"Coming up next on Today, pop superstar Justin Timberlake stops by the studio to perform his latest single..."

The flat screen TV beeped and went black as Josh snapped it off, tossing the remote to the center of the glass coffee table. He winced as it bounced on the pane with a clatter, then sat up and looked around before relaxing again against the worn fabric of the futon. One of these days he was going to break that table and his wife would give him that look. The one he was kind of afraid of.

Every morning was a little bit of déjà vu-they always started the same way. He needed a little peace and quiet, some space, some time to wake up before jumping into the day. His ritual was to come downstairs--still in pajamas-- have some coffee, read the paper, watch the news. Celeste preferred to wrangle the kids on her own, if he would take over once they were dressed so she could dress in peace and have time to herself.

So he had come downstairs, where the sunlight spilled in between the vertical blinds off of the patio throughout most of the first floor- the open kitchen, the dining room with the large, oval eight person table that was actually full from time to time, the living room with the comfortable furniture that looked like it had been beaten down by tiny feet (because it had) and the indulgent flat panel TV that boasted about yet another pop superstar, living his dream.

His dream.

A familiar sound caught his ear. It was faint, but he heard it. His eyes traveled upward toward the ceiling, as if he could see through it. His son Jack had a new obsession, and that was jumping. Everywhere. All the time. He was jumping now, landing heavily on the hardwood floors, reciting something over and over, the way three year olds do for no reason at all. Just a few decibels under Jack, a soft voice called for him. How he heard it, he had no idea, but he did. He always did.

Josh shot out of the chair and padded up the stairs and around the bend. Matilda picked the color of her room-pink-which looked like a fairy tale had thrown up in it. Unicorns and Prince Charming and Princesses in pink flowing gowns and crowns that sparkled adorned the room. He had wanted his daughter to dream for herself past Beauty and the Beast, past living like a princess and waiting for some magical guy to come rescue you from your life, but he lost the battle when it came to her room.

Disney. Ever since he tanked that audition way back when, seeing anything Disney oriented was like being taunted everyday of his life, and now he had to look at it, every morning and every night and every time he walked by his daughter's room. It was hard to say no, though, when it was all she wanted. He'd long ago admitted defeat, but still felt a pang every time he crossed that threshold.

"What's up, buttercup?" He leaned against the doorjamb and smiled down at the six year old,  a copy of her mother with big, round hazel eyes and long, dark hair, fair skinned and soft spoken. She had a sweet smile full of missing teeth that melted his heart. Today, her face was painted with a frown, her cherry red lips in a dramatic downturn that made him laugh on the inside. Not on the outside. Never laugh at Till when she's upset.

"I want to wear a ponytail but mommy didn't do it right." Her poor little voice sounded so sad as she looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. "Fix it?"

"Please?"

"Please."

She handed him the ‘hair pretty'- her word for the colorful barrettes and ribbons and things that went in her hair. He'd never understand it all. Women weren't to be understood. Just loved.

Josh sat on the bed and moved Till in front of him, undid the perfectly fine ponytail and repositioned it. She liked it high and off to the side, so her hair fell over her shoulder. He shook his head-his daughter was already a sophisticate. She would want an updo when she was 8. He supposed he'd better learn how to do an updo.

"Oh you're fixing it? Good."

Celeste brushed by him to lay Till's jacket and backpack next to him, a faint whiff of her perfume tickling his nose. He tracked her figure out of the corner of his eye, looking delightfully tantalizing in her designer suit.

They'd met ten years earlier in the Architecture program through the University of Central Florida. She took a seat next to him in Landscaping on the first day of class. He hadn't let her out of his sight since then. He asked her out every day until she said yes. A year later they were engaged, and a year after that, they were married and after graduation, both found work at design firms. And then Matilda came along. Life just seemed to roll forward without effort. Celeste made it easy-enjoyable, even. If he'd met her today, he'd still not let her out of his sight until she agreed to go out with him.

"I think she just likes it when daddy does it."  Celeste winked and dropped a light kiss on his forehead, and then on Till's. "She whined the entire time I was doing it."

With a smirk, she headed across the hall, and seconds later, shrieks of laughter came from Jack's room. The Tickle Game was the only way Jack was getting dressed these days. You did what you had to do, to get the kid out of the house.

"Okay, sweetie." He gave her a pat on the back to signal he was done. She ran to the floor length mirror to check out his handiwork. There was an extra little thump in his heart when she turned back to give him a gap toothed grin and said,"Thanks, daddy."

"You're welcome. Go on downstairs. I'll get some breakfast for you." Matilda happily bounced out of the room and down the stairs. Josh followed, picking up her jacket and pink The Little Mermaid backpack. More Disney.

"Honey, I have Till's stuff!" he called behind him. Celeste answered that Jack was on his way.

There was nothing quite like the sound of kid voices babbling at the breakfast table. Josh rather enjoyed it. He sipped coffee and chewed on toast and watched Jack and Till scarf down a nutritious breakfast of eggs, toast, turkey bacon-- no sugared cereals for his kids-and listened to them talk about what dreams they had and their plans for the day. Kids had such important lives, so many things they had to do. People to see, places to go. He was amused by it all. If they only knew what busy really was.

Celeste rushed down the stairs, her hair in perfect waves framing her oval face, light makeup accentuating hazel eyes and fair tone, dazzling diamonds in her ears, stylish watch at her wrist. She looked every part the Young Executive and he was proud of her. She'd be a partner at the firm before she was 35. At least, she hoped to be one.

Celeste smiled brightly at him and tilted her head, letting him know she'd noticed his lingering stare. "Hi," she mouthed, filling her travel mug with coffee. He nodded and shot her half a grin, thinking he couldn't wait until she got home, later.

"Till honey, hurry. We'll be late."

Dropping Matilda at the small private school she attended was Celeste's job every morning, unless she was out of town. She was leaving anyway, and it was on her way to the office. Josh would take Jack to preschool at 9, work from home as usual, and pick them both up at 3. They had the routine down pat and the kids seemed ‘off' when it wasn't followed.

He kissed his girls goodbye, and then he and Jack stood at the garage door like always and watched Celeste back her car out of the driveway, Matilda strapped in the booster seat behind her. They waved, and Till waved, and then they closed the door.

And the world belonged to Jack.

His son made him laugh like no one else, rambunctious and loud and every inch a boy. If Matilda was the image of her mother, Jack was like looking into a mirror. A mop of thick, dark, curly hair topped his long, thin head. He had his father's blue eyes and a wide smile that made those eyes crinkle at the sides. Energetic and playful, Jack was almost always making noise. Singing or chanting or yelling or talking. He was outgoing, like Celeste. Matilda was quiet, like him.

"Hey buddy, let's go upstairs. Daddy needs to get some clothes on."

He led Jack up the stairs to the master bedroom, picked him up, tossed him playfully to the middle of the large bed and pointed the remote at TV mounted on the opposite wall. Jack sat criss-cross on the bed, already engrossed in Dora the Explorer.

"Tell me some Spanish when I come, out, ‘kay buddy? Don't go anywhere, I'll be right out."

"Vamos!" Jack yelled.

Josh chuckled, wondering if the boy was capable of being quiet, ever. "I'll be right back."

Showering was best done quickly if the kids were awake, especially Jack. He was easily bored, and though he always promised to not go anywhere, he didn't always keep that promise. Josh scrubbed as quickly as possible and hopped back out of the shower, relieved to hear Jack yelling random words and phrases in Spanish behind the closed doors. He toweled off, ducked into the walk-in closet and slipped into a pair of boxer briefs, jeans and a t-shirt-his usual uniform.

"Ready to go school, buddy? Let's go!"

He slid his feet into a pair of camel colored leather slip ons, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and picked up his keys. Jack scrambled off of the bed and ran to his bedroom to pick up his jacket and Tonka Toys backpack, and then bounded down the stairs. Then it was out to the garage, strapped into the car seat and on the way to school.

Josh worked every day from 10 am to 2:30. The corporate world of architecture was fine, and maybe someday he'd return to it. If he ever got tired of being his own boss and managing his own schedule and having the freedom to see his kids off every morning, pick them up every afternoon and play with them. If he ever thought he'd like to be stressed and pushed and shoved by bosses and deadlines and meetings and politics, instead of being calm and serene have the energy to be a good partner to Celeste-then maybe he'd return to the corporate world. It wasn't likely he'd be back anytime soon.

By the time he sat at his drafting table it was a few minutes after 10. The plans for the new Performing Arts Center were coming together nicely. His affinity for the Arts and his musical ear won him the contract and he was enjoying putting the building together. Today he'd work on the second level-- measuring, drawing, erasing, creating. The shape of the interior was important to the acoustics-the sound had travel along the walls, not be absorbed into them. The light had to brighten and illuminate but not overshadow the act on stage. The exterior had to be modern and New Age but still classic enough to attract seasoned theater patrons. And the entire project had to squeeze into a budget with little wiggle room. These were the challenges that filled his days and sometimes his nights. When he couldn't sleep, he'd come in this room, turn on the lamp, stare at the plans, pray for an epiphany.

Less often, he'd wander into the formal sitting room and sit at the baby grand. He wouldn't play, just stare at it. Run his fingers along the glossy wood. Finger the ivory keys. The melodies of unwritten songs, unsung harmonies circled him constantly, like ghosts of a former time. A former dream. A ridiculous dream, of making it big and being a superstar.

He'd always been told he had a great voice, people used to love to hear him sing. He gave it up though, after that audition. The one he should have aced, but instead was too shy to even get a word, a note, a syllable out of his mouth. He'd been embarrassed and ashamed and rarely talked about it, but he still relived it, over and over again in his mind. It was coming out in his dreams-had been for quite awhile.

His mom had tried to talk him into trying again but he'd psyched himself out. Told himself he had no skill or talent for music and never would, so give it up. Go back to whatever he wanted to do before he stood in that line at the audition dreaming of a life in show business. His talent was in the room with the drafting table. His future, his livelihood, how he put food on the table was part of the new school building across town, or the Kroger redesign or the new shopping plaza in Winter Park. That was his life. No time for make believe and wishing things had turned out differently for him.

He'd have never met Celeste and would have never been blessed with a full (albeit loud) life with two kids and a nice home, his own business, a comfortable living, had he followed that dream. No telling where he would be-maybe some washed up middle aged former musician living off of Sunset strip in a dirty studio apartment. Or worse, if he went for it and never really made an impact and had to fade into obscurity, again? Humiliating!

It was a scary thought, but one that crept back into his mind on an almost daily basis. He hadn't been able to get it to go away.

Josh worked steadily, watching the clock. Stopping briefly for lunch, then a phone call, and then back to work until 2:30 on the dot, when he snapped off the light, set down his drafting pencil and picked up his keys. He looked forward to the time spent alone with his kids, before Celeste rolled in a little after 5 and the full life of family took over.

The preschool smelled of fresh paint and French fries, a sort of sickening scent that faded as Josh walked down the hall. He was a little early, so he'd surprise Jack, and watch the smile crawl across his face when he looked up to see his dad there. Josh almost sped his steps at the thought, because he loved that smile. Jack would probably yell loud and run to him, which were against the rules but hey-- his kid was happy to see him. Rules, schmules. Ms. Menke wasn't likely to say anything to him about it. She'd be too busy flirting.

It was kind of a problem, with Jack's teachers and with Matilda's too. And with clerks at the grocery store and at Blockbuster and sometimes at church, when they went. He didn't get it-he wore a wedding band. Every day. Never took it off. Wasn't much of a flirter. Was pretty quiet most of the time. Yet it seemed like he couldn't divert attention from himself. That was another reason he was happy to work at home. The definition of uncomfortable was a client or support staffer surreptitiously unbuttoning an extra button, hiking up a skirt, winking, nudging, standing much too close, becoming way too interested in anything that involved him. He felt like meat. A rump roast, to be exact. Celeste, thank God, just laughed at it. Found it really, very amusing.

Jack's classroom buzzed with activity as he stepped inside, quietly, so as not to make a scene. He stood at the door, and didn't move for a moment, his eyes scanning the room for that familiar mop of dark hair. He heard Jack before he saw him, his voice always ringing out above everyone else's.

"Hello, Mr. Chasez." A feminine voice cooed behind him. Startled, he turned to find Ms. Menke standing uncomfortably close, staring up at him, all bedroom eyes and lowered voice. He gulped, and took a step back.

"Ms. Menke. Uhm... hi. Hi," he stuttered. "I-I know I'm early, I came for Jack." She stared up at him, blinked slowly, gave him a smile that would have turned him on if he was single. Since he wasn't, he felt a little sick. And a little warm. "I can wait, if you're in the middle of something."

She blinked rapidly, once or twice, which he guessed was supposed to be her batting her eyes. "We're just finishing up. Feel free to have a seat for a few minutes." She backed away from him, nearly tripping over a little girl and he made his way to the back of the room to wait.

Josh watched the end of the day routine with limited interest. It seemed like Ms. Menke was dragging things out so he would stay, and that was annoying. He had to pick up Matilda and at the rate she was going, he'd be late. He stood, getting antsy. She took the hint and nodded that he could go ahead and sign Jack out.

"Daddy!"

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of Jack behind him. He often thought of the day he met Celeste, and stared at her so hard she blushed beet red and almost moved seats. He didn't tell her until after they were engaged that he'd stared so hard because he could see having kids with her. He could hear them. They sounded like Jack, and Matilda-- he would swear that forever. That sound, that high pitched, yelling voice was the stuff his dreams were made of. He grinned as he set the pen down and grabbed the jacket and backpack from over the counter.

"Hey, buddy! How was your day?" It was a question that was bound to have a long answer-- it always did-- so Josh picked him up and carried him out as he babbled about every single thing he'd done that day. This was their daily routine. This was what he'd have given up, had he gone after the whole... singing thing.

It seemed a ridiculous prospect, while his son was babbling in his ear and the weather was nice and it had been such a good, productive day. But still... sometimes he wished he could have gone for it. Not that he'd want to give up this life, but it would have been nice if Jack could have come to see his dad sing, instead of crawl around the legs of the drafting table and ‘watch daddy draw buildings'.

Josh tucked the still babbling child into his car seat and snapped him in, then jumped into the driver's seat himself. Just a few miles down the road was the small grouping of grey stone buildings that made up the private K-12 school where Matilda was waiting to be picked up. He sat in the entry line for a few minutes, and then he was able to pull up in front of her building.

"Hi, Mr. Chasez!"  Bethany, the classroom aide, waved and smiled at him as she escorted Till to the car. "I'll buckle her in if you want, you don't have to get out."

"Thanks honey. Appreciate that," he said, halfway turned around while Bethany guided Till into the seat and buckled her in. Tousling her hair a bit, she ducked out of the car, and closed the door, then stepped back and waved. Bethany was a good egg. If he'd had to get out of the car, no doubt he'd have been surrounded by the teachers that ‘just wanted to say hi'. Right.

"Hi, sweetie," he said, turning around so he could pull away from the curb, but catching her eyes in the rearview mirror. "I'm happy to see you. How was today?"

It was Matilda's turn, then, to ramble about the very important events of her day. Her spelling test, and her reading assignment, and who she sat with at lunch, and what boy had said something to her about her ponytail, and how she shouted at him, ‘my daddy did my hair so shut up!' and stomped away. At least she knew how to stand up for herself.

It was straight home for a snack usually, since they'd be hungry. He eased the car into the garage and unbuckled Till and then Jack-because Jack would run off if you unbuckled him first-and let them into the house.

"Let's put away jackets and backpacks, take off our shoes, and then come have a snack." He didn't really need to say it, it was the same thing every day, but it seemed like they wouldn't do it unless he said it, so he did. He sliced apples and chunked cheese and set out crackers and glasses of milk for them and set places at the table, then sat with them. No TV during meals was the rule (though sometimes grandpa let them) so they talked more and he listened. And laughed. Kids were funny.

Josh couldn't really cook, past breakfast food and random things. He tried but it just didn't turn out well. If he was in charge of dinner, it was takeout or delivery. Celeste just knew that when she came home, she'd have to start dinner, so that's what she was doing at 5:30.

"Did Ms. Menke give you the eyes, today?" Celeste liked to tease him, to watch the blush crawl up his neck to his hair line. She kept one eye on him, and one eye on the steaming pot she held as she drained pasta into a colander, then spread it along the bottom of a casserole dish.

"She's so... inappropriate. I should say something, probably. I mean, I would but she's Jack's teacher and..."  He shrugged, letting his voice trail of. He'd never really say anything, anyway.

"Oh, honey. It's just some flirting. You can't help that you're hot."

He leaned against the center island counter and watched her spread a layer of chicken, and then a layer of tomato sauce, and then a layer of shredded cheese in the dish and slid the container into the oven. She glanced back at him while she washed her hands.

"Are you really bothered by it, or is that wrinkle in your forehead for my benefit? Because you know I don't care."

Josh kept one eye on the living room, where Till and Jack sat next to each other on the floor, watching a cartoon. "No, he said, shaking his head. "She really creeps me out. She like, snuck behind me, today. She could have grabbed my ass."

He caught Celeste's light laughter and laughed with her, then checked the living room once again. Both sets of eyes were glued to the TV-even Jack was quiet. He eased around the island and stepped behind Celeste, close to her, ran his hands down her sides and around her waist. She leaned back against him and angled her head, presenting her neck, which he took full advantage of, laying soft kisses down and back up, toward her cheek, nibbling on her ear. She closed her eyes and sighed, then laughed again.

He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm remembering life before we had kids, when we could have sex in the kitchen and never did. And now that we have kids and can't, we seem to always be the kitchen when the mood--"

"Daddy, the cartoon is over can I please have some juice I'm hungry mommy!"

Jack careened into the kitchen and wiggled between them, wrapping his arms around Celeste's legs. She shot an apologetic glance at her husband and he stepped back, turned around and blew out a breath, adjusting himself.

"Dinner will be ready in a little bit. You can have juice, then. Do you want to go upstairs and play?"

"Yeah!" She laughed at his high energy, set the timer on the oven, picked him up and carted him upstairs.

The rule was that whoever cooked didn't have to clean, but they did have to give baths. Since Celeste most often cooked, she most often gave baths. Josh was feeling a little... interested... so they tag teamed the kitchen and the baths and the tooth brushing and the bedtime stories and the night time routine. Matilda and Jack were in bed in record time and Josh all but picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He'd been thinking about her, about this moment, about having this time with her all day, most especially since right before dinner.

"Have I ever told you," she said, watching him unbutton her blouse, his hands shaking so badly he nearly ripped the delicate fabric. "That you are the world's best dad? There's nothing sexier to me than watching you read stories to your babies."

He'd reached the last button, finally, and practically tore the blouse off of her. Warm lips landed on warm, soft skin. He laughed lightly, mumbled against her. "I'll get ‘em back up and read to ‘em again, if it'll help."

"Don't even think about it." She reached behind her to unzip her skirt, letting it slide down her long legs and fall around her. Panties and bra followed, followed by his clothes on top, left in a random pile in the middle of the bedroom as they crawled into bed, one behind the other.

He groaned softly, breathing heavily in her ear, biting lightly at her skin. She arched her body up to him and he moved easily inside her, a satisfied sigh rushing through him, then striking a steady rhythm. Celeste did her best to stay quiet-Jack would be curious, and though the door was locked, his constant pounding was a mood killer.

Josh wasn't the only one who had been looking forward to a little alone time. It wasn't long before Celeste was heaving deep breaths and clutching him tightly and whispering "yes, yes, oh my God, yes," into his ear. The sounds and sensation of her reaching her peak always took him over, no matter where he was in the process.

"Shit," he whispered, panting, sweating, grinning as he laid back against the pillows.

"Exactly," she agreed, catching her breath, "Okay, maybe we can't have sex in the kitchen, but it's way hotter now than it was, back then."

"Mmmm..." He growled and nipped at a nipple, still erect and puffy and just... tempting. "A shower with me, Mrs. Chasez?"

"Why, Mr. Chasez, I'd love to." The pair giggled as they stumbled toward the bathroom, shushing each other so they wouldn't wake the kids.

 

He awoke with a start, the room pitch black. He glanced at the clock radio, blinking at the amber numbers. 3:54 am.

"You okay?" Celeste's sleepy voice broke his trance as she sat up and snapped on the side lamp. "Did you have the dream again?

He wouldn't call it recurring. The dream. Recurring wasn't quite the word for this constant companion, night after night, year after year. It had never left, just grew progressively more real over the years, until he had to force himself to wake up before it got too deep. He wiped at his face, a sheen of sweat coating it, and breathed deeply. Calming. He was fine.

"I'm okay. It's okay. Go back to sleep. Turn that off."

When the room was dark again, and Celeste had snuggled against him again, and her breathing had become slow and steady and deep again, he stared at the ceiling and willed his heart to stop beating out of control. It was just a dream. It wasn't real. It just felt real.

He was on a stage. In the middle of a giant stage, like a stadium stage. He was aware of a band, a full band, playing some song that seemed familiar, but he didn't know the words and couldn't place the tune. A wave of energy rushed toward him from the enormous crowd, and he could almost sense the vibration of the music under his feet.

It felt real to him but he had to make himself wake up, because... well, because he was afraid. Afraid that he'd prefer the dream to his real life, and start to regret not going after it, and not be thankful for the life he had.

Which he was, incredibly so. Josh loved his wife. He loved his children. He loved his job. He just needed to shake this nagging, lingering, dogged dream. He just didn't know how. And, he was ashamed to admit it, but he wasn't really ready to let it go, quite yet.

"Why Daddy wears a tie?"

Josh stood at the mirror, looping the silk fabric over itself in memorized sequence, and then sliding the knot up to his neck. He straightened his collar, smoothed a hand down each sleeve of his wool jacket, and then turned to Jack, perched in the middle of the bed, on his knees.

"Daddy has a meeting today. Do you know what a meeting is?"

"No," Jack answered plainly, bouncing to the beat of the music from the cartoon.

"A meeting is when people get together to talk about things. I have a meeting to talk about work."

"Drawing?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Drawing." He picked up his wallet and cell phone, tucked them into his pockets and picked up his keys. "Do I look good, buddy?"

Jack answered without even really looking. "Yeah. Can we go now?"

"Yep. Vamonos!"

Josh hated these meetings. He didn't work in the corporate world for a reason-so many meetings, there was no time to work. Bureaucracy and politics and kissing up and glad-handing, all to get shaken down when it came to the cost of a design.

This better be worth putting on a tie, he thought, stepping out of the car, tucking his portfolio under his arm and rushing into the fancy building. Twenty floors of nothing but glass--an architectural nightmare.

"See, what I envision for this building is something not just edgy, but over the edge. Sort of an outer space kind of feel, but not weird, at least not weird for the sake of being weird. Classy, cool, liquid. Silvers and blacks and deep blues. Sharp angles, very uhm..."

"Sterile."

"Well, no. Not sterile, not quite. Just short of it."

Josh hesitated, watching Richard Drumland review the plans he'd painstakingly prepared for this meeting. Drumland owned several large corporations housed in beautifully designed buildings. To have the Chasez Designs name on one of his buildings would be a career maker. He was salivating over the opportunity, but he was also up against stiff competition with more years and experience and designs under their belts.

He wiped at a bead of sweat on his brow, and dove back in. "If there's anything you'd like to change, or add, I would be happy to make modifications, of course. I'm wide open. Nothing's set in stone, as they say."

Drumland glanced over at Josh briefly, then returned his gaze to the large scale, shaded, exacting mock-up. He paced back and forth, thumb over his bottom lip, bending to inspect a detail, mumbling to himself.

"Well, it's one of the more innovative designs I've seen, for sure. It's futuristic." He paused, clasped his hands behind his back, bent forward to closely inspect the drawing, and then nodded. "It's a science center, so that fits."

"Exactly," Josh said, his excitement returning, coming around the table to stand next to Drumland. "There's great potential with this design. It can expand or shrink easily, depending on any spec changes. There's nothing unnecessary here, Richard. Mr. Drumland."

Josh stepped back, cursing himself for getting so familiar. He'd known Richard Drumland for years-his granddaughter and Matilda attended the same school-but this was a formal presentation. He prayed he hadn't just flubbed his way out of a great opportunity.

Drumland didn't seem to notice. Either that or he didn't care. He bounced his fist off of the table as if he was stamping the design, then stuck his hand out and shook Josh's hand vigorously, his grip strong.

"I like it, Chasez. May need to scale down some of the steel if push comes to shove on the budget. The cost of steel is out of control, these days. We're reviewing about twenty designs that we'll narrow down to the final selection. Consider yourself on the short list. We'll be in touch."

With that, Drumland walked out of the conference room without so much as a second glance. On the outside, Josh was calm and collected, packing up his design into his portfolio, dropping off a set with the receptionist as requested, marching out to the car. On the inside, he was trembling with excitement. At the very least, he could now say that one of his designs had been considered by Drumland Enterprises. If he was actually chosen, he would consider it a miracle.

 

"So what, exactly, did he say?"

"He said, ‘consider yourself on the short list'. Cool huh, honey?"

Celeste washed greens and vegetables for a salad, keeping her eye on the sizzling pan on the stove. "It's great that you got a meeting with him. That I know of, there are no other independent firms being allowed to bid. I keep telling you," she said, pointing a carrot at him. "You're on the fast track. Chasez Designs is about to blow up."

Josh nervously chewed a thumbnail, deep in thought. "I hope so. I also hope the short list isn't all twenty designs they're looking at."

Celeste reached over and gently pulled at his hand. "Don't stress yourself out about it." He removed his thumb from his mouth and leaned into her hand, softly kissing her palm. "We're proud of you, no matter what happens."

"Thanks. So what's Palmer working on, lately?"

Celeste gave him the brief version of the projects assigned to the firm where she was working her way to Lead Project Manager. Palmer& Wilson started as a small three-man venture, but slowly gained reputation in the Orlando area and was now a force to be reckoned with when it came to innovative Health Care Facility design. It was a nice niche to be in, and Celeste seemed to not only really enjoy the job, but excelled at it. The position sort of fell into her lap, just as Josh had left his former firm and hung out a shingle. Someone had to pay the mortgage while he released himself from the constraints of status quo and ‘same building, different shape' syndrome, as he liked to call it.

"That reminds me," she said, closing the refrigerator door, her smile growing brighter. "I have a ribbon cutting next week."

"Oh yeah, on the uh..." Josh snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "Nursing home, right? That building went up fast."

"I know!" She paused, and frowned a little. "It's in the middle of the morning, though. I wish you guys could come."

"Who says we can't? I'll just keep Jack and Till, attend your ceremony, take mommy to lunch."

"Maybe I'll take a half day, and we can take the kids to school, after." She smiled, slowly, and hinted with her eyebrows and a teasing glance at him.

"Why would we...oh." Josh glanced into the living room, making sure the two were still watching their usual afternoon cartoons, then stepped into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Celeste, drawing her close, pressing his lips against hers. "That's a good idea," he mumbled against them. "That's why I married you, you know. Smart girl."

"You're such a suck up. I'm really looking forward to it now, though."

"Mmmm," he hummed. "Me too." They stood together in the kitchen, swaying a little, as if there wasn't dinner simmering on the stove and a salad to finish and children to peel away from the TV. For that brief moment, it was just the two of them.  

"Mom? After dinner I have to do my spelling words, can you help me?"

"It's like they have radar or something," Celeste whispered, before leaning around Josh to answer her. "Yep, but right now, could you help Daddy set the table for me?" She pulled away from him and he gave her a look, one that said he'd be helping her clean up that night.

 

Another sleepless night was upon him. It was the dream again, always the dream. It was so real, sometimes. Disturbingly real. He tried to watch a little TV but nothing was on but infomercials and music videos, and those were a little too close for comfort.

Josh wandered quietly in the dark, stood at the blinds swaying lightly from the central air blowing through the house, staring out into the backyard and beyond, up into the night sky.

Why couldn't he let it go? Why wouldn't this dream leave him alone?

His eyes moved across the yard, to the swing set that he and his dad had built in the backyard, for the kids. Sturdy. Colorful. Fun. They'd spent all summer on that thing, couldn't get them into the house. Sunday afternoon barbecues with the family were spent basically watching Jack and Till climb the stairs and slide down the slide and swing on the swings and crawl through the tubes, while he played Grill Master and exchanged barbs with his brother and sister. This was his life. He was happy with it.

So why won't the dream go away?

"Josh?" Again, Celeste broke the trance, the endless train of thought. He felt her behind him, her arms reaching around him, her chin on his back. "Dream again?"

He nodded, patting her hands clasped at his belly. "I'm alright."

"Except you're not. You're up every other night with this. Maybe you should see someone."

He snorted, a short bitter tone. "I was just thinking that maybe I'm crazy or something."

"Not crazy," she said with a squeeze. "Tortured, for some reason, but not crazy."

"I don't know, honey. I can't get this to go away."

Celeste came around to his side and fit herself against him, where she fit so well. "Well, maybe your subconscious wants you to do something about it."

"Like, see someone? I don't think therapy is for me."

"No, Josh," she said, frustration at the edge of her voice. "I mean write something. And sing it. I mean actually touch the piano that you spent so much money on and rarely play."

He knew she was right. He should. He could. Just... "I don't know."

"You don't know what? Come here." She pulled him away from the window and led him to the couch. He laid his head on her lap and stared up at her, while she ran her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. He was already getting sleepy, again.

"Tell me," she whispered down to him. "Tell me what's going on with you?"

He reached up, curled a finger around a lock her hair, then uncurled it, and curled it again.

"I just keep feeling like...like maybe I could have made it. I moved to Florida to go to school, so I could graduate, here. Then my parents didn't have to pay out of state tuition. But... the other reason is because there's a pretty cool music scene here. I had friends who were doing it, working at Universal and singing in clubs. I thought I could maybe make the music thing work. But I just keep going back to that day when I couldn't even sing in a room full of random people, let alone in front of a crowd."

His gaze floated around the room, looking at anything but Celeste. It was hard to admit that he didn't have what it took, especially to someone who seemed to believe he was almost superhuman, capable of anything.

"You need, like, a big ego. Need to think of yourself as a superstar to even stand out.  Not to mention the talent-there's a guitarist on every block, a keyboardist on every corner, a singer in waiting on tables in every Italian restaurant. I never even really tried, and then you know, I always wanted to design buildings, and I knew I could do that, so..."

His voice trailed off and he released the silky strands, his hands falling to his chest. "I guess I never really tried, so I don't know if I could have made it or not."

"Well maybe your brain doesn't want you to let it go. You have the dream for a reason, Josh. You should really give it a shot."

He frowned in frustration, so severely that his forehead seemed to have permanent lines drawn in the skin. "How, Celeste? I'm too old to be out there, peddling myself. I don't even know how or where to start. And I can't be some crazy musician all night, out there like a fool, and still work a day job, and still take Jack to school and still pick up our kids every afternoon." He smiled, then reached up and brushed her cheek with his hand.  "And when I'm out there, trying to be some kind of singer guy, who will be here to give you all that good lovin'?"  

Her head tipped back as she laughed softly. "I think we'll manage somehow. We did it before, we can do it again." It wasn't ideal, but they had done it before. Arranging schedules and paying out the nose for daycare, just so they could both work their fingers to the bone, sun up to sun down for nothing, it seemed. They were getting nowhere. Well, Josh was getting nowhere except frustrated.

"So, start slow. Write something. Play something." She took his hand and held it close to her chest, feeling her heartbeat underneath their hands. Her eyes seemed to be pleading with him to take the one step he was most afraid of taking. "You have a talent that is wasting away and not only that, but it's eating at you from the inside, trying to get out. You have to share it. There is a reason this tortures you. Please, don't deny it anymore. Your mind isn't going to let you, anyway."

He sat up, and then stood and extended a hand to her. Without a word they climbed the stairs hand in hand, tiptoed past the kids' bedrooms and entered their own, closing the door softly behind them.

 

It was a bright, beautiful Sunday afternoon. The usual clan was lounging around the house-- Heather's fiancé Philip and Roy were in the living room watching Sports Center and debating their fantasy football rosters. Celeste, Heather, and Karen sat around the kitchen table, leafing through bridal magazines. Philip had proposed at Christmas, and though the wedding was still a year off, it was never too early to start planning. Tyler and Josh sat out on the deck, enjoying a beer in the warm afternoon sun. Till and Jack were making the rounds from the backyard to the living room to the kitchen and around again.

"So, Celeste said you had something you wanted to talk to me about."

"Did she, now?" Josh took a long pull off of the bottle of cheap domestic beer, frowning at the taste, letting it slide down his throat anyway. "Who let you buy the beer, Ty? Shit."

"What, you're cultured, now?" Tyler let out a snort and took a swig off of his own bottle. "You just earned yourself beer duty next weekend. What'd you want to talk about?"

Josh raised himself from a reclining position in the chair and sat forward. "I'm still having that dream," he said plainly. "You know?"

Tyler nodded. Josh had been having the same dream for a very long time. "Gonna do something about it? Need me to drive you to the shrink?"

"No. No, I just..." He stared down at the bottle in his hands, twisting it over and over between them, watching the amber liquid swish and froth in the bottom of the bottle.

"You just..."

Maybe if he just spit it out, then it would be out there and Tyler could point and laugh and then the conversation would be over. And then he could go to a therapist or something and talk about this ridiculous dream that wouldn't leave him alone, but there was no way he was leaving a family he worked so hard for, that he'd dreamt about from the moment he met his wife. 

Or maybe, if he just ignored it some more, it would only haunt him for the rest of his life.

"I just was thinking that maybe I could write something. And you guys-the band-could take a look at it? And maybe do the song?"

Josh stared at the bottle some more, drained it, watched the sunlight reflect off of the color, avoiding Tyler's stare. It was bad enough that he was humbling himself to ask if he could write a song for his brother's band, comprised of mostly young Associates at the law firm. They weren't very serious at all, they only really played for fun, but they had a standing gig at the Warehouse every Friday night. It was always a very casual set, but the band had a strong local following. Tyler's band doing his song would mean at least a few hundred people would hear it, would be honest about it, and then he'd know if he really had any talent or if he was just indulging some deeply rooted wish.

"I could. We could." Tyler nodded, tipping the bottle back for a swig. He swallowed, and then focused his eyes on his brother. Narrowing. Staring. Searching. "Something wrong with your fingers though? Your voice? You always have an open invitation to step up there, man. You know we only do Law and Order during the day."

Well, he'd be damned if he was going to really admit, out loud, that he was afraid to step on the stage and sing in front of people. He sang for Celeste and for his kids-bedtime songs and Christmas carols. Anymore than a few people in the room and he would freeze. No words would come out of his mouth-- and then he'd just be standing there, looking stupid, feeling stupid, and it'd be that failed audition all over again. He wasn't about to live that again.

"I know," he finally said, his voice quiet with fear, so low that Tyler could barely hear him over Till's shrieks of laughter. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. Not just yet. But I'd like to write something and see what kind of reaction it gets."

"We could try it. Just this once. If it goes well, and the song is good?  No excuses. I want your ass on that stage with us. I won't take no for an answer."

Josh laughed, the sound covered by Jack yelling at Till. "If it goes well, we'll see."

He tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, the glass making a high pitched 'clink' against the rest of the bottles, and rose from his comfortable position to lean over the deck railing. Soon, Tyler stood next to him, saying nothing as they watched the kids run from one end of the lawn to the other, their shadows growing longer as the sun began its descent. Jack, realizing he was the center of attention, began to shriek at the top of his voice. Maybe Jack had decent singing voice. He definitely had the volume.

Josh glanced at Tyler, who was laughing hysterically at his nephew, and bent over the railing. "Jackson Roy," he said loudly. Jack stopped shrieking and froze in his spot, looking up at his dad. Josh shook his head. "Stop acting like your uncle."

 

He couldn't believe he was really doing it. It was 11am, and Josh was at the piano and not at the drafting table. He wasn't creating lines and corners and shapes, mimicking reflections off of lakes, inserting needless fountains and other aesthetic fodder for owners and builders to ooh and ahh over. He was at the piano, staring, licking his lips, notepad and pen in his hand, poised for...whatever came out, he guessed.

The sound, the melody that haunted him, the soundtrack to the thoughts in his head that had been rolling around for such a long time finally found an outlet.  And after having been held at bay for so long, it was like turning on a spigot. The words and the harmony and the notes were coming faster than he could write them down, and he'd had to go over and over each section, adding ideas and thoughts until it was... tolerable. In his opinion.

They say a person is his own worst critic. With Josh this was an understatement, and the same thing that had stopped him before, when he'd steal away and try to write, was on the verge of stopping him, now. He thought it was surface-not very deep, and not particularly introspective or revealing or even inviting. The more he wrote and read and thought and worried, the more frustrated he became, until the pencil had been tossed across the room and the notepad had been flung behind him and his elbows leaned against the edge of the piano. He blinked away the tears that threatened and stared at the keys through the blur.

The ebony and the ivory-- weren't they supposed to create the perfect harmony or some shit like that? Whatever. He checked the time-- almost 2:30.

Time to get back to real life, Chasez.

He made it a point to arrive at Jack's classroom a little late, so they'd be sure to be wrapping up. Then he could just sign Jack out without having to beat Ms. Menke off with a stick. On a good day, she made him uncomfortable. On a day like today she might drive him downright mad and he wasn't in the mood. He was afraid that he'd be rude to her, and he didn't want to do that. He just needed some peace-- and some personal space.

Josh was in and out of the pre-school building in record time, Jack on his arm babbling away, his heart lightening with each step. Not that he played favorites, because Matilda had that "daddy's girl" grip on him, but Jack was just about his most favorite person in the world, outside of his wife. Jack seemed to be everything he wasn't-- outgoing and gregarious, talkative and open, confident and fearless. Jack really thought he could be a fireman-police officer-cowboy-racecar driver and no one could tell him any different. Josh envied that.

Oh, to be a child, to be blissfully unaware that sometimes the one thing you want is unattainable, that you can't do everything you set your mind to, and sometimes the Universe looks at your hopes and dreams and says, "no."

 

It wasn't the dream that woke him, this time. In fact, he'd been sleeping peacefully all night, falling asleep a few minutes after Celeste had snuggled up against him and her breathing had slowed to a steady pace. It woke him out of a deep sleep, haunting and flirting and swirling in his head. His eyes cracked open slowly, one at a time and he looked around the silent room in the pre-dawn light. A sound, a familiar sound was in his ear, but not in the room.

It was in his head. It was the song.

Gently, quietly, he slid out from behind Celeste and pulled the sheet up and around her again before tip toeing out of the room and down the stairs. The notepad and pencil had mysteriously been picked up from where he'd flung them and laid on top of the piano. He pulled out the seat, slid onto it, picked up the pad and pencil and found a clean page.

And then started writing. And drawing, but not squares and rectangles. Notes. Lines and lines of them.  He couldn't play the piano because it was still early, but he could draw the notes, the tunes that were in concert in his head over and over. Relentless and no longer soft and lilting but loud and brash and forceful, almost fighting their way out. He hummed the tune to himself, whispered the words as the sun rose, bathing the first floor in a bright yellow light.

There was stirring upstairs. It would be time to start the day, soon.

"Daddy." The voice startled him, interrupted his concentration. Brought him back to life. His real life. He whipped around in the direction of the voice to find Matilda peeking shyly around the doorway. He extended an arm to her, twisting around on the bench.

"Good morning," he said softly. "Are you supposed to be down here?"

She shook her head no, and then giggled in that cute little voice of hers that tickled his heart, and came around the corner, running to him with arms up and out. He scooped her up and hugged her tight, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.

"So, what are you doing down here? You have to get ready for school. You don't want to make mom late."

She leaned against him, settling into a familiar spot on his lap. "I went to your room, but you weren't there. Mommy said you were down here. Are you playing the piano?"  A hand reached out to stroke the keys, and a single note rang out, loud and clear.

"No, but I might, later. You need to head back upstairs, little girl. We're on a schedule." He set her down and gave her soft pat on the bottom, smiling as he watched her tiny feet pitter-patter across the floor.

"Josh, can you send Till back up here? I'm sending Jack down to you!"

He sighed, more content than resigned, and stood, pushing the bench under the piano with his knee and heading to the staircase where a laughing, loud, wriggling, babbling three year old came running at him, jumping into arms that opened just in time to catch him.

At 10am Josh settled in at the drafting table, a mug of steaming hot coffee at his elbow, his pencils and eraser and rulers and protractors and other tools all lined up in a row, just within arm's reach. Lots of architects were using CAD, and that was all well and good, and it wasn't as if he wasn't as technologically savvy as the next designer. He just preferred to draw it first, to create it on paper before entering dimensions and values into a computer program and spitting out something mechanically generated. It seemed cold and one dimensional and not innovative and artistic.

The use of the web and computers to draw and design buildings was strong impetus toward leaving his last job.  When every new design looks like your last four, work loses its excitement and creating something new loses its appeal and soon, the job is just a job and not something you do because you love. He had already given up one dream. He couldn't give up the dream of being a world renowned architect and designer, too.

He worked steadily, perfecting the second level of the Performing Arts Center, studying his notes from the progress meeting the day before. The design was due in a week. He was on schedule to start plotting the skeleton into his design program and would have a digital replica of his drawings in a few days.

He found himself humming a familiar melody, at first not paying attention to himself, and then slowly realizing he was humming the song. It didn't even have a name and wasn't finished yet-it barely had a first verse and no chorus or bridge, yet--but it was clearly rolling around in his mind and trying to come out. Amused, and a little surprised, he kept working and kept humming.

He took a break at 12:30 and hummed his way to the kitchen. He stood in front of the refrigerator, looking for something quick and easy he could eat and a few words tumbled out. Warmed up a dish of leftover noodle stir fry from the night before, and a few more words came to him. By the time lunch was over, the elusive second verse seemed to have completed itself.

Maybe I should write this down, he thought, rinsing his plate and setting it into the dishwasher. Tentative, he slowly made his way down the hall to the formal sitting room, with the piano in the corner, his notepad and pencil where he'd left them.

He stepped over the threshold of the room and stopped. If he started working on the song again, it would consume him, and he had a lot of work to do before it was time to pick up Jack. Halfway to the piano, he turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

Priorities, he told himself. You have work to do.

"So, how's that song comin'?

"What song?"

It was another pleasant Sunday afternoon at the Chasez house. The grill was fired up, the kitchen was full of food, the TV was blaring football, and the kids were playing in the yard. It wasn't hot but it wasn't cold, the sun was out and it was a perfect Florida day. Not a day that Josh wanted to ruin, talking about his failures.

"You know what song. The one you're supposed to be writing?"

Maybe if he pretended to not know what Tyler was referring to, he could get out of talking about it. It wasn't likely, though. Every few years, Josh heard about an old friend that he used to admire that got a record deal, or joined a band, and he dug up some courage and decided he was going to take this song writing, singing thing by the horns and just.... do it.

And every few years he chickened out, right when he got to about the same point. The point he was at, now. Where the song was half written, and half composed and he just couldn't make himself go through with it. Because even if he could write the song, and compose the music, he'd get to the edge of the stage and freeze. And he just couldn't figure out why.

"Uhm. The song is coming. About halfway done." 

Josh and Tyler were hanging out on the deck, legs and feet dangling off the edge, arms balanced on the railing, beers in hand.

"You're not quitting again, J."

"I didn't say I was. I just said it was halfway done."

"I mean it. You always get to this point, and then never take it anywhere. I'm sick of it. You're not quitting. Even if the song is shit, you're finishing it. You hear me?"

"Listen to you. All stern and stuff." Josh laughed and took a long pull off of his bottle. "This, by the way, is beer."

"Ehhh."  Tyler shrugged, checking out the label of some rare brand Josh was probably talked into by the clerk at the store. "It's alright. A little fancy for my taste."

"But it's good. And that's all that matters."

"So. The song."

"I'm serious. It's halfway done. I'm gonna keep working on it."

"You better, because if you don't, I'll beat your ass. Then you can dream about that."

Josh kicked his feet and drank his beer and enjoyed the sun shining on his back and his kids playing in the yard. Looked around at his nice house. Looked through the window at his beautiful, wonderful wife and his great family and his amazing children, and even the annoying little brother sitting next to him, dictating. Enjoyed his life, his actual life, his real life, instead of the life he could probably only live through dreams.

Josh put the song out of his mind. There would be plenty of time, on plenty of other days, to worry about the song. 

 

Life got busy, and for a time, the song was actually forgotten. The design for the Performing Arts Center was complete, and Josh's days were filled with trying to balance a construction schedule, his life at home, and new design requests that were coming through. He was at the point where it was difficult to manage everything on his own, and had to contract staff from another firm for help to manage projects and lay out specifications for new bids.

Josh was busy. And happy, because busy meant that days went by fast, even though they were long. And because when he was busy, he fell into bed exhausted, with just enough energy for a few minutes of sex and then when it was over he passed out until morning. If he dreamt the same dream, or if the song was haunting him, he never remembered it. It didn't wake him up. Weeks went by before he even realized he hadn't been dreaming.

‘Maybe what I needed was something to distract me,' he told himself.

What brought the song back was something so completely ordinary. The radio.

The site where the new Performing Arts Center was being built was an hour away, on a good traffic day. Josh flipped from one radio station to another, cursing himself for leaving his iPod and cd's in Celeste's car. There was nothing, absolutely nothing on the radio that he wanted to listen to. Annoyed, he snapped the knob to the right and turned it off.

Your love, like a candle
Flickers in the dark
You came into my life
And brightened up my heart
With you by my side
I see the love that I wanna feel
Show me you love me baby
Show me that it's real

Startled, Josh blinked a time or two before he realized he was singing. Singing it. The song! His eyes bounced around the car, and then around the road before him. He was captive, in the car. He couldn't go anywhere or do anything to distract himself. He could only let it play out. May as well. He had a while before he'd get to the construction site.

He tapped a finger on the steering wheel and let the song overtake him. Lyrics that he'd only thought of in phrases began to arrange themselves in his mind and fall out of his mouth. Chords and notes and lines of music that he'd only been able to piece together before seemed to flow. Together, it was magic.

Just take my hand
I'll make you understand
I want you
You want me
And that's the way it's got to be
Now that you're here
I'm gonna make it clear

Give me the love I need
Give in to me
Just give me the love I need
Hold me, caress me
Give in to me
Hold me, caress me
Give in to me
Give me the love I need
Give in to me
Just give in to me

"Ha!" Josh screamed out into the stale air inside the car, grinning from ear to ear. He smacked the steering wheel, inadvertently honking the horn. Drivers around him glared and passed him-he could only smile at them and wave as they went by.

So, now what? Now more and more of the song was coming together in his head... just when he had no time to work on it. Just when his real, actual life was in full swing. For the first time, he was disappointed and regretful-not about the life he led, but about all the time he'd wasted, when he could have been working on music, and didn't, because he was afraid. Now when he wanted to work on music, he couldn't because the life he'd been building in order to run from the dream was alive and kicking and in full force. It was a whole another kind of nightmare.

Josh would have to find some time... and soon. Before it went away again and began to poke at him at night, again. Before it became his original nightmare, again.

 

It was a Friday night, the end of a long work week. Josh and Celeste had barely seen each other all week, what with his construction oversight, working on new bids, and random meetings on random days. She'd had to pull double duty, adding Jack to the morning drop offs, and asking Karen or Roy to stop and pick them up and watch them for a few hours. Josh didn't like it. Didn't like that at all. He missed his time with Jack every morning. He missed picking up his kids every afternoon and making their snack and listening to the stories of their day.  

Josh missed his wife, most of all. Seeing her come down the stairs every morning, watching her take care of her family, making love to her and being the one she fell asleep against every night. It was more likely these days that he'd miss dinner and bath time and bed time and would wake up Celeste when he tip toed into the house and up the stairs. Sometimes they could have a few minutes together-most times she was exhausted, and he was tired, too. They hoped this new trend wasn't going to tear them apart. It was great for business. Not so good for their marriage.

But tonight, all business was set aside. The kids were with their grandparents; Josh and Celeste were out on the town. A nice dinner, a pleasant moonlit walk near the beach, and now a couple of sets of Tyler's band The Associates at the Warehouse, which was sort of a club, mostly a bar. A perfect evening.

"I can't even believe these guys don't have to try to have fans," Josh said, leaning over to Celeste so she could hear him over the din of the lazy bass player. "Listen to that-it's like the less they try, the more the crowd loves it."

Celeste laughed and moved her chair closer to him so she could wrap a hand around his arm, lean her head on his shoulder. She loved being out with him, just the two of them. It reminded her of their early days, when he was so nervous and insecure and unsure of himself, but he knew one thing-that he loved her and he wanted to be with her. She thought he was sweet. A little creepy, but more sweet and fell in love with him faster than she really wanted to, but let herself because it felt good to have someone feel the way he felt about her.

She wished that she could help him, though. He always seemed to want things and never really have the courage or self assuredness to go after them. Every few years there was a glimmer of hope, that he'd finally talked himself into doing some music.

The Baby Grand was a prime example. He said he was going to do it. He needed the piano, because he was finally going to do it. That piano had been sitting in that room for three years, barely touched. He'd sit at it, and stare at it and then get up and not go back to it for months at a time. It was frustrating to watch him talk himself out of something so obvious.

He was a musician. He couldn't see that?

The first set ended, the band bending deep in their bows to a smattering of applause. Instruments set aside, they piled off of the stage, laughing and joking around with each other. Josh caught Tyler's eye as he scanned the crowd.

"Hey guys, I'll catch up with you before the next set. Gonna chat with my bro for a minute."

The short, stocky blonde made his way across the room and grabbed a chair, turned it backwards and plopped down on it.

"Counselor."  Josh greeted him with a nod.

"Uhm... Building Designer Guy," Tyler responded, to which they both laughed. "Good to see you guys out. Haven't heard from you in forever. Sundays aren't the same if I can't eat free food and drink free beer at your house."

"I know, man. Life has been really busy, so we've been taking Sundays and relaxing. Being a family."

"Well... busy is good. I assume busy is the reason I'm not looking at a new song, then. Right?"

"Right." Josh lifted a hand to signal the waitress that he wanted a refill of their rounds of beer, and pointed at Tyler to add him to the tab. She nodded and headed toward the bar. "But I'm still working on it. Here and there."

"Songwriting must be hard when you're doing everything you can do to not actually write songs."

Josh bristled, sitting up straight. "You know what, Tyler? I'm getting really sick and fucking tired of-"

"Guys!" Celeste braved a hand between them, cutting off all conversation. "We're having a nice night, let's not ruin it by saying things we'll regret, later. Alright?" She looked from one brother to the other, both peeved, both avoiding each other's eyes. "Alright?"

"Alright," they said, in unison, and then looked up at each other.

"It's just... you know. I get frustrated. I think you're talented, man. And you could do it, if you would just get over yourself." He reached across the table and threw a play punch at Josh. "I mean that with a lot of love. I really do."

"I know." The waitress arrived with bottles for everyone, picking up the empties and her tip with a smile. "I'm... I'm trying. And I'm serious when I say I'm still working on it. I just don't have a lot of time, these days."

"Well. You want to toss some notes around, up there? The crowd thins out usually around the end of our second set. Won't be a whole lot of people."

Josh's heartbeat sped up at the prospect. So much that he found it hard to breathe, and began to cough. He shook his head, violently, trying to catch a breath.

"Alright, alright, don't die or anything. I was just asking. The invitation is always open, though. Always."

Josh still couldn't speak, just nod. Tyler got up, drained his bottle of beer, slammed it back onto the table and walked off, headed backstage.

Celeste's gentle rub on his back felt good. Really good. He missed her.

"You know," he choked out. "Maybe I'm almost drunk or something, but we could leave the kids with my parents tonight."

A perfectly formed eyebrow arched. The hint of a smile on pretty, plump lips was forming. An idea was circulating and swirling through her head, communicated through her eyes. "Why are we still sitting here, then? Let's go."

They sped home, arriving back at the house before midnight, before it got too late to take their time and explore and be as loud as they wanted to be, as passionate as they wanted to be, and make up for as much time as they wanted to make up.

"For the record, I'm not drunk." 

Josh was already undressing, kicking out of his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans. They slid down his hips to the floor, followed by his briefs. He stepped out of them and left them in a neat pile, right there.

"For the record, I never thought you were." Celeste unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it off, unzipped her jeans and let them fall, her panties following. "Beer always makes you like this. Don't you ever wonder why I love Sunday nights? You drink like four beers and we always have a good night."

"I never realized that. Ancient Chinese secret, huh?"

Illuminated only by moonlight, they crawled into the bed, gravitating toward the middle. Toward each other. Josh indulged in her smooth, supple skin, the way his hands slid across her belly, down her arm, around her bottom. Celeste craved his body, his muscular form that he seemed to be born with but was really too shy to show off-the broad shoulders and perfectly formed chest, and biceps that made things inside her body clench when he hugged her.

She stroked his face, his days old beard now soft. He ran thick fingers through hair that smelled like this great shampoo that she'd been using since their college days. He loved the smell of it, always would. He rolled her over, and sank onto her, their mouths glued together, tongues swirling around each other, panting and groaning and moaning together.

Celeste had signs, when she was ready for him, when she just couldn't stand another second as a single being and wanted to be joined with him. She arched up into him, her legs tight around him, her nails scratching lightly along his back. Josh smiled and sighed, reaching down and guiding himself to her, almost entering a trance in that moment they became one.

"Haaa," Celeste breathed, her head flung back, her body shaking. "Holy fuck. I missed you."

"Not as much as I missed you."

He sat up a little, bracing himself so he could set a good rhythm. And so he could watch her. He loved to watch her, to listen to her, to feel her enjoying him. It was a little bit of an ego stroke, yeah... but he really just loved to see her let loose and give herself over to whatever might happen.

It wasn't always this way. In the early days, he didn't quite know what to do with himself and wasn't really sure what women wanted when they were with him. It wasn't like Celeste had a lot of experience but thankfully she knew what she liked and what she wanted. He was moldable and teachable and had a good imagination. He would take direction and not be offended and now... well, now their sex life would be the envy of all their friends, if they were crude enough to mention it.

They moved together as if sex was a well choreographed dance. Slow and methodical and sensuous, until it built into something fast and forceful, white hot and wild. Hearts thumped together, bodies slapped together in a pool of sweat. Josh thrust himself into her, his rhythm never failing, watching her breasts rock with the movement, listening to her gasp for air and sigh and moan and squeal. When she was on the brink, she was spastic-her arms flew around his neck and her legs tightened around his waist and she raised her body to him, working her hips with his rhythm, the sounds of her climax in his ear. As usual, her spasms and convulsions was enough to jog the experience for him and he followed soon after, taking advantage of the empty house to be as vocal as he pleased.

When he was spent, he slid off of her, onto his belly, panting into the mattress. Exhausted. But smiling.

"That was..." Celeste swallowed, gulping for air. "That was magic, baby."

Josh could only grunt in her direction, his fingers tapping her belly, where they landed when he moved off of her.

"Well you're not tired, are you? I could go another round, if you want."

"Lady..." Josh laughed, so utterly exhausted, but considering another go at it. "We'll see. I need a minute to catch my breath."

Celeste rolled to her side, wrapped her legs around his leg that had still been lying between hers, and slid closer to him. She kissed his dry, chapped lips, ran her fingers through his hair damp with sweat.

"I love you, you know that?"

"I had picked up on that, over the years," he muttered, eyes closed, but smiling. He moved his arm down a little, to cup a cheek and squeezed. She giggled and did the same to him. "I love you, too."

"Josh I... I just want you to be happy. And I know the business makes you happy, but not completely. I know the family makes you happy, but there's something else you're ignoring. And I don't think you're going to find true happiness unless you can turn around and look it in the eye and not be afraid of it."

He eyes blinked, under the closed lids. Celeste was always right, when it came to this. But as always, when it came to this, it was easier said than done.

"What if I can't do it?" His whisper was quiet, almost inaudible. "What if I try and I fail, again?"

"If you don't try, you've already failed. And I did not marry a failure."

Celeste rolled over and got up, out of the bed. He heard the bathroom door close and her usual post-sex shower starting. He guessed they weren't having sex again. Unless...

He forced himself up and out of the bed, and to the bathroom to join her. He had one more in him. Probably.

The song was done.

Well, written. And arranged. It needed some backup, something more than piano. He imagined it with a smooth, sultry, jazzy flavor. A sweet saxophone behind it. A soothing beat. Something laid back and gentle to help you ease into your evening.

Josh sat on the bench at the piano and stared at the words and notes that had been scratched onto the page, that no one else could understand, likely.  He liked it, exactly as it was. He wondered if anyone else would.

A few weeks later, it was another nice Friday night in Orlando. The arrival of fall brought cooler temperatures, the kind where you just barely needed a jacket and the skies were clear and the air smelled like spiced apple pie and chicken and dumplings.

Josh and Celeste were enjoying another night out alone, courtesy of his parents, and stopped in to catch a set of The Associates.  They almost didn't come-- not because dinner ran late, or their walk drew them away from the area of the Warehouse, or because they wanted to be at home with their kids--but because Josh was nervous. He had turned the song over to Tyler, who had given it to Mike, who sort of kind of directed the music. The band had learned the song. It would debut that night, and he would be exposed and naked. Sort of.

Josh almost didn't want to know what anyone thought of it. He was most nervous about what Celeste would think.

They were supposed to play the song during the second set, at least Tyler said they would. The crowd would be thinner and a little more forgiving, but at least the song would be played. So Josh was surprised and terrified and furious altogether when, toward the end of the first set-when the bar was full and they were playing pretty well and everyone was into the music coming from the stage-- the first chords of his song started.

He stiffened, and sat up straight, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "This is it. This is the song," he said to Celeste.

Confused, she frowned. "I thought they weren't playing it till later."

"Yeah, me too. Someone's getting his ass kicked, right after this set."

"Shhhhh," she soothed, her hand on his arm, her eyes on the stage.

Tyler was on guitar, Mike on keyboards, Kevin on bass, Devin on sax, Bobby on drums.  Mike and Kevin took care of vocals, Tyler piped in when he felt the need. Josh had to admit... it sounded almost exactly like it had sounded in his head. Almost. A little lazy, but he was kind of proud of it. Or he would be, until the boos started, or if the applause was just polite and not overwhelming.

He grabbed Celeste's hand, squeezing it tight. He was so nervous. As the song dipped into verse two, he dared a look around the bar. People seemed to like it, nodding their heads. Some had their eyes closed and were swaying back and forth and when the song ended, the room erupted into applause. An almost standing ovation-which the Warehouse crowd didn't offer very often.

He hadn't realized he was sweating until a drop rolled down his forehead and dripped onto the table. He grabbed at a cocktail napkin and swiped at his head. Relief. Finally. He'd written something. Put it together. Submitted it to a band for them to learn and play and they did and this finicky crowd-though, how finicky could they be, if they liked The Associates, but still-didn't boo it. He was kind of proud.

And so was Celeste. She wrapped and arm around him and squeezed and left a big wet kiss on his cheek and smiled, when he could finally look at her.

"I'm so damn proud of you," she said. He couldn't hear her for the applause and the band still playing, but he could read lips. He liked what her lips were saying. "It turned out great!"

"Thanks," he said a half smile forming, finally able to take a deep breath and look up. Tyler caught his eye and winked, and then nodded his head toward the stage, and then mouthed the words, "Wanna come up?"

Josh sat there, like a bump on a log, not knowing what to do. He looked at Celeste, who only shrugged and smiled and back at Tyler, who narrowed his eyes and nodded at him again, and mouthed, "Get up here!" So he did.

Slowly, he got up from his chair, and made his way to the side of the stage. Tyler stepped to his microphone, eyeing him as he wove his way through the crowd.

"Since you guys liked that so much, we're gonna play it again, but I'm asking the guy that wrote this song, and put it together to come up and do it with us. He's a little nervous, so let's make him feel at home. What do you say, Warehouse?!"

Josh didn't hear the applause; he only saw the steps leading up the stage. Five of them. Five tiny steps and then he was up there, in front of a room full of people. To sing a song he hadn't sung with this band, and hadn't sung for anyone, ever. He was going to choke. He just knew it.

"Josh." A warm hand was on his back, a familiar one. He turned around to find Celeste standing there, offering her hand to him. "You want me to go with you?"

He nodded, and swallowed, and took her hand. Together, they climbed the five steps to the stage, where Tyler met him and led him, by the elbow to a microphone stand. A lone stand. Out in front.

He was, for an instant, back in that room. That room in downtown DC, with critical eyes and stone faces staring at him, wanting him to open his mouth and let that angelic voice fall out. He'd wanted it to fall out. It just wouldn't come. He froze, completely, and in embarrassment and shame, ran from the room and down the hall, past his mom, past everyone, until he found a corner, and collapsed into it.

He felt a little like doing that same thing, right then. Except... he couldn't. He had to do this. Once and for all.  

Josh gripped the microphone, clipped into the stand, like it was his lifeline. Looked out over the expectant crowd, heard the light tapping of the drumstick on the edge of the drum, counting down the start, then Devin's sax blowing a sweet tune. He was going to open his mouth, and words were going to come out. Because if they didn't he would never, not ever, try this again.

But they came. From his mind, from his soul, where they'd been laying dormant and living and swirling, producing dreams and nightmares. The words he'd been running from, the life he was hiding from-they were one and the same.

Your love, like a candle
Flickers in the dark
You came into my life
And brightened up my heart
With you by my side
I see the love that I wanna feel
Show me you love me baby
Show me that it's real

Just take my hand
I'll make you understand
I want you
You want me
And that's the way it's got to be
Now that you're here
I'm gonna make it clear

Josh had the oddest moment of déjà vu he'd ever had in his life. The dream. This was it. It was almost like this very moment in time. A rush of energy from the crowd, the vibration of the bass and the acoustic guitar and the drums vibrating through the floor, and his voice ringing out through the speakers. This was it.

He saw Celeste in the crowd, standing near the front of the stage, her body swaying, her hands clasped and over her mouth, just barely concealing her wide smile. And two long shiny streaks down each cheek. It made him almost tear up to see how proud she was.

He wanted to jump around-and scream and shout and celebrate. He was doing it! He was excited. He was proud. And when he finished this song, he had a lot more left in him to pull out, and he was going to start doing just that.

 Give me the love I need
Give in to me
Just give me the love I need
Hold me, caress me
Give in to me
Just give me the love I need
Give me the love I need
Give in to me

It took forever to get off of that stage, and even longer to make it back to the table. So many people wanted to shake his hand, or give him a hug, or tell him they loved the song and loved his voice and hoped he would be back. Josh could only nod and smile, say ‘thank you', and try to push through. He was just looking for Celeste, and couldn't find her.

Just when he was ready to give up and put out some kind of All Points Bulletin for her, he saw her. Well, he saw her hair and her back, and the curve of her hip, recognized the way her jeans fit and how her shirt just barely brushed the tip of the band, so a little bit of skin winked at him from across the room. He headed for that little wink of skin and when he reached it, ran his hand across her back. She jumped a little and turned around.

"There you are!" She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. He sighed as he slid his arms around her waist, and just held her. Just breathed.

"You did it," she said, right in his ear, so he could hear her. "I'm so proud of you. I'm so proud."

He pulled back. Smiling. Relieved. Exhausted. "We have a big old house, all to ourselves, and we're standing in this club."

"I kind of like the idea of going home with the front man."

He laughed, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door. When they were outside, and could hear each other without yelling, he pulled her close. "I'm hardly a front man. But uhm... that was cool. Really cool. I think I want to do it again."

"I think you should."

"Would you come, if I did?"

She eyed him before ducking into the car. "Try and stop me."

 

Life was busy, again. Not unmanageable, but busy. Fall stretched into winter, and though it didn't snow in Florida, it did get cold. Jack turned four; there was a big party and he had a very good time.

The Performing Arts Center was more than halfway complete, ahead of schedule. Peete Construction always did a perfect job, and stayed on budget. That lowered his stress level considerably. It also made it so he could go back to his regular routine-taking Jack to school at 9, back to the house to work on various designs and bids by 10, and back at the school and then pick up his kids at 3. It was what worked for them, and it was good to be back on track.

But now, he had to fit music into an already full schedule. Josh didn't know how he did it-actually he did. Celeste. She would handle dinner and dishes and then push him into the sitting room and scoot the kids upstairs so he would have time to work and create and write and play, until he was so sleepy he'd nearly pass out right there. She'd come downstairs, and close the lid and drag his fingers away from the pencil and the sheet music and the piano and coax him upstairs. He was busy, and tired, but happy.

Four new songs had come spilling out of him, since that first night he stepped on stage. Two of them he had sung with the band, the other two he'd sung alone. The Associates had generously given him time during their set for him to sing, if he wanted. They'd always offered it. He'd just never taken them up on it. Lately, he was doing that. And he liked it.

Sometimes, they would have Bethany, from Till's school, come watch the kids and everyone would come out, and sit at the same table, and he would do a mini set, just a few songs. The crowd always enjoyed what he put out there, and he liked to think that even though they followed The Associates, they weren't such a bad crowd.

It wasn't like he didn't still dream the dream. It still came. He just dreamt through it, now that he knew how it ended. He didn't make himself wake up, because he was afraid he would prefer that world more. He knew, now that he could love them both. He didn't have to choose.

At least, not yet.

It was a normal Friday night. The Associates did their first set and took a break. Then at the beginning of their second set, after their third song, Josh would do his mini set. It was getting to where people weren't even showing up until right before Josh was about to get on stage. He didn't really like to think about that... he just wanted to get up there and sing and play, and let the words out, otherwise they might start eating at him again. They had to get out, and as his wife said, he had to share it.

He played his songs, and gave his bow and his wave to the audience, amidst the applause. Shook hands and gave high fives on his way to the steps, and just as he hit the bar floor, a man stepped into his view. He was dressed casually, but was obviously from out of town. From his hair cut to his sunglasses to his New York accent, he looked every bit a tourist.

"Paul Redman," he said, extending a hand to Josh. He shook it, confused, but didn't want to be impolite, and began to brush by him.

"Nice to meet you Paul. Thanks for coming out."

"Hold on, hold on. I'm not selling anything. I mean, just dreams, is all."

Josh paused, and eyed this stranger. Something about him... "What can I do for you?"

"Well, the question seems to be more what can I do for you?" He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a silver card case. He flipped out a thick ivory card, with bold black letters: Paul Redman, Artist Development, Zomba Label Group. "Ever heard of Jive Records? That's us."

"Yeah. Yeah, I heard of Jive. What do you... or what does Jive...want with me?"

Paul chuckled, slipping the card into Josh's shirt pocket. "Well, we want to make you star, son."

"So what did he say? He just said he wanted to make you a star, and then walked away?"

Celeste pulled the covers back on the bed and slid between the sheets. Josh paced in front of the bed, staring at the card in his hands. Had been pacing and staring for the last 45 minutes, at least.

"That's all he said. And gave me the card and said to call him if I was interested, and walked away. I swear that must be how they rope people into shit."

"Maybe. Or maybe he really actually wants to talk to you about something. You're wearing a groove in the floor, sweetie."

"Well. I mean. I just. What do I do?"

"Well, first you get naked. And then you get in the bed, and then we talk. Come on. Move."

Josh tossed the card onto the bedside table and sighed. It was probably a trick, or something. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his clothes and rolled into bed, gravitating toward the middle. Toward her.

"So. Are you going to call?"

"I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Well... don't wait too long. You never know what's behind a closed door until you open it."

"That's why I married you, you know?" He slid a hand down her side and around to her bottom, and squeezed. "You're a very smart person."

"Mmmhmm. You should listen to me more often. Call him. See what he says. Alright?"

He sighed, his eyes already sinking closed. "Alright. Monday. I'll call."

 

"Bye, daddy. Have fun drawing!"

Josh straightened from his squatting position and watched Jack run off into the play area of his classroom, and then stood there for a few minutes and watched him play. He was such a happy little boy, full of energy. Sometimes Josh wished he could siphon some for himself.

"Mr. Chasez. Good to see you."

He spun around at the familiar voice of Ms. Menke, already on guard for her inappropriate flirting and her standing much too close for comfort. There was no need. She smiled that general Parent-Teacher smile she gave all the parents, and stood a respectful distance from him. There was no winking or nudging, or general ‘making him uncomfortable' about her.

"Hey," he said, backing up, toward the door. "I-I was just dropping Jack off. I'm heading out."

"Well, great. I uhm... I caught your.... show or whatever. At the Warehouse last Friday night." She smiled, and blushed a little. "You're very talented. I told all my friends that your son is in my class. I'm pretty popular, now."

Josh didn't know what to say to that. Or how to feel about it. "Thanks. Good for you."

"Well, so. Are you singing this Friday, too?"

"Maybe." Maybe? Come on, like he would miss a Friday, and a chance to sing. "Yeah, probably."

"Well. I'll be there. I'm a big fan, now."

Great. "Well. That's... that's just great." Josh felt behind him for the knob, feeling trapped, for some reason. No reason, really. "I... I have to go? Now. To work. See you Friday. Or. I probably won't see you. But. I'll be there. Friday. Bye."

What was that all about? Maybe he was thrown off by her appropriate response to him, but he just didn't seem to know what to say to her. He didn't know what to say to anyone. Everyone acted like his songs and being on that stage singing made him a different person. They were looking at him differently, and treating him differently, and asking weird questions. Practically rolling out the red carpet. He couldn't even make a simple stop to the grocery store anymore without four or five people stopping him to tell him how much they enjoyed him singing. It was... well, it was just weird.

 

"So, Chasez. The ribbon cutting for the Performing Arts Center is next weekend. You'll be there, I imagine?"

Josh sipped on a chai latte, the only thing he really liked to get at Starbucks, and nodded at the grey haired man across from him. Greg Spencer was the Project Manager and had practically hand walked the bid to Josh for design. They'd known each other a long time-Greg was the first PM Josh had ever worked with, and his favorite.       

"I'll be there. Bringing my wife. She loves the symphony, all kinds of stuff like that. Well, I do too, but I can't remember the last time we got to go something like this."

"I know. It gets hard, with the kids and meetings and work and all that." Greg set his cup down between them and leaned onto the table. "So, are we gonna see your name up in lights on the Center, someday?"

Josh laughed, blushing and waiving him off. "Aw, man... not you too."

"Not me too, what? Are other people asking you the same question?"

"It's just... it's just some songs, man. It's cool and it's fun, and... it's just some songs. That's all. I'm not trying to be rich and famous or-" Shit. He forgot to call that Paul guy. Celeste would want to know what he said, when she got home.

"You know what? I gotta cut this short. I'll see you Saturday."

Josh rushed out of the Starbucks, past two ladies walking in, yelling his apologies on the way to the car. He sped home, screeched into the driveway, into the house and up the stairs.

"Card, card, where's the card?!" Celeste had cleaned up, in the bedroom again. Nothing was where he left it last.  "If I was a card, that had been left on the table... where would Josh's wife put me?"

His eyes scanned the room, thinking. Searching. Then he reached down and opened the drawer. "Ah ha! I would know that Josh's wife is not that good of a housekeeper. She just shoves things in drawers."

His heart pounded double time as he dialed the numbers on his cell phone, then wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear. While it rang, he checked the clock- 2:15. He didn't have a lot of time.

"This is Paul."

"Hey, uh. Paul." Josh wasn't sure what to say-he hadn't actually planned this phone call. He just grabbed the card and dialed the numbers. What was he supposed to tell his guy? Yeah, hey....I want to be a star?

"Yes, this is Paul. Hence my greeting. Who is this?"

"This is uhm. This is Joshhhhh....ua. Joshua Chasez. You saw me Friday night at the Warehouse and gave me your card."

"Yeah, yeah," said Paul, recognition in his voice. "The uh... golden voice. Glad to hear from you. So, what can I do for you?"

Was he supposed to beg? Josh didn't see this conversation going well.

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me. You gave me your card and you're from a label. I guess I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to make of all of this."

"Well, it's basically this. You write your own music. You're good at it. You arrange your own music. You're good at it. You sing... well you sing really well. You're good at that, really good at that. Not only that but you have this ‘aw shucks' kind of way about you. You don't take it all that seriously. It's just something fun. You might even be a little scared to get up there, from time to time, but you do it anyway. You're perfect. You're the perfect recording artist."

"Okay..." It wasn't that Josh wasn't flattered. He was. A big radio Exec guy just complimented the shit out of him. He just couldn't help feeling like he was buying a used car.

"So... I mean. What does that mean? Sorry. I'm not a stupid person, I just..."

"You don't know how it works. I understand. Believe me, I do. It's my job to get that. It's my job to know how this works and help you through it, if you're interested. Are you?"

Well this was an interesting turn of events. A few months ago, some song he'd never heard but needed to write was clawing its way out of him. Today he was on the phone some guy from-he checked the card-Zomba Label Group. He needed to sit down.

"You have an email address, Joshua? Why don't I send you some things, some standard contracts. Talk it over with your wife-pretty girl, by the way-and take it your lawyer and your priest and whoever. Look it over. See if it meets up with what you want. If not, we're cool. But if so, get ready because... we can make you a lot of money and put your name in lights, if you want that."

Josh hung up the phone more confused and clueless than he was before he'd started dialing. He had no idea what any of this meant-they could make him a lot of money and put his name in lights? Greg's words came back to him, then. ‘Are we gonna see your name in lights on the Center, someday?'

Well, according to this Paul guy...yes. He just wasn't quite sure he wanted that.

 

"So, all he said was more of that ‘I can make you a star', stuff?"

"And emailed some stuff to me."

Celeste sautéed cubes of beef on the stove, adding ingredients every few minutes. When it was time to simmer, she put the lid on the wide skillet, turned the heat down and climbed up into the bar stool next to Josh, who was flipping through pages, trying to muddle through the "simple, standard" contract.

"Let me see this..." Reading aloud, she muttered through a few words and phrases, becoming more confused by the second. "Legally binding contract between listed representatives and Zomba Label Group heretofore named as the Label...includes recordings procured by listed representatives... by signing this contract, representative agrees to take full responsibility in furnishing...." She sighed, sliding the pages together and back over to him. 

"I read contracts for a living. I have no idea what that is about. You should send them to Tyler."  She swiveled in her seat and hopped down to check on her stir fry.

Josh's forehead creased deeper and deeper the more he read. "Well, he's not really an Entertainment Attorney. But he'd be able to decipher whatever this says, probably."

"Well what about your uncle? The one in New York?"

"Not much better, but probably better than Tyler." Celeste giggled. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Well. You need to get someone to read it and decipher it for you."

"Honey... I don't know. I mean. I don't know." He stacked the pages together and set them, face down on the counter, propped his elbows up on the Formica and ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know that I'm meant for all of that stardom stuff. Names in lights and things like that."

Celeste gave him a look, that look he was a little afraid of. "Joshua Scott, you are scared. I know that tone of voice, and I know that hesitation. Don't exchange modesty for fear. If you really don't want to do it, okay. But you owe it to yourself to check it out completely and make an informed decision."

She flipped off the burner and crossed the kitchen, plucked four plates from the cabinet and handed them to him. "Don't just write it off because you're scared of it."

Josh scowled and turned around to set the table. "Why did I marry you, again?"

"You'll find out, later."  His head whipped around, then and he just barely caught her teasing eyebrow arch before she moved into the living room to direct pre-dinner hand washing.

 

"Uhm... I have no idea." Tyler's face scrunched into a mess of confusion and frustration. He was buried in paper-his desk was covered in it, and stacks of files and coffee cups. "I took one course in Entertainment Law. Confusing as shit. Land of loopholes. You should send it up to New York."

"Celeste said that, but I said I should ask you. Because you're better."

Tyler glanced up at him, his eyes rolling. "Tell me another one, I'm totally gullible. Yeah, you need to get an attorney that understands this and adds what you need added. You especially need someone that understands..." He flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for. "Points and royalties and scale earnings. Because I have no clue, and the way I arrange it, people who work at McDonald's will make more than you will."

He handed the stack back to Josh and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, man. The law isn't as standard as one might think."

"That's okay. I figured." Josh slid the stack back into his bag. "I gotta head, anyway. I need to pick up Jack."

 "Lemme walk you out." Tyler swung his legs from the desktop where they had been propped. "So, you don't really seem like the record deal type. You sure you want to do something like that?"

"No. No I'm not. But I'm told that if I don't research it and make an informed decision, there will be a severe lack of sex in my life. Can't have that."

Tyler stopped at the door, leaning against it. "Well, good luck. I hope you find a better lawyer than me. I know it'll be hard."

"Yeah. You bet. Thanks."

 

The phone was ringing in the drafting studio when he got home with the kids. He shooed them into the house and ran for the phone, just barely catching it before it rolled over to voicemail.

"ChasezDesigns," he spit out, breathing heavy.

"Chasez, Richard Drumland here... did I interrupt something?" Drumland! The Science Center! He'd forgotten all about that bid.

"Yes sir. Or, no sir, I was just walking in the door, with my kids. What can I do for you?"

"Well...This is... awkward but we chose a different designer for this project who has gone completely left from their original plans. We got into a scuffle and had to hold off on plans to move forward. That firm has been fired and since you were second in line... again, this is awkward but I'd like to offer you the project."

Josh couldn't breathe, could just barely grasp the phone. He fell into his chair, parked in front of his drafting table and his computer, and tried to formulate some words that would indicate that yes, indeed, he would be interested in having the Chasez Designs name on his Science Center!

"Chasez? You there? This damn phone..."

"Uh... Richard! Mr. Drumland. I'm here. I'm just... I'm floored. Are you sure?"

"Positive. The only thing that stopped your design from being first was all the steel. I trust that you meant it when you said we could make some modifications?"

"Oh, absolutely. I already have some ideas on where we could cut materials and not risk beauty, and there's this new composite that is just as good but half the cost as steel... and maybe we could-"

"Alright, alright." Drumland laughed on the other end. "I like your spirit. Great fire, good hunger. Keep that. Don't ever let it die. Some of these guys...." He sighed, his voice drifting off, then picking back up.  "I'm going to put you in touch with my Project Manager-I believe you know him? He recommended you. Greg Spencer? Let's have a kick off meeting say, next Tuesday."

Good old Greg Spencer. Looking out for him. He owed that guy a beer, at least.

 

Two days later, Josh and Celeste sat in an opulent office. It was filled with mahogany, from the enormous desk to the credenza to the book case full of leather-bound books. The windows were shaded with thick paisley curtains with tassel tiebacks. Josh felt a little out of place in his cheap slacks and button up shirt and wool jacket. Celeste at least looked put together. Since this attorney's office was in the building next to hers, she'd met him for this meeting, mostly for moral support.

The Attorney they met with was an older gentleman, balding and dowdy, his glasses perched on the end of his as he perused the now worn pages of the ‘standard contract'. He wore an expensive suit and a bowtie that Josh rather liked, the more he looked at it.

"Well, it is pretty standard. Very boilerplate. Not bad, but not good either." The pages fluttered from his fingers and he arched back in his seat, kicking an ankle up to rest on his knee. "Question is, what do you want?"

Celeste looked at Josh. Josh looked at Celeste. They both looked at him. He sighed and stood, pacing behind his desk, in front of the window that gave him a fantastic view of downtown Orlando.

"New artists don't know what they want. That's why they need good managers and attorneys, because you'll get to New York or LA or wherever, and you'll get eaten alive. I see it happen all the time, everyday. You won't be able to afford what you need-but you do not want to make a move without an attorney. Your contract will be your bread and butter-they'll follow it to the letter and give you everything in it."

He turned, and focused his beady eyes on Josh. "And nothing that isn't. Don't count on anything that isn't covered in that contract."

The more Josh heard about this contract business and this record deal business and the whole business of show business, the less he wanted anything to do with it. He was content to play his four or five songs at the Warehouse every Friday night. To the same crowd of people. To never travel and never experience different cities and never feel what it's like to sing a song a different way for a different crowd, and-okay, yeah. He was staring to see the appeal.

By the time they walked out of the office, Josh had some parameters set-what he wanted. He still wasn't really sure what he wanted so he let Arthur Goldman, the Attorney, outline some things, what artists usually wanted. And set some boundaries so he wouldn't get screwed over. They'd redraft the contract and resubmit to Paul and see what happened.

What happened was that Paul liked the revisions, said he was ‘more savvy than he expected' and was interested in moving forward. Immediately.

"I figure Groban has the ‘Josh and Joshua' market taken care of. You don't want to be sucked into that. We'll call you JC. We'll get you a hip new hair cut and some clothes and whiten your teeth. You interested in fixing that gap? What about Celeste? Would she want a makeover?"

Josh was dizzy at the thought of all the changes this Redman wanted to make to him. To sell him. He recoiled at the prospect. He wanted no part in being glammed up for magazine covers with a fake tan and fake teeth and a hairstyle that was too young for him. He'd feel ridiculous.

 "When can we see you? Can you be in New York on Tuesday?"

This was it. This was his nightmare. This was why he'd wake himself up from the dream every night, because he had always known it would come to this. Josh felt as if he was in the middle of the biggest, most ferocious tug of war, ever.

Did he choose the good life he had built for himself and for his family? Take the opportunity to rise in the Architectural field, get some backing and some clout so he could do bigger projects-but remain relatively unknown outside of Orlando or even Florida?

Or did he fly to New York and sit amongst a bunch of suits while they molded him into someone who was appealing to some subset of audiences and guided him into a different kind of life? One where he could write songs for a living, and play songs for a living and share what burned inside of him for a living-but leave so much behind, including a great life that he'd worked so hard to build?

Josh told Paul he'd let him know by the end of the day about Tuesday. He needed to talk to Celeste.

He almost attacked her, as soon as she walked in the door. Jack and Till were deeply engrossed in their afternoon cartoon, and would occupied for a few minutes, at least. He pushed her into the sitting room and set her down in one of the chairs nearest the piano.

"What? What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Just. I heard from Paul, today."

Celeste seemed to jump in her chair, her eyes wide in surprise. She set her satchel, which had been on her lap, on the floor next to her and unbuttoned her coat.

"Already? And so? What did he say?"

"He started talking about all this... stuff they want to do. Haircut and teeth whitening, and clothes and... but basically they're okay with the contract. And they want to know if I can be in New York Tuesday."

Josh began to pace from one end of the room to another, a thumbnail shoved into his mouth when he wasn't talking.

"Well, so. That's good, right? That they want to meet with you?"

"Well... I have that meeting with Drumland on Tuesday. About the Science Center. I can't cancel. I don't know what to do."

"Wow." Celeste sat back against the cushion of the chair and exhaled. "Yeah, that is tough."

"I mean... I want my name on that building. I've spent too much money and worked too hard and put this family through so much, just so I could start my own firm. I can't give that up, right now."  He stopped near the window, glancing out at the backyard with the play system he and his dad had put together with their own hands.

Then he turned and walked toward the piano. By habit, he ran his hands along the wood, fingered the keys, sat on the bench, across from Celeste.

"The other thing is that... I want to do music, too. I kind of do want my name in lights. They don't have to be big and bright and flashing but... I would love to write and play, now that I know I can do it. I hate the thought that I would have to give that up. I can't..." He shook his head, his expression pained, his voice tight. "I can't choose."

"Josh..." Celeste sat up, and then sat forward, reaching for him. He took her hand and held it between them. "Honey, what if you didn't really have to choose?"

His eyes lifted to hers. Confused, but intrigued, he tilted his head. "What?"

"I mean... who says that Chasez Designs has to be Joshua Chasez? It could be Celeste Chasez, too."

"I don't..." He blinked, his lashes fluttering, his mind a mess. "I don't get it."

"I mean that I could become a partner. I've been married to you for eight years... if I don't know your vision by now, I'm in trouble. I could take your meeting on Tuesday, get the project going. You go to New York and see what they're talking about, up there."

"Celeste, honey... I so, so appreciate that you want to do that but-"

"Joshua, listen to me." He was surprised at her tone-it was stern and forceful. She was almost never like that, with him. She only pulled it out when she really needed it.

"You and I are a team. We are married. We make big decisions together. This? This is a big decision. You and I are going to have problems if you can't do music. It's a part of you. You have to do it, and you have a chance to take it nationwide. Maybe worldwide. So we have to come up with an option that involves you having the freedom to do music. I cannot go back to that life where you deny yourself all the time."

Josh rose from the piano bench and paced, again. He was even more torn than before.

"Honey, I hear you, and I'm just saying-you've been at Palmer a long time. You could be a Partner next year. I can't be the one to tell you to give that up."

"I could be a Partner at Chasez Designs tomorrow."

"And if it doesn't work? It's so much risk, just for this one thing-"

"This one thing being your dream? Why do you sell yourself so short, Josh?" 

She exhaled again, this time in frustration and stood, picking up her satchel and coat, and stomped out of the room. "Come find me, when you come to your senses."

He listened to the sounds of her greeting the kids and then climbing the stairs, her heels clicking on wood, and then silence once she entered the bedroom. He collapsed into the chair where she had been sitting, rubbed his chin and chewed on a nail.

It would almost solve their problems, if he could say yes to it. He just wouldn't feel comfortable being the one to tell her to throw away the last five years of her life, toss away the idea of being a Partner at a very prestigious design firm, where she could be on the fast track to success. He wasn't about to tell her to dump all of that, for him.

A noise at the edge of the room caught his attention. Celeste stood there, looking comfortable and cozy in a t-shirt and yoga pants and socks, leaning against the arched entryway. Arms folded, almost smiling. She was beautiful. And she loved him. And she just wanted him to be happy. And he understood that-he just wasn't going to sacrifice her career, her future for his happiness. There had to be another way.

"Okay, so maybe I was a little bit cranky," she said, easing into the room. Coming closer, then sliding onto his lap. "I just want this for you, so bad. And I just think that any sacrifice we have to make in the short term is worth it, in the end. It just makes me mad when you put yourself last, because you're so tortured by it."

He drew his arms around her, relishing the feeling of her so close to him. The smell of her hair, the light residue of perfume, those big hazel eyes staring up at him. Those plump, naturally pink lips that just begged him to kiss them, so he did.

"The thing is that... a few years ago I came to you and said I had another dream. A different kind of dream.  And you were on board with that dream, and let me quit a good job and bring my business home and it's been going okay. Great, lately. But... we've sacrificed vacations and expensive things we used to be able to do, and to have, for me to be able to do that. I feel like it would be selfish to put us through much more. For me. Again."

"And I'm telling you that it's not as built up as that. And I'm also telling you that you not doing music? It's not an option. Do you really think you can go back to just designing buildings for a living, Josh? Really?"

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't, He just wasn't sure how to mesh the two together, how to mash up both of his dreams into something that would work for his family-without making it all about him.

 

Six weeks later, life was a flurry of activity. Celeste rushed around the house, changing her clothes, straightening things, coughing through construction dust. After dropping Till and Jack off at school and attending a quick meeting at the Science Center building site, she was zipping off to the airport to pick up Josh. She was excited to hear all about his time in New York, recording for the first time, writing with a team, working with a producer. He'd sounded so excited on the phone, and a little overwhelmed with all that was going on.

She hardly recognized him as he rounded the corner from the train into baggage claim. He'd been given a haircut and a stylish, dapper new hairdo-quite the change from the dusty brown, curly mop he usually wore. His teeth were a gleaming white, but she was happy to see he still had the gap she had come to love. He was thin-well, not really thin. But his new clothes fit better, hugged his form and showed off his bulk the way he'd never shown it off, before. He'd have been way too shy, months earlier, to wear a shirt as tight as the one he was wearing when he sauntered toward her, all kinds of handsome and confident and smiling.

"Hi honey." He bent to kiss her, wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her close, so he could sniff her hair. "I missed you. It's been a long two weeks, mama."

"You look so handsome, Josh." She stroked his cheek, clean shaven and smooth, and looked up into his eyes, a clear and sparkling blue. "So, what's this mama stuff? You've been calling me that for a week, on the phone."

"Oh, sorry. I must have picked it up somewhere. One of the writers, maybe. You don't like it?"

"It's alright." She shrugged, kind of shy. "I like the way you say it. So, how are things?"

"Things are good. Things are really..." He couldn't help but smile. "Things are great. And how are things with you?"

"Things with me are great, too. I'm working part time at Palmer, but mostly at home. You know. The new job." She grinned, looking up at him, as they waited for the baggage carousel to start. "I swear, we got so busy once it was announced that you designed the Science Center. Lots of new business coming in."

"Great. I'll have plenty to do for the next few weeks, then. I'm not due back up there for awhile."

Celeste almost giggled, giddy with excitement and happiness. She threw her arms around him and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. "It's so good to have you home. We missed you. Jack and Till can't wait to see you. And Till is so happy you'll be home for her birthday party, Saturday."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He sighed, staring down at her, realizing that for the first time he was utterly, completely happy. No more nightmares. No more running from something he'd wanted for so long it was crawling out of him.

He'd been able to merge and mesh his two dreams into a combination that worked for both him and for his family. He could write and record-especially when they finished the addition to the house that would give him a soundproof booth and a room to work in-and he could design buildings alongside his wife, his first and forever love.

He felt a little more in control of the speeding bullet that was his recording career, opting out of a lot of ‘get famous fast' schemes. No whirlwind tour of the country, no massive press junket, not too much glitz and glamour, no controversy. He would write his debut album, with some help from the label. It would be released the following year, hopefully without a lot of unnecessary fanfare. Whether it made him rich and famous and world renowned was a story that was yet to be told.

He really just wanted to be a musician. They could keep the glamorous life.

They passed The Warehouse on the way home. Josh laughed aloud at the marquee. "Joshua Chasez, featuring The Associates? Oh, Tyler must just love that."

"He suggested it." Celeste glanced over at him quickly to catch his reaction. There wasn't really one, on the outside. On the inside, though, his heart was swelling. There, on the marquee, was his name in lights. They weren't bright and flashing and glaring, but it was yet another dream come true.

Life, now... was perfect.