Playing It By Heart: A J.C. Fanfiction Saga

Chapter Nine: Drawing Lines

The day had been otherwise perfect. They'd packed a picnic lunch for Central Park, then roamed SoHo. She had felt especially sunny that day in a sleeveless white linen dress instead of her usual tank and shorts, and she'd admired how he'd looked in a polo and chinos. He'd noticed her as well, and paid her a sincere if melancholy-tinged compliment.

Lots of pictures, lots of talks, lots of laughing. But laughter didn't give Emma the full release it usually did. To her, the day was one big wind-down. To the end. Just make it to the home stretch, she thought as she tried not to look directly into those piercing blue eyes. Then he'll be gone, and the distance will be therapeutic.

With the sun still out, he held the door open for her as they entered the Italian restaurant for dinner. A 13-year-old girl sitting at a table with her parents stood up suddenly and ran toward him. "J.C.!" she screamed. "Will you sign my hand for me? I love you!"

He obliged kindly, choosing to sign a napkin instead. But the girl continued to badger him, asking for his phone number, where Justin was, and if she could get backstage at a concert. He politely declined and made quick exit with Emma. The second place was less successful; a squad of high-school cheerleaders happened to be dining there, and again he was noticed.

"I'm sorry," J.C. apologized as they left their third attempt at dinner. "You know, I can't figure out why they're suddenly appearing."

"Well, you have been here for three weeks," Emma replied. "Likely it's all over the Internet why you're still here, why you're not with the others ..."

"No, we covered that with PR. Didn't tell anyone I was still here. I'm supposedly in Florida, just with a big migraine."

"Ahhh, life in the public," Emma sighed wearily. "Something I'm glad I'm not in."

J.C. glanced at her sideways and said nothing.

Emma suddenly had an idea. "Stay here," she instructed. "And try to look inconspicuous. I feel like I'm harboring a fugitive." She walked alone back into the last restaurant and returned with a takeout menu.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she said simply.

"Where are we eating?"

"They're delivering it to my place. I know we said we'd stay out all day, but the teenage bugs are crawling out of the woodwork. Is that OK? We can eat on the rooftop and you can see the sunset, so it'll have some atmosphere, not my little hole in the wall where you've been stuck the last seven days."

"Sounds good," J.C. said, grinning. "And I haven't minded being at your place at all."

Emma stopped at the supermarket and bought ice cream for dessert, plus some candles and candle holders, in a burst of inspiration.

"What, you don't keep any handy at your place?" J.C. teased.

"We don't get many candlelight dinners," Emma cracked.

* * * * * * * * * * *

J.C. took another spoonful out of his bowl of mint-chocolate chip and leaned his head back against his lounge chair. He propped his feet up on the roof's balcony rail and thought about Emma's comment about public life. Lying on his couch-bed after he'd kissed her, J.C. found nerves in a jumble. And as they roamed New York on his last day in town, he'd become even more unsure about his resolution. But Emma's gratefulness for privacy brought back his sensibilities. He'd been right in his decision, he affirmed. It was one long Ping-Pong game that was his love life. But tomorrow, he thought, you'll be back in the swing of things, and soon it'll become clear that this was the best way.

As much as he appreciated time off, J.C. yearned for the stage lights, the adrenaline rush and the shrill voices that shrieked his name. The kick he got when dance moves were executed perfectly. It was in his bones. It was his life. There was no room, at least for now, for anything else.