“Well now, money ain’t always connected with class. Just look at the five of us,” laughed Kevin. Howie and Brian joined in the laughter.
“Get her on the phone,” said AJ.
“Now, Bone…” Brian began.
“Nope,” said AJ, digging in his heels. “You get her on the phone and prove she’s real and I’ll be happy to apologize. But until I hear her voice, I’m not buying it.”
“I told you,” said Nick. “She’s playing tennis this morning.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 11:30 here. That means it’s 10:30 in Chicago. She won’t be home for another hour or so.”
“Fine then,” said AJ. “Will you phone her in an hour?”
“Yes,” said Nick. “Yes, I will.”
“Good, then that’s settled,” said Brian. “Let’s get back to work.”
Nick felt like crying. He felt so guilty about AJ. Bone had been half-right. He’d figured out part of it but then had carried it to a conclusion that wasn’t right. And Nick was hanging onto that thought for dear life. Abby was real, and if he could concentrate their attention on that part of the equation, he could keep them away from the part where AJ was absolutely right, that Nick had not gone to Chicago. Because he could never explain that. If Abby was real and they were dating, then why would he stay in Atlanta and do exactly what AJ accused him of doing?
He was going to prove AJ wrong and then AJ was going to feel like shit for having accused him. And that made Nick feel like shit. Man, he hadn’t been able to carry this deception for one whole day. Maybe Abby was right. Too late to think about that, though. They were in it now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby tossed her bag in her room and hurried back downstairs. She was late and she knew her mother would be furious with her. It was the annual luncheon for the Friends of the Art Institute. Sharon Fremont always hosted the gathering. She pored over menus and seating arrangements with Mrs. Smith like she was planning Desert Storm. She did all the organizing herself. Abby always offered to help and was always rebuffed. All she asked of Abby was that she show up on time.
Abby had left lots of time to get back from the club but then she got caught in traffic. Damn construction! Why did they tear this city up every summer?
“Excuse me, I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad. Construction.”
A murmuring of ‘don’t worry about it’, ‘it’s okay’, ‘we understand’ went through the room. Abby looked around the room. The French doors were open between the dining room and the library beyond. Each room held four round tables seating six. All of the chairs were occupied. The tables were set with Sharon Fremont’s finest luncheon china and silver. Each table had an arrangement of flowers in the middle. Each arrangement was different, a hand-crafted delight by none other than Sharon Fremont herself. Abby’s mother was famous for her flower arranging.
Abby took her place at one of the tables in the dining room. Her mother occupied a seat at the table in the library closest to the doors. That way she could keep her eye on everything and everyone. Abby listened to the conversation going on around her but didn’t make much of an attempt to join in. She was too busy trying to keep her eye on her mother. Abby wondered if her mother would be able to resist sharing the news of her daughter’s new boyfriend.
This morning, after breakfast, Mrs. Smith announced to Abby that her mother wished to speak with her in the living room. Her mother was usually a whirlwind of activity from just after sunup on Luncheon Day, so Abby was understandably curious about this pause in the proceedings.
“Sit down, Abigail dear,” said her mother.
Abby perched on the edge of a wingback chair. “You wanted to see me, Mother?”
“Yes, I did. I want to talk to you about this young man, about Nick. Your father explained to me who he is. I understand he’s quite successful in his business. Now what about his family?”
Abby listed off the names of the siblings and mentioned that Aaron was also a singer. She didn’t mention the marital problems of the senior Carters. Sharon Fremont’s lip curled slightly at the news that they were from Florida. Not a state with class, apparently.
“And his intentions?”
His intentions? That was a laugh. His intention was never to see her again. His intention was to keep her in the closet like a pair of old shoes and only bring her out when he needed to prove he still owned them.
“We are just in the beginning stages of the relationship, Mother. Who can say how will it go?”
Sharon reached over and patted her daughter’s hand. “Well, it certainly took up your time this weekend. Oh, well. I guess I have a luncheon to prepare. Take care, Dear. Try not to get hurt.”
Abby smiled to herself now as she spooned lobster bisque into her mouth. Try not to get hurt. As if getting hurt was Abby’s fault all the time and she should just learn to avoid doing it. She didn’t think she’d avoided it this time. They were walking a precarious line, she and Nick.
Girls hired just for the occasion, in black uniforms with white aprons, began removing the soup plates and replacing them with servings of salad. Mrs. Smith came into the room carrying the portable phone. She went over to Sharon and whispered in her ear. Abby watched a black cloud move across her mother’s eyes and Sharon shook her head. Mrs. Smith held up the phone and said something else. It sounded like, he’s very insistent. Sharon’s head swiveled around and she glared at Abby. Then she turned back and nodded to Mrs. Smith.
Mrs. Smith made her way to Abby. “You have a phone call, Miss Abigail. A Mr. Carter.”
Abby rose to her feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” she said, accepting the phone. “Please excuse me, Ladies, I’ll be right back.” She turned and made her way to the door, Her legs were trembling and her breathing was shallow. Breathe, Abby, breathe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“Hello.”
“Hi, Abby, it’s Nick.”
“Hello. How are…?” She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence.
“Listen, Abby, I know you’re going to think this is silly, but I need to prove you exist.”
Oh no, thought Abby. And so it begins.
“Nick…”
“So we’re all here in the studio and you’re on the speakerphone.” In other words, be careful what you say. “There’s me and the rest of the guys.”
“Hello, Abby. This is Kevin Richardson.”
“Hello, Mr. Richardson.”
“Brian Littrell.”
“Howie Dorough.”
“AJ McLean.”
“Hello to you all. Nick, what’s going on?”
“Well, I told the guys how we met at the Lodge…” Abby gave a little gasp. Nick moved on quickly. “I mean…you know…that we met at the Lodge…and that we were…you know…um…”
“Exploring the possibilities?” suggested Abby.
“Yeah, like that…but, um…AJ got this idea in his head…crazy, really…that I just made you up and that I didn’t really come to Chicago last weekend. Isn’t that silly? He thinks I just looked up a bunch of stuff on the Internet.”
Uh oh!
“But, as they can see, or at least hear, you are real, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m real enough.” She paused. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say.”
“What did Nick buy for us at the Lodge?” asked Brian.
“He bought you jam, but he didn’t actually get it at the Lodge. We got it in a little town nearby.”
The men looked at each other and nodded. Okay, that proved the Lodge part of the story. See! said Nick’s look. Told ya!
“Did you go shopping with Nick last weekend?” Howie asked.
“He bought me a blouse at Old Navy. It’s blue,” said Abby, thinking that she had worked her way around another trap without lying.
“That’s her favorite color,” put in Nick.
“What was Nick’s room number at the Renaissance?” asked AJ.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Abby frostily, “and it was the Hyatt, not the Renaissance.”
Good girl, thought Nick. He looked around at them all. Satisfied? Suddenly, they were all feeling very foolish. They all looked at AJ. Good one, Bone!
“Okay, Abby, I’m sorry to have put you through…”
“What was the weather like on the weekend?” It was AJ’s last shot.
Abby froze. What should she say? They’d never discussed the weather. Okay, think…all the stuff we did was ‘outdoor stuff’ so it wouldn’t have rained. Except that it did rain for a bit. What if that was one of the things Nick looked up. What if he had told the truth?
“It rained a little in the morning, but it cleared up in time for the baseball game,” she said. “Nick, I have to go. My mother is having her annual luncheon and I’ve committed a dozen serious offences just by taking this phone call.”
“I’ll buzz you later, then, Abby. I’m sorry about this.”
Abby knew that ‘buzz’ meant AIM. “Okay, Nick, I understand. Well, actually, I don’t understand any of it, but you can explain later.”
“Goodbye, Abby.”
Abby heard a series of other ‘goodbyes’ from other voices and then the line went dead. She took several deep breaths before she returned to the dining room. What had Nick told them? What had happened? How had they become suspicious so quickly? This was never going to work, she thought. They needed to ‘break up’ now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Back in the library/dining room, Sharon Fremont had made excuses to the ladies for Abby’s intolerable breach of etiquette by announcing that it was Abigail’s ‘young man’ on the phone and that he was calling long distance. She was sure that it was nothing serious and that Abigail would be back shortly.
As expected, one of the other women made the inquiry. Abigail’s young man? She’s seeing someone then?
"Yes, they’ve known each other for a couple of months. He’s a singer. He’s making a record…with his group…I can never remember the name. Back…Back…”
“Backstreet Boys?” suggested another of the women.
“Yes, that’s it,” said Sharon, waving a hand in dismissal.
“Which one?” The woman was a fan.
Sharon looked at her. Which one what?
“Which boy…I mean, man? Which one is she seeing?”
“Oh, Nick Carter is his name.”
A choking sound from a table in the library made their heads turn.
“Are you okay, dear?” asked Miranda Howell.
“Yes, Mother, I’m fine. Something just went down the wrong way,” replied her daughter Veronica… Mrs. Veronica Ann Howell Fenton.
