey just liked to keep things simple.

Chris picked up his phone and punched in a new number. It was actually an old one, a number that Lance still had but rarely used. It didn't even ring. Chris closed up the phone and dropped it into his pocket, then steepled his fingers, trying to look less anxious than he felt.

~

They'd spent little time together in the past year, but old habits were hard to break. When Trace called saying that Justin needed him, Lance had flown in from Vegas. No questions asked.

He knew what Justin wanted, something they'd always called The Grand Tour. A limo, a box of cigars, a couple bottles of Jack Daniels, and depending on how bad it was, either Marvin Gaye or Conway Twitty, as loud as the driver could stand it. They never really stopped anywhere, just cruised the streets of whatever city they were in until Justin was ready to go back. No one else was ever invited to come along, and nothing they talked about was ever repeated, and at one time or another, every bodyguard had complained about doing 'Tour Duty', but they all knew that it worked.The day after a Grand Tour, Justin was himself again.

Lance had said nothing about a Grand Tour this time. But then again, he wouldn't have. That was part of the deal. But he'd been with Justin for almost four days in Vancouver and then again when Justin got back from Australia. He would have to know something. Chris started to swear aloud, but stopped himself by finishing what was left of the wine he'd had with dinner. He stared at his phone again, willing it to ring.

Lance was somewhere in Miami, and he had his phone with him. He would never leave it behind. Neither would Chris. They had that one thing in common. They liked talking on the phone more than in person. For Chris, it was the intimacy of it. For Lance, it was that private things could stay private.

Chris nodded to himself. That was one of the things he'd always liked about Lance. Not their shared love of the cellular phone, but that you could tell him absolutely anything and he would never repeat it. Even if he knew he should.

He could know that something was wrong and never say anything about it.

~

There was movement near the standing screen that separated the dining room from the patio. The cocktail waitress who had found Justin irresistible on their last visit had found her way to him again. He was smiling and nodding, but doing his best to keep walking. Chris decided as he watched Justin close the short distance from one side of the room to the other that he now knew why Lance never answered his phone.

~

Chris could always tell when Justin was tired. Tiny creases would appear out of nowhere, deepening his eyes. Then the line of skin along his lashes would go red as if it had suddenly caught fire. It usually happened near the end of a tour, when every night seemed like the last. And he had to do everything at lightspeed for as long as his body would let him.

Tonight there was nothing in his eyes at all. It was his voice that had given him away. It was hoarse, raw. Justin wasn't tired. He'd been crying. And he didn't want to talk about it. At least that's what he'd said on the phone. But Chris was old school. He knew a lie when he heard it. And Justin never told the truth when he was upset anyway.

Chris had closed up his phone and stared at the flat screeen in front of him. It was the only night he would have to himself all week. There were two fish tacos and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer waitng in the kitchen. And he was in god mode in Counterstrike. Not even the hackers could touch him.

He'd sworn quietly to himself, put up an away message, and headed for the garage.

The streets of Miami were a maze, even in daylight. Chris had been to the house where Justin was staying only once. It had taken him almost an hour. In the dark on his bike, it had taken thirty minutes. On the way, he'd rehearsed an upbeat, long-time-no-see greeting, but when Justin opened the door, he said the first thing that came to his mind.

By the time Chris walked to the back part of the house, Justin had already folded himself into one corner of a white leather couch. He had yet to say a word, but it didn't matter. With Justin, it was all about reading the signs. Like the fact that his feet were bare. It was something that Chris had noticed right away. Justin hated cold floors. He wore socks just to walk across the kitchen.

They had driven to Quintamilla's in silence. The restaurant was almost invisible and Chris had driven by twice without stopping. On the third pass, Justin had reached over and guided the wheel toward the curb. After dinner, they'd moved on to a club, equally small and discreet. There were more signs for Chris to fathom: Justin drinking coffee, nothing stronger, applauding politely for the surviving member of a disgraced duet from the 90's who was now performing alone.

After the first set, Chris looked at Justin with a raised eyebrow, asking if he was ready to go. His response was so quiet that Chris could hardly hear it. He was shaking his head.

"It's tough being up there alone. He's just doing his thing." Justin's voice trailed off. "What was that called again?"

Chris swirled the ice in his glass and pulled a title out of the air. It was close if not right on. "I think he said Tables Turn."

Justin nodded, then leaned back, rocking slowly on the legs of the chair. When the next song ended, he turned to Chris suddenly. He seemed almost angry.

Chris emptied his glass, not certain whether the question was meant to be answered. Milli Vanilli had been a late night punchline. Then a cautionary tale. Fabrice Morvan was still alive. That was about the best that could be said of it. Chris realized that Justin was still staring at him.

-::-

He had meant to come in just long enough to use the head, then decided to give Lance one more try. On the third ring he answered. Chris dispensed with the greetings.

There was a moment when Chris thought the call had been dropped. The line was completely empty of sound. Then Lance spoke again. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Chris started to say again that he was short on time and didn't need a bunch of stupid questions when Lance went on.

Chris felt the air go out of his lungs and he leaned against the door for support.

Chris kicked at the roll of toilet paper, but it stubbornly refused to budge. Even the carefully folded end was still carefully folded. He kicked at it again. This was not supposed to be happening. A roll of toilet paper, once kicked, should unroll. And Justin Timberlake should not be ending his relationship with JC Chasez one week before CFTC.

Chris bared his teeth at the mirror, then turned away. There was nothing funny about this and that was a problem. He had always, always been able to see the humor in a situation. At this moment, he should have been making a crack to Lance about having one guy on the phone while another waited outside the bathroom door. He wanted more than anything to do that, to say something funny or stupid because that's how he dealt with pain. And this was all about pain. The very worst kind. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single clever thing to say.

"Sure. You know, Justin could probably help me move now. He'll have some free time coming up." Lance's somber tone had evaporated so suddenly that Chris held the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a minute.

"What did you say?"

When Chris didn't answer, Lance rambled for another few sentences and then hung up. Chris closed his phone and stared at himself in the mirror. In a matter of days, every fan in America was expecting the group to perform together for only the second time in two years. And the two people most responsible for the success of that reunion were, at this very moment, going down in flames.

Chris looked again at his phone, weighing the cost of a replacement against the satisfaction of flushing Lance Bass down the toilet. All Lance seemed to care about was commandeering someone to lug boxes up and down the stairs of his newest mansion. If Lance was back on mushrooms, he would kick his ass to Vegas and back again, but right now there were more pressing considerations.

Chris took a deep breath and opened the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he heard voices.

Two of them.

Despite hours and hours with the best voice coaches in the business, Justin's control always vanished when he was upset. He sounded choked now, almost breathless.

JC's voice was equally thin, without any of the sweetness that had colored even his most exhausted or impatient responses to Justin over the years.

Though he could see nothing from where he was standing, Chris could picture JC wrapping his arms around himself, trying to gather strength from the warmth of his own skin. Justin still sounded shaky.

JC's voice sounded farther away now, like he had walked to the windows that looked out across the grove of Magnolia trees that Justin had refused to dig up even when the roots buckled the sidewalk.

JC's voice closed off suddenly, like he'd pressed his face to the window, muffling the sound. Justin kept pushing.

"Yes, you are. Every time we get to this point, you leave. You run the fuck away. That's not love."

JC's response was quick. And it came out too straight and strong not to have been said before.

Chris expected Justin to answer right away. If JC's words had been rehearsed, then Justin's would probably be equally practiced. But as seconds ticked away, Chris realized that he was wrong. Justin's thoughts were scattered, like clothes he'd dropped on the floor. Every now and then he would stop, bending to pick something new up before going on.

"Because JC, you never show it." The floor creaked as one Chris shifted his weight and he froze, but Justin seemed unfazed. "Any time there's something real between us, you find something to fight about. You find something to get mad about, and you run away so you don't have to feel it anymore."

There was a beat of silence. Then two. Three. Chris waited for the front door to open and close, but it didn't happen. Instead he heard JC, his voice calm.

"Love to you, Justin is a house with a yard and a family and--, " his voice fell away. "It's a blindfold that's always there. It's why you can't see."

At some point Justin must have sunk into one of the huge chairs by the fireplace, because now his voice to seemed to rise. It was strong now. Demanding.

"What the hell is wrong with that, JC? Because I don't see it. I don't understand."

Chris felt the air go out of his lungs. He pressed himself back against the wall, then looked around for a door that might let him escape without being seen. What was happening in the next room was entirely too private for a third party to hear. As close as he was to Justin, this was new territiory. Completely out of bounds.

Chris squinted in the dark, mentally checking off routes of escape, but there was nowhere for him to go. A move to the kitchen would be visible from the fireplace which as far as he could tell would put him directly in Justin's line of sight. And to get to the stairs that led to the second story, he'd have to cross the very room they were in. He shook his head at the irony of the situation. For years he had wondered what went on when Justin and Lance took off on one of their Grand Tours. Now he wouas hearing it whether he wanted to or not. Chris checked his watch. Less than ten minutes had gone by. Lance had spent hours listening to a drunk Justin Timberlake pour out his heart. No wonder he'd lost his marbles. Chris exhaled soundlessly, then tuned in again when he realized that JC was once again talking. His voice was so soft that Chris had to stand absolutely still just to hear it.

"Love means no rules, Justin. As soon as you make rules, you're stuck. There's no way you can see around them, past them."

Chris felt himself start to nod. He'd heard that speech before. Years ago. From Danielle. It had seemed like such a cop-out at the time. An excuse for her to leave. It didn't sound like that now and Chris hoped that Justin was a better listener than he was.

His voice seemed to come from some other place, a conversation he'd been having with himself instead of listening to the one going on right in front of him, the one that just minutes ago had been tearing him apart. This Justin was strangely calm.

"We've talked about living together before. You never got this worked up. What's wrong?"

Chris wanted to pound on the wall. If JC took the bait now, he was lost. The entire argument would start over again.

When he heard JC loop back, Chris let his head drop to his chest in frustration.

"I don't know, Justin. Why can't you just let things go, take my love as it is?"

Chris crossed his fingers and said a silent prayer. Maybe they would get to it after all.

"But you should! You should know how it is. You should know me by now. That's the point. You should understand me. That's what love is. Love is understanding. And you-- don't."

Chris couldn't see him, but he knew in his heart that JC's face was flushed. Each time he'd said the word, love, Chris could almost taste it on his tongue. If only Justin would look. For crissakes, Chris was in the next room and he could tell how important this was to JC. But again Justin missed it.

"The only thing I don't understand JC is that if you claim to love me, why do you have such a hard time with the idea of something like this? Something permanent?"

At that moment, Chris squeezed his phone hard enough that his fingers started to ache. JC wasn't answering and it was driving Chris crazy. He knew exactly what JC should say because he hadn't said it himself when he should have, when all Danielle needed to hang on was some public demonstration of affection, some signal to the outside world that she was more than a flavor of the month. He had refused to give it to her and by the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. She was gone.

Chris took another soundless breath. If they were still in Germany, he would lean in and whisper, like he'd done so many times when they were first starting out. When JC had been too homesick, too lost to speak, young in ways that Chris had never, ever imagined. They'd all learned to cope. To listen to the question in German, then wait for the English translation. Everyone that is but JC. He was unable to do anything but smile.

That JC no longer existed and this one didn't need coaching. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, the kind of raw honesty that Chris had never mustered the courage to use himself. Not face to face. Not ike this.

"No J, because you don't love me. You love the idea of me. Of us. Of a life you've planned since you were five. But you don't love me. And I can't live my life knowing that a person that I love more than I can say only loves me as part of of some perfectly-planned existence, some arranged life. I could have been anyone that fit in that world and you would love me just as much. Or as little."

"I love you, Justin. I love that you treat everyone you meet with respect. Even if what they're doing is not important to you, you make it important. I love that you're so completely selfless, but at the same time, you're strong enough to stand up for yourself, to take care of your own needs. I love that you fall asleep in every movie we ever watch. I love that you ask me questions about your life to make sure I'm still paying attention. I also love that it never really matters what I said back because we both know that the connection between is too strong to be broken. But if I move in with you now, it will be broken. I would love you and be happy with you my whole life. And you'd be happy, but not with me, with the idea of me. You would know that I loved you, but not how I love you. And that would kill me. We both deserve better than that."

For the first time, Justin sounded angry. His voice spilled into the space where Chris was standing,

"We deserve better than what? A life together? You say you know me. You don't know me! Just because living together, being together, is important to me doesn't mean that you aren't. It's true! All my life I've dreamed of getting married and having a family, but I've also dreamed of having someone like you."

At this point, Chris would have sold his soul for a five-second glimpse inside that room. If Justin wasn't holding JC at least by the arm during that last speech, he would smack his face good. Justin must have heard Chris's silent plea because there was a pause and what sounded to Chris like kissing, a lot of it. Some words finally bubbled to the surface.

"Don't you understand JC? I want to be with you! I've always wanted to be with you."

Chris wanted to call a time out. To blow his whistle and and stop play. They were so close, right under the basket. All Justin had to do was turn around and shoot. Chris closed his eyes and pictured a lay-up, the ball rolling off Justin's fingers into the net. But this Justin didn't want to shoot. He didn't even want to play. He wanted to fight.

"Then tell me this. Will you give that up? As proof of love, will you let it go?"

Justin made a strange strangled sound, as if weight of what he was about to say was a wall collapsing in on him.

Chris felt his own eyes fill with tears. He stretched the ancient muscles in his back, but before he could make another move, the door slammed behind him. The sound of a car pulling out of the driveway told Chris that Justin hadn't fared any better than he had. When push came to shove, he couldn't deliver. Danielle Raabe was no longer part of his life. Now it looked like JC was gone too.

At the sound of Justin's voice on the radio, Joey rolled his eyes and let the screen slam loudly behind him.

Chris shushed him with a raised finger and Joey stuck out his tongue. Chris had yet to say anything about it, but Joey knew that it wouldn't be long before the bickering started. Justin was making headlines for supporting the Democratic ticket when in reality only Chris had any interest in politics.

"I'm still figuring out what I want to do. After this week, I'll have a better picture. Right now, I have no plans at all. I just want to take it easy for a while-- just see where it goes."

Chris continued staring at the radio at the radio after they'd gone to a commercial break and Joey waved a hand in front of him.

When Chris didn't answer, Joey took a sip from a cup that was sitting on the counter, then started picking at an Engish Muffin that was still in the toaster. Another minute went by, then Chris got up and started clearing what looked like a week's worth of dishes off the table. A minute later he was kneedeep in the story of the waiter at the Cuban restaurant, When he started on the scene at Justin's house, Joey put up a hand to stop him.

"It's not like that, Joe. I wasn't trying to listen. I was trapped. It didn't matter anyway. Justin forgot I was even there."

Joey snorted. "He didn't forget. He just didn't care. " Joey poured the last of the cold coffee into the sink. "So which one of them wants to get married this time? I lost track of whose turn it is."

Chris pushed Joey away from the sink. "What kind of thing is that to say? You don't know what you're talking about."

Joey rinsed the cup and turned it upside down on the counter, then used his index finger and thumb to pull out his bottom lip. Chris stared at the recent tattoo, then rolled his eyes.

"I was there when you got it, remember? What does that have to do with anything?"

"They need to just hook up and get over it. It took me ten years to admit that I loved Kelly and wanted to get married. What is this, year six? They're closing in on my record."

Chris continued to stare as if Joey had started speaking in tongues. Joey looked down at his cell phone, then back at Chris.

"To that place where we get that Cuban coffee that tastes like mud. You know, where we have one sip, send it back, and get the wimpy American kind instead? And then you're coming with me to this thing that Mulvihill cooked up for my radio show. In case your lazy ass has forgotten, some of us still work for a living."

Chris slipped his own phone into his pocket and picked up his keys, then flipped a switch on the wall. The air conditioner roared to life and Chris had to raise his voice to be heard over it.

"I still work! And you didn't let me finish my story. I'm telling you. They had huge fucking blow up."

Joey unwrapped a stick of gum and pushed it into his mouth, then started down the flagstone path that led to the street. He was busy separating the sports page from the morning paper by the time Chris got to the bottom of the driveway.

"What do you mean 'this time of year'? We're not talking fruit in season, you know."

Joey stopped flipping pages long enough to bark out a laugh. "You have no idea how close you are."

He shook his head, then went back to the paper. Chris watched in amazement as Joey tore what looked like an ad for free food out of the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He refolded the paper neatly and tossed it back on the driveway. Chris stared at it dumbfounded, then looked back at Joey who was standing at the curb looking anxiously to where the street turned away down the hill.

"We're waiting for Bass. His text said that he was on DuPont. He'll be here any minute."

"Why? Because he said the Pussy Master and his Pussy were going their separate ways? Again."

Joey started whistling something that sounded strangely like Senorita and Chris cuffed his arm.

At that moment, a grey limo crested the hill and Joey nodded towards it. Chris stared as a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow slowed to the curb. When Lance stepped out of the car and lunged at Joey crying,''You don't love, you don't love me!', Chris looked back at them with narrowed eyes.

Two hours later Joey pushed the door of the radio station open and shaded his eyes.

Joey looked past Chris to where Lance was still chatting up the tech who had kept them occupied while Joey recorded a promo for his show.

"All the hotel switching, Justin MIA for half the time, who knows. Somebody might buy it. I've been sitting on most of this stuff since Lance went to Space Camp. That's when he came clean and told me what he knew. Poor guy. He's been suffering in silence for years. Those two owe him big time."

"You still don't believe me, do you? Okay, how 'bout this? Remember that place you were looking to buy down here last year?

"No, dork. The one that looked down the channel, off Allison Island, the one with the glass walls?"

"You asked us to check it out, remember, to see if we thought it was worth the money?"

"WelI I went down there and the Bobsey Twins were already there. I didn't know it was them though, cause from the door, it sounded like one of those Mexican soap operas." Joey used an exaggerated falsetto. 'You won’t come with me, but you go off with him . I can 't trust you anymore."

Chris recognized the histrionics from earlier in the day, but Joey's delivery must have been a better because it didn't seem cruel this time, just funny. By the time Lance walked out the door, Chris been laughing hard enough to have to wipe his eyes. He was leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath when Joey pulled out his phone.

Joey walked a few steps away, trying to be heard over the laughter. Lance smiled, then gave Chris the 'hook 'em horns' sign he'd adopted as his own.

Lance shook his head and pulled a pair of glasses out his pocket and slipped them on.

"And I think you were jerking off in J's bathroom, fell asleep and this is all some monumental wet dream."

Chris lunged at him, but Lance ducked away laughing, then pointed at the entrance to the parking lot where the grey limousine had just come into view. He tapped Joey on the back and started for the car. The door to the radio station swung open again and Chris bit his tongue. He waited until the production assistant who looked young enough to be in high school was out of range before he answered.

"Go ahead Bass. Laugh. But I know what I heard. There was nothing funny about it. This was serious shit."

Joey shook his head and started for the car, but Chris put up both hands, stopping them from going any farther. "Wait. Maybe Lance isn't that far off. Maybe that's what this is."

Chris waved him off. "Not an Escalade, stupid. Escalation. Maybe those cheesy little 'encounters' have led up to --."

"What? The big one?" Lance snorted. "Get serious. This is Challenge. We're gonna drink too much. Get too much sun. On Sunday the golden boys will paw each other, and Monday everyone will go home happy. It's just the way it is."

Lance keyed a number into his phone and started to turn away. Chris touched his arm.

"Give or take a year. Yeah. It's like some kind of ritual migration, like geese. They come here. Yell and scream for a while. Hump until their knees are raw. Then they go home and it starts all over again." Lance shrugged. "Maybe they can't help it."

He ducked into the open door. Joey pushed Chris in and pulled the door closed behind them. As the car pulled away, he leaned close to Chris and whispered.

"Or maybe it's the real thing and they're just not ready to deal." Joey pointed at himself. "Been there, done that."

Joey winked, then looked out the window. At Eden Roc, the limo slowed to let a group of tourists cross the street. Joey pressed his face against the glass. Two small girls pointed and laughed as the car rolled past them.

Chris shook his head slowly, then leaned back against the seat.. "Well I'll be damned."

They rode in silence until Joey's cell phone sounded again. Chris heard the words taco and ticket and Daddy Loves B, and put them together with the newspaper Joey had been rifling through in the driveway. It was Taco Tuesday and Brianna got to play grown-up, paying with the coupons her 'daddy' tucked into her wallet.

Joey closed up his phone and smiled at Chris crookedly. Lance ended his own call and slipped his phone into his pocket. By the time they pulled into Chris's drive, Lance was having tacos too. Chris however begged off. He'd had enough of the Lance and Joey Show for one day.

Chris started up the driveway, then turned back suddenly, flagging the driver before he could pull away. As the window opened, Chris leaned into the car and looked directly at Lance.

"I just thought of something. What if you're right right? That once a year we get new basketball jerseys and they get it out of their system? What happens when it's over?"

"This. I mean I'm getting to be an old man. What happens to them if this is the last time we do this?"

Lance looked at Chris for a minute, then at Joey. They exchanged shrugs and raised eyebrows, then Lance said cheerfully, "They'll have to take it to the next level, I guess."

He reached for Joey's lip and Joey batted his hand away. "A tattoo? JC? Not happening. Not even for Timberlake."

Chris had started to turn away, when he saw Joey smile and nudge Lance with his elbow. He whispered something that Chris couldn't hear. Lance rolled his eyes, but Chris could tell he trying hard not to smile himself. Then Joey lifted his left hand, and curled down three fingers, anchoring them with his thumb. The gold band on his third finger caught the light and for a moment, Chris blinked, then he stumbled back, pulling his head out of the car so fast that he banged it on the door .

As the limo pulled away, Chris could see Joey's meaty hand waving out the window.

The phone had started vibrating the minute Chris stepped inside the door. He checked the number, and then with a cool indifference that would have made Lance proud, he let the call go to voice mail. He could talk to Justin in the morning.

And if the cleaning lady hadn't unplugged his X-Box again, tonight he was still a god.

By ten Chris was drifting off to sleep. He turned off the console and started for the stairs.

Then instead, he turned out the lights and walked to the window. The sky was full of stars and for a moment, he let the events of the past twenty-four hours wash over him. It was a bigger deal than any of them had let on. Not life or death but definitely big.

There was change in the wind and it was time to look ahead, not back. At the end of the week, Joey would head to Broadway, and Lance--well, Lance had a movie to promote and a new house in Vegas. If this was the end, neither of them would miss a beat.

Chris stretched his arms over his head and felt a twinge in his knee. He probably had one good year left, then it was time to call it a day. No more dancing like an organ grinder's monkey.

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. By then The Little Red Monsters should be ready to go.

So they wouldn't need an annual basketball game or the promise of one, final album just to be together.

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