In the two weeks since the blowup between Nick and AJ, the matter had not been mentioned again. Kevin had explained the whole thing to Brian, who just kept muttering ‘but the jam…’ AJ seemed sane about everything else, so they moved on. Nick had proved that Abby existed and that was enough. Except that Nick felt like shit because he knew that the others thought AJ had had some kind of breakdown. And AJ felt like shit because he knew they thought he’d fucked up again. For the rest of his life, he was going to get that, he knew. AJ must be having another episode. Do you think he’s drinking? Or doing drugs? For the rest of his life…the fact that he had brought it on himself didn’t make him feel any better about it. And he was worried about Nick. And the tour. And the album.
Because he wasn’t quite as confident as the others. Backstreet’s back? Did anybody care? AJ had spent most of the previous years in isolation, dealing with his own issues, making only occasional forays into the spotlight. His solo album had been well-received. It was a total departure from the Backstreet sound and he knew it would only appeal to a certain segment of the population, certainly not the gum-chewing record-buying teenyboppers who’d soaked up Millennium and Black and Blue.
He’d done a short tour, in small clubs. Everyone had screamed for more…more dates, bigger clubs. Come on, AJ, you can do it. But he didn’t want to. He’d put off his solo effort as long as he had because he was afraid to put it out there on his own. Finally, he’d had his back against the wall and had been forced to. The songs were ready. He’d played with them for nearly three years. He just wasn’t sure he was ready.
He used the excuse of the upcoming recording sessions to keep the tour short…He answered the question about Backstreet in every interview but he began to get the impression that it was just a formula, the reporters felt they had to ask. AJ had the impression that if he’d said that there would be no more Backstreet Boys, the news would be greeted by a shrug. The others didn’t seem to think so, especially Kevin, who had had a lot more up-close-and-personal with the fans than any of them, being mobbed by women every night at the stage door.
AJ hugged his brothers and headed home, telling them that he’d see them in November…in Tucson.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nick packed his bags and went back to California. He dumped his luggage in the front hall and headed for the fridge. He drank some juice and called Mary. They talked for nearly an hour. By the end of it, Nick had caught up on all his business dealings, arranged for daily workouts with a personal trainer and answered the questions about Ronni by not answering them. “It’s over. I’ve moved on,” was all he said. He didn’t say what he’d moved on to, and she didn’t ask.
After he hung up the phone, he wandered through the house. Man, it was sterile, he thought. There was nothing going on in the way of decoration and hardly any furniture to speak of. Ronni had given him some suggestions and he’d been going to follow through on those…or at least let her.
Ronni.
She was everywhere in the house and she was nowhere. She had removed all trace of herself, but she couldn’t remove the memories. She was in the kitchen when he opened the cupboard and found a bag of Oreos. Ronni had a system for eating Oreos and she refused to eat them any other way. She was in the living room when he played his video games, leaning against his shoulder, trying to ruin his concentration by running her fingers down his chest. She was in the bathroom, tapping her fingernails on the shower doors and asking in a sexy voice if there was room for one more in there. And she was in the bedroom…in the bed…Nick pulled the pillows down and wrapped his arms around them. Ronni. The pain was too great and he cried himself to sleep.
The next day, he decided to sell the house. If there was any hope of him getting over her, he had to remove every trace of her from his life. And she filled up the house. He got Mary on the phone and started the wheels turning. He called Robert Evans and talked about finances. It was more complicated than he thought it would be. He decided he needed to make a list. He went looking for his yellow pad but Mrs. Marchesa had moved his luggage that morning, probably to the laundry room, so he took the shopping list notepad from the fridge and used it. Then he called his friend Troy and invited him to go out on the boat with him for the day.
Mrs. Marchesa had nearly fallen over the luggage when she came in the house that day. I guess he’s home, then, she thought. She shook her head. She never knew when he was coming or going. He really didn’t have a lot of needs. This was a pretty easy job she had here. Keeping an empty house clean wasn’t difficult. Mrs. Marchesa hauled the suitcases into the laundry room. She sorted clothes and set toiletry articles to one side. She’d put those in the bathroom later. She came across a smaller suitcase and when she opened it, she found the computer. She wasn’t sure what to do with that. It sure looked valuable, though. She carried it carefully into the living room. She didn’t want to leave it just anywhere. She opened the cabinet that held the video games and placed it on the bottom shelf. There! Nick would find it there for sure. He opened this cabinet at least once a day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Troy caught Nick just as he was going out the door. He was going to be late. He was caught up in a meeting. No problem, said Nick, I’ll go down and make sure everything is ready at the boat.
When Troy arrived at the marina, he saw Nick pacing up and down the dock.
“Can you clear your calendar for a couple of days?” Nick asked, before even saying hello.
“I guess so,” said Troy. “What’s up?”
“I just feel the need,” said Nick.
Troy understood. The ocean had a tremendous pull on Nick. He loved being out on the water…and in it. And it was where he released all of his tension. Troy figured there was probably quite a bit of tension to be released after a two-month recording session with the Boys. Troy had been Nick’s friend for a long time and he had been there when Nick came home from the Black and Blue tour, battered and bruised emotionally.
Nick’s attempt at self-preservation, at keeping his head and soul together, had been his first solo album. He thought his brothers would understand. He was wrong. Nick and Troy spent a lot of time on the ocean during that time.
“How long?”
“It’s Thursday today. Maybe ‘til Sunday? I stocked up. While I was waiting for you, I bought a lot of food and crap.”
“Beer?”
Nick laughed. “Uh, yeah!!”
“Okay…but I only have these clothes…”
“Don’t worry! There’s lots of stuff here that will fit you.”
“Speaking of ‘fit’, Nick,..man, you’re starting to look pretty trim…”
The two men cast off from shore and headed out to sea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In Chicago, Abby opened her email Friday morning. There was nothing there. Again. For the third straight day. She had heard from Nick last on Tuesday, when he’d told her they were wrapped up, packed up and headed out. She didn’t expect to hear from him on Wednesday. That was travel day. It would be crazy for him and he would be tired at the end of it. She had checked her email and turned on her AIM just in case, but as she suspected, she hadn’t heard from him. Nor yesterday. Nor today. She looked at the sticky note that she had attached to her computer with the new time zones on it and did mental calculations. Then she went to the club and made the tennis pro earn his money.
On the way out of the club, she ran into James Fenton. “Abigail!” he said warmly, determined to be friendly. He knew that Abby had a lot of influence with her father.
“James,” Abby returned the greeting coolly. She hated James Fenton. She had tried not to. It wasn’t his fault that he was gorgeous and she was not. It wasn’t his fault that her parents thought the two of them together would be the foundation of a wonderful financial and social dynasty. It wasn’t his fault that his parents had tried to convince him to overlook Abby’s shortcomings and ask her out. But it was his fault that he was mean and two-faced about it. In high school, he and Ronni Howell had been awful to Abby. Ducky. The word reverberated around her head. James had taken full part in the torture and then had had the nerve to sit politely at Sunday brunch and make pleasant conversation, getting Sharon Fremont’s hopes up for no good reason.
“I haven’t seen you for awhile,” continued James.
“Yes, well,” said Abby, not even bothering with a ‘I’ve been busy’. “Congratulations on your marriage,” she added politely.
“Thank you,” he replied. “We’re very happy. I’m glad we found each other again.”
“Yes, you deserve each other,” said Abby with a sweet smile and she went on her way before James could mutter any empty ‘we must get together’ invitations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~At dinner that evening, Abby’s mother inquired after Nick. Abby said that he was fine. Sharon’s one raised eyebrow requested further information. This was dinner conversation, after all, and one-word answers were not acceptable. Abby explained that they had finished the album and were taking some time off before they moved on to the next step. She waited to see if the eyebrow descended before she gave out any more information. She didn’t have much and thought she’d better dole it out in the smallest possible portions.
“So he’s incommunicado at the moment? In transit?”
“What do you mean, Mother?”
“I just haven’t heard you clicking away on your computer the last couple of days.” Sharon was too polite to mention the shrieks of laughter, which were also thankfully absent.
“He’s out on his boat,” said Abby, taking a forkful of her broiled salmon and chewing thoughtfully. Yes, that made sense. He loved the ocean and he had a boat. He hadn’t been to California for almost three months. Surely, he would go out on the boat. But she’d better check. She’d better go to one of those Nick-spotting websites and make sure he wasn’t doing something public.
After dinner, Abby excused herself and went to her room. She turned on her computer but didn’t open her email. She didn’t feel like being disappointed again. She turned on her AIM and looked at the faded name on her Buddy List. Monty was not online.
Abby checked out a couple of websites and bookmarked one that looked like it was more serious than the others. At least, it thought it was. The Mature Fan Club, it called itself. There didn’t seem to be any news of Nick, so Abby figured she could leave him on the boat for a day or two.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Nick might think he could get this past the Boys. Maybe he could get it past the news media. He might even be able to get it past the fans. But there was no way they were going to get it past the eagle-eyed, sharp-eared Sharon Fremont.
Abby sighed and opened a Word Document. She stared at the blank page. Clickety-click, she typed. Clickety-click. Yeah, right. Like I’m going to waste my life sitting here going ‘clickety-click’. She backspaced out the letters and stared at the blank page for awhile. If I’m going to type something, it might as well be something real. I could make a shopping list, if I liked to shop. But I don’t. I could start a journal, if I had anything I wanted to say about my life. But I don’t.
Then she had an idea. School was starting again next week. She would be volunteering in the hearing-impaired class again. Maybe she could write a little welcome back poem or story for them. She had received good marks on high school assignments and college essays but she hadn’t done anything in the creative bent since. Hmmm…she didn’t even know if she could do this.
A creak in the floor outside her door told her that her mother was passing by. Clickety-click, she typed. Once upon a time Abby stared at the words. there was a princess Yeah, right! A fairy tale princess. You’d know a lot about that.
Abby stood up and went to her fridge. She poured herself a glass of wine and ate a couple of grapes. She turned and looked over at the computer. She stuck her tongue out at it. She wandered back over and sat down. She looked at the words. Then she idly tapped with her index fingers fjfjfjfjfjfjf She stopped. Then she added her middle fingers, moving them to the top row. fjeifjeifjeifjei You’re a lunatic, she told herself. She took a sip of wine. You got yourself into this mess, get yourself out. No one is going to rescue you but yourself. She laughed to herself, What! No knight in shining armor!? What’s up with that?
Suddenly, Abby grabbed the mouse. She swiped the cursor across the page, highlighting the text. She hit Delete and faced the blank page again. She put her hands on the keyboard and then, with a smile, Abby started to write.
