Chapter Twelve
Nick
“Coffee?” A young set assistant leaned in, holding out a steaming mug with the show’s logo on it. She smiled.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the mug from her. She scrambled away, hugging her clipboard to her chest.
The host, a man named Stefan, came out and settled himself down behind the big chunky desk. He adjusted a bunch of knick-knacks on the desk, including a small print of the BSB The Movie poster on a tiny stand. He held out his hand, “Hallo again,” he greeted me. We’d just come from the green room where we’d been eating little sandwiches made with pretzel bread before being whisked away to prep for the show.
“Hey,” I answered. I put the mug of coffee down on the edge of his desk.
The set was bright green with a big purple couch. Something you’d never see on American TV. This show - the last one I was visiting before heading back to the hotel for the night - was desperately trying to be the new Wetten Dass, a show that once trended on social media because people felt it should change it’s name to #WhatTheFuckIsHappening. I’d declined playing one of the new show’s “games”, despite the host insisting that we’d have a blast playing Feuerbälle Tischtennis, which, according to Google Translate, means fireball ping pong.
Stefan was staring down at his cell phone as the last minute preparations were done, a make up team rushed out and smooshed powder onto my forehead because of a light shining off it, and the cameras moved to optimal opening sequence positions. Just as the director started the ten second countdown, Stefan looked up from his phone with hunger in his eyes. “Is it true?” he asked.
“Eight…”
“Is what true?” I asked, confused.
“Seven… six…”
“About Brian?” Stefan answered.
He looked shocked.
“Five… four… three…”
“What about Brian?” I asked, my heart racing. Had something happened back at the hotel? I glanced behind me to where Mike stood just a couple feet away at the edge of the set, my eyes narrowed in concern. I’d been anxious all day to get back to the hotel to check on Brian. I’d texted him a couple times throughout the day, but I hadn’t heard back. I’d assumed he’d just been asleep, but now… what if there was something wrong? Wouldn’t Mike know? Wouldn’t he have told me?
“Quitting the band?” Stefan asked.
“Two…”
“What?” I responded, turning back to him quickly.
“One!” The director silenced, pointing at Stefan.
Music filled the set and Stefan uncrossed and recrossed his legs, shifting his focus from one camera to the other, a big smile sliding over his mouth as he dropped his phone onto his desk. “Good evening viewers,” he started, grinning at the frame of the camera, our conversation lost. “Tonight we have Backstreet Boys Nick Carter here on the set and some other great visitors and games lined up…” He proceeded to chatter on about his lineup for the show and all the hooligans he had planned.
I couldn’t rip my eyes off Stefan’s mouth, though, my brain trying desperately to process the words that had just come out of him. Quitting the band? Brian? Brian quitting the band? My heart was pounding so hard I practically could hear it. I definitely could feel it in my brain more than I could feel it in my chest.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed one of the set assistants waving at me and I realized how fuckin’ awkward I probably looked, sitting there on the couch just staring at Stefan like a mad man. I grabbed hold of the mug and sipped the coffee she’d brought over, desperate for anything to keep the muscles in my face busy.
Obviously he was wrong, I thought. Brian would’ve told me if he was quitting the band. Especially with how well we were getting on the last couple days and all the things I’d told him. This isn’t the kind of thing he’d let me find out on TV. That’s the kinda shit my family would pull, but not Brian. Even at our worst Brian never would’ve neglected to tell me something like this.
At least that’s what I sat there telling myself as my heart clenched in my chest and Stefan talked away to the camera, introducing the movie and the details about it’s release and all that in German before turning to me. I put the coffee down, my hands shaking a little. I wanted desperately for him to just ask the usual questions about the movie - the same ones I’d been answering alone all day. I’d give him the answers he wanted, the director would yell cut, we’d be done for the night and I’d go back to the hotel and Brian and I would laugh about the bullshit rumor that Stefan asked me about and we’d set it right the next day.
Instead, Stefan said, “So, Nick, just before beginning the show, I found some shocking news out just now.” He pulled his phone over to himself, and read, “‘According to sources close to the Backstreet Boys management team, contracts have been written up and sent out to the members of the band containing details about the departure of Brian Littrell and future dispense of royalties. Comments from the band management team confirm the dispense of the contracts but refuse to comment on the cause of Littrell’s departure.’” He looked up. “When did this happen?”
I stared at him.
“Uh, very.. uh recently,” I answered. I ran my hand over my chin.
“How do you feel about Brian’s choice to quit the band and how do you think this will differ from when Kevin quit?” Stefan asked.
“I’m… just… I’m shocked,” I stammered. I shrugged. “I haven’t really considered the, uh, the differences or.. whatever.. we’ll, uh, figure… it, uh, out. I guess. I’m still trying to get my brain around, you know, the, uh, the fact of it.” I wasn’t sure what the hell to say. I didn’t even know what the fuck to think. Words were coming out of my mouth but not particularly coherently. I felt like a trick monkey just babbling nonsense.
Stefan leaned forward, “I’ve already seen the Backstreet Boys movie, obviously, when it screened for the promoters,” he said in a conspirational sort of tone, “And I’ll tell you what, the one thing on the mind of all us promoters was that fight between you and the guys during your A&R meeting. Especially when you and Brian were fighting.” He looked eager. “Do you think Brian’s strained relationship with you has anything to do with him deciding to leave the band?”
“I dunno,” I answered with a shrug.
“Okay,” Stefan seemed let down by my lack of juicy answers and leaned back. “Well I have this exclusive new clip from the movie for you guys, so check this out and we’ll be right back with more from Nick Carter.”
I didn’t even wait for the clear signal. I just dove into my pocket for my phone, pulling up my inbox, my throat constricting as it loaded and, as promised, I had an unread message from Jen Sousa containing an attachment. “Fuck,” I whispered, staring down at the message.
Stefan was being dusted with powder.
A set assistant came over and was about to put more on me, but I waved her off. I stood up. “Stefan, I’m sorry, I gotta go.” My mouth felt dry.
“What?” he looked up.
“I’m sorry.” I turned and hurried off the set. Mike looked shocked in the wings as I rushed toward him, “Get the car,” I demanded and he turned and hurried ahead of me down the hallway, headed for the back exit of the TV studio.
“What about the interview?” Stefan called after me.
“I owe you a raincheck,” I yelled back.
Brian
I was pacing.
“Nick,” I recited to myself as I walked, “I gotta talk to you and it’s really important and it can’t wait. I need you to understand that a lot’s changed in the last couple days… No, that’s not right.” I shook my head, sighing in exasperation. “Okay. Okay. Nick… In the years past I’ve made a lot of mistakes -- no.. Ugh.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Why’s this gotta be so hard?... Okay. Frack. I’ve changed my mind now, thanks to hope you’ve given me this week, but before we left LA I’d talked to Jen about -- no.” I shook my head.
The words had to be perfect.
When the door opened, I looked up, still unprepared, yet there he was. He took off his jacket and hung it and ran his hand through his hair. “Hey,” I said, “Nick. I gotta talk to you and it’s really important and --”
“No fuck -- you definitely do need to talk to me,” he answered, his voice sharp, spinning to face me so fast that it made me jump in surprise. His face was contorted into an angry expression. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, holding up his cellphone. On it was the email from JSo with the contract attached. My face flushed. He tossed his phone onto the bed and shook his head. “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me. You said we weren’t gonna keep shit from each other no more, just to get me to talk, meanwhile you’re sittin’ there on this, not telling me shit. You know, now that I think about it you ain’t told me nothin’ since we made that little fuckin’ pact or whatever. You just used that to get me to tell you shit you wanted to know. Like I’m a fuckin’ lil kid or something.”
“No, Nick, I didn’t do this on purpose, I - I’ve been trying to tell you, but I didn’t have a chan--”
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE A CHANCE? THAT IS BULL SHIT!” Nick’s shrill yell cut through my words like a wrecking ball. He turned and punched the wall of the hotel, his fist denting the drywall. My jaw dropped. “Ow, fuck,” he snarled, jumping back from the wall and shaking out his fist. His knuckles were bloody.
“Are you okay?” I reached out my hands in concern to see the damage done.
“Fuck you,” he snapped, pushing me away. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”
“Nick…”
“No!” he yelled and he pulled his hand away and turned away from me, “Jesus Christ, Brian, just -- just go the fuck home to your fuckin’ wife and your fuckin’ kid and your fuckin’ little barking cotton balls and be all fuckin’ perfect and shit down in fuckin’ Georgia being all like sipping sweet tea and selling fuckin’ t-shirts with Leighanne’s fuckin’ plastic face on them and leave me the fuck alone.”
I blinked. I was pretty sure he’d just broken some kind of record for the most F-bombs dropped in a single sentence.
“And you know what, I can’t take fuckin’ -- fuckin’ this --” he waved his hand at the one bed in the room and turned around, “I’m getting another room.” He grabbed his jacket off the hanger so violently the hanger snapped at the hook and fell to the floor in two pieces. He kicked them out of his way and stormed out the door.
“Nick! Wait, please.” I rushed after him, snatching the room key off the top of the TV set before following him out into the hallway. “Don’t do this. Let me explain, will you please?”
“There ain’t shit to explain, Brian,” he snapped.
“I was scared to tell you,” I whined. He took the stairs. He always took the stairs when he was angry because he thought I couldn’t keep up with him on them. He was right. I was practically running, gripping the banister for dear life and he was just trotting down them. I struggled to keep up as we went down, down, down headed for the lobby. “Nick, you’re my best friend. I was afraid how you’d react if I told you I was quittin’. I wanted to tell you first. I told Jen not to tell anybody until after I told you.”
“You’ve had a fuckin’ week to tell me,” Nick yelled. His voice echoed in the stairwell.
I was reminded of him yelling, cussing me out in the hotel back in France.
If only I’d told him then.
If only I’d told him when we were driving here.
If only I’d told him any of the thousands of other times I’d almost told him.
“Nick, please. You gotta understand.”
“I don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I begged, “Please. Please just -- just stop and listen for a second.”
He shoved the door to the lobby open at the bottom of the steps and I ran after him. “I’m done Brian,” he said, “I don’t let people treat me like shit anymore like I used to. I deserve to be respected and you don’t respect me. You never have. You just do whatever you gotta do to get what you want outta me and keep me happy and quiet or whatever. You never gave a shit about me really did you?”
“What? Of course I give a shit about you,” I said. “Why would you think that I --”
“BECAUSE YOU LEAVE!” he shouted, “YOU ALWAYS LEAVE!”
“I --”
“So just do what you do best, Brian. LEAVE.”
“Nick.”
“LEAVE!!!!”
I stood there, my throat constricted, as he stormed out the doors of the hotel and into the street. He paused, breath coming out in clouds from his mouth just outside of the door, looked left, right, then turned left and disappeared from view.
My heart shattered.
I closed my eyes and tears slid down my cheeks. “God damn it,” I muttered, and I turned and went back up to the hotel room, my hands shaky. When I slid the key and stepped inside, I walked over to the bed and sat down.
That’s when Nick’s phone vibrated on the bed behind me and I realized he’d left it behind in the hotel room.
Nick
I’d meant to get a new room, but he’d fired me up so much I just wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t near Brian. I was so mad I couldn’t even form words. I balled my fists in my pockets and walked as fast as I could until I was absolutely certain he wasn’t following me and then I allowed myself to slow down to a normal pace.
To think I’d actually spent the day worrying about that asshole, whether he was feeling better or not. I’d even thought about maybe stopping to see if there was any place that had stuff for soup that I could bring him to make him feel better on the way home. And then Stefan had just broken into my world in the most earth shattering terrible way with the truth about Brian.
I felt like I’d been tricked into thinking Brian and I could be best friends again, like he gave a fuck about what had come between us, like he’d been trying to get better. I wondered how hard he’d laughed at my attempts to help him with his vocal therapy, if my feelings about us being friends and the stuff that had happened to me with Lou and stuff was just a joke to him, if he thought I was a baby for crying. I pictured him texting Leighanne and laughing about me. I pictured her cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Fuck’em both, I thought. Fuck’em both.
I walked along, steaming mad, until finally I just felt tired. I slowed and sat down on a city bench and took some deep breaths, allowing myself to recenter. After a couple moments, I stood up… and realized I wasn’t sure which direction I’d come from. I reached for my phone in my pocket… but it wasn’t there. Frantically, I patted myself down, trying to find it, but it wasn’t there anywhere.
“Shit,” I murmured, looking around. It was freezing and only getting colder and I was on this road that had like no signs of life other than myself. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, rubbing the wool of my coat to warm up.
I felt so lost.
Brian
I waited and waited and waited, just staring at the wall, staring at the door, staring at his phone. Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway outside I got up and opened the door, but it was never him. It was always like some cleaning lady or another hotel guest headed for their rooms. I’d close the door and sit and wait more.
I fell asleep waiting.
I woke up the next morning and there was still no Nick.
I felt sick in a whole other way that morning than I had the morning before. I rubbed my hands across my knees and just prayed and prayed he was okay, that the time he’d taken over night had cooled him down and everything would be all right. Maybe he’d wake up this morning and understand and everything would be all right between us again.
I didn’t do my vocal therapy that morning. I was too anxious to find Nick. I got dressed and went to the lobby where Drew and Mike were sitting, eating breakfast. I walked over to them, “Where’s Nick?” I asked at the same time that Mike asked the exact same question.
We both stared at each other for a long moment.
“He’s not with you?” Mike asked.
“No,” I replied, “We… we had a fight. He left. Went for a walk. I think he got another room.”
Mike sighed and pulled out his phone, “I’ll text him, find out what room he’s in…”
I shook my head and dropped Nick’s phone on the table. “He left this behind.”
Mike stared at the phone. “Oookay, well that’s not very Nick-like, he must’ve been some kinda pissed off. What’d you do now?” he chuckled, “Did you put the toilet paper in the thing wrong? He shits bricks over that.”
“Who doesn’t?” Drew smirked.
“I quit the band,” I said.
They both looked up at me.
Mike cleared his throat, “I’m gonna go see if the desk can tell me what room he’s in,” he said, and he got up quickly, and walked to the desk in a hurry, concern suddenly etched in the lines on his face.
There's Us by Pengi
