Chapter Eight
"Dude, Brian. Dude. Dude. Get up. Get up, quick."
I was being violently shaken as Nick spoke so close to my face I could smell his morning breath. I groaned, "What?" I pulled my pillow to safeguard against his advance.
"We have the morning off," he said, his voice urgent, "Get up. Lou cleared our morning schedule."
I shoved the pillow away and looked up at my blonde friend. "What? Why? What? Lou cleared it? Why? Who's dying?" I asked.
Nick laughed, "Nobody. Well probably somebody, somewhere, but nobody we know anyways." He pointed at the window. It was covered with a sheen of ice, like a second window pane. "But there ain't no way in hell we's goin' anywhere!" he added, grinning.
We were up, dressed, and outside - colds be damned! - within fifteen minutes. A plow truck had worked to scrape up most of the ice off the parking lot, creating piles of chunks made up of shavings that had solidified together. It had stopped storming and the city had an eerie calm to it that could only follow a storm. Nick and I kicked the ice blocks back and forth, creating a make-shift sort of hockey game. Some fans gathered around from the lobby to watch and called encouragement to us, alternating who they were rooting for. Nick's face was hot pink from the cold, and I could feel that mine was also, but we stuck it out for awhile, nuzzling into our coats, until we just couldn't take it anymore and we went in to the hotel restaurant for coffee.
We were sitting in a table by the window, watching a sanding truck as it drove by, and Nick was holding his cup in his hand, smiling down at it. I could tell he was feeling better now that I'd played with him. He was like a dog that way - a big yellow lab, if I had to give him a specific breed - he didn't care what we played, only that we did.
And I had to admit that the playing did feel amazing. It'd been awhile since we'd had some time to just play like that, and when Lou finally did gather us all together to head over to the venue for that night's show, I felt much more refreshed than I had in quite some time. I didn't even need to take any aspirin, which was good because I was close to needing a new bottle.
While we were being made up and put through wardrobe, we all watched the news coverage about the storm on TV, and it was still hitting parts of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia as it moved towards the eastern seaboard. Apparently, the storm had struck a lot harder than we'd realized because huge chunks of south eastern Canada and New England were without power and there were all kinds of accidents and fatalities on the highways throughout the provinces that had been hit by the storm.
"Is anyone even gonna be able to get here tonight?" AJ demanded as they moussed up his hair. He had a glass of Jack Daniels on his dresser and had become increasingly cranky as he sipped it.
Lou reached over, took the glass, and down the last of it. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and AJ looked at him aghast, Lou said, "Doesn't matter; the show goes on. Those who make it here, make it here." He shrugged and wobbled out of the room.
"Bastard drank my Jack," AJ complained.
I shared a look with Nick, who looked less than impressed with Lou's announcement as well. "If nobody can come safely, what's the point of having a show?" I asked.
"If we don't do that show, we get charged for the venue anyway," Johnny said. "You lose a lot of money. You wanna lose money?"
"Of course not," Howie replied.
"Then the show must go on," replied Johnny.
"But if nobody can make it safely," I argued, "Isn't it worth just paying the venue to keep the fans safe? I mean if we cancel..." But I was interrupted by Johnny's phone ringing, and he stood up and took it into the hallway.
Kevin sighed and tossed a water to AJ before cracking one open himself. AJ glowered at the bottle, "This isn't Jack," he said.
"Better for you," Kevin replied before turning to me, "Look, the fans aren't stupid. They'll travel if they can and if they can't, they won't."
"You know they'll travel through whatever they have to to get to the show if it's going on," I argued.
"It's their own risk, not ours," he replied.
"We could save lives, lives of our fans, by cancelling so they didn't feel like they had to get here."
"We can't afford to cancel," Kevin argued.
I stood up with a sigh and walked out of the dressing room. I wandered through the backstage area, frustrated with Kevin and Lou and Johnny and everyone else. I stood at the corner of the stage, staring out into the hollow of the arena, at the empty seats and the Jumbo-tron and the stage hands as they scurried about to set up the lights. I sat down on the band's stand on the stage and rested my elbows on my knees and my chin on my hands and stared out at the concrete world that the fans would inhabit in a couple hours.
How bad did things have to get before a situation was bad enough that the show did not have to go on? I wondered. How desperate did things need to be before a life was more important than the music, than this band, than schedule conflicts, appointments, appearances, and public opinion on a matter? Clearly, a life threatening situation - like this storm - was not enough to even make the show slow down.
What in the hell did it take to make it stop?
Nick suddenly showed up at my side and he sat next to me. He glanced over at me. "I'm sorry they ain't sidin' with you," he said. "But I'm on your side."
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"C'mon, let's get ready," he said.
"You ever wonder what would happen if we just refused to do a show or an appearance?" I asked him as he stood up.
Nick hovered for a second, thinking, then he sat back down. "You don't wanna do the show tonight?" he asked.
I shrugged, "I'm just worried about them."
"I know, me too," Nick replied.
"A part of me wants to walk out right now and see what the hell Lou does about it. He can't do shit if none of us want to do the show, right?" I asked.
Nick shrugged, "I dunno what he can do." I studied my sneakers for a long moment. Nick studied me. Finally he said, "C'mon, you know you won't do it," he said. He stood up. "And even if you did, you'd never get the other guys to do it. Let's go get ready."
I stood up and followed Nick back to the dressing room, but a part of me really wanted to challenge Lou.
That night, during our pre-show prayer, I made certain that we prayed for the fans that were coming to the show, and the ones that couldn't make it there because of the storm. And I continued praying it throughout the show. Every eye I made contact with, every hand I touched, every time I drew I breath I prayed that every girl in that crowd would be safe in her bed that night, despite the storm. I felt like I needed to pray for each one specifically.
My worry for the fans only increased as the van that carried us down our one-block commute slid across a sheer layer of black ice that had coated the pavement during the afternoon and evening hours. I fell asleep with the TV on the news, much to Nick's disapproval, fearing that I'd see some heartbroken parent blaming us for killing their daughters, but if driving to the concert was the cause of any of the accidents that they featured that night, the newscaster had the courtesy not to say so.
It was at breakfast the next morning that Johnny informed us that he'd been contacted by a radio station after a concerned boyfriend had called them this morning requesting our single to be played for his girlfriend to cheer her up because she'd missed our show the night before due to an accident. The radio station had taken the liberty to take the boyfriend's idea one step further and called our management wanting to set up a bedside visit for the girl and Johnny had agreed.
"I hate hospitals," Nick murmured as we climbed into the van.
"I know," I answered.
"No like I really hate'em," Nick said.
"Try spending half your childhood in one," I commented. Nick gave me a questioning look. "I did," I added.
He pulled his seat belt on. "In my experiecne, people go into hospitals, and they don't come back out," he said.
The ride over to the hospital was quiet except Johnny on the phone with a news station that was going to do exclusive coverage of the visit. When we got there and piled out, Kevin stopped at the gift shop to get flowers for the girl, and then we all were herded upstairs. A nurse led us to the girl's room - who by this time we'd learned was named Rebecca - and she knocked on the door. "You have company," she said, her French-Canadian accent thick.
"Company?" we heard a man's voice ask.
The nurse stepped in and held the door open and the five of us shuffled in, followed by the TV crew's camera man. Rebecca was a twenty year old girl with dark red hair and bright eyes. She had some scrapes, a set leg, and a bandage on her forehead. Her eyes widened as we stepped into the room and she gasped and looked around, panicing, and unsure how to react. "Oh my God," she said.
"Hello Rebecca," Kevin said. He swooped forward and put his flowers on her rolling meal tray. "These are for you."
"Hey Rebecca," Nick pranced around the other side of her bed.
Her parents and her boyfriend were in the room. The boyfriend was grinning and her mother had tears in her eyes and her hands pressed to her cheeks as she watched us pool around her daughter's bedside. I stood behind Nick, with AJ looking over my shoulder, and Howie joined Kevin on the other side.
"We heard you couldn't make it to the show last night," Howie said.
"So we bringin' the show to you," Nick finished Howie's sentence, his twangy Floridian accent carrying the words in a fashion that only Nick could.
AJ held up a t-shirt Johnny had told us to give her, and a tour program, and he put them down on her lap. Rebecca was in tears by now, fanning herself. "Oh God, you're seriously here, you're really, seriously here."
I reached for her hand and Nick beamed at her like a hyena.
"It's not a Backstreet show unless we sing, fellas," Kevin said, and he cleared his throat and we each tuned ourselves to sing acapella, then broke into As Long As You Love Me by the girl's bedside as she sat there sobbing. I squeezed her hand and she squeezed mine right back. Her mother was gasping for air behind us, she was so excited for her daughter.
"I never dreamt you guys would come to sing my song request," the boyfriend laughed when we'd finished.
Rebecca had one of those smiles that made it all worth it in the end.
"Good publicity," Johnny was commenting as we all climbed into the van after saying goodbye to Rebecca, her boyfriend, and her parents. "I could not have choreographed that better."
On the way to the Molson Centre, Nick whined that he was hungry, but I was distracted, thinking, and the other guys just ingored him, so he struck out. He gave me those hurt puppy eyes when I didn't respond to him, but I couldn't help it. I was too busy thinking about Rebecca. And I couldn't stop through all the preshow duties that were thrown our way - rehearsal, meet and greet, all of it. Despite the fact that we'd gone to cheer her up, I still felt guilty. After all, she wouldn't have been hurt in the first place if it hadn't been for us not cancelling the show. She wouldn't have gone out in the ice storm and gotten hurt at all if we hadn't put such a precedence on our monetary gain. All I could think as we kicked off that night's show was how the news had reported thirty fatalaties because of the ice storm, and I couldn't help wondering how many of those fatalaties had been because of us.
"What's eating you?" Howie asked as we dove under the stage during Kevin's solo. Nick had taken off to the bathroom, so it was just AJ, Howie, and I changing. Howie was buttoning his shirt at rapid speeds.
"Nothing," I replied. I hesitated. "I don't know."
AJ looked up from shimmeying on his pants, the waist balanced around his knees. "You're still thinkin' about that girl," he said, filling in the blank.
Howie looked at me, "You are?"
I sighed, "Yeah," I admitted.
"Look, me too," AJ said, pulling the pants up the rest of the way and buckling his belt. He shrugged though, "What else can I say other then it ain't fair what happened? Life ain't fair," he added. He thumbed at an empty glass that had contained Jack Daniels that he'd already drank down. "It's never been fair, but we move on." He shouldered by me, headed for the steps up onto the stage as Kevin's song was winding down.
I stared at my feet. Howie, who was just shrugging on his jacket, patted my back. "Look, Brian," he said, "It's not your fault, okay?"
"Yeah it is," I snapped, anger suddenly flaring up in my gut. "Yes, actually, it is our fault she got hurt because we held a stupid concert in the middle of a damn ice storm. We had problems travelling one block to get here and our fans came from God knows how far away to see us -- us, Howie -- because we didn't cancel. I don't understand what the big fucking deal is to just reschedule a fracking concert. So we lose a little bit of money, so what? What is the big deal? What's worth more, our precious money or some girl's life? Seriously?"
"And that," came Johnny's voice from behind me, "Is exactly why you are not the manager." He came into the dressing room area, a frown on his face. "You don't understand what it takes to make this whole thing work, to keep everything running smoothly, to promote yourself in a positive way. The fact that you understand is precisely why you pay Lou and I to keep everything going. Remember?" he asked.
"Well maybe I think it sucks," I snapped, "What you guys do sometimes sucks."
Johnny's voice rose in volume as he shouted the words, "You don't think it sucks so bad when you're bringing home those paychecks, now do you?"
I found myself cowering back from him, and it wasn't until he'd already stormed away that I realized it. I felt an overwhelming since of disorientation flood me, and I struggled to follow Howie to the steps that led to the stage, where AJ was already waiting. I felt heavy and confused: What the hell was I doing? Why had I allowed Johnny to speak to me like that? Why had Howie allowed him to speak to me like that? I felt this deep punched-in-the-gut feeling crawl in throughout my body.
"It'll be ok," Howie said quietly.
"Yeah," I answered, but I felt numb.
Nick came barrelling through though at that moment, still zipping his fly. "Okay let's go," he bellowed as he shoved by me and onto the stage.
And I wish I could say that I got over it, that Howie was right and it was okay after that, but it really wasn't and I couldn't stop thinking about everything. By the time we got back to the hotel, I felt like I was wound up as tight as a drum, and I opened my bottle of aspirin only to find that they were gone. I threw the empty plastic bottle violently against the wall of the hotel bathroom and lowered myself to sit on the closed bathroom toilet, my heart attempting to thrust its way out of my chest cavity.
Nothing had gone right on this quick Canadian run, nothing. I felt discouraged, frustrated, and kind of betrayed, to be honest. But it had to change, now that we were about to head to Quebec city for the last of the dates before having a teeny tiny bit of time off. It just had to change... didn't it?
I just had to get through this.
Chapter End Notes:
I found these videos from the January 6th show (the one the Boys are going on stage for at the end of this chapter) in Montreal here on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p25tvdZxPSg The fan who shot the videos is clearly seated in the balcony right on the side of the stage, but the audio's okay!
