The mid morning air in Louisiana was a thick soup, the overhead fan cutting through the muggy heat just enough to stir it around. The air conditioner was chugging away but no cool air was coming out of the vent. JC called the front desk to complain, only to learn that the air was out in the entire hotel and wouldn't be fixed until the afternoon. The concierge advised us to find an air conditioned place to be for the next few hours. Reluctantly, we dragged ourselves to the shower to clean up and cool off, then to dress before we got hot again.

"I cannot believe this," I grumbled, pulling a brush through a high pile of curls on my head. "It's so awesome that I got my hair done two days ago and not even twelve hours in New Orleans and it's ruined."

JC hobbled into the bathroom, one shoe on, the other half on, half off. He dropped the lid on the toilet and sat down to pull the shoe on, tying the laces in his usual meticulous fashion. "What are you complaining about?"

"My hair. I am complaining about - look at your hair." I pointed at the mirror and watched JC's eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. His hair was a mop of dark curls, but unlike my dry, dusty hairdo, his were lush and soft.  He ran a hand through his hair, shrugged, and bent forward to finish tying his shoes.

"No big deal. Can't really help it. You about ready to go?"

"No, I'm not about ready to go. I'm trying to do something with my damn hair!"

He sat up with a scowl. "Serena, why are you yelling at me? So it's curly, so what? You don't hate it when it's curly, right?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Men. "Let me put this in terms your cheap ass can understand. That money that you gave me to spend in New York? I spent it on my hair. So, no, I don't hate it when it's curly, but I wanted more than two days with straight hair. I'm pissed."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he was smart enough to stop it from crossing his lips. He stood up and moved behind me, kissed the back of my head and caught my eyes in the mirror.

"You have had curly hair all your life. You know what to do with it. You need to put that stuff in it so it's not so dry and flyaway. And then you know what I like, when you wear it curly?" He gathered my hair in his hands and pulled it back, bunched at the nape of my neck. "When you put it like that. And you usually have a part, like-" He pointed at my head, where I had a natural part- "right here. It's pretty on you, and it shows off those diamonds in your ears. Just do that. Hm?" He mumbled his question into my neck, his arms sliding around my waist.

"I could," I whined, digging through my bag for the goop I put in my hair and a band to hold my hair in the ponytail. "I'm just mad. It'll be hot as hell out there, and my makeup will melt and I'll be all shiny and in 3 hours my hair will be a puff ball again, and then a photographer will jump out from around a corner and-"

"And that's the picture he'll snap." JC was nodding. Almost laughing.

"Exactly," I said, rolling my eyes, working the moisturizing mousse through my hair. "And you'll laugh because you'll be looking all hot and sexy but I'll be looking all melted and poufy and your fans will be all ‘Ew, he's with her?' And then I'll want to die."

"You cannot be serious."

I caught his eye in the mirror again, working the mousse through my hair, which was, thankfully, calming down. "I am serious. I had an idea in my head, you know, of what I was going to wear and what I was going to look like and this- "I pointed at our images in the mirror- "was not it. I hate when I look like I don't belong with you."

JC groaned and stepped back, walking past me and shaking his head. "You know what, Serena? You're in charge of our girls, because I don't even understand what you just said. That made no sense." He rounded the corner as I stared at his retreating back, my hands full of goop and my head full of thoughts. "Hurry up, it's hot in here."

Our girls? As in, girls that belonged to the both of us, as in our kids? Oh, Chasez. You know exactly how to drive me insane.

"I'm coming," I called after him, shaking my head to clear it. "I just need to put some powder on. So it can melt off."

"Don't wear any," he called from the other room, more than an edge of irritation to his voice. "It's too hot and you don't need it. I'm not gonna wear any."

I laughed, rolled my eyes at his reflection in the corner of the bathroom mirror and pushed my makeup case across the counter. I frowned at my reflection and then shrugged. If JC was okay, I was okay. Can't look like a supermodel every day, I supposed.

"You're not helping, Chasez. But I'm ready to go now."

The French Quarter was enchanting. I'd always imagined it as sort of a fairy tale, flitting from quaint shop to bookstore to restaurant to jazz venue. In real life, and in the daytime, it was bustling and busy, a tourist trap for sure and on the edge of metropolitan, but still a world like no other. There were changes since the last time I'd been to New Orleans, but it was comforting to find some places, some things, some attractions exactly the same.

JC and I took a leisurely stroll, following a walking tour down Toulouse Street and then through the quarter to Jackson Square, Washington Artillery Park, and Bourbon Street, breaking off from the group in front of a large wooden, painted sign that hung out into the street. Maison Bourbon, it read. Dedicated to the Preservation of Jazz.  JC angled his thumb toward the wine colored stone building with the front doors thrown wide open and the sounds of a single horn lazily tooting ‘When The Saints Go Marching In' wafting through the opening.

"Are we allowed to go in here?" I asked, blindly following JC, hoping we didn't get kicked out.

"If I know this guy playing the horn, we are," he shot over his shoulder, walking through the dark club, around tables and chairs, toward the stage.  A shiny black Grand piano covered the majority of a minuscule stage. A drum set sat in wait for someone to pick up sticks and pound away. A single mic stand stood at center stage and a trumpet player stood in front of it, belting the usually jovial tune. His hair, thick and black, was receding and graying at the temples. His skin was a dark, smooth, espresso brown but was etched with the years playing in a jazz club in New Orleans. He wore a striped collared shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and tucked into black casual pants. His eyes had been closed but flew open when I bumped a chair and knocked it over. The sound ricocheted off of the roof of the building and around the walls, then was absorbed into the silence of the room.

Once his eyes opened and he saw JC nearing the stage, his face lit up and a bright smile of pearly white teeth appeared. "Well, I'll be!" He said. Shouted, rather, in a smoky voice as he set down his horn and made his way to the steps. "If it ain't that white boy wit' a whole lotta soul standin' here!"

JC laughed, his smile wider than I'd ever seen it before, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his hand extended and ready to shake the musician's hand. The man grabbed it, laughed, and pulled JC to him, wrapping him in a long, tight bear hug. His large, flat hand slapped JC's back so hard I was sure I would see hand marks there later.

Once JC managed to pull back from the hug, he turned around to gesture to me. "This is Bo Pete. He's been playing this club for years. This is one of the few clubs in New Orleans that still plays traditional jazz music-"

"Even though I still hope to rock out someday at the House of Blues a few blocks over," Bo Pete said, laughing as he interrupted, clapping JC on the shoulder. I watched JC wince and then mask it with a smile.

"Pete helped us out when *NSYNC was here rehearsing for the Pop Odyssey tour," JC explained. "Played a couple of shows with us, too. He plays a mean guitar, like Bo Didley, but his name is Pete. Chris started calling him Bo Pete and it stuck."

Bo Pete nodded, beaming and laughing with an iron grip on JC's shoulder. "Those were the days! I haven't seen you out here in awhile," he said. "What brings you to town?"

JC managed to step away, wrangling out of the grasp on his shoulder and dropped an arm around me. "My girlfriend and I are on a road trip. We went all up the east coast, up to New York, saw a show. Then decided to come on down here and see what's cookin'."

"Yeah, yeah," Bo Pete mused, grabbing the back of a chair and turning it around, then settling into it. JC and I took chairs around the same table. "Sounds like a good time, to me. Well, it's good to see you, anyway. Been a long time. Thinking about doing any music lately?"

JC blushed and stumbled over his words before he finally admitted that he was. "I might scope out House of Blues, see if there's any open dates. I'm working on a deal. Maybe. It's going slowly, though. Anyway, they want to see me in action so I need to set up some dates. New Orleans is always a nice crowd. I really like the atmosphere here."

"For sure, for sure. You know, they've had a lot of big names blow through there. Good crowd, because they don't know who to expect-Harry Connick or some cover band or hell... Styx was here last month."

The two musicians relaxed in their seats, reminiscing about the last few times they saw each other, telling stories, sharing histories and theories. I was hot and tired, bored by the shop talk. I interrupted to whisper to JC that I was going to step outside and walk around for a few minutes. He barely stopped talking long enough to peck me on the lips and say, "Leave your phone on and be careful out there," before he went back to his conversation.

The air outside the club wasn't much cooler but at least it wasn't stale. I leaned against the warm stone building and let my eyes rove Bourbon Street, watching the tourists wander up one side and down the other, enjoying a sweltering December day and the lax open container laws.  My eyes traveled up the side of the buildings surrounding the club. The architecture-the style of it-told the story of its history as a port city where the pirates would come to hang out after a long voyage. I imagined wild carousing and drunken parties and reveling from the balconies on second floor.

A loud clatter of cheers arose from a pub a few doors down. Romantic two and four seated wrought iron tables and chairs littered the sidewalk, occupied with people sharing a few drinks in the early afternoon. I glanced back into the club-JC and Bo Pete were deep in conversation, leaning toward each other. JC's hands were flying, his mouth was moving, Bo Pete's head was bobbing with a nod. It would be awhile before JC was free. I swiped a bead of sweat from my brow, swallowed a hot, dry breath of air, and started walking.

The waitress seemed surprised that I asked for a table for one, but set me in the shade just outside the restaurant. A few minutes later a tall, icy, berry-red margarita with a thick layer of salt on the rim was set before me. I sucked down a few swallows and closed my eyes, relishing the flavor but also the cool breeze that seemed to crawl over me as it splashed over my tongue and down my throat. I breathed a contented sigh and relaxed against the iron chair, adjusted my shades and indulged in some people watching.

I was on my second margarita when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I fumbled for it in the folds of the long, thin, billowy dress I wore, grabbing it up before it rolled to voicemail.

"Hey, babe," I chirped. "You all talked out?"

"Where are you? I thought you were just leaving for a minute."

I leaned out and waved an arm at JC's figure standing outside the club. "Look to your left, down the street. You see me waving at you?"

"Ohhhhh," he said, waving back and walking in my direction. "Someone is having a drink?"

"Someone is."

"Is someone okay? Upset or anything?"

"Sometimes I drink because I like the taste, you know."

"Yeah. You do. And sometimes you drink because you're upset. I'm just asking."

"I'm not upset," I said, soothing, smiling into the phone and at him as he crossed the street. "I'm happy to see you, though. Join me?"

"Love to," he said, winking at me as he walked past the gated entrance to the outdoor seating area. He hung up without saying goodbye, and then a few seconds later was pulling up a chair to the table and smiling into the face of our waitress. He ordered a beer and leaned forward onto the table that had seemed the perfect size when it was just me. Now it seemed miniature. JC didn't seem to notice or care.

"You sure you're alright?"

I nodded, smiling and fingering the stem of my half empty glass. "I am perfect. But thanks for your concern. How was your chat with Bo Pete?"

"Great. Really good." He paused while the waitress set a bottle in front of him and walked away. "It's been awhile. It was good to catch up. I hadn't seen him since before I left Jive, so he wanted to get the scoop on all of that. We talked about the tour that almost was, the tour that might be." He gulped a few sips of his beer and sighed, peering into the open mouth of the bottle. "I got a phone call while I was in there, and he had to go back to rehearsal. He's playing tonight."

"Phone call?" He nodded, and then I recognized it. The fallen shoulders, the turned down mouth the quiet, less excited way he was talking. He was disappointed. Something had happened.  "What? What's wrong?  Who called?"

"Eric," he answered. "We got word back on that festival in LA that a couple of my buddies are playing in February. He called the promoter. Promoter said ‘no thanks'."

"What? No thanks? I thought there were slots open?"

JC's eyes, pools of bright blue lifted to mine, and then lowered again, shaded by lush lashes. "There are. They're uhm... not interested."

"Not--" I had to consciously stop myself from repeating his words, again. Dumbfounded, I pushed my glass away and scooted my chair closer. "What does that mean? Not interested?"

"Exactly what you think it means."

"So..." I paused, gathering my thoughts, attempting to understand. Surely it could not as simple as he was saying it was- cut and dried, black and white, just... no? "So, there are slots open for musicians. But they don't want you to play?"

He nodded, his jaw twitching. He drank more, drained his bottle, and signaled for another. I wasn't sure what to say. ‘I'm sorry' didn't really seem like it was going to cover it or make him feel any better.

"Well... you have other options, right? Eric's working on that for you?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah." He nodded, slowly. "And he'll keep working it. I just remember when people had to beg me to do a show, you know? And now..." Now he couldn't book a free one.

"But... it's not because you don't have talent. I mean, they know who you are. Don't they?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they do. The thing is that this is an alternative show and I'm a little..." He shrugged. "A little too ‘out there', I guess.  Or not current enough? They're worried I won't draw the crowd they want. They don't want *NSYNC teeny-bopper used-to-be's. I have material that will fit the show. You know. So." He shrugged. "Yeah. Eric's working on that. Fingers crossed and things like that." He lifted his head enough to wink and a wan smile crossed his lips before the corners turned down again.

I reached for his hand and wound my thin, olive toned fingers between his thick, pale ones and dipped my head, trying to find his eyes. "What do you want to do? I mean, what do you want me to do? Or us to do? I mean, I don't know what to say but I want to support you and help, if I can. Do you want to go back to the room and work? What do you want to do?"

He sighed, a deep breath that seemed to come from the pit of his stomach, then grabbed the neck of the new, full bottle of beer and turned it up, into his mouth. I watched him, eyes closed as he sucked down the entire bottle in long, slow gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing like a piston. The empty bottle landed back onto the table with a glassy clang.

JC eyed me for a few seconds before he looked away, into the grouping of crowded tables around us-people laughing and talking and celebrating without a care in the world-- and then back to me.  "I want to go look at some shit," he said. "And maybe go to a jazz club. And enjoy the last stop on our vacation. I don't want to work. That's what I pay a manager for. I do want to stop by House of Blues, though. Maybe there's a good show tonight."

His lids sat at half mast, his skin a light shade of pink. "You? You can be my sweet and beautiful and funny girlfriend. And love me. Mkay? That's what you can do." He sat up straight, leaned to the side and pulled his wallet from his front pocket. "You ready to go? Let's get our tab."

I wasn't liking the brush-off. He probably didn't want to talk about it, and I wouldn't either, but we were a team, right? He could talk to me, if he wanted to. "JC, I--" I began.

"Honey." He shook his head, his eyes open wide now, and a palm up to stop the barrage of words I was preparing to throw at him. "I don't want to think about it anymore today. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want you to look at me with those sad eyes and feel sorry for me and try to understand it. This is how it goes. One year I'm hot, the next year I'm not and then the next year the phone rings nonstop." He chuckled at the rhyme and squeezed my fingers, still wound in his. "It's a cycle. I'll be fine. I'm a little down, but I'm coming back up. Let's have some fun. You ready, already?"

*

We spent the afternoon in some kind of blissful dream where no one knew who he was and if they did, no one cared. There were no cameras, no fear of cameras, hardly a ripple as we walked, hand in hand, through people milling around Bourbon Street.

On a whim, we stopped into an art gallery and took a tour through their most recent exhibit, a showing on impressionist art. To say that art and music was an escape for JC would be an understatement-he seemed completely lost in the various paintings and displays and the entire exhibit calmed him. He moved slowly, examining each painting, analyzing and evaluating before moving on to the next piece. From time to time he would ask me what I thought about this piece or that concept, did I see the way the colors blended to create an effect, and did I sense what the artist was trying to bring to the canvas?

I smiled and shrugged. "I dunno," I said, sheepish.

"You know," he said, nudging with an elbow, glancing down at me. "You don't want to say?"

"I just... I'm not an artist, so..."

"So... you think you can't have an opinion? We've talked art before."

"You've talked art before," I corrected. "I'm along for the ride, and because I like the look on your face when you're totally into something."

I watched JC consciously try not to roll his eyes. Instead, he closed them, shook his head, and opened them again with a smile. He took my hand and pulled me close to him, right up against him, and wrapped an arm around me, holding me there. My hands slid around his waist and I rested my head on his chest, listening to his voice echo as he talked.

"I'm asking because I want to know what you think. Do you like it? Hate it? Does it say anything to you? This one-"  He pointed toward a bright display of blue and green and crisp yellow, a perfect scene of trees and grasses on a fall day. "What do you think of that one?"

"It reminds me of autumn," I blurted out, without really thinking. He didn't laugh, so I kept going. "Like the shade of the field grasses and the leaves on the trees. And I like the way you can almost see the wind, how the grass is all bent in a certain direction."

"Yeah I like that, too. I also like the angle, it's almost eye level. Not far away, not from above..."

"Like you're lying in the grass and looking down the field..."

"Exactly," he said, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on my bare shoulder, sending shivers up and down my spine. "See? You have an opinion. Did I scare you out of sharing it?"

"Kinda." I was still smarting from our argument the day before. It was silly, and I knew it, and I never would have said anything about it and it would have faded with time. JC was intuitive about all the wrong things, sometimes.

"Well, stop it. I like your opinions. Even if I don't agree with them. And even if you're kind of judgmental."

"I'm not judgmental," I said, pulling away from him with a sigh. "Let's not go there, okay? I'll have some opinions about you in a minute. We're having a good day. Don't pick at yesterday's scabs."

JC wrinkled his nose and laughed. "Gross."

I wrinkled my nose to match. "I know. I can't believe I said that."

"Me either. Come on, gross girlfriend. Let's go to Mardi Gras World."

"Let's go to what?"

JC was almost bouncing out of his shoes as he tucked two ticket stubs into his pocket and dragged me by the hand into the studios where artists were designing, crafting, and constructing floats for Mardi Gras, which was rapidly approaching. Skeletons of sea creatures and dinosaurs and pin up girls littered the dimly lit warehouse. Bursts and pops of color, deep dark blacks, blues, browns, and mixtures of every color in between were splashed along parts and pieces of floats-the haunch of a dragon, the side of a haunted house.

I twisted the strings of beads that we got when we bought our tickets into strands and hung them around my neck, enjoying the light clack of them as they slid against each other while we walked. 

"Check it out!"

JC was pointing at a prop a few hundred feet away, but was so enormous it was still almost right on top of us. A giant red lobster was poised over an even larger silver pot with flames licking out from underneath. Slices of lemon and a bottle of hot sauce finished off the scene. A few artists scurried around the sculpture, spraying paint and touching up edges, and then finally standing back to take in the view, bowing and blushing at the applause of the crowd circling around.

"We should take some pictures," I said, pushing him toward the display. "We don't have enough pictures."

"Alright already with the pictures." JC stopped in front of the silver pot, gave a cheesy grin and held it until the camera flashed.  "Your turn," he said, grabbing the camera and trading places with me. He snapped a few pictures and smiled when he flipped through them before saving them. "Cute. These turned out good."

We made up for not having taken many pictures during our trip by taking almost a hundred photos just at Mardi Gras World. We had pictures of JC sticking his finger up the nose of a set of two court jesters, pretending to climb a dragon float, and posing next to a sea horse with a vibrant strand of pearls strung through its mouth. At the gift shop, JC insisted on buying beads to take home. 

"Maybe we'll crack open a bag of these tonight," he quipped as we walked out, back into the sun.

"No sense in wasting your beads," I shot back. "I'll show you my boobs any time you want to see them."

"But maybe you could make it a challenge, sometimes."

I glared at him out of the corner of my eye and then laughed. "I think I am enough of a challenge, already."

"Yeah," he said, laughing and nodding. "You're right about that."

Dinner was in a quiet, dark corner at House of Blues, where we took a few minutes to relax, look at our pictures, have some drinks and wait for the 9pm show to start.

 A cherry bobbed in my glass of lemonade as I stirred it with my straw. "Who are we seeing, again?"

JC laid the restaurant menu down and checked his phone. "Attack! Attack!," he read from the display. "And some other people. A Smorgasbord of music. Some blues, some alternative."

"Fun."

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, browsing the menu again. "You know what you're getting? I don't think I've seen you eat Cajun food before."

"I had Beignets this morning."

"That doesn't count," he said, laughing.

"If it's food, I like it. Pick something and order it for me."

"Really?" At my nod, he browsed the menu again, the crease between his eyes deepening. "What if I order you something with crawfish in it? Like Etoufee."

I shrugged a shoulder. "When in Rome..."

"Yeah, I can't really see you eating crawfish though. Uhm, I can't watch you eating crawfish, is the thing."

"Then don't order me crawfish."

He laughed, shaking his head. "How about some shrimp creole?"

"Sounds good. Whatever. You order it, I'll eat it." I sipped my lemonade, my eyes meeting his over my glass. "Really," I said, swallowing.

"Alright. I don't want to hear any complaining, later."

There was no complaining as JC watched me eat every bite of shrimp creole over blackened catfish. He was amused, downing his ribs and potatoes and salad, watching my dish disappear. I pushed my plate away and gulped a few swallows of cherry lemonade. I had a funny feeling about my dinner, but I was hoping it would go away.

"So, are you feeling better? About the phone call?"

"Mmhmm. Yeah." He picked at his teeth with his tongue, dropped his napkin in his plate and sat back against the bench. "I appreciate you hanging out with me. Getting my mind off of it."

"Sure. As long as you really feel better and you're not just brushing me off because you don't want to talk about it."

"No, I'm okay. I'm not like you girls. I don't hold onto stuff."

I cackled, but softly. "Uh huh. You're totally not holding things over from your Schizo days. Totally."

JC shrugged and gave me a ‘so what' look. "Maybe a little. It's fading, though. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," I answered with a smile, though I was sensing something might be a little bit ‘off' very soon. "I'm having fun. I love New Orleans. And I'm loving being here with you."

"Good. Good. You talk to Melissa lately? All your friends and stuff?"

"Mmhmm. Yeah we talked the other day, when you were working in New York. She uhm, you know... misses me and stuff. We used to spend a lot of time together."

"So I'm like, tearing you two apart, or something?"

"Oh no. God no, honey." My hands shot across the table toward his, my fingers finding their way between his. "I'm... I moved because I needed to. It was a step I wanted to take for myself, for growth and stuff. Taylor is an opportunity I'd never get, in Atlanta. She'll always be a big part of my life, you know? We've been friends forever. We'll be fine."

"You think so?

I nodded, after a moment. "That's what I'm telling myself. We'll just have to work at it. I mean, if I can maintain a long distance relationship with you for a year, certainly my best friend and I can stay in touch, right?"

"If you work at it, I guess. So. Melissa's partner or whatever. Annette?"

"Mhmm..."

"How'd they meet?"

"Oh. That's a story," I said, laughing. "Mel and I were hanging out at this Midtown spot one night. Annette bounces up to us, all red hair and big boobs in a tight corset and starts talking and flirting and stuff. I'm kind of brushing her off. She's a little aggressive, though and she keeps going for it and finally I said, ‘you know what, I'm straight. And even if I were gay, you're coming on a little strong.' And she looks at me and she's confused and she says, ‘I know you're straight. I wasn't actually talking to you. I was talking to your friend.' And she looks at Melissa and she's like, ‘you're gay, right?' And Melissa's like, ‘yeah, I just forgot my flannel today.' Annette laughed and I laughed and all the tension went away and uhm... yeah Melissa went home with Annette that night."  I wiggled my brows at JC while I took another swallow of lemonade.

His laugh was sinister as he said, "Hah, really?"

"And you know what they say about what lesbians bring to date two? A U-Haul? They've been inseparable ever since. It's been four years, now. I love them both. Like the sisters I never had, especially Melissa."

A bout of something emotional was starting to rise. I stared down at my hands, watching a bit of a blush creep from my wrists up my body to my face. I blinked back a tear or two before I said, "It'll be weird to like... go through life in LA and not have her to share it with. We've shared everything for a long, long time."

"She can come out and visit," JC offered quietly. "She's not scared to fly, right?"

I smiled. Maybe he wasn't intuitive about all the wrong things. Sometimes they were the right things and I just didn't want to admit that he knew me very, very well.

"Oh, haha. Nice jab, dear boyfriend. If I wasn't afraid to fly we wouldn't be together right now."

"Oh, I don't believe that. My skills are impeccable."

"Fuck your skills. I flirted my ass off. You wouldn't even look at me, let alone talk to me."

He laughed, that delicious, chesty laugh that I love that made my heart skip beats and my stomach flutter, except I didn't really appreciate the stomach flutter much, at the moment. "Okay, true. True. You worked hard. And you got a great reward. A long distance relationship with a moody, overbearing, workaholic."

"You know what, sweet man? I wouldn't change a thing."

JC smiled, his cheeks taking on a pink hue. "Me either sweet girl. We wouldn't be who we are, if we didn't go through all that stuff. Makes it worth it. You know?"

"Yeah. I do." A quick glance at my watch made me sit up straight. "Show starts in a half hour. We should get down there, right?"

"Yep." JC sat up and waved at the waitress for our check.

"So have you ever heard of this band?" I had to stand on my tiptoes and scream in JC's ear over the metal, hardcore rock sound of Attack! Attack! He nodded and dropped and arm around my shoulder, his eyes bouncing back to the stage and what, to me, amounted to guttural screaming over a beautiful piano melody.  The standing room only crowd seemed to be into it, though. Hands were raised in the air, some people were jumping and a small mosh pit was forming in front of the stage. The discordance as unnerving, my head was pounding, my stomach was lurching, and I found myself counting the minutes until their set was over and they were bowing to-amazingly-- thunderous applause.

"Well. That was... interesting," I said, in the break between bands. The stage was being struck of all Attack! Attack! gear and decoration and a more neutral set of instruments were slowing making their way to the stage in their place.

"Interesting? Good interesting or interesting meaning that totally sucked?"

I swept an errant hair back from my face and looked up at JC. "Uhm... you ready for my opinion?"

"Shoot," he said, nodding.

"I hated them."

JC laughed, loudly, for far too long.

"Really, I mean the music itself was great. But I couldn't understand any of the lyrics and I don't see how all of that screaming is called singing. Totally ruined it for me."

Calmed from his laughing fit, JC contemplated, picking at the hairs in his chin and his five o'clock shadow. "I was laughing because I kind of thought the same but I wasn't going to say it. You have a point, but I try to find something to like in everything, you know? I don't like the voices much at all, but you're right on about the actual music. That's what I was listening to. The drummer is pretty talented."

"Yeah. I guess, if you can block everything out, and just listen to that. So who's up next?"

JC shook his head. "Local cover band, I think." He checked his watch. "But they don't go on for a few minutes. You want to get a drink?"

My stomach rumbled, and not in the good way. I was regretting shrimp creole. "No, I think I better take it easy. I'll take some water though if you're going."

JC came back with two ice cold bottles of water. I sucked mine down in record time, but my stomach wasn't feeling any better. I was hot and tired and queasy, but determined to stick out the night. JC, though, sensed something was wrong.

"You don't look good," he said, bending to stare into my eyes, laying a palm across my forehead. "You feel okay?"

I couldn't hold back, anymore. I shook my head, my perky, brave front falling miserably. "No. I feel like shit. I don't think dinner is gonna stay down."

JC's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline and then he said what I was afraid he would say. "Let's get back to the room, then. Honey, you should have said something."

JC led me by the elbow toward the entrance of the room, out into the hallway of the venue, past the other performance areas and out into the New Orleans night. We could have walked to the hotel, but I was thankful to see JC stop at the taxi stand and wave at a yellow cab down the block.

I leaned against him, comforted by his strength, relieved to see the cab flip a U turn and drive in our direction. "I just, I didn't want to ruin the night. We were having a good time."

"If you're not having a good time, I'm not, either. It's like what you said today about art. You like seeing me enjoy myself. When I'm out with you somewhere I want you to have a good time, too. That's why I like, tried to involve you in it. Our relationship is not a spectator sport."

The cab arrived and stopped in front of us. JC stepped off of the curb and opened the door, ushering me inside before he followed me in. He gave the driver the name of our hotel. He nodded and pulled away from the curb.

"We were like, doing that," I blathered on, clutching my trembling stomach. "Involved in it. I didn't want to ruin it. But thank you for being willing to leave. You can go back, after I get to the room, if you want. I won't be mad, I promise."

"Whatever. I'm not leaving you alone while you're sick. Sit back, here. Relax. Stop being brave and shit."

I took that to mean shut up, and I did so, hanging on for dear life as the cab navigated the foot traffic around the hotel and stopped at the entrance. I climbed out after JC, who was rushing us both through the front door and up the elevator. I headed straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I just barely made it before JC witnessed, through a closed door, a very intense personal moment.

I could not have been more embarrassed.

*

Tap tap tap. The light sound reverberated through the thin wood door of the bathroom. I had heard JC moving around in the room, then heard the door open, close and then open again. And now he was at the bathroom door.

"I got you some Pepto, honey. I'm just gonna set it outside the door, right here. You just come and get it when you're ready."

I sat in the bathroom, on the counter, waiting to see if my stomach was going to revolt against me, again. It had been ten minutes since the last episode. So far, so good. When the tap came with JC's offering of stomach medicine, I was awash with a fresh wave of embarrassment. How was I supposed to go out there and be girlfriendy and sexy and when he'd just heard me vomit? I bet myself a dollar that he would not kiss me until the morning.

I hopped down from the counter as soon as I was sure he'd walked away and opened the door, grabbed the bottle of pink peppermint medicine and slammed it shut, again. For good measure, I took a dose, brushed my teeth again and started the shower.

Tap tap tap. A muffled, "You feel like company?" came through the door.  I winced and paced and finally opened the door a crack. JC was leaning against the door jamb, casual as ever but his eyes were full of concern.

"Uhm... I just was going to take a quick one. Just cause I was sweating all day and stuff."

"So was I. No sense in wasting hot water."

Dammit. Go away! "Well, I-I mean... I just, I feel dirty. I want to clean up before I see you."

He chuckled, eyeing me through the tiny sliver of opening. "You feel dirty? I feel dirty, too. You don't want to share your shower is what you're saying."

"No, it's not that..."

"You're embarrassed because you threw up and you don't want me to see you until you turn back into perfect Serena. Right? Girls. Lemme in."  He pushed the door open, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, already pulling off clothes. I stood there and stared at him, watching him undress, the mist from the shower billowing around him. "You feeling any better?"

I nodded slowly, still dressed and not moving. JC, fully nude, pushed back the shower curtain and adjusted the temperature of the water. He glanced back at me, expectant. "You coming?"

I took my time untying my dress and letting it fall around me, stepping out of my underwear and kicking our pile of clothing to the side.  I stepped into the shower, taking my usual spot in front of JC. He pulled the shower curtain closed around us and we fell into our routine.

"Can we sleep in, tomorrow?"

"Yep," he answered, soaping up washcloth and scrubbing my back with it. It felt so good I could do nothing but drop my arms and my head and enjoy it. I sighed, letting go of my frustration and embarrassment. "You okay? You're not gonna throw up in the shower, are you?"

"I'm fine," I answered, mumbling into my chest. "That feels good, is all. Thank you."

"Mmhmm." JC began to hum and then to sing. The song was familiar, now-Last Night.

"I like that song. I can't wait to hear you sing it live. You think you like House of Blues as a venue?"

"What I saw of it, yeah," he said, scrubbing in tight circles. Felt so good after such an awful night. "Might work. I don't know about a show there by myself. That's a lot of space to fill on my own. But maybe I could talk someone into playing with me."

"Yeah. Maybe. That'd be good."

JC scrubbed and then rinsed and then moved to the front so I could return the favor. I liked to run my soapy hands along his skin, feel his muscles rippling underneath, run my fingers through the hair on his chest and his arms. JC always forced his way into my showers because he said he liked that, too. There was no such thing as a quick shower, anymore.

Freshly washed and squeaky clean, we stepped out of the shower and JC grabbed two towels, handing me one. We toweled off and he followed me out of the bathroom. I reached for my suitcase and slid it onto the bed. JC crawled up onto the bed and laid on his side, watching me rifle through piles of clothing.

"You gonna put clothes on?"

"Yeah. You're not?"

He grinned a silly grin and reached for himself, rolling to his back. "Hadn't planned on it."

I giggled, kind of relieved that he still wanted to have sex with me. Unfortunately, all I wanted to do was sleep. "You're gonna make me say no to you, huh?"

He sighed. "No. You're not feeling good. You wouldn't have fun, so I wouldn't either." He reached for the remote on the nightstand and snapped the TV on. "Tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I answered, hiding a smug smile, pulling my nightshirt out of my suitcase and then over my head. "I should get beads, though. I showed you my boobs."

"Tomorrow," he said with a laugh. I zipped my suitcase up again and set it next to his.

"You're not putting anything on? You sleeping naked?"

JC's eyes didn't move from the flashes of action on the TV. "You got a problem with me sleeping naked?"

"No. Just asking."

"I'll probably put something on in a minute."

I laid down next to him, snuggled up against him and laid a leg between his. He pulsed and rose nearly an inch, which made him laugh.

I giggled, laughing at him laugh and watching him bob and then laugh harder. "You are seventeen years old, right now, watching your dick get hard."

JC laughed again, and then sat up, picked up his suitcase and dug through it for a pair of briefs. He stepped into them, sliding them up and over his slight hips and came back to the bed, resuming his spot next to me. He was laughing, again, at the tent effect through his briefs.

"You've degraded to fifteen, now."

"That's okay. Tomorrow I will be thirty three again, right?"

"Depends on how immature you are."

A documentary on the History Channel held JC's attention for the next half hour. I was sleepy but my head was buzzing with thoughts, so my eyes were open and I was watching and listening, but just barely. When the program went off, JC snapped the TV off and sat up, pulled the covers down and slid inside. I followed suit and gravitated toward him, his skin cool from the air in the room.

"The A/C is finally working," I mumbled, dropping a kiss on his shoulder.

"Finally. I can't imagine sleeping in here with no air."

"You mad at me, that we had to leave tonight and I threw up and I don't feel like having sex?"

JC laughed, his head rolling toward mine. "No, no and no."

I sat up a little, leaning on one elbow, tracing the edge of his face from his ear to his chin, up and over his lips and nose, up into his scalp. My fingernails dragged lightly and he moaned, his eyes closed.

"Can I ask you about something else?"

"Go for it."

 "This morning, you said something about me being in charge of our girls, because women don't make sense."

His eyes remained closed, but I saw the flutter and twitch beneath the lids. "Mmmhmm."

"And I was thinking, you know. About that. Do you think about that?"

"About what?"

"JC!" I punched him, lightly, on his bicep. He hid a smile, so I knew he knew what I meant. "Be serious."

His eyes opened, the whites and rims of them pink. That and the dark circles gave away his sheer exhaustion from the long day. "About us having kids, you mean?"

"Yeah. That."

"Some," he said, after a breath.

"Some? What does some mean?"

"It means some. I think about it some."  He suddenly became very interested in the ceiling fan, whirring around above us. "How about you?" He asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"I think about it some, too. I think the sum of my some is bigger than the sum of yours, though."

He laughed, lightly."Well. Girls think about that stuff. So, what do you think?"

I shrugged, determined not to make a big deal about it. "I just think about it. Like, in my mind I see them, what they might look like. Little you's and little me's."

"It doesn't freak you out, to think about it or talk about it?"

"Does it freak you out?"

He shook his head no. "But that kind of freaks me out. I feel like I should be scared of it, but I'm not." He looked at me, again. "You didn't answer."

"Uhm... kind of. We just so rarely talk about this stuff. I have to try hard to not make a huge deal out of it. It's just talking. You know?"

"But what if it wasn't?"

I paused, breathing deep, calming breaths. "But it is, so-"

"Maybe it's not."

I groaned and rolled over into sleeping position. "Don't, JC... just don't. Don't."

I lay down and closed my eyes, pretending to be sleeping but there was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon. My heart was racing and I was inwardly kicking myself, trying to figure out what the hell I was doing, what was I thinking. Why did I run, every time he brought up anything that resembled our future? What was I afraid of? And why wouldn't he just come out and say what he wanted instead of dropping hints. The hints were driving me crazy!

After a few minutes of silence, JC snapped off the lamp and we were engulfed in darkness. The street sounds from below wafted up and seeped through the windows, lulling us toward sleep. He moved next to me, up against me head to toe, and wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt cool, wet lips on my neck, where it met my shoulder and, just before he laid his head down, he said, "I'm not the one that's not ready, Serena."