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RPF Big Bang Story - Bouquet
At last, it's here, it's posted... For an all-in-one experience you can read this on my website here. Alternatively, read on.
A big thank-you to Sami B, my incredibly talented artist, for the gorgeous header she made, which is here. Big thank-yous also to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nopseud, my story doctor, without whom this story would have been a heck of a lot shorter; to phaballa for beta, Brit-picking and AI8 canon info; and to musicdiamond who did a further Brit-picking beta - all unAmericanisms that remain have been inserted subsequently, as I couldn't stop fiddling with it.
AI8 readers: please note that I made a point of *not* reading any Adam fanfic before I wrote Bouquet, so this story will probably not fit with fanon norms, whatever they may be. Welcome to popslash! Oh, and there are some explanatory links at the end, in case some of the references make no sense to you.
Bouquet
Lance was not sure he wanted to meet Adam Lambert. On the one hand, incredibly hot guy, great singer, on the other hand, there was that little throwaway dig he'd made about 'celebrity-magazine bullshit' in his coming-out interview. Lance wasn't sure if that meant him or not, but he'd had too much experience of that kind of crap to discount it completely, and he didn't want to risk having his fears confirmed.
Betony
surprise
Kris was counting the minutes until they could leave. His smile muscles were aching even more than the rest of him. It was too much, having to do this private party, when they'd already done the show and the meet-the-fans stuff tonight, he wanted to get upstairs to his room with his wife, preferably while he had the strength not to fall asleep right off. The tour was brutal, and they didn't often get the chance to sleep in a bed instead of a bunk, but with two shows in the same city a night in a hotel made a very welcome change. It came with a price, though, and the price was New York record company execs and a bunch of celebrities drinking cocktails. But, some of the others didn't have contracts yet, and if this kind of thing helped, then of course it had to be done.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"
"What is it, honey?"
"Oh my God! Over there. Lance Bass!"
"Who?"
"Lance Bass! From Nsync! Oh my God!"
Kris looked at his wife in surprise. Katy never got like this. She'd met a whole bunch of famous people now, and never been so jittery about any of them.
"Oh, my God, I was such a fan when I was a kid." She didn't seem to be hyperventilating, but he kept a suspicious eye on her. "I got all the CDs, I had posters all over my bedroom, I had the lipgloss, everything. I went to a concert, and I was, I was like, high, for days! I mean, Nsync! They were the biggest thing ever."
"You want to meet him?"
"I, I, I don't know, I'll probably, I won't know what to say, it'll be so embarrassing." She really, really wanted to meet this guy, Kris could tell. There was a gleam of longing in her eyes that reminded him of his own fans. It was very strange. He'd gotten used to classifying 'The Fans' as a sub-category of their own, and to find that his wife was one...
"Looks like you're going to get the chance," he murmured. The guy was coming towards them.
Katy squeaked. Actually squeaked, and grabbed his hand. Kris patted her reassuringly, and smiled in the direction of the incoming guy.
"Hi, I'm Lance Bass. Congratulations on your win," he said, and he sounded sincere and had a big, open smile. "I saw the show tonight, really enjoyed it."
Kris shook the offered hand. "Kris Allen, but I guess you know that. This is my wife, Katy."
"Pleased to meet you, Katy. You must be very proud of your husband."
"Yes, I, uh, did you vote for him?"
"Ah, some of the time," said Lance Bass. "I thought Heartless was a fantastic performance. Loved it."
You voted for Adam, didn't you, Kris thought, but he actually had no problem with that, and it was a bit mean of Katy to put the guy on the spot the way she had. "My wife's a big fan of yours," he said, slyly.
"Really?" He looked pleased. "Mine in particular, or were you an Nsync fan?"
"I loved Nsync! I thought I was going to marry one of you when I was thirteen years old."
"Not me, I hope," said Lance, and grinned. "Who was your favorite?"
Ahaha, thought Kris, revenge for the 'did you vote for my husband' thing.
Katy blushed. "JC," she admitted.
Lance nodded. "You have excellent taste," he told her, gravely. "Though I don't think he'd make a very good husband. And now you have your own superstar."
"Not so much a superstar," Kris said.
"You will be," Katy told him, loyally.
"You have a record contract, and a whole lot of national exposure," said Lance.
"Yeah, it's a great start. I never thought I'd actually win."
"It must have been a nerve-racking experience," Lance said, "all those eliminations to get through."
"Yeah, it really was. It was nearly as bad saying goodbye to some of the others as it would've been getting eliminated myself. It's great to be back together again for the tour."
"I know what you mean. You get real close to people on a show like that, even though you're supposed to be in competition."
Kris wasn't sure what to make of that, but Katy knew. "I voted for you all the time on Dancing with the Stars," she said. "And for Joey. I thought that British judge was real nasty to you and Lacey. You should have won."
"Eh, that's how it goes, I guess. We got to the final, which is way better than I thought I ever would. But Brooke's a sweetheart, we got to be such good friends, and she deserved to win. And Lacey and me got to do the tour, which was a lot of fun. Are you traveling with Kris, or just meeting up sometimes?"
"I wish she could be there all the time," Kris said.
"Nah, you and Adam need some boy time," Katy said, poking him in the ribs. "And I have to work. But I get to join them sometimes, like now, and it's great. Oh! Lance, did you meet Adam yet? You have to meet Adam. He's wonderful."
*
Lance was not sure he wanted to meet Adam Lambert. On the one hand, incredibly hot guy, great singer, on the other hand, there was that little throwaway dig he'd made about 'celebrity-magazine bullshit' in his coming-out interview. Lance wasn't sure if that meant him or not, but he'd had too much experience of that kind of crap to discount it completely, and he didn't want to risk having his fears confirmed. "I'm sure he's gonna have a great career, too," he said. "That duet you guys did with Queen in the finale was amazing. Anyway, I guess I should be—"
"Adam!" Katy called, beaming.
"Hey, beautiful," Adam Lambert said, sweeping her into a mighty hug. "You having a good time? Can I make it better?" He was ridiculously good-looking, and that smile.
"I want you to meet Lance Bass," she said, proudly. "Lance, Adam Lambert."
"Oh. Hi."
"Pleased to meet you," said Lance, offering his hand. They shook. "Congratulations on the—"
"Excuse me. Kris, there's someone I'd like you to meet." It was the PR rep from Jive, smiling her shark smile as she propelled Kris ruthlessly on towards the next group of Useful People. Katy, rather uncertainly, grabbed his other hand and was swept away, much to Lance's regret.
It seemed, however, there was no escape.
*
"So... this is where we make polite conversation for about two minutes," said Lance Bass.
Adam was startled. "I wasn't planning on being rude," he said.
"No, that's not what I—We just. If we don't talk to each other at all, tomorrow's gossip column is all about us having a bitchfight about who's the most famous gay in America, and if we talk for too long it's, are Adam and Lance dating now." Bass paused, gave a bright, toothy smile, and looked up at him expectantly.
He thinks I'm going to hit on him, thought Adam. Arrogant little prick! Drake's right here in the room, and anyway it's not like I'd hit on some vacuous guy who spends all his time being photographed coming out of nightclubs. "What, you're saying those are the only two options? That's ridiculous."
"It is, but people like that only think in cliché. If you think it won't happen, it's only because you haven't been in the spotlight long enough yet. These people have one-track minds, and they don't need a whole lot of facts to make up a scenario."
"Does it matter what kind of bullshit goes into a gossip column? Maybe you should just not read them."
"I don't. And it doesn't exactly matter, but you're just getting started, you don't want to be stuck with whatever image they choose to fit on you. You want to make your own story. We should have a, like, a business conversation, talk about your music or your recording contract or something, so if anyone overhears, that's all they got."
"Why would us having a conversation makes the gossip columns at all?"
"It shouldn't, but it will. Look over my left shoulder. The brunette in the pink dress that does her skin tone no favors at all? She's a feed for Perez Hilton. And if you think she hasn't noticed us together..."
"Pretty sure she has," said Adam. "She's coming over."
"Crap," said Bass. "So, when do you start work on your album?"
"Hi, Lance!" It was the brunette in the pink. It really was a dreadful color on her. She and Bass, however, exchanged air kisses—the hypocrite—and she introduced herself as Milla Somethingunpronounceable. "So, the two most gorgeous unavailable guys in New York. You two must have so much in common."
"We were just—" Bass began, but Adam had a better idea.
"We were just talking about music," he said with a carefully engaging smile. "Thinking maybe we should record something together."
"Seriously?" She looked delighted. "That would be so awesome! Are you planning to write something new? Will it be a gay love song?"
"No," said Bass. "We're going to do Flower. The Liz Phair song."
"You heard it here first," Adam said, brightly.
"How fabulous!" Milla Unpronounceable sounded quite breathless. "I should let you boys get back to your conversation. Great to meet you, Adam, love the outfit, mmmm, so hot!" And she flittered away, presumably to text Perez Hilton his completely fabricated story.
"Are you insane?" said Bass, just as though he hadn't played right along.
"Like you said, I want to make my own story. Anyone who runs with that is going to look very foolish."
"Okay, yeah, but—"
"Hey there." It was Drake. "Oh, hi, you're Lance Bass, right?" He leaned forward to shake hands. "I'm Drake LaBry."
"Hi, how're you doing?" Bass said in response.
"Hey, baby." Adam slung his arm very deliberately over Drake's shoulder. "Didja miss me?"
"I did kinda think we might get to spend some time together," Drake said. "Didn't really come right across the country to make small talk to a bunch of... uh."
Lance Bass raised his hands and smiled. "I will let you guys talk to one another," he said, and backed away. "Nice meeting you."
"I didn't mean—damn," said Drake. "I was rude. Was I rude? I didn't mean him, I meant the boring guys in the suits. He's way better looking when you actually meet him, isn't he?"
"Oh, baby, you have been away from me for way too long," Adam said. "Think we can sneak out now?"
* * *
"They were not manufactured! They really sang, all of them!" Katy was pink with indignation. It looked good on her, Kris thought. But then, he was pretty sure anything looked good on Katy. "Anyway, I thought you liked Justin Timberlake!"
"Psst—sweetie? I think that's just 'cause Adam thinks he's hot," said Kris in a mock-whisper.
"Well, and he can sing! Adam wouldn't like him if he couldn't sing!" Katy was not quite getting the idea that guys could lust after people for all kinds of reasons, and talent didn't have to be one of them.
"Okay, okay, I give! I believe you!" Adam had his hands up and was laughing, but Katy wasn't convinced.
"When I get home," she said, "I'm gonna send you proof. Just you wait. If we had time I'd do it now, but the car will be here any second."
"Yeah," said Adam. "And that means, I'm gonna say goodbye now and leave two you alone until it gets here." He got up, hugged Katy, and headed for the door.
Kris wrapped his arms around his wife. "I'm going to miss you so bad," he murmured.
"Me, too. But you'll call."
"Every night," he promised.
"And I will email with those songs," she said, determined. There was nothing quite like a fan whose idol—hah—had been dissed. Adam was in for a hard time.
And then the car was there, and she was gone until September second, Rosemont, Illinois.
* * *
The email didn't come through until three days later, but Kris, very much amused, showed Adam the links, made him promise to listen to all of them (because he wasn't going to lie to Katy, and she'd been very insistent), and being a true friend, sat with him while he did. Turned out, it wasn't painful at all. Katy had sent not song files but YouTube links of some acappella numbers. The video and sound quality on the first one were a bit scratchy, and Adam squawked with laughter at the sight of a very young Timberlake with a ridiculous mass of curly hair, but had to admit, it sounded like they could sing without Autotune. Then a version of O Holy Night, a BeeGees set, and a concert performance with Tim McGraw. Tim McGraw!
"So. Okay." Adam looked thoughtful. "Bass isn't exactly a solo singer, though, is he." Kris looked at him. "Oh, don't give me the puppydog eyes! He can sing. You can tell Katy I said so."
"My wife knows everything," Kris said contentedly, leaning back on the couch. "Did Perez Hilton ever actually run that story?"
"Don't think so. Must not be as stupid as we thought."
"What was the name of the song? The one Lance said you were going to sing together?"
"Flower. By... huh. I don't remember. Liz somebody. You know it?"
Kris shook his head, and, without much expectation, typed Flower, Liz into Google. "Oh, hey. Lyrics." He clicked the link, and read...
"Kris?" Adam snapped his fingers. "Kris? What did you find? You have animé eyes."
"Uh. See for yourself." I want to fuck you like a dog. Not exactly what he'd been expecting.
Adam hauled the laptop across. "What did you—" He stared at the screen, then he looked back at Kris, and howled with laughter.
* * *
Viscaria
Will you dance with me?
September 15th, and those damn papers ought to be here by now. Lisa was chasing them up, but Lance was already feeling doubtful. Why have a business relationship with someone who wasn't proving to be very businesslike?
He snatched up his cellphone as soon as it started to ring. "Hey, babe, did you get it?"
Yeah, thanks, I got plenty. I think we should record together.
Lance stared at his cell in amazement. "Uh. Who is this?"
You don't remember me? I'm heartbroken. We met after the Idol show on Long Island. Adam Lambert. I think you and me should record that song together.
"What? What song?" Actually, he did remember, he remembered very well, but this was still bewildering.
I didn't notice at the time because I didn't know the song, but you had such a great idea, that we should record Liz Phair's Flower together. So, let's do it.
"Okay, this is a joke, right?" Maybe some radio station somewhere was recording this for laughs.
Come on, I don't play jokes on people unless I know them really well. Look, it's a cool song, and I know you can sing. So how about it?
"I'm not really, I don't, I have a project here in New York. I'm not looking to record anything, I don't have time. Besides, aren't you doing your own album?"
Maybe I should come see you. We can talk about this.
Lance considered. This was bizarre beyond words. Obviously it would be completely impossible for him to record something with Adam Lambert. Adam's record company would never allow it. And even if they did, which they wouldn't, Flower? No way. Absolutely no way.
But, if Adam Lambert wanted to try to persuade him, what the hell, why not?
"I'm having some people over for brunch Sunday. If you wanna show up early, say, eleven thirty, I'll listen." He hung up. If Adam Lambert could get ahold of Lance Bass's private number, he could find out where Lance was living. He had five days. Not that Lance expected him to show up. He couldn't possibly be serious.
* * *
Lance Bass's face, as he let Adam into his Manhattan apartment at precisely eleven thirty on Sunday morning, was completely bland. Not a trace of surprise, even, and he had to be at least a little bit surprised that Adam had managed to find out where he lived, didn't he? Not that it had been Adam's doing, he'd just told his PR manager that he needed to go see Lance Bass, and Sheilagh had done the footwork. Sheilagh knew people.
"Come on through. I'm not quite done yet." Bass led the way into his kitchen.
That was a surprise. There were piles of food all over every surface and piles of pans in the sink. Looked like Bass did his own cooking. Adam had assumed he'd have it catered.
"Here, grab a seat." Bass gestured towards one of the tall stools. "Let me get you a drink. You want a mimosa? Or there's coffee, or orange juice."
"Mimosa, thanks," Adam said, settling himself onto the stool. He never ate much breakfast, this stuff looked good, and the kitchen smelled very appetizing. He sipped at his drink and admired the view as Bass bent over the oven and inspected a tray of something. "So." He'd done his research and he was pretty damn sure he could overcome whatever opposition there might be. Just as he was about to get started, his cellphone chirped. "Sorry, excuse me."
HOW R U DOING? It was from Kris.
I SHALL PREVAIL, he texted back.
SOON?
ILL LET U NO.
He would prevail. He wanted to do this. This was going to happen.
"Did you enjoy the tour?"
"The tour? Yeah, it was amazing. I love performing live. You get such energy out of the crowd."
"Yeah."
"It was pretty intense, though. We mostly played five or six nights out of seven, and with all the traveling it was kinda grueling."
"So do you get a rest now? Here, want one?"
Bass was offering him a platter of tiny bomb-shaped things. "Er. What is that?"
"Prunes wrapped in bacon."
"Oh. No thanks." Prunes? Ew.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I forgot. Uh. There's some smoked salmon on that platter in the corner, if you want, or there's plenty of pastries. Lots of stuff, really. Uh."
"I'm fine. Really." Bass was slightly flushed, and Adam realized he was embarrassed at offering bacon to the Jewish boy. He clamped his jaws down on the grin that wanted to form. "Anyway, tour's over now, so here I am."
"How's the album going?"
"It's going great. I'm having such an amazing time with it. But we have more work to do on the writing before we can record anything more." He grinned. "Whereas the song I want you and me to work on is all written and ready."
"I don't even get why—"
"See, I'm not talking about including Flower on my album. It wouldn't fit, not the way I want to do it. I was thinking of a web-only release, something viral, you know?"
"And the RCA suits think this is a good idea?"
They hadn't, but Adam had already gotten Sheilagh on his side, and the two of them had been unstoppable. Pity she wasn't here now, but he couldn't exactly invite her along when he was only here on sufferance himself. But they'd worked out exactly what buttons they should be able to push to make this happen. "They do. A little publicity to keep things hot while the album gets made."
"Seriously? Your record company would actually go for this?"
"Sure. I wouldn't be doing it otherwise. I mean, I like my balls right where they are. They won't be officially involved, but they've okayed the idea."
Bass closed his eyes, and sighed. "So who pays for the recording?"
"Me," said Adam, firmly.
"Oh, man," said Lance Bass, and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I don't know."
"What do you have to lose?"
"I just. I don't."
The entry chime sounded.
"That'll be Lisa," said Bass, with enormous relief.
Fuck it, thought Adam, I had him, I had him! But the moment was gone, so he downed the rest of his drink and waited for Bass to return.
A short, chubby girl bounced into the room and gave him a huge smile. "Hi! I'm Lisa, pleased to meet you! I'm glad you found the place okay."
"She's my assistant," said a voice from the doorway. "And, apparently, a spy in the camp."
"Hey, you invited him, didn't you? Of course I told him where you live. Well, I told Sheilagh, but it's the same thing. You wouldn't want a guest wandering around New York all morning, would you? See, I'm a very efficient assistant," she told Adam, and winked.
Bass glowered at her. Lisa beamed at him. Adam watched, amused and strongly inclined to like her.
"Efficient, hah. You were invited for noon, you're early."
"Only five minutes," Lisa said insouciantly. "I wanted to get one of those cheesy things while they're hot, and I know you, you'll be getting them out the oven any second now, and they're just not the same when they've cooled down."
"You," said Lance Bass, "are a pest. And a mooch." Then the oven timer began to ping. Lisa and Adam grinned at one another as Bass, muttering, got the trays out, and carefully slid a pastry onto a plate and handed it to Lisa. "You want one? It's just cheese and herbs in filo pastry. Or those ones there have mushrooms."
"I should really be going," said Adam, sliding reluctantly off his stool. It was obvious their conversation was over. "You've got guests coming,"
"You're not staying?" Bass sounded mildly scandalized. "I thought you were coming for brunch. I mean, you came across town, least I can do is feed you."
"No, really, it's fine. I wasn't fishing for an invitation."
Now he looked almost pained. "You can't come to my house and not eat something. My momma, and my mimi, and my grandma and all their mothers and grandmothers would rise up in wrath or something. Please. Unless—I mean, if you keep kosher, there's a deli on the next block, I could—"
"No, no, this is fine," said Adam, trying not to laugh as he accepted the hot pastry.
"Good," said Lisa, through a mouthful. "He was going to send me out to get stuff."
"Why d'you think I have an assistant?" said Bass, refilling Adam's glass from the mimosa pitcher. "Oh, somebody else arriving. Excuse me."
Once the first guests started to arrive, the entry chime was in action pretty much constantly, and Adam had no chance of saying anything at all to Lance Bass. There was enough food for every gay man in New York City to show up, but there wasn't that much of a crowd, around two dozen, Adam thought, and not all of them pretty boys, though there were a handful of really cute ones, and the most adorable of the lot—whose name seemed to be Piper—was showing definite signs of interest, so things were looking up. Things with Drake were a bit sticky at the moment, and with a continent between them there wasn't much chance of getting it sorted out. A pretty boy with willing eyes was just what he needed right now.
Lisa plied him with food and drink and introduced him to people. Adam flirted lightheartedly with anyone who wanted to flirt back, accepted the praise of most of the guests and shrugged off the oh, I never watch reality television of two who obviously knew exactly who he was and were trying to make themselves out to be superior, and realized he was having a good time. He would wait until Bass was mellowed by partying and lots of mimosas, and give it another shot.
"Everything okay?" Here was Bass now, urging everyone back to the kitchen for more food. Then he looked up and past Adam's shoulder, and his face lit up with a smile that made him look like a happy teenager. "Fatone! You're late!"
"Some people are never satisfied," whispered Lisa, and Adam snickered behind his mimosa as he turned to see Bass being engulfed by the large embrace of someone who looked almost familiar... from the YouTube stuff, of course, that was the big one who wasn't Justin. Put on a bit of weight since those days.
"I found someone wandering the streets, so I brought him along," Fatone was explaining, and there was another excited cry from Lance Bass, and another full-body hug, this time with a short, stocky guy with dark hair and beard and a laugh like a machine-gun. He looked familiar, too, but Adam couldn't remember his name. Lisa had abandoned him to go and be hugged by the new arrivals, so Adam took his plate back to the kitchen. The food was seriously good, and he'd also happened to notice Piper heading in there just a minute ago.
Adam was—slightly guiltily—making his third trip back for yet more smoked salmon, because it was too delicious to resist, when he bumped, literally, into the stocky guy with the laugh.
"Oh, hey," said the guy. "Haven't seen you at Lance's parties before, do I know you?" He narrowed his eyes and examined Adam interestedly, but seemed to conclude that no, he didn't.
"You're Adam Lambert, aren't you," said a new voice. "Congratulations on making the finals. I'm Joey Fatone." They shook hands. "And this is Chris Kirkpatrick."
"Finals of what?" said Chris Kirkpatrick, juggling plate and bottle (he had, mysteriously, acquired beer) to offer a hand.
"American Idol, dumbass," said Joey. "Don't tell me you didn't watch it."
"Nope," said Chris. "Except for Bikini Girl, saw that on YouTube. I'm guessing you lost, since Joe didn't say anything about winning."
"Nothing wrong with coming second," said Joey.
"I bet Kelly doesn't think so," said Chris. He snapped his fingers. "Hah! Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Rolling Stone, right? So you've joined Lance's gay mafia now?"
"Ah, I don't think so," Adam said, because really. No. "Strictly speaking I'm here on business, I just couldn't escape until I'd eaten."
"He's from Mississippi," said Joey, who apparently thought that explained... something.
"Business?" Chris looked at him with interest. "What kind of business?"
"Ignore him," said Joey. "We never could teach him manners."
"No, it's fine," Adam said. Maybe these two could help him out. "I want Lance to record something with me, but I don't think I persuaded him yet."
"Really?" Joey looked surprised, but not hostile to the idea. "What do you have in mind? I mean, Lance likes those eighties power ballads and stuff, but he hasn't really done anything like that except at karaoke."
"Liz Phair's Flower," said Adam.
"Awesome!" There was the machine-gun laugh again.
"Interesting choice," said Joey, sounding doubtful. "It's not exactly your trademark sound, is it? I mean, there's not a lot of scope for, um, interpretation."
"I think I can do something with it," said Adam, grinning. "Besides, it wasn't my idea. Lance suggested it."
"Really?" said Chris, sounding absolutely enchanted. "Hey, Bass, get your ass in here!"
"Did we run out of something? What's wrong?"
"So how come you haven't given this guy an answer yet?"
Bass looked cornered. Adam felt a tiny bit guilty about that, but not enough to let him off the hook.
"I haven't exactly—"
"It's about time you got back in a recording studio," said Joey, helping himself to more of the evil prune things.
"Oh, like you can talk!"
"But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you—" he prodded Bass in the ribs, "being offered a chance to record with a hot new artist and apparently not saying yes."
"Particularly," said Chris, "when it was your idea."
"It was not my idea!"
"You did suggest the song," Adam reminded him. "I'd never even heard it before."
"You didn't have Chris Kirkpatrick doing his best to corrupt you when you were sixteen," said Bass, testily. "But I didn't—you know I wasn't serious. I just, it seemed like, it was just an impulse."
"Meaning," said Joey Fatone, "that you had a million really good reasons at the time and you don't want to admit to them now." Bass sent him a glare that would have shriveled a buffalo. Joey, unshriveled, calmly ate another prune thing. "Anyway, here's Adam Lambert asking you to record with him, so why not?"
"It's not like we can just step into somebody's garage and make a record," said Bass. "There'd be a lot to arrange. Studio time, and a producer we could agree on, and who exactly pays for what—look, I know you said you'd pay, but that's ridiculous. And I don't even know why you want to do this, it's not part of your album, it's not part of your image, so what is it for?"
"It's," said Adam, and hesitated. How to explain without sounding like an idiot? Because there wasn't a commercial reason for this, not at all, even if he had managed to convince first Sheilagh and then the suits that it would be great publicity. It was just that he'd got that song permanently looping in his brain, despite the frantic rush and adrenalin of the past few weeks on tour he could hear it so clearly, his own voice and the mellow octave-down echo, and it was crazy, it was unnecessary, it was irrelevant, but it was awesome and he passionately wanted to make it happen. How did he convince Lance Bass that it had to be done? "It's... I don't know how to explain. I listened to the song, and I love it. It's stuck in my head. You're right, it's not my style at all, that's why I had to work things out with my PR manager and the record company and figure out a way we could do this. It's right here," he tapped his temple, "the way it ought to be, and I need you to sing it with me. It's, kinda, symbolic? Two completely different gay guys, you see? I mean, you're right, it might even be a crazy thing to do, but I. I really want to do this song."
"Oh, man," said Bass, and it sounded like Adam might just have persuaded him. "I just. I don't know. We'd have to—Chris? What are you doing?"
Chris Kirkpatrick held up his cellphone to his ear and made eloquent 'quiet, now' gestures with the other. "Hi," he said. "It's me. In New York, I crashed Lance's brunch party. Hey, do I sound like I care? It's time you were out of bed, anyway. Listen, I got a producing gig for you." He paused. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's Lance. Yeah, seriously. He's going to record with Adam Lambert, and guess what? Liz Phair's Flower. I know! So, you up for it?"
"I am going to strangle you." Bass, in a furious whisper. "Is that—?"
"JC? Yeah. I'll pass you over now," said Chris Kirkpatrick, and handed the cell to Adam, who was a bit taken aback, but offered a cautious hello to whoever was on the other end.
Hi, Adam, I'm JC Chasez and I think it's awesome that you're going to do this with Lance, do you really want me to produce for you, I think you should because I know Lance's voice and I know he can do more than he thinks he can and besides, what a great song, I'm thinking you want it kinda angry, not monotone like the original, build up the emotion and get it really hot, I mean, smoking, we can do a whole lot with it, I think it'll sound amazing, you have a great voice, I saw you on Idol— JC had remarkable breath control, Adam thought, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to speak. He wasn't sure about this new development, working with one of Lance Bass's sometime boybandmates hadn't been part of the plan. On the other hand, JC seemed to have the same handle on the song that he did himself, so maybe it was doable. And JC was suggesting they go out to LA to record in JC's own private studio, which would simplify matters, and while Adam was out there he could spend some time with Drake, which was long overdue.
He handed the phone over to Bass, who said Hi, and But and Are you sure? and, eventually, Yeah, okay, and disconnected. "All right," he said. "I'll do it. So long as we get JC to produce."
"Done," Adam said instantly, and they shook on it. Bass looked as though he'd just signed up for one of those Japanese reality shows where you got to stick your head in a tank of cockroaches, but Adam wasn't asking him to look happy about it, just to say yes.
"I think that calls for another drink," said Chris, so Joey popped open a fresh bottle of champagne and they didn't bother with the orange juice. Bass drained his glass, muttered something about having other guests, and fled the kitchen.
"Dude," said Joey, "you're still an evil genius."
"He never could say no to JC," said Chris, grinning. "It's a good deal, though, seriously. 'C knows what he's doing."
Adam was too pleased to argue the point. He'd have time to find out a bit more about Chasez as a producer. "Thanks, guys," he said, happily. "I really want to do this." And, however bizarre it was, even to Adam, he really wanted Lance Bass to do it with him.
"It's about time for Lance to do something crazy again," Chris said. "But you'd better be serious about this. If you make him look like a tool, you're gonna regret it."
"Yeah, that bit about 'two completely different gay guys'? He has to deal with that a lot, so don't fuck him up," said Joey.
"I'm not gonna—I am taking this seriously. If Lance looks like a tool doing it, then so do I, okay? But we won't."
The two of them exchanged glances.
"Okay," they said in unison.
Unsettled by the sudden change of atmosphere in the kitchen, Adam snagged the last of the cheese pastries (Lisa was right, they were better hot) and wandered back to the living room. Most of the guests seemed to have figured that brunch was over now, at, woah, five pm, but he was heartened to see that Piper was still hanging around chatting with Lisa and another brunette Adam recognized from somewhere.
"So, um," said Piper, as Adam insinuated himself into the small space on the couch next to him. "You and Lance—are you—?"
"No!" said Adam.
"God, no!" came a deep and unflatteringly horrified voice from behind him.
"You're not?" Piper looked surprised.
"Absolutely not," said Lance Bass. "Purely a business arrangement. Besides, I met his boyfriend."
"Not boyfriend," Adam said calmly, "we're dating, we're not exclusive. So," he put his arm around Piper's shoulders, "you can take me back to your place with a clear conscience."
* * *
Part Two
A big thank-you to Sami B, my incredibly talented artist, for the gorgeous header she made, which is here. Big thank-yous also to
nopseud, my story doctor, without whom this story would have been a heck of a lot shorter; to phaballa for beta, Brit-picking and AI8 canon info; and to musicdiamond who did a further Brit-picking beta - all unAmericanisms that remain have been inserted subsequently, as I couldn't stop fiddling with it.AI8 readers: please note that I made a point of *not* reading any Adam fanfic before I wrote Bouquet, so this story will probably not fit with fanon norms, whatever they may be. Welcome to popslash! Oh, and there are some explanatory links at the end, in case some of the references make no sense to you.
Bouquet
Lance was not sure he wanted to meet Adam Lambert. On the one hand, incredibly hot guy, great singer, on the other hand, there was that little throwaway dig he'd made about 'celebrity-magazine bullshit' in his coming-out interview. Lance wasn't sure if that meant him or not, but he'd had too much experience of that kind of crap to discount it completely, and he didn't want to risk having his fears confirmed.
Betony
surprise
Kris was counting the minutes until they could leave. His smile muscles were aching even more than the rest of him. It was too much, having to do this private party, when they'd already done the show and the meet-the-fans stuff tonight, he wanted to get upstairs to his room with his wife, preferably while he had the strength not to fall asleep right off. The tour was brutal, and they didn't often get the chance to sleep in a bed instead of a bunk, but with two shows in the same city a night in a hotel made a very welcome change. It came with a price, though, and the price was New York record company execs and a bunch of celebrities drinking cocktails. But, some of the others didn't have contracts yet, and if this kind of thing helped, then of course it had to be done.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"
"What is it, honey?"
"Oh my God! Over there. Lance Bass!"
"Who?"
"Lance Bass! From Nsync! Oh my God!"
Kris looked at his wife in surprise. Katy never got like this. She'd met a whole bunch of famous people now, and never been so jittery about any of them.
"Oh, my God, I was such a fan when I was a kid." She didn't seem to be hyperventilating, but he kept a suspicious eye on her. "I got all the CDs, I had posters all over my bedroom, I had the lipgloss, everything. I went to a concert, and I was, I was like, high, for days! I mean, Nsync! They were the biggest thing ever."
"You want to meet him?"
"I, I, I don't know, I'll probably, I won't know what to say, it'll be so embarrassing." She really, really wanted to meet this guy, Kris could tell. There was a gleam of longing in her eyes that reminded him of his own fans. It was very strange. He'd gotten used to classifying 'The Fans' as a sub-category of their own, and to find that his wife was one...
"Looks like you're going to get the chance," he murmured. The guy was coming towards them.
Katy squeaked. Actually squeaked, and grabbed his hand. Kris patted her reassuringly, and smiled in the direction of the incoming guy.
"Hi, I'm Lance Bass. Congratulations on your win," he said, and he sounded sincere and had a big, open smile. "I saw the show tonight, really enjoyed it."
Kris shook the offered hand. "Kris Allen, but I guess you know that. This is my wife, Katy."
"Pleased to meet you, Katy. You must be very proud of your husband."
"Yes, I, uh, did you vote for him?"
"Ah, some of the time," said Lance Bass. "I thought Heartless was a fantastic performance. Loved it."
You voted for Adam, didn't you, Kris thought, but he actually had no problem with that, and it was a bit mean of Katy to put the guy on the spot the way she had. "My wife's a big fan of yours," he said, slyly.
"Really?" He looked pleased. "Mine in particular, or were you an Nsync fan?"
"I loved Nsync! I thought I was going to marry one of you when I was thirteen years old."
"Not me, I hope," said Lance, and grinned. "Who was your favorite?"
Ahaha, thought Kris, revenge for the 'did you vote for my husband' thing.
Katy blushed. "JC," she admitted.
Lance nodded. "You have excellent taste," he told her, gravely. "Though I don't think he'd make a very good husband. And now you have your own superstar."
"Not so much a superstar," Kris said.
"You will be," Katy told him, loyally.
"You have a record contract, and a whole lot of national exposure," said Lance.
"Yeah, it's a great start. I never thought I'd actually win."
"It must have been a nerve-racking experience," Lance said, "all those eliminations to get through."
"Yeah, it really was. It was nearly as bad saying goodbye to some of the others as it would've been getting eliminated myself. It's great to be back together again for the tour."
"I know what you mean. You get real close to people on a show like that, even though you're supposed to be in competition."
Kris wasn't sure what to make of that, but Katy knew. "I voted for you all the time on Dancing with the Stars," she said. "And for Joey. I thought that British judge was real nasty to you and Lacey. You should have won."
"Eh, that's how it goes, I guess. We got to the final, which is way better than I thought I ever would. But Brooke's a sweetheart, we got to be such good friends, and she deserved to win. And Lacey and me got to do the tour, which was a lot of fun. Are you traveling with Kris, or just meeting up sometimes?"
"I wish she could be there all the time," Kris said.
"Nah, you and Adam need some boy time," Katy said, poking him in the ribs. "And I have to work. But I get to join them sometimes, like now, and it's great. Oh! Lance, did you meet Adam yet? You have to meet Adam. He's wonderful."
*
Lance was not sure he wanted to meet Adam Lambert. On the one hand, incredibly hot guy, great singer, on the other hand, there was that little throwaway dig he'd made about 'celebrity-magazine bullshit' in his coming-out interview. Lance wasn't sure if that meant him or not, but he'd had too much experience of that kind of crap to discount it completely, and he didn't want to risk having his fears confirmed. "I'm sure he's gonna have a great career, too," he said. "That duet you guys did with Queen in the finale was amazing. Anyway, I guess I should be—"
"Adam!" Katy called, beaming.
"Hey, beautiful," Adam Lambert said, sweeping her into a mighty hug. "You having a good time? Can I make it better?" He was ridiculously good-looking, and that smile.
"I want you to meet Lance Bass," she said, proudly. "Lance, Adam Lambert."
"Oh. Hi."
"Pleased to meet you," said Lance, offering his hand. They shook. "Congratulations on the—"
"Excuse me. Kris, there's someone I'd like you to meet." It was the PR rep from Jive, smiling her shark smile as she propelled Kris ruthlessly on towards the next group of Useful People. Katy, rather uncertainly, grabbed his other hand and was swept away, much to Lance's regret.
It seemed, however, there was no escape.
*
"So... this is where we make polite conversation for about two minutes," said Lance Bass.
Adam was startled. "I wasn't planning on being rude," he said.
"No, that's not what I—We just. If we don't talk to each other at all, tomorrow's gossip column is all about us having a bitchfight about who's the most famous gay in America, and if we talk for too long it's, are Adam and Lance dating now." Bass paused, gave a bright, toothy smile, and looked up at him expectantly.
He thinks I'm going to hit on him, thought Adam. Arrogant little prick! Drake's right here in the room, and anyway it's not like I'd hit on some vacuous guy who spends all his time being photographed coming out of nightclubs. "What, you're saying those are the only two options? That's ridiculous."
"It is, but people like that only think in cliché. If you think it won't happen, it's only because you haven't been in the spotlight long enough yet. These people have one-track minds, and they don't need a whole lot of facts to make up a scenario."
"Does it matter what kind of bullshit goes into a gossip column? Maybe you should just not read them."
"I don't. And it doesn't exactly matter, but you're just getting started, you don't want to be stuck with whatever image they choose to fit on you. You want to make your own story. We should have a, like, a business conversation, talk about your music or your recording contract or something, so if anyone overhears, that's all they got."
"Why would us having a conversation makes the gossip columns at all?"
"It shouldn't, but it will. Look over my left shoulder. The brunette in the pink dress that does her skin tone no favors at all? She's a feed for Perez Hilton. And if you think she hasn't noticed us together..."
"Pretty sure she has," said Adam. "She's coming over."
"Crap," said Bass. "So, when do you start work on your album?"
"Hi, Lance!" It was the brunette in the pink. It really was a dreadful color on her. She and Bass, however, exchanged air kisses—the hypocrite—and she introduced herself as Milla Somethingunpronounceable. "So, the two most gorgeous unavailable guys in New York. You two must have so much in common."
"We were just—" Bass began, but Adam had a better idea.
"We were just talking about music," he said with a carefully engaging smile. "Thinking maybe we should record something together."
"Seriously?" She looked delighted. "That would be so awesome! Are you planning to write something new? Will it be a gay love song?"
"No," said Bass. "We're going to do Flower. The Liz Phair song."
"You heard it here first," Adam said, brightly.
"How fabulous!" Milla Unpronounceable sounded quite breathless. "I should let you boys get back to your conversation. Great to meet you, Adam, love the outfit, mmmm, so hot!" And she flittered away, presumably to text Perez Hilton his completely fabricated story.
"Are you insane?" said Bass, just as though he hadn't played right along.
"Like you said, I want to make my own story. Anyone who runs with that is going to look very foolish."
"Okay, yeah, but—"
"Hey there." It was Drake. "Oh, hi, you're Lance Bass, right?" He leaned forward to shake hands. "I'm Drake LaBry."
"Hi, how're you doing?" Bass said in response.
"Hey, baby." Adam slung his arm very deliberately over Drake's shoulder. "Didja miss me?"
"I did kinda think we might get to spend some time together," Drake said. "Didn't really come right across the country to make small talk to a bunch of... uh."
Lance Bass raised his hands and smiled. "I will let you guys talk to one another," he said, and backed away. "Nice meeting you."
"I didn't mean—damn," said Drake. "I was rude. Was I rude? I didn't mean him, I meant the boring guys in the suits. He's way better looking when you actually meet him, isn't he?"
"Oh, baby, you have been away from me for way too long," Adam said. "Think we can sneak out now?"
* * *
"They were not manufactured! They really sang, all of them!" Katy was pink with indignation. It looked good on her, Kris thought. But then, he was pretty sure anything looked good on Katy. "Anyway, I thought you liked Justin Timberlake!"
"Psst—sweetie? I think that's just 'cause Adam thinks he's hot," said Kris in a mock-whisper.
"Well, and he can sing! Adam wouldn't like him if he couldn't sing!" Katy was not quite getting the idea that guys could lust after people for all kinds of reasons, and talent didn't have to be one of them.
"Okay, okay, I give! I believe you!" Adam had his hands up and was laughing, but Katy wasn't convinced.
"When I get home," she said, "I'm gonna send you proof. Just you wait. If we had time I'd do it now, but the car will be here any second."
"Yeah," said Adam. "And that means, I'm gonna say goodbye now and leave two you alone until it gets here." He got up, hugged Katy, and headed for the door.
Kris wrapped his arms around his wife. "I'm going to miss you so bad," he murmured.
"Me, too. But you'll call."
"Every night," he promised.
"And I will email with those songs," she said, determined. There was nothing quite like a fan whose idol—hah—had been dissed. Adam was in for a hard time.
And then the car was there, and she was gone until September second, Rosemont, Illinois.
* * *
The email didn't come through until three days later, but Kris, very much amused, showed Adam the links, made him promise to listen to all of them (because he wasn't going to lie to Katy, and she'd been very insistent), and being a true friend, sat with him while he did. Turned out, it wasn't painful at all. Katy had sent not song files but YouTube links of some acappella numbers. The video and sound quality on the first one were a bit scratchy, and Adam squawked with laughter at the sight of a very young Timberlake with a ridiculous mass of curly hair, but had to admit, it sounded like they could sing without Autotune. Then a version of O Holy Night, a BeeGees set, and a concert performance with Tim McGraw. Tim McGraw!
"So. Okay." Adam looked thoughtful. "Bass isn't exactly a solo singer, though, is he." Kris looked at him. "Oh, don't give me the puppydog eyes! He can sing. You can tell Katy I said so."
"My wife knows everything," Kris said contentedly, leaning back on the couch. "Did Perez Hilton ever actually run that story?"
"Don't think so. Must not be as stupid as we thought."
"What was the name of the song? The one Lance said you were going to sing together?"
"Flower. By... huh. I don't remember. Liz somebody. You know it?"
Kris shook his head, and, without much expectation, typed Flower, Liz into Google. "Oh, hey. Lyrics." He clicked the link, and read...
"Kris?" Adam snapped his fingers. "Kris? What did you find? You have animé eyes."
"Uh. See for yourself." I want to fuck you like a dog. Not exactly what he'd been expecting.
Adam hauled the laptop across. "What did you—" He stared at the screen, then he looked back at Kris, and howled with laughter.
* * *
Viscaria
Will you dance with me?
September 15th, and those damn papers ought to be here by now. Lisa was chasing them up, but Lance was already feeling doubtful. Why have a business relationship with someone who wasn't proving to be very businesslike?
He snatched up his cellphone as soon as it started to ring. "Hey, babe, did you get it?"
Yeah, thanks, I got plenty. I think we should record together.
Lance stared at his cell in amazement. "Uh. Who is this?"
You don't remember me? I'm heartbroken. We met after the Idol show on Long Island. Adam Lambert. I think you and me should record that song together.
"What? What song?" Actually, he did remember, he remembered very well, but this was still bewildering.
I didn't notice at the time because I didn't know the song, but you had such a great idea, that we should record Liz Phair's Flower together. So, let's do it.
"Okay, this is a joke, right?" Maybe some radio station somewhere was recording this for laughs.
Come on, I don't play jokes on people unless I know them really well. Look, it's a cool song, and I know you can sing. So how about it?
"I'm not really, I don't, I have a project here in New York. I'm not looking to record anything, I don't have time. Besides, aren't you doing your own album?"
Maybe I should come see you. We can talk about this.
Lance considered. This was bizarre beyond words. Obviously it would be completely impossible for him to record something with Adam Lambert. Adam's record company would never allow it. And even if they did, which they wouldn't, Flower? No way. Absolutely no way.
But, if Adam Lambert wanted to try to persuade him, what the hell, why not?
"I'm having some people over for brunch Sunday. If you wanna show up early, say, eleven thirty, I'll listen." He hung up. If Adam Lambert could get ahold of Lance Bass's private number, he could find out where Lance was living. He had five days. Not that Lance expected him to show up. He couldn't possibly be serious.
* * *
Lance Bass's face, as he let Adam into his Manhattan apartment at precisely eleven thirty on Sunday morning, was completely bland. Not a trace of surprise, even, and he had to be at least a little bit surprised that Adam had managed to find out where he lived, didn't he? Not that it had been Adam's doing, he'd just told his PR manager that he needed to go see Lance Bass, and Sheilagh had done the footwork. Sheilagh knew people.
"Come on through. I'm not quite done yet." Bass led the way into his kitchen.
That was a surprise. There were piles of food all over every surface and piles of pans in the sink. Looked like Bass did his own cooking. Adam had assumed he'd have it catered.
"Here, grab a seat." Bass gestured towards one of the tall stools. "Let me get you a drink. You want a mimosa? Or there's coffee, or orange juice."
"Mimosa, thanks," Adam said, settling himself onto the stool. He never ate much breakfast, this stuff looked good, and the kitchen smelled very appetizing. He sipped at his drink and admired the view as Bass bent over the oven and inspected a tray of something. "So." He'd done his research and he was pretty damn sure he could overcome whatever opposition there might be. Just as he was about to get started, his cellphone chirped. "Sorry, excuse me."
HOW R U DOING? It was from Kris.
I SHALL PREVAIL, he texted back.
SOON?
ILL LET U NO.
He would prevail. He wanted to do this. This was going to happen.
"Did you enjoy the tour?"
"The tour? Yeah, it was amazing. I love performing live. You get such energy out of the crowd."
"Yeah."
"It was pretty intense, though. We mostly played five or six nights out of seven, and with all the traveling it was kinda grueling."
"So do you get a rest now? Here, want one?"
Bass was offering him a platter of tiny bomb-shaped things. "Er. What is that?"
"Prunes wrapped in bacon."
"Oh. No thanks." Prunes? Ew.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I forgot. Uh. There's some smoked salmon on that platter in the corner, if you want, or there's plenty of pastries. Lots of stuff, really. Uh."
"I'm fine. Really." Bass was slightly flushed, and Adam realized he was embarrassed at offering bacon to the Jewish boy. He clamped his jaws down on the grin that wanted to form. "Anyway, tour's over now, so here I am."
"How's the album going?"
"It's going great. I'm having such an amazing time with it. But we have more work to do on the writing before we can record anything more." He grinned. "Whereas the song I want you and me to work on is all written and ready."
"I don't even get why—"
"See, I'm not talking about including Flower on my album. It wouldn't fit, not the way I want to do it. I was thinking of a web-only release, something viral, you know?"
"And the RCA suits think this is a good idea?"
They hadn't, but Adam had already gotten Sheilagh on his side, and the two of them had been unstoppable. Pity she wasn't here now, but he couldn't exactly invite her along when he was only here on sufferance himself. But they'd worked out exactly what buttons they should be able to push to make this happen. "They do. A little publicity to keep things hot while the album gets made."
"Seriously? Your record company would actually go for this?"
"Sure. I wouldn't be doing it otherwise. I mean, I like my balls right where they are. They won't be officially involved, but they've okayed the idea."
Bass closed his eyes, and sighed. "So who pays for the recording?"
"Me," said Adam, firmly.
"Oh, man," said Lance Bass, and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I don't know."
"What do you have to lose?"
"I just. I don't."
The entry chime sounded.
"That'll be Lisa," said Bass, with enormous relief.
Fuck it, thought Adam, I had him, I had him! But the moment was gone, so he downed the rest of his drink and waited for Bass to return.
A short, chubby girl bounced into the room and gave him a huge smile. "Hi! I'm Lisa, pleased to meet you! I'm glad you found the place okay."
"She's my assistant," said a voice from the doorway. "And, apparently, a spy in the camp."
"Hey, you invited him, didn't you? Of course I told him where you live. Well, I told Sheilagh, but it's the same thing. You wouldn't want a guest wandering around New York all morning, would you? See, I'm a very efficient assistant," she told Adam, and winked.
Bass glowered at her. Lisa beamed at him. Adam watched, amused and strongly inclined to like her.
"Efficient, hah. You were invited for noon, you're early."
"Only five minutes," Lisa said insouciantly. "I wanted to get one of those cheesy things while they're hot, and I know you, you'll be getting them out the oven any second now, and they're just not the same when they've cooled down."
"You," said Lance Bass, "are a pest. And a mooch." Then the oven timer began to ping. Lisa and Adam grinned at one another as Bass, muttering, got the trays out, and carefully slid a pastry onto a plate and handed it to Lisa. "You want one? It's just cheese and herbs in filo pastry. Or those ones there have mushrooms."
"I should really be going," said Adam, sliding reluctantly off his stool. It was obvious their conversation was over. "You've got guests coming,"
"You're not staying?" Bass sounded mildly scandalized. "I thought you were coming for brunch. I mean, you came across town, least I can do is feed you."
"No, really, it's fine. I wasn't fishing for an invitation."
Now he looked almost pained. "You can't come to my house and not eat something. My momma, and my mimi, and my grandma and all their mothers and grandmothers would rise up in wrath or something. Please. Unless—I mean, if you keep kosher, there's a deli on the next block, I could—"
"No, no, this is fine," said Adam, trying not to laugh as he accepted the hot pastry.
"Good," said Lisa, through a mouthful. "He was going to send me out to get stuff."
"Why d'you think I have an assistant?" said Bass, refilling Adam's glass from the mimosa pitcher. "Oh, somebody else arriving. Excuse me."
Once the first guests started to arrive, the entry chime was in action pretty much constantly, and Adam had no chance of saying anything at all to Lance Bass. There was enough food for every gay man in New York City to show up, but there wasn't that much of a crowd, around two dozen, Adam thought, and not all of them pretty boys, though there were a handful of really cute ones, and the most adorable of the lot—whose name seemed to be Piper—was showing definite signs of interest, so things were looking up. Things with Drake were a bit sticky at the moment, and with a continent between them there wasn't much chance of getting it sorted out. A pretty boy with willing eyes was just what he needed right now.
Lisa plied him with food and drink and introduced him to people. Adam flirted lightheartedly with anyone who wanted to flirt back, accepted the praise of most of the guests and shrugged off the oh, I never watch reality television of two who obviously knew exactly who he was and were trying to make themselves out to be superior, and realized he was having a good time. He would wait until Bass was mellowed by partying and lots of mimosas, and give it another shot.
"Everything okay?" Here was Bass now, urging everyone back to the kitchen for more food. Then he looked up and past Adam's shoulder, and his face lit up with a smile that made him look like a happy teenager. "Fatone! You're late!"
"Some people are never satisfied," whispered Lisa, and Adam snickered behind his mimosa as he turned to see Bass being engulfed by the large embrace of someone who looked almost familiar... from the YouTube stuff, of course, that was the big one who wasn't Justin. Put on a bit of weight since those days.
"I found someone wandering the streets, so I brought him along," Fatone was explaining, and there was another excited cry from Lance Bass, and another full-body hug, this time with a short, stocky guy with dark hair and beard and a laugh like a machine-gun. He looked familiar, too, but Adam couldn't remember his name. Lisa had abandoned him to go and be hugged by the new arrivals, so Adam took his plate back to the kitchen. The food was seriously good, and he'd also happened to notice Piper heading in there just a minute ago.
Adam was—slightly guiltily—making his third trip back for yet more smoked salmon, because it was too delicious to resist, when he bumped, literally, into the stocky guy with the laugh.
"Oh, hey," said the guy. "Haven't seen you at Lance's parties before, do I know you?" He narrowed his eyes and examined Adam interestedly, but seemed to conclude that no, he didn't.
"You're Adam Lambert, aren't you," said a new voice. "Congratulations on making the finals. I'm Joey Fatone." They shook hands. "And this is Chris Kirkpatrick."
"Finals of what?" said Chris Kirkpatrick, juggling plate and bottle (he had, mysteriously, acquired beer) to offer a hand.
"American Idol, dumbass," said Joey. "Don't tell me you didn't watch it."
"Nope," said Chris. "Except for Bikini Girl, saw that on YouTube. I'm guessing you lost, since Joe didn't say anything about winning."
"Nothing wrong with coming second," said Joey.
"I bet Kelly doesn't think so," said Chris. He snapped his fingers. "Hah! Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Rolling Stone, right? So you've joined Lance's gay mafia now?"
"Ah, I don't think so," Adam said, because really. No. "Strictly speaking I'm here on business, I just couldn't escape until I'd eaten."
"He's from Mississippi," said Joey, who apparently thought that explained... something.
"Business?" Chris looked at him with interest. "What kind of business?"
"Ignore him," said Joey. "We never could teach him manners."
"No, it's fine," Adam said. Maybe these two could help him out. "I want Lance to record something with me, but I don't think I persuaded him yet."
"Really?" Joey looked surprised, but not hostile to the idea. "What do you have in mind? I mean, Lance likes those eighties power ballads and stuff, but he hasn't really done anything like that except at karaoke."
"Liz Phair's Flower," said Adam.
"Awesome!" There was the machine-gun laugh again.
"Interesting choice," said Joey, sounding doubtful. "It's not exactly your trademark sound, is it? I mean, there's not a lot of scope for, um, interpretation."
"I think I can do something with it," said Adam, grinning. "Besides, it wasn't my idea. Lance suggested it."
"Really?" said Chris, sounding absolutely enchanted. "Hey, Bass, get your ass in here!"
"Did we run out of something? What's wrong?"
"So how come you haven't given this guy an answer yet?"
Bass looked cornered. Adam felt a tiny bit guilty about that, but not enough to let him off the hook.
"I haven't exactly—"
"It's about time you got back in a recording studio," said Joey, helping himself to more of the evil prune things.
"Oh, like you can talk!"
"But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you—" he prodded Bass in the ribs, "being offered a chance to record with a hot new artist and apparently not saying yes."
"Particularly," said Chris, "when it was your idea."
"It was not my idea!"
"You did suggest the song," Adam reminded him. "I'd never even heard it before."
"You didn't have Chris Kirkpatrick doing his best to corrupt you when you were sixteen," said Bass, testily. "But I didn't—you know I wasn't serious. I just, it seemed like, it was just an impulse."
"Meaning," said Joey Fatone, "that you had a million really good reasons at the time and you don't want to admit to them now." Bass sent him a glare that would have shriveled a buffalo. Joey, unshriveled, calmly ate another prune thing. "Anyway, here's Adam Lambert asking you to record with him, so why not?"
"It's not like we can just step into somebody's garage and make a record," said Bass. "There'd be a lot to arrange. Studio time, and a producer we could agree on, and who exactly pays for what—look, I know you said you'd pay, but that's ridiculous. And I don't even know why you want to do this, it's not part of your album, it's not part of your image, so what is it for?"
"It's," said Adam, and hesitated. How to explain without sounding like an idiot? Because there wasn't a commercial reason for this, not at all, even if he had managed to convince first Sheilagh and then the suits that it would be great publicity. It was just that he'd got that song permanently looping in his brain, despite the frantic rush and adrenalin of the past few weeks on tour he could hear it so clearly, his own voice and the mellow octave-down echo, and it was crazy, it was unnecessary, it was irrelevant, but it was awesome and he passionately wanted to make it happen. How did he convince Lance Bass that it had to be done? "It's... I don't know how to explain. I listened to the song, and I love it. It's stuck in my head. You're right, it's not my style at all, that's why I had to work things out with my PR manager and the record company and figure out a way we could do this. It's right here," he tapped his temple, "the way it ought to be, and I need you to sing it with me. It's, kinda, symbolic? Two completely different gay guys, you see? I mean, you're right, it might even be a crazy thing to do, but I. I really want to do this song."
"Oh, man," said Bass, and it sounded like Adam might just have persuaded him. "I just. I don't know. We'd have to—Chris? What are you doing?"
Chris Kirkpatrick held up his cellphone to his ear and made eloquent 'quiet, now' gestures with the other. "Hi," he said. "It's me. In New York, I crashed Lance's brunch party. Hey, do I sound like I care? It's time you were out of bed, anyway. Listen, I got a producing gig for you." He paused. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. It's Lance. Yeah, seriously. He's going to record with Adam Lambert, and guess what? Liz Phair's Flower. I know! So, you up for it?"
"I am going to strangle you." Bass, in a furious whisper. "Is that—?"
"JC? Yeah. I'll pass you over now," said Chris Kirkpatrick, and handed the cell to Adam, who was a bit taken aback, but offered a cautious hello to whoever was on the other end.
Hi, Adam, I'm JC Chasez and I think it's awesome that you're going to do this with Lance, do you really want me to produce for you, I think you should because I know Lance's voice and I know he can do more than he thinks he can and besides, what a great song, I'm thinking you want it kinda angry, not monotone like the original, build up the emotion and get it really hot, I mean, smoking, we can do a whole lot with it, I think it'll sound amazing, you have a great voice, I saw you on Idol— JC had remarkable breath control, Adam thought, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to speak. He wasn't sure about this new development, working with one of Lance Bass's sometime boybandmates hadn't been part of the plan. On the other hand, JC seemed to have the same handle on the song that he did himself, so maybe it was doable. And JC was suggesting they go out to LA to record in JC's own private studio, which would simplify matters, and while Adam was out there he could spend some time with Drake, which was long overdue.
He handed the phone over to Bass, who said Hi, and But and Are you sure? and, eventually, Yeah, okay, and disconnected. "All right," he said. "I'll do it. So long as we get JC to produce."
"Done," Adam said instantly, and they shook on it. Bass looked as though he'd just signed up for one of those Japanese reality shows where you got to stick your head in a tank of cockroaches, but Adam wasn't asking him to look happy about it, just to say yes.
"I think that calls for another drink," said Chris, so Joey popped open a fresh bottle of champagne and they didn't bother with the orange juice. Bass drained his glass, muttered something about having other guests, and fled the kitchen.
"Dude," said Joey, "you're still an evil genius."
"He never could say no to JC," said Chris, grinning. "It's a good deal, though, seriously. 'C knows what he's doing."
Adam was too pleased to argue the point. He'd have time to find out a bit more about Chasez as a producer. "Thanks, guys," he said, happily. "I really want to do this." And, however bizarre it was, even to Adam, he really wanted Lance Bass to do it with him.
"It's about time for Lance to do something crazy again," Chris said. "But you'd better be serious about this. If you make him look like a tool, you're gonna regret it."
"Yeah, that bit about 'two completely different gay guys'? He has to deal with that a lot, so don't fuck him up," said Joey.
"I'm not gonna—I am taking this seriously. If Lance looks like a tool doing it, then so do I, okay? But we won't."
The two of them exchanged glances.
"Okay," they said in unison.
Unsettled by the sudden change of atmosphere in the kitchen, Adam snagged the last of the cheese pastries (Lisa was right, they were better hot) and wandered back to the living room. Most of the guests seemed to have figured that brunch was over now, at, woah, five pm, but he was heartened to see that Piper was still hanging around chatting with Lisa and another brunette Adam recognized from somewhere.
"So, um," said Piper, as Adam insinuated himself into the small space on the couch next to him. "You and Lance—are you—?"
"No!" said Adam.
"God, no!" came a deep and unflatteringly horrified voice from behind him.
"You're not?" Piper looked surprised.
"Absolutely not," said Lance Bass. "Purely a business arrangement. Besides, I met his boyfriend."
"Not boyfriend," Adam said calmly, "we're dating, we're not exclusive. So," he put his arm around Piper's shoulders, "you can take me back to your place with a clear conscience."
* * *
Part Two
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Proper boyband education! I approve.
OMG CHRIS! ♥ JOEY! JCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC ♥♥
notgonnastayupallnightreadingthis.
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