It was the last thing Jackson ever expected to happen to him. He certainly never planned for it or considered it eventuating. Indeed, if the thought had occurred to him, he probably would have taken particular care that it had never transpired at all. It was something that could only serve to complicate his life, and possibly distract him from his goal. But despite this, Claire Barnett happened to him just the same.

Claire was a pretty, doe eyed girl who frequented Jaselle's with her clique of friends. Claire noticed Jackson long before he ever spotted her. He had only started working behind the bar at the nightclub a couple of nights previous and so he was still a little awkward, slow, and nervous, but Claire had thought him extremely attractive.

She had been drawn to his lean body and beautiful, brooding face, and his eyes; so bright and alluring; the mysterious way he sometimes smiled, as if he knew a funny, but tragic, story.

After seeing him, Claire made an effort, whenever possible, to get Jackson to serve her at the bar. She would smile at him when she asked for her drink and stare helplessly into his eyes, watching him as he went about preparing the drink, following every movement he made, silently vowing to remember it forever.

These casual encounters continued for over a month, with Claire growing more infatuated with him - although she often wondering if he was gay, as she knew the rest of the bar staff were; afterall, her best friend, Paul, had slept with all of them at some stage.

On one of the nights she spent with her group of friends at Jaselle's, a group comprised mainly of gay youths and a couple of straight girls; Claire approached the one person that she felt might be able to help her, Paul -her best friend since high school.

Paul was tall, with white blonde hair crafted into a sharp crew cut. His face was fresh and friendly, with large blue eyes and a wide, toothy smile.

Claire looked on him as her other brother -she had a younger brother, Luke, but in most respects, she felt closer to Paul. She was the first person he'd come out to, back in school when they'd been about fourteen years old, and together they had weathered the agony of his progression from an unsure, frightened youth, to a fully charged, raving homosexual.

"Pauly, I need you to do me a favour," she said, sipping thoughtfully at her gin and tonic.

"Oh God, what is it this time?" Paul cried, melodramatically, tossing his head back and rolling his eyes. "I've been telling you, girlie, you're going to have to learn to do your own eye make up one of these days…"

"Oh ha-ha!" Claire cried dryly, shouting to be heard over the deafening house music. "Can you have a word to Robbie at the bar, see what you can find out about the cute new guy?" she asked.

Paul gave a wide, teasing smile, tossing his head back again and laughing wildly. "Ah, I see!" He screeched. 'The girl's in lurve!"

Claire pulled a face at him.

"O.K., O.K., far be it from little ol' moi to come between true love!” he exclaimed. "Besides, I'm feeling kind of horny, and Robbie looks so fucking hot in that tight, midriff T-shirt and those cute cut off shorts”. He smacked his lips together as if he were about to descend upon a welcomed feast, and strutted over to the bar, leaning over to tweak the irresistibly poised buttock of the barman, Robbie, who was bending over and extracting a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge compartments.

Claire smiled and stood in her place, watching the former lovers grin at each other, then fall into a confidential looking exchange. After a few minutes, they exchanged a quick kiss on the lips, and Paul bounced over to her, grinning like a love struck fool.

"Well here it goes, honey," he told her, "the low down on your spunky little Mr. Jackson Crane.”

As they slipped off to be alone in a comer of the bar, Paul revealed all he knew; that little was known about him. He said that Jackson kept mainly to himself. He was friendly enough, but didn't let on too much about what he was thinking or where he was from. He did know, however, that Jackson had been held on remand in Pentoville Prison. That was where he had met Raquel who Claire knew was one of the drag queens at Jaselle's.

The two of them were firm friends, Robbie had told Paul And when Paul had cocked a quizzical eye brow at this remark, insinuating that it sounded like a curious 'friendship', Robbie had shook his head, informing him that, much to the frustration of a lot of guys, drags and the like, Jackson Crane was straight.

Claire had never doubted it ...well, not that often.

Paul went on with his story. Apparently Raquel had asked Jackson to come and live with him, once he was released from jail, which was precisely what he had done. Robbie had said that he had the impression Jackson was from somewhere in the country without any family to speak of, and so Raquel had sort of adopted him, much like a younger brother.

Claire was satisfied. She stole a glance up to the other end of the bar where Jackson was busy serving customers, unaware of her stare. Paul followed her line of vision.

"He sure is cute," Paul said.

"He sure is," she agreed.

"Feel like some competition?" he asked mischievously.

She punched him playfully in the arm. "Don't even think about it, little sister!" She cried. "Besides, I have something to offer him you don't!"

Paul grinned and cocked his eyebrow at her challengingly: "Don't be so sure."

Claire laughed and playfully smacked him again. "Oh you can be so crass!" she cried, and once more looked over at Jackson. There was something about Jackson Crane ...there was a feeling that she had seen him, like this, some time before - déjà vu perhaps...?

A week passed since Paul had passed onto Claire what information he'd been able to obtain on Jackson.

Claire, Paul and a few of their friends were once more at Jaselle's. Claire was sitting at one of the tables with some of her female friends, the boys were out on the dance floor, throwing themselves into the wild, frantic music. Dozens of young men passed their table without even a sideways glance, completely ignoring them.

It was one of the things Claire liked about going to gay clubs - the sense of freedom and safety and the ability to just go out and have a night of dancing, drinking and being mad, without having to concern yourself with slobbering, drunken heterosexual guys out for a quick pick-up.

Claire's eyes continually strayed over to Jackson as he darted busily behind the bar. He fascinated her. His sense of mystery intrigued her endlessly.

Paul, dressed in tight, cut off denim shorts and a body hugging white, mesh singlet, was making to join Claire. He took a seat beside her, staring intently into her eyes, then glancing over at the bar, following Claire’s line of vision which settled on Jackson.

Paul sighed in a dramatic fashion "Haven't made any progress with that one, have you?" he remarked.

Claire shrugged. "It’s a work in progress," Claire said.

“Oh for the love of Chanel, Madonna and Kylie Minogue! Claire, you haven't even spoken to him, have you, except for 'thank you' and 'can I have a gin and tonic, please?’” Paul's tone was playful mocking.

“Like I said: it’s a work in progress,” Claire responded.

“Oh puh-lease! A work in progress? Honey, at the rate you’re going, you’re girly bits are going to dry up and close over before we see any real progress,” Paul exclaimed. “Enough of this crap! I need a drink!” Paul cried, and got up in disgust and headed over to the bar to get a drink.

She just happened to look over at the bar and saw that Paul was in fact leaning over the bar top and talking to Jackson. Horror seized her when both young men looked in her direction and Paul actually smiled and pointed her out to Jackson.

"I'll kill him!" Claire whispered to herself.

Paul straightened up at the bar, seeing that she was watching him. He actually had the audacity to wave her over.

“Oh God, this is worse than death,” she muttered under her breath.

Paul was still waving frantically at her, motioning for her to go over and join him and Jackson. For his part, Jackson was standing there looking somewhat awkwardly bemused and embarrassed.

Claire had no choice. She would have to pull the semi-automatic gun out of her handbag and shoot everyone in the building… or at least herself. Then she realised that she didn't own a gun.

“Shit!" she muttered under her breath and rose to her feet, walking stiffly up to the bar. Half way there, she tried to put on her bravest smile.

"Claire, I'd like you to meet a new friend of mine ...Jackson, this is Claire Barnett -Claire, this is Jackson Crane."

Claire met Paul's eyes for a moment and they were filled with threats to do unspeakable things to his body, the moment that they were alone. For his part, Paul just offered his cheesiest smile in return which seemed to say: ’Bring it on, babe!’

She looked at Jackson and smiled sweetly. "Hi."

"Nice to meet you," Jackson responded, equally shy.

"Well, it not exactly Shakespeare, but it's a start," Paul remarked flippantly, before adding; "Jackson’s an Aquarian who likes sky-diving, small furry animals and getting caught in the rain… Claire is a Gemini who enjoys long strolls on the beach, Pina Coladas and one day wants to bring about World Peace. So… with all that shit out of the way, you crazy kids have some fun now, ok?” Paul said with a wink before he walked off.

Jackson studied Claire's face and shifted awkwardly where he stood. He didn't know what to say next.

"Would you like a gin and tonic?" he asked her, finally.

She looked up at him, surprised. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "Don't know… just remembered."

"Um, well, cool, that would be great, thanks," she said, flashing him a smile.

Jackson nodded, moved off and made the drink. He grabbed a Crown Lager for himself, and then slipped out from behind the bar to stand beside her, handing her the drink.

"Thank you," she said.

"A pleasure," he replied.

"This is really embarrassing, isn’t it?" Claire began.

Jackson smiled. "Um, yeah… kind of,” he agreed with a slight grin. “You're friend Paul is pretty wild...”

"Yeah. I expect that's how he'll be remembered on his headstone. Remind me to put in an order for it tomorrow morning, would you?"

He laughed.

"Let's find somewhere to sit," Claire suggested, smiling.

"Sure," he replied. They found a reasonably secluded area with a free table, and sat down.

"God, I must look like a total loser, or something - getting gay guys to pick up men for me. I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head.

He wanted to ease her obvious discomfort, so he quickly said: "Hey, it's all right… it’s pretty funny really.... And it’s nice thing for a friend to do for another friend. Well... sort of nice. His intentions were good, so you must be pretty special for Paul to do something like that for you."

"No, not really. Paul's just an idiot," Claire retorted with dry certainty, and they both laughed.

He liked her laugh. It was a real, innocent giggle, making her brown eyes shine and her dimples glow. She was a beautiful girl. He suddenly found himself thinking that his mother would have liked her. But he hastily pushed that painful thought aside.

They had a few more drinks together, talking a great deal in the meantime, and gradually succumbing to the influence of the alcohol they were consuming. In that time, he came to learn a lot about Claire Barnett.

He discovered that she was seventeen years old (an alarming revelation, for that made her a minor, meaning she shouldn’t have been allowed in the venue muchless be served alcohol), and attended girls' school in the Malvern where she was in her final year. Claire was the eldest of two children. Her brother, Luke, was two years her junior.

Her father, Les Barnett, was a plumber, and earned a comfortable living, although he was currently off work due to problems from an old spinal injury that he'd incurred in a car accident when he'd been younger. While Les was away from the business, his partner was running things. Luke was serving an apprenticeship with the plumbing business. Alison Barnett, Claire's mother, was a senior nurse at one of the city's leading hospitals. Claire cheerfully described her family as one that had hardly ever known problems, and one that thrived on open affection.

Jackson could feel himself growing fonder of her with each passing minute. He fell into a kind of dreamy silence, drinking her in; her eyes, her laugh and smile, her voice. And then, in mid-sentence, Claire fell quiet and laughed suddenly at the far away look in Jackson's eyes.

"Am I boring you?” She asked. "You look like you're miles away...”

"No, not at all..." he said hastily.

"I know I've been talking heaps about myself. I'm sorry," she said apologetically.

"I was listening,” he assured her. “Honest - I wasn't bored," Jackson gushed. "So… what happens once you finish high school?” he asked her.

"I want to be a social worker, so I'll have to go to Uni. for a few years, get a degree, y’know?” she paused and he nodded. “It’ll be tough – lost of studying… have to give up the whole club scene for awhile… or at least ease back a little,” she said and grinned. but I'll get there," she said determinedly. ”I really want to help these people, y’know? People who are doing it hard… Oh, God,” she muttered to herself, looking into Jackson’s eyes, seeing finding a faraway look in them."I'm doing it again, aren't I?" And she giggled. "Going on and on about myself and what I think, and just leaving you sitting there..." She shook her head in dismay.

"I like listening," Jackson replied sincerely. "And I like hearing what you have to say.”

Claire's self-esteem soared. But she told herself that she still knew virtually nothing about him; she knew his name and the fact that he'd been in prison, on remand for reasons as yet unknown. Naturally, she wanted to ask him about this, but decided that it wasn't yet the right time. If he wanted to tell her about it, he would.

"No, I've said more than my fair share for one night. Now it's your turn," she said firmly.

"There's really nothing to tell you," he said, casting off her query with an unconvincing shrug of his shoulders.

Claire cocked her head, smiling at him cheekily, and said that she didn't believe him. "Well, let’s start with the obvious, easy stuff, like where you’re from? What do your parents do?"

A chilling mist solidified around Jackson like a block of ice. Claire almost felt the temperature in the nightclub plummet twenty degrees. She saw raw pain flood his eyes, and vanish, as he tried to drown it. Something she'd said – about his parents? - had affected him deeply.

"I - I," he struggled to say something, found that he couldn't, as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, trying to silence him. But he wrestled for control. "I come from a small country town ...Helton. No-one of any importance ever came out of it, and nothing's ever happened there," he said rather bleakly and with considerable bitterness. "My parents," he went on, his throat constricting as old memories and fresh pain mixed to engulf him. "My parents...”

Claire saw that he was battling with some private agony, and so she reached out to him, placing her hand on his, gripping him reassuringly. He looked up into her calm, serene face.

"Don't, Jackson. Not if you're not ready to talk about it. But when you are, then I'll be here for you, ok?" she offered.

He accepted her words with a simple nod. But inwardly, he was chastising himself for almost telling her the truth; revealing to her his past. He had really wanted to tell her, so that she would know who he was, because he wanted to know her. But that was something he had to be careful of.

Again, he reminded himself that he had other plans to think of and he couldn't let Claire be apart of them, or she may become an unintended victim. He had to keep her away from that secret part of himself. His mind was burning, tortured by confusion: did he hold onto the past and let Claire go, or did he take hold of the future, of this moment with Claire and just let the past be forgotten?

He smiled at her. “Hey… would you like another drink?” he asked her. She smiled and nodded.