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Chapter Ten


I spent the next two days in a blur of aspirin, work, and concerned glances from Nick, who really hadn't gone back for his ball the next morning. It made me sad to picture it, laying over in the court all alone, resting against the fence and wondering what it'd done wrong to be cut out of Nick's life so abruptly. On our way out to the van, I looked over at the court and saw the ball wasn't there. Someone had taken it, maybe a fan or a kid who needed it more than we did. I don't know.

"You can't tell them," I said to Nick, pulling him aside in the hallway at our TV appearance. We were alone but we could hear the fellas all talking just behind the door we were outside of, in the green room.

"What?" Nick looked at me, confused.

"Kevin, Howie, and AJ," I said, "You can't tell them about the thing that happened at the basket ball court last night."

"Why?" Nick asked, confusion on his face.

"Because," I answered, "Please, just don't. Not yet. I'll tell everyone when I'm ready to tell them."

He frowned, "But what if they ask?"

"They're not gonna ask unless you bring it up," I said.

Nick sighed, "But --"

"Nick," I said, "Please. This is important to me."

He stared at me, defiance in his face at first, and then it melted away, a caved-in sort of expression entered his eyes. "Fine," he said, "I won't tell them."

Nick had been strangely silent since then, his usual hyperactivity had ceased. He kind of pulled away from me, and started hanging out with AJ more the next couple of days, coming back to our hotel room later and later, several times drunk, and falling into bed without saying much to me. He didn't bug me about playing basket ball - we didn't have a ball, so how could we? - or anything else for that matter. He just came and went, almost wraithlike in his stoic silence, and did things like study his food thoughout dinner, avoiding eye contact with the guys. I felt bad, making Nick carry the weight of a secret like that (I knew very well that was why he was so damn quiet), but I wanted to be the one to talk to Lou, and I wanted to talk to Lou before the rumor of what had happened had spread through our entire entourage.

But it was taking longer than I thought it would for me to talk to Lou.

The problem was that ever since that morning in Montreal, when Lou had yelled at us, I had been slowly but surely feeling more and more afraid of him. And I don't know why. I mean he was the same old Lou he'd always been, cracking jokes at the dinner table and making us roll our eyes behind his back as he hurried us along to the next appearance...

Lou had been our father away from home, the guy we turned to when we had problems. He'd settled arguments among us and fed us and nutured us along our way on the path to fame. He'd been the one to stand by and keep all of us grounded as it all took off underneath us, as the world started living and breathing Backstreet and our worlds exploded into this unnatural mess. He was there for us every step of the way, reassuring us. He was like a lighthouse in the storm, or so it had seemed, because whenever we were in trouble, Lou had found a way to make it okay again. Every time. If we had a bad publicity moment, he'd iron it out or spin it. If we had a fight between us, he found a way to solve the argument and settle us all down so we were friends again. When our song was accepted onto the radio, he celebrated with us. When the album when platinum, he cheered us on. When we played out first gig on stage, Lou was front row, watching, tears in his eyes as we performed. He'd been there, and we'd trusted him and loved him like he was one of us, accepted him as one of us.

It was a strange feeling... questioning someone you'd loved and trusted for five years... and yet I was noticing things about him, things that made questions I shouldn't have been asking pop into my mind. Like why did Nick shrug away when Lou put a hand on his shoulder in the elevator on the way to a radio interview with a disgusted look on his face? Why did the good old, trustworthy, loving Lou curse out the driver who had done everything he could to get us to a TV recording on time, but th traffic had just been too thick to slice? Why did I feel a thick bile in my throat every time I stood outside his hotel room, hand raised to knock, when I thought of myself asking for time off for a doctor's appointment? Why did I doubt that Lou would allow me that? Why did I feel myself wondering if Lou wasn't the sixth Backstreet Boy, but rather a dictator, ruling our lives with an iron fist?

And the longer I waited, the more nervous I felt about talking to him, and the more I wanted to put it off.

By January 13th, I was downright petrified.

We were at the launch party for Teen People Magazine at the Planet Hollywood restaurant in Beverly Hills, and we were dressed in these really nice dark, jewel colored suits and the press were taking all these pictures of us. We were supposed to be celebrating, but Nick's jaw was set in a way that he only did just before he broke down, and I was trying to avoid eye contact with the guys because I was keeping secrets from them, and I felt guilty for that. But we were all smiles in those photographs, all five of us pretending that things were okay.

The editor in chief of Teen People talked at the podium in the front of the room, and we listened, though I can't tell you what was said at all, and I sipped the champagne that I'd been given by a waiter passing by. AJ had knicked a glass as well and had it held under the table at his hip, a secret of his own. I stared at the glass, and I realized what a fucked up mess we were all in. AJ drinking almost constantly, me having near heart attacks on basketball courts... and I'm sure the other guys had their shit, too. Like Nick. I glanced at Nick, and he looked away from me as the room erupted in applause as the editor's speech came to a close.

Nick and AJ jumped up almost immediately to go mingle about in the crowd that was shuffling from table to table, introuducing each other to others, and Kevin excused himself to go speak to some actress he'd spotted across the room. Howie glanced at me across the table. "You okay? You're quiet."

"I'm fine," I replied, staring at my champange.

"Okay then," Howie said, tentatively standing up. "You want to come with me, or...?"

"I'm fine here," I replied quietly. Howie ducked away and disappeared in the mass of partygoers, and I sat and allowed my thoughts to sort of melt over me. I took a deep breath.

"You should be networking," Lou said, coming up behind me.

A band was playing now, some punk-rock sounding band that was up-and-coming. I looked up at Lou as he lowered into the seat next to me, where Nick had been sitting, and he picked at the food Nick had left behind on the plate there, pushing a piece of the bread into his mouth and chewing it slowly, studying me. I bit my lip, looked down at my hands in my lap, gathering courage, and then I looked up at him, right into his eyes. "Lou," I said, "I need to talk to you about our schedule."

"Yes?" he asked, breaking off another piece of bread.

"I need an afternoon," I said, "Soon. I need to see a doctor."

Lou's eyebrow furrowed, "Why?"

"My heart," I replied. "I was playing basket ball with Nick, and I --"

"No, I meant why do you need an afternoon off when you have almost two full weeks off next month?" Lou asked.

I blinked. I didn't know how to respond. He wanted me to wait until next month to get my heart checked?

"Why should I rearrange the perfectly coordinated schedule that I have worked so hard on putting together, for something as flexible as a doctor's appointment?" he continued, "You haven't made the appointment yet, have you?"

I shook my head.

"Good. Then there is nothing keeping you from scheduling it during your time off, is there?"

I shook my head again.

Lou nodded, satisfied. "I'm glad that's taken care of, then." He stared at me contemplatively as he popped the last of the bread into his mouth. He reached over, took my champange glass and drained it, replaced the glass to the table, and patted my knee, smiling with wide, toadlike lips. "You're a good kid, Brian," he said, and his voice somehow sounded different to me, the way someone sounds different after they've shattered your image of them. He stood up. "You really ought to network, there's some great industry guys here tonight." And with that, he walked away.

I stared at the spot he'd just been in, dumbfounded, scarcely able to breathe. What in the hell just happened? I wondered. It was like being struck by lightening, the speed with which the world as I knew it had started to crumble.

Almost as soon as Lou was gone, Nick dropped into his seat, staring at me with concerned eyes. "Brian?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

The music was booming all around us, loud and quick and immature, but the look on Nick's face was somber. "Why did Lou just touch your leg?" he asked.

I blinked, trying to wrap my mind around his question, it was such an odd one. "I dunno," I responded. He'd patted my knee because I was a good kid, because I was willing to ignore my body's need to be seen by a doctor for his perfectly coordinated schedule. Because I'd complied with the way he wanted things to be without pitching a fit, because instead of arguing, I'd just given in.

The expression on Nick's face was unreadable, his eyes were stoney and the coldest, darkest shade of blue I'd ever seen them look. His jaw shifted back, then forward, set, and he shook his head. "He can't handle it," he muttered, "Losing control."

"What?" I asked, genuinely confused. "Losing control of what?" As far as I was concerned, Lou had all the control.

Nick shook his head, "Forget it...never mind. God, I need to get wasted. Where's AJ...?" he stood up and disappeared into the crowded room again, and I sat there feeling ridiculously abandoned by my best friend.

I did mingle a bit, met a few people, but I don't remember any of their names. They were just faces in a blur of thoughts. I felt overwhelmed, and I just wanted to go back to the hotel and find out that I'd dreamt the whole night. I shook hand after hand, forgetting every person seconds after I'd met them. The entire room felt like it was spinning beneath my feet, like that eerie, unstable feeling of an earthquake.

When it was time to head back to the hotel, Johnny came to get me, grabbing me by my elbow, and we walked through the crowded room toward the exit, collecting Howie and Kevin on the way. When we got to the van, Lou was pacing beside it on the sidewalk.

"Did you see AJ and Nick anywhere?" he demanded from Johnny the moment we got close enough.

Johnny shook his head, "I thought you had them?"

Lou cursed, "No," he answered. He looked back at the party.

"Well I didn't see them," Johnny said.

"They're probably off somewhere getting into God knows what..." Lou rubbed the back of his head. He stormed off, back to the party and Johnny got in the van and gave the driver directions back to the hotel.

"Wait - we- we're not waiting for them?" I asked, concerned.

"Lou'll take care of them," Johnny replied.

The van moved through LA traffic back to the hotel and I stared out at the lights as we moved and thought about everything that'd happened. I turned to look at Johnny. He was on the phone, and I glanced back at Kevin and Howie, who sat in the seat behind me and Johnny but felt a thousand miles away.

Back at the hotel, I went up to the room and sat on the bed and waited for Nick to get back. For the first hour, I just sat there absently watching TV. I started getting worried by the second hour, and I got up and looked out the window at the city lights far below, then sat on the bed and pulled my duffle bag onto the mattress beside me. I dug through it to find my checkbook and a notebook and started doing math.

It was four hours after I'd gotten back to the hotel and I'd arrived at a bottom line and was staring at the figure on the page, when the door opened and Nick came in. His hair was messed up and his eyes were blurry. He snuck by me to his bed, where he crawled under the blankets in his jewel tone suit, shoes and all, and pulled the covers back up to his chin, so all I could see was the very top of the back of his head, pressing into the pillow.

"Nick," I said, "Where were you guys?"

He didn't answer.

I pushed the notebook away and stood up, went over to the far side of Nick's bed, and knelt to look at him. He turned his head so he wasn't looking at me. "Nick?"

"Leave me alone," he said, his eyes filled with tears, turned skyward.

"What's wrong?"

He looked at me, "Just leave me alone."

I sighed and stood up and went back to my own bed, resigning to Nick's insistence. There was no use trying to talk to him when he didn't want to be talked to. No use at all. So I sat down and stared down at the circled bottom line of my mathematics: $59,750. In two years' time. A quick calculation on the side had revealed that, based on the past week's schedule, we were working about 100 hours a week - approximately 10,400 hours in total - which equaled out to only a little more than five dollars an hour.

Five dollars an hour.

We were making minimum wage.