At an industry party in New York, you move through the crowd expertly, touching base here, extricating yourself there. Everything's easy tonight, there's nothing up in the air-- not like this same party, last year, when the lawsuit clung to you all like a black armband. JC's been drinking a little too much, is the only thing, but even that's okay because it's pretty common knowledge that he's going through some kind of self-image crisis, and problems with Bobbie, and people understand-- and as long as you stay on the other side of the room, it'll be fine. If someone mentions it to you, you'll stare ruefully towards him, finger the cross around your neck, and nod somberly. It'll be fine.
The others are, you don't know. Somewhere. Joey's doing something. You were together at the beginning of the evening, for photos and a little bit of press; and you'll come back together at the end, find out who's going back with who, who has to be up when. They'll all find you, because you know the answers to those questions.
Meredith is vibrating beside you, a hum of shakey smiles and shaking hands. You murmur into her ear about every person that passes, that you pass, that you greet and hug and promise to call soon; and she nods. You're pretty proud of her-- you have to admit, you had your doubts earlier today, when Meredith's voice sounded small and distant over your cellphone.
She'd said, "hey, Lance."
You smiled and said, "Meredith, hey. Ready for your big night?"
She'd coughed a little, and then apologized, and you felt your stomach jump in irritation, because she said,
"--actually, yeah. Hey. I was thinking about that, and."
You laughed lightly. "you're not nervous, are you?"
"I'm not. listen-- I just don't know if it's a good idea right now, y'know? because. I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if it's a good--"
"It's a good idea, sweetie, trust me. I know how you feel, but--"
"Lance," and she sounded panicked, holding her hand to her face, "I can't."
"You can."
"I can't, Lance! I had this dream, and god, lance . . "
You made a soft, soothing sound into the phone. "That was just a dream, I have them all the time. You're just nervous, but, listen, you're gonna be--"
"I was in front of all those people, that, like, I know, and,"
"Meredith--"
"and it was so awful, Lance, I can't do it."
"Sweetheart, you're gonna be fine--"
"I'm just, I don't know if I should, I feel like--"
"You should, trust me."
"I do trust you, but,"
"Then listen when I say you're--"
"I can't--"
"You don't have much of a fucking choice, do you?"
There was a breath of silence, and then her voice sounded smaller than it had, despite the distance. she said, "what?"
"We've got a few thousand behind you right now, and you've got the dress and you're gonna be ready by five-thirty. We'll pick you up in the lobby."
"lance . . "
"Just shut up and do it."
And then you hung up, but when you met her at the hotel, she was beautiful, smiling bravely, just like she is now, and you took her arm and she hasn't let go of it. You know she's going to be a star. You tell her so. She smiles up at you.
You hear your name behind you and you turn, and it's press. There's a camera. You give Meredith's arm a little squeeze and her smile swells. You figure the woman with the microphone wants to talk about the movie you're filming with Joey right now in Toronto, but then you see that she's got a little girl by the hand, half-hiding behind her leg. The woman explains-- gestures to the girl, to another woman, the mother-- she explains that the little girl has an imaginary friend she calls Lance. The mother laughs, says that she even has to set a place for 'Lance' at the dinner table every night. While you're smiling and offering to sign something, Chris creeps up behind the little girl and tickles her. He stands and catches your eye and says,
"Lance is my imaginary friend, too."
Everyone laughs, and you laugh, and you and Chris both sign the girl's shirt. Fran Drescher sidles up beside you and says, "how adorable!" and you grin and say, yes, while Chris tickles the girl again. Meredith's giggle is tinny and hollow and her hand skirts nervously over your arm. Across the room, you catch JC's voice through the static of voices; it's obnoxiously loud with vodka, but you can't make out the angry, slurred words. You're not sure what you're feeling, but you're sure it's not showing on your face, and that's what's important.