Nick
"Hey babe. I'm in Germany."
"Is that all you're in?"
Heather didn't sound relieved that I had made it to another continent alive. In fact, she didn't sound happy. At all.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't really my fault. How was I to know that TMZ had booked seats in just for the purpose of catching me doing something? It was a low move.
"Ohhhh," I said, drawing out the word. I had prepared an excuse. After hanging up with Bri, I realized he was right. The comforting thing wouldn't work. But I had a better alibi. It was friggin' genius. "You saw the thing on TMZ didn't you?"
"Didn't I," Heather twanged.
"I can explain," I said. I took a breath and launched into my well rehearsed story. "See, we had a lot of turbulence and the stewardess was heading towards my seat with a cart of drinks when the plane bumped. The stewardess tripped her whole tray of drinks and they went airborne. They landed on me and Lauren since we were both sitting on the aisle.
"You were both sitting on the aisle?" Heather repeated. I nodded even though I knew she couldn't see it. My gaze went to Lauren. She looked up with a smile, wiggling her fingers. I stifled a moan and tried to concentrate on keeping my lie going.
"Yeah. Lauren was sitting right behind me. We were covered in Sprite and apple juice and, well, it was just a mess. We both needed to change so Andrew came up with the idea of putting up one of those airplane blankets in the bathroom with a couple pairs of suitcuffs."
"Suitcuffs?" Heather's voice was losing the bitchy edge. I was winning. It made me even more excited to get to the end of my tale.
"Yeah! Suitcuffs! So, needless to say, we were both changing in our own little makeshift booths when the plane rocked again and my big Pooh ass hit the wall. Lauren must have been sitting on the sink doing whatever girls do cause she tipped backwards. The sheet disappeared and I tried to be a gentlemen and catch her, but well--"
"Nick, it looked like--"
I made a noise that I hoped strove towards sympathy and horror. "Babe, I know. I'm so sorry. Sometimes I forget that my friends aren't the smartest people in the world."
Heather giggled. Lauren kicked her shoe in my direction. I knelt down and picked up the little strappy sandal. The next one hit my head. I almost dropped the phone, but I caught it just in time.
"Are you at the hotel?" she asked.
I straightened up just in time to be assaulted with a pair of shorts. There was stripping going on and I wasn't sure how long I could maintain my attention.
"Yeah, I'm at the hotel," I rambled. I leaned against an ornate table propped against the wall and watched as the newly blonde object of my desire kept reducing apparel. "But, I'm not going to be doing anything but performing. Besides my solo concerts, starting Monday I'm getting feeds wired from California so that I can keep up with the choreography for the NKOTBSB tour."
"Really?" Heather sounded surprised. "Why are they making you do that? Brian just got back to Atlanta."
A little piece of lace landed directly on my lap. I was doomed.
"He's flying right back to be at rehearsals Monday morning. He and Leighanne had some couple thing they had to do and um--"
Flesh. Flesh was my weakness. I purposely leaned over and opened and shut my hotel door.
"What was that?" Heather asked.
"Radio dude. Hotel interview. I gotta go, but I'll call you soon." I made loud kissing noises even as Lauren came stalking over to me. My finger looped around the neck of my t-shirt and I yanked. God, clothing was uncomfortable.
"Okay, love you," I heard Heather say. I didn't respond. I hadn't said the 'l' word to her until six months ago, and it still wasn't coming easily. Instead, I hung up and decided to pray for forgiveness later.
"Good story," Lauren said. She pressed her palms into my thighs; her lips devoured mine.
One thing was for sure: that kiss was better than ten million pounds of German Chocolate.
Heather
It was ten o'clock at night and the light from my laptop was the only thing illuminating the room. The black print contrasted deeply with the bright white background of the open Word document. I bit my lip, twirling a piece of hair around and around my finger.
I was trying to place myself in my story. After all, publishers said it wasn't personal enough.
I needed to make it personal.
The first thing I did was tweak the description of the female character. I gave her a country twang and a love of plaid shirts. Instead of being born and raised in New York, 'Holly' was born and raised in northern Tennessee. She no longer spent her free time crunching numbers or going to the opera. No, she ate corndogs and went to baseball games - something that I realized as I typed that I missed like hell. Holly watched little kids with a hunger in her eye. She was a good girl, but not so good that she didn't enjoy making out in the middle of a thunder storm.
That was me in a nutshell. It was the easy part.
The more difficult part came in changing up her love interest. He was Bryce Jennison, playboy extraordinary, but an angel at heart. Holly and Bryce had a 'love at first sight' type of story. She made him a better man and he knew by the middle of the story that he couldn't live a day without her. The saccharine sweetness of the story would have given Cinderella cavaties.
And that was why, the more I read it, the more I realized it really was boring. I didn't have any conflict. I needed conflict. Life was full of conflict.
I knew that firsthand.
Thinking about the events of earlier in my day, my fingers hovered over the keyboard and I hesitated for just a moment before letting them fly. I wasn't usually an unconscious typer, but it was almost as if someone else had jumped into my body. Suddenly, Bryce wasn't so angelic; he was cheating on Holly with his secretary. A mutual friend who couldn't stand to see Holly duped was created to break the news.
And just like that, that's all I had. My fingers stopped. What I wrote sounded good; I just had to figure out where to go from there. In my story and in my personal life.
I wanted to believe Nick's explanation of that incriminating photo. It wasn't impossible that a stewardess spilled a cart full of drinks. And I knew Andrew well enough to know that he could have very well come up with that brillant 'dressing room' idea.
Still...there was something about that photograph that kept me coming back and it wasn't Lauren's chest on display. No, it was the look on Nick's face.
I knew that face. I hadn't seen it in a few months - honestly, there's nothing romantic about getting poked in the shoulder and hearing the words 'Let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel,' so I hadn't exactly been ready and willing. But it hadn't been that long ago: I still knew the one thing that prompted that spasmodic look on Nick Carter's face...
And it took a walk on the wild side to produce it.
Brian
I was putting forks on the table for dinner when the phone rang.
Some time during the night, Leighanne and I had made up. Don’t go thinking exciting things happened or anything – I haven’t gotten make up sex in months. Not since fighting became a regular Littrell Family Activity. You’ve heard of Prince Spaghetti Night and Family Game night? Well it wasn’t just a one night a week thing. Every night in the Littrell house had become a constant screaming match.
“Brian,” Leighanne called, her voice sounded stoic. “It’s for you.”
I dropped the last fork onto Baylee’s folded napkin and wiped my hands on my jeans. The forks were still hot from the dishwasher. I trotted into the kitchen and Leighanne jabbed the phone into my hand like she was Brutus striking down Caesar. I took it, blinking in surprise, as she made a face of disapproval and turned back to the stove.
“He-hello?” I stammered.
“Brian?”
“Hi kiddo,” I said. It was just Heather. I glared at Leighanne’s back. What the hell is your problem? I wondered, Am I not allowed to have friends now? I rolled my eyes when she couldn’t see, and turned the other direction, away from her.
Well, we’d almost made it through a night without a fight.
“Brian,” Heather’s voice was broken, I realized.
“What’s a matter, kid?” I asked.
“I saw TMZ,” she whispered.
I swallowed and leaned against the fridge door, resting my head against the freezer. Some magnets slipped down the length of the fridge and Leighanne groaned and snatched them up and slammed them onto the cold door – hard. She turned back, ferociously, to stir the spaghetti sauce she was making.
“Did you talk to Nick?” I asked carefully.
“He said they had drinks spilled on them and Andrew made a make shift dressing room,” Heather summarized.
“Ah,” I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. I wasn’t sure how to proceed.
I’m so glad Nick follows my advice, I thought bitterly.
“Doesn’t that sound like one of Nick’s bull shit stories to you, Bri?” Heather asked. “Do you think he was – you know - effing her?”
I couldn’t help but smile at Heather’s choice of wording. She was such a sweet girl. I could strangle Nick for hurting her. It was like when Kanye West got on stage and busted up Taylor’s night that time. I’d read an article that said Kanye might as well have stepped on a kitten as done what he did. I pictured Nick stomping on kittens. Many kittens, not just one, because Heather was that many times sweeter than even Taylor is. Don’t get me wrong, Taylor’s sweet as pie, but Heather was like pie with whip topping and ice cream on the side.
Leighanne suddenly shoved me aside, and pulled open the fridge, and shoved the pot of spaghetti into it, on the top shelf, glared at me, and slammed the fridge door. She grabbed her keys off the hook by the door. “BAYLEE?” she yelled.
“Hold on a sec kid,” I said, lowering the phone. “Leigh, where are you going?”
“Out.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and moved to the doorway. “BAYLEE THOMAS WYLEE LITTRELL COME DOWN HERE.”
“Brian?” I heard Heather’s voice echo from the ear piece of the phone.
“Leighanne, what the hell is the matter with you? Where are you going?”
“Like it matters to you where I’m going!” Leighanne snapped. She breezed into the dining room, headed for the stairs. “You probably wouldn’t even notice if you hadn’t seen me grab the damn keys.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I’m sorry, I thought we were having a family dinner tonight?”
“WE ARE!” I yelled, waving my arm at the table, “What the hell does that look like? A freaking circus?”
“BAYLEE!” she bellowed up the steps again.
“WHAT!” Baylee’s voice was agitated. We’d probably interrupted a Wii session.
“We’re going to McDonalds, c’mon sweetie.”
I rolled my eyes, “Oh please. You can’t wait four fucking seconds while I talk on the phone?” I demanded, feeling my blood pressure about to pop my skull open.
“Nice mouth,” she snapped.
“What is the matter with you?” I demanded, “What are you like PMSing or something?”
Leighanne’s eyes were stone cold. Baylee thumped down the stairs and ran past us, carrying his Playstation portable. He disappeared through the kitchen to the garage door. Leighanne’s eyes never left mine, and Baylee had barely even glanced at us. “Don’t you dare act like this is my fault.”
“I’m sorry, it isn’t? Because I’m the one flipping off the handle right now, right?”
“Maybe if you spent more time listening to me than to Nick’s current whore then maybe you’d know what’s going on between us.” Leighanne shoved by me and out of the house the same way Baylee had just gone. I stared after them, shell shocked and dumbfounded.
“Brian?” I heard Heather’s voice echo through the phone. “Brian? Hello? What’s going on?”
I sucked in a deep breath and held the phone to my ear, “Nothing,” I answered, watching through the front windows as the car backed down the driveway. “Nothing at all.”
