JC-Chris #8 - alternate fame au

JC'd had a beer, until a look from one of the guys he'd worked with on the last shoot -- pointed, and right at the sliver of exposed skin at JC's stomach -- made him trade it in for a vodka-and-diet-coke.

He was half-listening, half-not, to a group of three women. The dreaded Model Actresses. He could not be more bored, but he was too exhausted for the alternative: to actually try and talk to someone with the intent of taking them home.

At least there were other conversations going on around him that he could eavesdrop on, to give his boredom a little variety. A couple guys talking about the skeevy photographer they'd worked with earlier that day -- a man JC knew all too well and refused to work with anymore, a girl he knew in passing muttering something about her boyfriend's annoying habits, an older man, former model, past his prime, telling stories of his glory days to try to impress the twink he was buying drinks for.

Nothing was really catching his attention until he heard a loud voice from behind him, "They water down the diet coke, you know. I saw the sneaky bastards, behind the bar. It's bad enough that it's diet, but to water it down? I pity the fool that has to drink the stuff." JC turned his head but whoever it was wasn't talking to him. JC wasn't sure who he was talking to, but he was facing away.

JC smiled a little, to himself, to avoid any sort of questioning from the M.A.'s. He was pretty certain it was true, even if it had been delivered in a way that made it sort of sound like a line.

He sipped at the drink in question again, and grimaced, and then made his excuses to the girls. 150 calories in a can of regular soda, divided by two? He could handle that to have a decent-tasting drink, and Clay or Chester or whoever from that last shoot could stare at his gut all he liked.

"I'll have another one of these," JC heard the same voice say as he was pressed up against the bar. When he looked, then man was holding up his beer bottle to the bartender, who collected the empty and got him another. "I'm not stalking you, I swear," he said as he took the bottle, and it took JC a second to realize that he wasn't talking to the bartender anymore. "Though it's good to be witness to the fact that your taste has markedly improved in the last few minutes."

"So you were, um," started JC, before his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized that just because the guy had noticed his drink, didn't mean the earlier comment was directed at him, at all. Considering the smirk on his face, even, probably not.

He found himself sort of fixated on it, the smirk, before he let his eyes take in the rest of the body in the clinical, detached way he couldn't force himself not to do anymore after three years of modelling.

And his first impression was: short. And then, short some more; and then ... happy. The guy hadabout the most friendly eyes JC had ever seen, even more remarkable given the crowd they were in.

I was... what?" he asked, taking a huge sip of his beer, but not being crude about it even though he was one of the only people there actually drinking out of the bottle. "Thirsty? Yes. Bored? Yes. Appalled by diet drinks? Yes. Hoping you would notice me if I made enough of a spectacle of myself? Yes to that one, too." He took another sip, smaller, and his eyes glinted merrily as he watched JC for his response.

"I didn't know you were talking to me, before," JC said casually, offering the guy a smile. "Although I have to say that surely, if you're at this party, you know that was in no way making a spectacle of yourself. Or is that still coming up?"

"Well, there's being a spectacle to the whole room," he said, his finger running around the edge of the beer bottle. Like he was trying to make it sing, like wine glass. "And there's being a spectacle to one person. Though, believe me, I had a few more tricks up my sleeve if this didn't work. And you wouldn't have wanted to see the one that involved the bikini top, believe me, so it's good you caught on now. Hi. I'm Chris."

"JC." He held out his hand. "And look, nobody with chest hair needs to be wearing a bikini top, ever, so I guess it is a good thing."

The guy, Chris, had warm hands. Small, but warm, and he had a good handshake, which JC tended to put a lot of faith into.

"But why the technique of making me all self-conscious about what I was drinking?" he asked, even though he wasn't. Self-conscious.

"Cause it made you smile," said Chris, and grinned at him. "And it was actually true. And you certainly didn't look like you were enjoying it much, so no harm done. Soooooo... what's a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this? Oh wait, sorry, wrong line. This is exactly where a pretty boy like you ought to be. Gimma a second here. Uh." He counted on his fingers, like he was going through his directory of lines, then looked up again after a moment. "How about: What's your sign? Am I dating myself with that one?"

Chris couldn't have been more than a year older than JC, if that; so he felt comfortable scoffing at the idea. "I always wondered," he mused, "what that meant. Like, asking somebody their sign. I mean, you always think of strange gigolo types using it on unsuspecting women? but are the gigolos going to know anything about astrological love matches to make it even make sense?" He took a breath, and then blushed a little. Okay, now he was self-conscious. "Or, maybe, I shouldn't be reading so deeply into that, huh."

Chris looked amused, like JC had been expecting, but not in a bad way. Not in a condescending way. "Nah, it was just to impress hippie chicks with how far out they were," he said, leaning his hip against the bar and looking at JC intently now. "Since you're not a hippie chick, I should have known it wouldn't work. Or--" he took another sip of his beer, "--did it?"

JC couldn't tell you, to be honest. He was amused; that much he was sure of. But as much as Chris was being honest about trying to hit on JC, he didn't seem to ... be taking it too seriously. Which JC could readily admit was a weird feeling for him.

"Did it work, to date you, you mean?" he clarified teasingly.

Chris lifted his eyebrows, like he hadn't expected JC to say it flat out like that. He drained the rest of his beer before answering, setting the empty on a clear spot on the bar, where it was swiftly collected.

"Yeah," he said after a moment, and his eyes were so expressive that JC was actually able to read his nervousness in them, even though they still looked so friendly. Happy. "That's what I meant. Have my suave demeanor and endless --- believe me, it's endless -- supply of pick-up lines convinced you that you might like to see what I'm like one on one?"

"Oh ... no ... I meant, 'date you,' like ... make you sound old? Like you said before?" Now JC was nervous and not, he felt, doing much to disabuse Chris of the dumb model stereotype. "God, I'm sorry, I sound like such an idiot." He covered his face by taking another huge swallow of his drink.

"Well, I'm hoping it didn't work to date me that way," said Chris, "since that's probably the kind of thing my parents went through to meet each other. And I'm old, but I'm not that old. Now." Suddenly he was touching him, curling his fingers around JC's wrist and pulling his arm down again. "Can I get you another drink? While I try to figure out if that was a polite rejection or not?"

JC started to pull his arm away, habit, except that he realized he didn't mind so much. Again, even though this guy obviously belonged at the party, he seemed ... not ignorant, but maybe a little cavalier about the rules? JC'd seen a lot of drama come from unsolicited touching even more casual than that.

But with Chris -- yeah, JC didn't mind. "This is my second," he started to explain, with what he hoped was an apologetic smile. "So no more for me. But I can save you some time on the rest, if you want? It wasn't a rejection."

Chris seemed to at least understand that it wasn't an automatic acceptance either, but he smiled broadly and nodded his head. And he did let go of JC's arm.

"So, JC," he said, taking another slow sip of his beer. "Are you a model, or are you an actor? Because it totally isn't just another line when I say you look like you were born to be in front of a camera."

"It totally isn't, Chris?" JC teased, shifting his weight so his knee brushed up against Chris's leg. "How do you know I'm a model, anyway? I could be one of those ... I dunno, publicists, or agents. Or something."

"I would know, if you were a publicist or an agent," said Chris with a strange, little smile. "I don't think you want an honest answer to that question anyway, so let's just leave it at 'I know' and let you think I'm some kind of powerful psychic or something. The Great and Amazing Chris, at your service." And he even gave a little bow.

JC laughed again, easily, and reached out his own hand this time to push Chris's arm playfully. Now he was amused and intrigued, really, and for JC that was a pretty sure-fire combination for something to happen.

"An amazing and powerful psychic, and you still don't know if I'd say yes when you ask me out?"

"The future is very cloudy sometimes," Chris said with mock solemnity, then pressed his fingers to his temple and looked deep in concentration. "I see us going to a nice restaurant," he went on. "I see you ordering a garden salad with dressing on the side, and coyly refusing bites of my fettucini alfredo when I offer them to you. I see us going to a club afterward and everyone is looking at you, trying to get you, but you're a gentleman and you never forget that you're there with me. And after that... ohhhhh, it gets cloudy again. Too bad. Am I close , you think?"

JC cracked up, again -- he had to give this guy credit; it may have just been his schtick, but it was still oddly flattering. "Eerily close," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "Although you may have just managed to guilt me into trying the pasta after all." "That's fabulous," said Chris, snapping right out of it and all but clapping his hands together. "The place I'm taking you makes fantastic pasta, has to be tasted to be believed. It would be a shame if you missed out on that. And plus, it's always good manners to try the specialty of the house. Or something. Or maybe that's just something my mother taught me so we could get in and out of restaurants faster. Either way, it's served me well."

"You're funny," JC heard himself say, without any real preamble, and without any real intent, so he tried to cover it immediately by turning slightly toward the bar again. "So, but um, the place you're taking me, to dinner? does that mean I'm taking you to the club, after?"

"I think that would definitely be the best way to go about this," said Chris. He'd finished the last of his beer and abandoned the bottle, without getting another this time. "Someone like you, you could get us into any club you liked. I'd have to namedrop like a madman and that's usually much less impressive. And after treating you to one of the most magnificent meals you're going to have this... week... I'd hate to blow it by looking lame in front of the club."

JC cocked his head and glanced back over his shoulder at Chris. "I think maybe you've got a ... an inflated idea of my, um, power, but okay," he said agreeably. And because he wasn't completely slow, he added: "this week, huh? Friday, then? On one condition."

"There's power in beauty, my friend," said Chris, and he sounded absolutely serious about that. "So what's your condition? We aren't back to that bikini thing again, are we? Because I think we already established that me wearing it would make animals flee and small children cry."

"No, no," JC demurred. "No." Although he was already trying to figure out if Chris would be impressed, at all, to get into a good club. Would he know the good clubs. "First, though, this club? do you actually want to dance with me there? And the condition. You have to tell me how you knew who I was, first. Before I agree to go out with you."

"I'd dance some," Chris promised. "Maybe not as much as you, I got this bum knee and all, but some. And when I wasn't dancing, you'd better believe I'd be watching. As for your condition, though, you never did actually admit to being either a model or an actor, so I wasn't sure until now that I was even right." He'd known he was right, though, JC was sure of it.

"I'm a gentleman," JC reminded him, smiling again. "Remember? I'm only dancing as long as you are." He stepped a little closer, took Chris's beer from his hand and swallowed a bit himself. "Come on. Be honest with me, hmm?"

Chris stared him down for a minute, then nodded his head. "Well, first thing's the clothes," he said. "They're well-chosen, they show off your arms well and give glimpses of skin other places too, enough to get people's interest. Perfect bone structure, good hair. Of course, you could have all of that and still be a stockbroker. But you also knew all the right people to talk to, got some excellent photo ops. And the really telling thing is the way you hold yourself, you're always a little bit posed, showing yourself off to best effect. You know you're being watched." He gave JC a smile and held out his hand, like he was reintroducing himself. "Hi, my name is Chris and I'm a publicist."

"Oh." JC shook his hand, it was habit, but he was still surprised. Not that he had any idea what Chris did, but ... a publicist? He was funny. "Um, how long were you watching me, man?"

"Not too long, and purely out of pleasure," said Chris, letting go of his hand again. "I'm *not* working tonight, though, and nobody can make me. Not even my left brain, which insists on breaking down everything that I see into its component steps and analyzing them. Model, I take it? You've got great control of your body, but you can't hide what you're thinking to save your life. An actor, however bad, would at least take a stab at it."

"Well, thanks, I think," JC replied wryly. "No, yeah, I just model" -- just, like something he needed to apologize for? He was lucky and he knew it. "No acting. I'm not ... I mean, people see a lot of me, all of me, all the time, but I don't think I really have the personality for acting. I don't, like, crave attention like that."

"Well, that's a relief," said Chris, reaching out and touching JC again. Or not really touching him, but brushing his fingers along the hem of his shirt, just missing the sliver of exposed skin. "I work with too many actors for my own sanity. Love 'em but they're so high maintenance."

JC just smiled at that, because he knew his strengths, and not being high maintenence was NOT one of them. But Chris could figure that out on his own, if he was game.

JC moved a little closer, the best way he knew how to show Chris that the touching was okay at this point. "So, Friday?" he repeated.

"Friday," Chris agreed, his fingers brushing JC's skin this time. "I'll come pick you up, show you a good time. Show you what this man has to offer, other than his quick wit and dazzling physique. All you have to do is tell me where I can find you."

JC felt goosebumps along his stomach, and smiled again. Who knew where this would go, if anywhere -- he knew one thing, though, and that was that Chris seemed real in a way that a lot of people he'd dated recently weren't.

"Do you want directions now?" he asked. "Or should I just give you my number, we can talk again later in the week?"

Chris whipped out his cell phone to record the number before even answering. "I may not be working," he said, giving JC a grin, "but I feel naked without my electronic devices, and it's not polite to show up at a party naked. Or at least, not this kind of party. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Sure," JC replied. "Shall I?" He reached for Chris's phone, to program the number in.

Chris looked hesitant for a moment, then laughed at himself and handed the phone over. "There's a good way to convince you I'm not a psychotic workaholic, huh?" he said, but JC hadn't gotten that idea from him at all. Far from it. "Do you want mine, or...? Well, I can just call. Saves the whole dance of who's gonna call who first that wastes so much precious time."

"Please," JC murmured, typing in his number carefully. "I mean, please call. And I'll ... I'll think of a good place for us to go dance. Even if it's only 'a few times,' or whatever. Except I bet I can get you to enjoy yourself?"

"Oh, I don't think you'll have any trouble getting me to enjoy myself," Chris assured him as he took the phone back, checked out the number then pocketed it again. "I think that's tha last thing you need to be worrying about. Well... I should probably let you mingle some more, even though the devil on my shoulder is telling me to monopolize you for the rest of the night."

"It would be more entertaining," JC agreed, and smiled as he went on to apologize. "But I really do have to talk to someone, and then I have to get home. Work tomorrow. You know."

Chris nodded and he did look faintly disappointed, but he also obviously understood. "The work, she is neverending," he said. "I'm looking forward to talking to you again, though, JC. You've been the highlight of my night, and I hope you'll be the highlight of many, many more. And as dorky as that sounds, I mean it."

JC found himself honestly pleased by that. And found himself agreeing. "Thank you, Chris," he said, reaching out to touch Chris's shirt before running a hand through his own hair and backing up. "And, um. Til Friday, then."

"'Til Friday," Chris agreed, giving him a tiny wave as JC moved away from him. They kept watching one another until JC vanished into the crowd again, and even after that JC found himself looking over his shoulder, just in case he could see Chris there. He didn't worry that he didn't though -- unlike a lot of times when he exchanged numbers with someone, he had no doubt whatsoever that Chris was going to call.

* * *

JC wasn't exactly patient as he waited for Joey to pick up -- no, to *find*, probably, then to pick up -- his cell phone. He wanted to *talk* about this and the least his friend could do was be readily accessible to listen. This was important, maybe.

Finally, after what felt like a hundred rings and no voicemail, he heard, "Fatone speaking. If you want something done fast, talk to someone else."

"And now I see why you're such a hit with the ladies," JC teased, hopping up onto the counter in the little dressing room he was holed up in. "You busy?"

"No, I only have ten million other things to do," said Joey. "Not busy at all. What's up, C? Isn't it a little early for you to be calling? Well, not *early* early, but early for you, man. Whatever happened to supermodels not rolling out of bed until noon?"

JC rolled his eyes. "Joey, when have you ever known me to sleep past 8? If I'm not working then I'm at the gym, and if I'm not at the gym then I'm ... " He stopped himself, and took a breath. "Okay, I need dating advice, man."

"It's called *teasing*, C, and... dating advice? For serious?" Joey sounded very pleased. "Well, we all know I'm the expert on *that* subject, after all. Go ahead, tell Uncle Joey all about it."

"Well, you're the expert on something, " JC muttered. "No, just. I don't know, I met this guy, and. He's not my normal type, let's say."

"You're gonna have to give me a little more than that," said Joey. "Not your normal type how? Met where? Do you like this guy? Did you already ask him out or something? Talk to me, C."

JC took another deep breath. "Okay. Met at that Vogue party thing the other night, the one I had to go to? And of course I was bored, and then he sort of hit on me, except not the usual way, you know? He was really funny. And I gave him my number and we have plans for this weekend, but it still, it feels weird. He's a publicist, Joe."

Joey laughed, then seemed to realize that was *not* the right response and stopped abruptly. "Okay, C, okay. That's just.... you looking for a sugardaddy or something? Publicist, really? But I guess you must really like the guy, though. You're pretty good at saying 'no' if you're not interested."

"No, I know, I usually am," JC agreed slowly. "This guy, Chris, he didn't really give me a chance to, though." Which wasn't strictly true; he'd given JC more than enough opportunities to back out of it. And again, when they'd talked on the phone the night before. "So, is this stupid? am I rebounding, or some shit? I mean, look how you reacted. A publicist, that's so not me."

"Well, to be fair, I haven't met the guy," said Joey. "He could be the greatest thing since take-out. If you like the guy, it's probably not stupid, C. If you were just rebounding, you'd find someone as pretty as you and have him in the sack already. You know? You'd go for something easier. If you have to wonder if you're rebounding, you're probably not."

"Yeah," JC murmured. "I guess. He's not ... I mean, he's totally good-looking, don't get me wrong. It's just that. No one would mistake him for a model, you know? And do I get the award for most shallow asshole of the year now, or can I pick it up next week?"

"Given the crowd you hang with, you're not even in the running for that award," snorted Joey. "I've met the people you work with, C, remember. And god, look where *I* am. I know shallow. So hey, you did say yes to this guy, and you're going out with him this weekend, and you say you like him, and... what's the problem here? Honestly, I think it's pretty great, that you're going out with someone who's not in that scene."

"Right, but, he is," JC protested. "I mean, we didn't go into details, but it sort of seems like he knows his way around the scene better than I do. What if ... I don't know. What if maybe that's why he asked me out? Like, he's looking for clients?"

Joey hummed a little, and seemed to be considering the possibility. "I wasn't there," he said finally. "And you know I'm not real good about knowing people's motivations sometimes. But I don't think most publicists have to work that way. I think probably he just likes you, C. I mean, what's not to like, right?"

"Eh," JC said, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead and clumping back against the mirror. "Whatever, you know? Meeting at a party, I don't know what I expect. It's not like being introduced to someone, or having mutual friends, or ... I don't know, meeting through work. Chances are it'll just be one date, so I should just relax."

"You should relax anyway," insisted Joey. "You've got everything going for you, JC, you've got nothing to worry about. Just go out on this date and let this publicist guy do some wooing and just see where it goes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that." JC often thought that was advice *Joey* should take more than him, but maybe he was right.

"So, I'm in charge of the club portion of the eveing," JC switched topics. "Any suggestions? On the scale of comfortable and cozy to pretentious and showy?"

"You're in charge of clubs?" laughed Joey. "Did you tell him you like to hang out in dives with your loser friends where the drinks are cheap and the dancefloor is packed? No, no, of course you didn't. He probably thinks you're taking him someplace where you have to be blowing the owner to get in. Seriously, C, do you want to impress him, or do you want to have fun?"

"I can get into those kinds of clubs without blowing anyone, I just choose not to," JC sniffed. "Look ... it's not that I want to impress him like that, necessarily, just that I think it's what he expects. He said something about, um, watching me. Not in a weirdo way, though."

"Well, then, do you want to give him what he expects, or do you want to give him you?" asked Joey. "But if I can say something--" And when couldn't he? "Your whole job is about, you know, giving people what they expect. And this guy, you say, is different, something you haven't had before. So be different for him, just be yourself. And if he doesn't like it, well, then you don't go out again. Right?"

Which was all very, very true. "Well, turns out you aren;t completely worthless for dating advice," JC mused. "So. The important question becomes: what do I wear? And no girl jokes from you, Mr. 'Does My Ass Look Fat in These Jeans,' okay?"

"Something sleeveless," said Joey promptly. "Because, C, your *arms*. Oh, but... where are you going on this date anyway? Is it formal? And my ass *did* look fat in those jeans only you were too chickenshit to tell me."

JC snorted. "Mmm, actually, I think the place for dinner is supposed to be nice. Nice-ish? Maybe I'll wear a sleeveless shirt under a jacket or something for dinner. Yes. I think that'll do." He could barely remember what he'd been wearing when he met Chris, although he was pretty sure it was long sleeves. Joey was smart sometimes.

"You'll look great, no matter what," said Joey, and he really meant it, JC knew he did. "You look fantastic in everything from a tux to a Speedo. This guy -- what's his name? -- is really lucky, C. I hope he appreciates what he's found in you."

JC chuckled. "Well, Chris is just lucky you keep turning me down," he teased, even though it was more than a little true. "He's really funny, Joe. And smart, it seems. I'm ... excited. Just nervous."

"You really *do* like him!" said Joey eagerly. "This is great, JC, really great. I get to meet him, of course. Not on the first date or anything, but when you've been together a couple of weeks I get to meet him and give him the Fatone seal of approval. Or not. It's *good* that you're excited. That's, like, a really good sign."

"Yeah?" JC asked. "Well. Maybe. I do like him." And he did. Chris had been funny in person, and even funnier on the phone, and JC just needed to give this a chance. He had his job and he had his friends but he also had this feeling that he was just going through the motions of what he felt his life was supposed to be.

"Good," said Joey confidently. "That's great. Now all you have to do is get out there and do this."

"Okay. I'll call you this weekend, then, man. And let you get back to pretending to work?" JC smiled at Joey's sputtering. "Oh, and being thankful that I didn't bust your balls about your weekend plans. Or lack thereof."

"Why do I even like you again?" muttered Joey. "Okay, I really do gotta go before someone busts a blood vessel here. Good luck, man, and if you *don't* call me I'm gonna hunt you down like the dog you are. Bye, C!"

JC laughed, and hung up, and glanced over at the pile of clothes that was his next outfit for the shoot. And reminded himself that this was something different.

* * *

After not a little discussion about who would pick up whom, they'd decided earlier in the week to just meet at the restaurant. And so JC left his apartment a little late on purpose, making it to the restaurant just a little late.

He paid the cabbie and slipped inside the door, straightening his jacket. He blinked at the interior of the place: small, intimate, low lighting. It was beautiful, and JC was surprised he'd never heard of it.

His first glimpse of Chris was as he looked worriedly down at his watch, the candle light from the center of the table reflecting off his face. Then Chris looked up at the doorway again and spotted JC in return, and the smile on his face was suddenly so bright. And JC knew he'd done the right thing, agreeing to this date.

"Hey," JC said quietly, walking over to the table and then not sure whether he should greet Chris with a handshake, or a kiss, or anything. He ended up with some strange hand-touching hybrid, and sat down and unbuttoned his coat. "I'm so sorry I'm a little late. And, um, this place is gorgeous."

"I told you it was," said Chris, even though he *hadn't*, really, he'd only raved about the food. JC had half been expecting to be overdressed for the occasion, the way Chris had avoided talking about the decor. "I'm just really glad to see you. Did you have any trouble finding it?"

"No, no, no, just a late start," JC demurred. "You look nice!" And Chris did: he was wearing a dark turtleneck sweater and his eyes looked absolutely *black* in the lighting.

"You look amazing," said Chris, immediately turning the conversation back to JC. But he was obviously pleased by the compliment. "I knew you would. I've been looking forward to this all week."

"Me too," JC replied honestly, figuring that he didn't have to share the part about talking to friends on the phone about what to wear. "So. Since we've both been thinking about it all week, I guess you have our food picked out already, right?"

"I believe," said Chris a little playfully, reaching out to just touch JC's hand again, "we already had that decided before we even made the date. Though I do hope you'll go for something more than the garden salad I pegged you for because the pasta? Really is to die for. You have no idea. It's even better than foreplay."

"Eh, foreplay's usually overrated," JC replied with a crooked grin. "Plus, the salads look good. And the food that's bad for you always tastes better on someone else's plate. And am I mixing metaphors?"

"Or, more importantly, does it matter?" said Chris. "I'll have you know, though, that coming from me, it's a huge compliment to say something is better than foreplay. So did you want to order a wine? Your choice. I didn't want to presume, before you got here."

"I'd love some wine," JC agreed. "Red, maybe? With your pasta." He glanced down at the menu. "So, um. Into foreplay, then, are you? Why?"

Chris blinked at him a couple times and JC realized he'd managed to startle him with the question, which hadn't really been his intention. "A red would be nice," Chris said first, nodding his head. "I... yes, I do enjoy foreplay . A lot. And I understand I've very good at it. I'd go into detail but... are you sure that's something you want me to do right here?"

JC actually considered it for a second, just to see what Chris would say, but thought better of it. It was early in the evening, after all, and it ran the risk of making things uncomfortable between them. In a good or a bad way.

"Maybe not," he admitted, and tried a smile again. "Probably not. We can save that for later?"

"Foreplay is something I would definitely be happy to share with you later," said Chris smoothly. "Not that I'm the bastion of appropriateness or anything. As my friends would be happy to share with you if I ever dared let you meet them. I'm very good at telling people what they should do in public, and very bad at following my own advice."

"Clever," JC murmured, sipping at the water they already had at the table. And it was an interesting segue into something JC had already wanted to talk to Chris about. "Speaking of," he started slowly, "how'd you get into that? Publicity, I mean. Not foreplay."

"I'm just really bossy." he said, and grinned cheekily. "I don't know, though... it's just kind of one of those things that happened. What's that they always say? Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans? I used to perform and stuff, small time, but my knees can't handle that anymore. I made a lot of friends in the business, though, that still wanted to make it big. And it turned out I had a really good eye for knowing how to get someone attention, and a pretty good turn of phrase when it came to spinning for the press. So what started as friendly advice for a few friends turned into... well, a career, apparently. It just kinda snuck up on me."

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