Chapter Ten
Nick
It was late, almost midnight, and snowing a little by the time we got to the hotel in Germany. As I parked the car, Brian leaned forward to roll his eyes up at the dark grey sky, a nervous look on his face. “I’m glad we got here before this weather rolled in,” he commented.
I nodded fervently.
Once we collected all our bags and headed inside, we were given one room to split yet again - not a big surprise. We shuffled up the elevator and down the hall with all our crap strung over our shoulders. I pushed the hotel key into the room door and then into my mouth as I kicked the door open and walked into the room. Brian followed me, “Good Lord, we need to turn the heat up in here,” he muttered, feeling the cool air in the room.
I nudged the light with my shoulder and stopped short. Brian slammed into my back. “Fuck,” I said, dropping the hotel room key and my luggage.
“What?” Brian asked. I felt him lean against me on his tip-toes to look over my shoulder. “Uh oh,” he said once he saw what I’d seen.
One king-sized bed in the middle of the room.
“Fuck no,” I said and I walked quickly to the desk where a phone sat under the glow of a lamp. I pressed the zero button for the front desk.
As the phone rang, Brian wandered in and sat down on the edge of the bed, biting his lip and looking at me with hopeful eyes. The front desk guy answered with a thick German accent. “Uh yeah, sorry… Do you speak English?” I asked.
He answered in German, but put me on hold. I hoped that meant he was getting someone that did speak English.
I sighed and waited, looking over at Brian as ran his hands over his thighs, tapping his fingers on his jeans, smiling uncomfortably at me. Neither of us wanted to actually look at the actual bed.
A moment later the front desk guy came back on the line, “I am sorry,” he said in a broken, thick accent. I had a feeling he was using like his cell phone or something to read off a translation service. “The English speaker will be in the morning here.”
“I need another room,” I said, “Tonight.”
He paused.
“Room. Two beds. We need two beds.”
“I am sorry,” he repeated.
“Dude, I need a room with two beds.” I pulled my own phone out and opened Google translate. “Uh… zwei betten? Ein… weiterer raum?” He spewed off way too much German for me to even start to try to spell into the translator. I smacked my forehead. “Bitte. Zwei betten.” But he didn’t seem to get what I was saying. I sighed and hung up. I looked at Brian.
Brian nodded, knowing without me saying what happened. He chewed his lower lip a second. “Well,” he said. “It ain’t like we haven’t slept together before.” He paused. “In… in the same bed, I mean.” He’d flushed at the mere words.
Like I didn’t know that, being 50% of that equation.
Only Brian could fucking embarrass himself like that.
I bit back the urge to make a fuck buddy joke.
“It’s not the end of the world,” he said.
“Yeah, not the end of the world,” I agreed. “We can make this work.”
“Yeah. Of course we can,” he agreed.
“Yeah.”
We both sat in our respective seats for a couple minutes, then he rolled himself up to his feet. “Anyways. I’m gonna… put on sweatpants or whatever.” He went over and started rooting around the bags. I stared at the bed, my eyes wandering over the span of it. King size beds are usually pretty big. At that moment, it looked about the same size as a saltine cracker.
Brian disappeared into the bathroom.
I snapped a picture of the bed and texted it to Lauren.
Oh are you suggesting some sexting babe? she replied.
That’s where me AND BRIAN are sleeping tonight, I answered.
There was an inordinately long pause between my response and her starting to type again. One bed? Together? she typed.
Yep.
Okay I know you guys are bonding and stuff but…this is much.
I KNOW!!!!! I typed.
Well. Whatever it takes to bring yall closer and stuff. She said and sent a winky emoji.
The fuck is that supposed to mean? I asked.
Just be safe is all.
I typed out, Seriously do not even joke about such things.
Brian came back out of the bathroom. He looked awkward, carrying his jeans, which he shoved into his bag again. He paused, hovering by the end of the bed. “Well, bathroom’s yours,” he said, picking up the room service menu and scanning it with his eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. I went and brushed my teeth and changed my t-shirt and all that stuff. I stood in the bathroom a moment too long, staring at myself in the mirror. I took a deep breath. It really wasn’t the end of the world, I told myself. It was just a cherry on top of a pretty shitty sundae of bullshit that I’d been served up. My face still looked discolored and the whole thing with my mom was weighing over me. “Anger management,” I muttered, rubbing some wrinkle cream I’d stolen from Lauren onto my forehead and around the corners of my eyes. “If I needed anger management I’d be downstairs ripping somebody’s jugular out for making me sleep with Brian,” I said to myself. I leaned closer to the mirror, “Fucking look in a mirror you wanna talk about needing therapy mom…” I stepped back and inspected myself, deciding not to think about the whole anger management/mom being a bitch thing anymore. “Looking good, Carter,” I told myself. I was ready for the night.
When I went back into the room, Brian was laying on the bed, on top of the covers, on the left side. I stood at the corner. “Push over, man,” I said.
He looked up at me, “This is my side.”
“The left is my side at home, though,” I complained.
“I can’t sleep on the right,” he said.
“Neither can I,” I argued.
Brian was chewing on a Red Vine. God knows where he got it. I wondered if the vending machine had Red Vines in it. And if it did, what other American treats would be there that I could get away with binge eating in Lauren’s absence? Then I realized I needed to refocus on claiming my side of the bed.
“Well, I’m older than you.”
“So be more mature and take the other side,” I replied.
“I was here first,” Brian answered.
“I took a punch for you.”
He hesitated at that one, then with a groan rolled onto the right side. “Spoiled,” he muttered as he went.
I sat down on the left and reached over, grabbing the package of Red Vines off his chest. “Old man,” I said.
“Baby,” he said, taking the pack back after I’d taken half the strips out.
“Asshole,” I muttered, taking a bite of one of the Red Vines.
Brian snuggled his head into the pillow under his neck, stretching his feet toward the end of the bed and watching the TV, which was playing a futbol game on repeat. He chewed the licorice in silence.
I grinned to myself because back in the day we’d had little insult hurling moments like that all the time. It wasn’t about starting a fight. It had a weird almost bonding sort of vibe to it, despite the harsh words we were saying. I dunno why, it’s one of those things that I think chicks don’t do but guys just kinda get it. Kinda like when chicks call each other bitches or sluts for no reason.
I chewed mine, too, also silent until a shitty call happened in the game and we both reacted with a curse at the TV. Brian threw one of the strips of candy at the screen. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded of the TV, and I laughed at him, mostly at the fact that he’d dropped an F-bomb in a casual manner.
Brian grinned over at me as I cackled.
“This ain’t so bad,” he commented.
Brian
It was hotter than hell in the hotel room when I woke up. I blinked into the pillow, snuffing in a dusty, foreign scent. I groaned and went to toss the blankets from me when I realized I wasn’t under blankets. I was under Nick.
He was spooning me.
I jumped up and he flipped off me, rolling almost off the bed, but catching himself just before he fell over the edge as I backed to the window, my hand groping for the thermostat on the heater under the sill. “The fuuuuck,” Nick groaned, recovering from his rude awakening. His hair stood up in ridiculous tufts from every angle.
“You were spooning me,” I snapped.
“Was not,” Nick groaned, his voice muddling together in a blur.
“Yeah, you kinda were,” I answered. My voice broke as I said it and I frowned and ran my hand over my adam’s apple.
Nick rubbed his face with his palm. “Ugh.” He covered his eyes. “Jesus it’s like a fucking furnace in here.”
“I just turned the heater down,” I told him.
On the TV, the futbol had turned into some kind of late night sports talk show or something. Three guys were laughing at a screen showing a pig running with a soccer ball. I turned the TV off, staring at Nick as he dropped back into his spot on the bed. He looked over at me. “Dawg, get back in bed.”
“Are you gonna keep your paws off me?” I asked.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he answered.
I crawled back onto the bed slowly, pulling the blankets over me this time as he stayed over them. It was hotter than hellfire under there but it was better than being felt up by Nick. I rolled so our backs were touching.
I thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he asked, “Completely seriously… Do you think I need anger management therapy?”
I thought about it. “I mean, you do have a temper,” I replied.
He was quiet. Then he shifted, rolling so he was on his side, facing me. I rolled onto my back and stared up at him from the pillow. “But, like, I get angry over, like, normal stuff, right? Like stuff I should be angry about?”
I shrugged. “Most of the time.”
Nick contemplated this. “I’ma try to be less angry about stuff.”
“I mean it couldn’t hurt,” I replied.
“Thanks B.” He rolled back over and snuggled onto the pillow on his side, back to me. Then he reached over and turned off his lamp, plunging us into darkness.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
Nick
I poked Brian’s shoulder.
He nuzzled deeper against the pillow.
So, I poked him again. “B-Rok,” I whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Wake up,” I urged him.
“Why?”
“‘Cos it’s mornin’.”
He took a deep breath through those big ass nostrils of his and rolled onto his back, groggy and bleary eyed. He stretched slowly… then his eyes drifted closed again.
“Brian. C’mon, we got interviews soon,” I said, “And we gotta do your vocal therapy stuff before we go. Wake up.”
He opened his eyes and stared up at me, more alert this time. “You’re really gonna do the therapy stuff with me?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I swear. C’mon. Get up.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m up.” He sat up on the bed, groaning as he went.
I got up and got the cup of hot tea I’d made him from the desk and put it in his hand. “Here,” I said, “Mint green tea with honey.” He took it. “It’ll help loosen up your throat,” I explained, like he didn’t already know that.
“Thanks,” he said, breathing in the scent of it.
I grabbed my own cup from the desk and sipped it, sitting in the hardback chair and looking over at Brian, one leg crossed over the other as we sat there drinking tea like a couple of old British women or something.
When we finished, I took the cups and piled them on the room service tray, which I slid out into the hall by the door. Brian was crosslegged on the bed, holding his toes in his hands when I turned back. I sat on the bed, too, facing him at the other end of it, and crossed my legs also. I raised my eyebrows. “I’m ready,” I told him. “Are you ready?”
Brian looked like he wasn’t sure. “I’m ready.”
“Okay.” I said. I took a deep breath. “So. What do you do first?”
“Well, um, we start by, um, waking the muscles up a little bit... “ I watched as he brought his hands up to his neck, right under his jaw on both sides and massaged the muscles there in tight circles, his fingers migrating slowly forward around his throat. I mimicked him. My fingers felt clammy and a chill went up my spine as I roamed my fingertips towards the front of my neck and back under my ears again in little motions, just like he was doing. It felt weird sitting on the bed doing this stuff with him, but I swallowed back my fear of looking weird. After all, anything I was doing he did first and there wasn’t anybody else to see us there.
Finally, after I was sure my neck was gonna be bruised from all the massaging of the neck muscles, Brian said, “Okay, um, next is warming it up inside. We gotta hum the scales, kinda… like this…” He tilted his head back as far as it would go, eyes closed, and hummed high to low then low to high, moving his head back and forth from hanging all the way back to hanging all the way forward ‘til his chin touched his chest.
As we sat there all humming and stretching and leaning and massaging, I realized why Brian was so self-conscious about this stuff. It sounded and felt pretty stupid, like even though it was just me and him in the room I felt like there were people pointing and laughing at me. I felt really bad for actually having pointed and laughed at him the other night, whatever my excuse was. There was nothing funny about this. It was moderately humiliating and, for a professional singer, it was pretty humbling, too. It felt a lot like the first time I went to a gym with Lauren, back when I was fat, and I was trotting on the treadmill for like a tenth of the time she was spending on the machine next to mine. I was still out of breath ten minutes later when she “called it quits” because she felt bad making me stand there watching her. I remember looking around and feeling like everyone was looking at me and making fun of me, asking themselves why in hell Lauren was with me when she looked so good and I looked so dumb.
The therapy really did stretch my vocal chords, though. I could feel the wind moving through my throat as it vibrated in and out, exercising my most precious muscles. I could tell that they really must be helpful with Brian’s condition -- especially since Brian’s voice got steadily stronger and stronger as we worked our way through the steps. So even though it felt stupid to be sitting there, bleating like goats, singing scales, massaging ourselves and all that, I didn’t regret doing it because it was helping.
When we finally got to the end and Brian looked at me, expecting a reaction.
I suddenly had a lot more respect for what he was going through and the work he was doing to fix it.
“That was good,” I said to him, and he smiled. “Was it good for you?”
Brian laughed and grabbed a pillow, hauckin’ it at me, “Don’t ask me that after waking up in my bed, man!”
Brian
“Dude that was the loudest fuckin’ fart I have ever heard,” Nick hooted. We were sitting in the back of the car, on the way from a radio station to a magazine interview, and we were laughing deliriously, falling over in our seats. Mike and Drew stared at us from their seat as Nick tumbled over laughing, legs flailing into the air. “Oh my fuck did ya hear it man? Did you hear it?”
“Yeah, holy shit,” I was coughing I was laughing so hard, “How could you not? I swear to God, somewhere, somebody just went into the lock and hold position thinkin’ the next atomic bomb landed!”
“Lock and hold,” Nick wheezed.
The poor fan who had won the radio contest had been betrayed by her own body during the photo and let out a gaseous honk so loud it might’ve broken the sound barrier just as the shutter clicked. Somehow, Nick and I had held in all the fart jokes ‘til after the girl left, her cheeks red and praying, I’m sure, that we hadn’t heard it.
“I thought I was going to die,” Nick choked the words out, “I didn’t wanna embarrass her. I was dying inside, though.”
“I know,” I laughed, “I could tell. Your face. I almost laughed just looking at you.”
“If you’d even so much as breathed in a laughing-like-manner I would’ve lost it, man,” Nick giggled hysterically.
Mike and Drew exchanged a look as we had this whole conversation. Then Mike broke in, “What the hell happened to you two?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Drew chimed in, “You’re like -- getting along.”
“Really well,” Mike added, nodding.
Nick regained his composure slowly, leaning up, still wheezing a little. “We talked,” I replied. “Got some stuff worked out.” I looked at Nick with a smile.
“Yeah we’re like friends again and shit,” Nick said, nodding.
“Well. It’s good to see,” Mike said with a smile.
It was good to feel, too. I hadn’t felt so close to Nick in a decade as I did right then. Not because of the fart jokes, I just mean in general. We were doing really good. Between the talk we’d had in France and the time on the drive to Germany and that morning, doing the vocal therapy exercises together, I felt like it was the old days when Nick and I were inseparable. I hated to admit it, but the evil plot the fellas had of sticking us together for a whole promo run alone had really worked. The stars had aligned for us and we’d managed to work on issues long buried. He was really my Frack again. I had this warm, comfortable feeling that filled me up, head to toe, like I’d been missing a piece for ten years and finally that piece had been replaced where it belonged.
We should’ve done this years ago, I thought.
The car pulled up to the magazine’s office and came to a stop. Drew and Mike climbed out and Drew held the door open for us. “Hopefully, nobody lets one rip in here,” I said, scooting across the seat and getting out, restarting Nick’s giggles as he climbed out of the car behind me.
There's Us by Pengi
