Nick was eager to talk about his time in Atlanta and Troy helped him unwind from that until they reached the spot where they were going to spend the night, a secluded cove just north of San Diego. Troy laughed along with Nick’s imitations of the Boys – Brian gushing over parenthood, Kevin describing the antics of the fans at the stage door, Howie telling family stories, AJ talking about his tour. Troy noticed a small cloud cross Nick’s eyes at the subject of AJ. He made a mental note to come back to that.
They made dinner and sat on the deck drinking beer. Troy talked about what he’d been up to in the past few months. There was no way he could do this without bringing up his girlfriend, Michelle. They had gone out with Nick and Ronni a couple of times. Then they’d stopped going out as a foursome, because Ronni and Michelle didn’t get along. Troy didn’t know what Ronni’s problem with Michelle was, but he knew that Michelle thought Ronni was a user. Chelle would be delighted to hear that Ronni was no longer part of Nick’s life. Troy talked about Michelle and how good it was going. The unspoken question was there.
Finally, Nick sighed. “Ronni dumped me. She ran off to Vegas and married her high school sweetheart.”
“The Blast-from-the-Past guy?”
Nick nodded. Yep, that’s the one.
“Sorry, Man.” It was all Troy could think of to say. They sat in silence for awhile, enjoying the warm evening breeze.
“Yeah, well, suck it up and go on, that’s what I always say,” said Nick, reaching into the cooler for another beer.
“Yeah, since when?” asked Troy. “I’ve never heard you say that.”
Nick’s eyes went far away for a moment. Then he looked over at Troy. This would be a true test. “Hey, you know the best way to get over a girl is just to go get another one.”
Troy’s eyes widened. Yeah, Nick, but usually you hide under the bed for a few months first, he thought. “You’ve met someone else already?”
“Yeah, a girl from Chicago. She’s got class.”
“Class, huh? What’s that, exactly? Do we have it?” Troy laughed and twisted the top off another beer.
“Nope, zip.” Nick stopped. “See, if I had class, I woulda said, ‘No, none.’”
“So she talks…” Troy put his index finger on the end of his nose and pushed upward.
“No, she’s not snooty or anything. She just talks right…all good grammar and shit like that. She doesn’t swear. Well, hardly ever…and when she does, it sounds funny. So what about you and Chelle? Is that getting serious?”
Troy didn’t miss the fact that Nick had changed the subject without telling him the girl’s name, but he filed that away with AJ and figured he’d come back to it later. “Yeah, me and Chelle, we got plans…I think.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby’s morning routine changed again. She got out of bed and switched on the computer. She performed her ablutions in the bathroom and opened her email. Still nothing from Nick. It had been a week. She swallowed her disappointment and opened the fan club site. She checked on his whereabouts. There was nothing there either. Then Abby opened her story. She read her words from the night before and made changes and corrections. She understood now exactly what Nick had meant when he said he had to put the song aside, put it “in the freezer”.
Abby wrote at night before she went to bed. Her parents thought she was chatting with Nick and she didn’t correct them. She had finished the first story Friday night. Saturday morning, she had printed it out and read it. Then she had grimaced at the effort and torn it up. It was a fairy tale about a princess who is locked in a tower, but there is no Prince Charming or Knight in Shining Armor to rescue her. She has to figure it out herself. The story was full of angst and bitterness. Why me? the princess kept asking, as she solved problem after problem and finally made it out of the tower, strong and independent.
Just a tad strident for the kiddies, laughed Abby to herself. The story flitted through her head off and on throughout the day. And then the light went on. Inspiration struck. Right in the middle of dinner. Abby suddenly looked around herself in panic.
“Abigail, dear, what’s the matter?” Sharon noticed Abby’s fidgeting.
“I…uh…I…I need a pencil.”
“What do you need a pencil for?” asked her father, who wasn’t sure what answer he'd been expecting from her, but that sure wasn’t it.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” said Abby, rising to her feet and bolting from the dining room.
Her parents looked at each other. “Do you think she’s ill?” asked John.
Sharon sighed. She didn’t know what to think of Abigail these days. Ever since she’d come home with that hat…
Abby re-appeared five minutes later. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me,” she said and sat down again without a word of explanation. “Daddy, did you ever talk to anyone in IT about getting that website changed?” Abby started a conversation that she knew her mother wouldn’t be able to take part in.
“I talked to Frank Morris. He’s going to call you. He wants your opinion.”
“That’s fine, Daddy. I’d be happy to tell him what I think. I’ve looked around…at a few other sites of similar companies. I’ll make some notes for you to take to him, if you’d like.”
“Thank you, Honey. I’m sure he’d find that very helpful.”
Abby skillfully maneuvered the conversation from there to the annual elections at the Country Club. She then let her parents carry the discussion while she maintained an interested face and paid no attention whatsoever. She was writing in her head. She couldn’t wait to get away from the table and get upstairs. She hoped she could remember all the ideas that were flooding her brain.
Abby declined dessert when it was offered. Perhaps later, she said, just wanting to get away from this table and get back to her story. She tapped her foot impatiently and then forced herself to stop.
Sharon Fremont gave her daughter an understanding smile. “You may be excused if you’d like, Abigail.”
“Thank you, Mother. Daddy.” Abby dropped her napkin beside her plate and was gone.
Her parents were silent until they were sure she was out of earshot.
“Abby seems a little distracted tonight, don’t you think?” said her father, who, after all, was just a man.
“I think she’s eager to talk to her young man,” said Sharon, the tiniest blush creeping across her cheeks. She remembered what it was like to be young and in love. Not with John. She had learned to love John after she married him. Her young love had been named Richard.
“Yes,” sighed John. “Her young man. What do you think of that, Sharon?”
“I think that maybe we’d better let her have her way on this.”
John Fremont nearly fell off his chair at her words. Sharon had never let anyone have their way on anything…not ever…not once.
“We made a mistake,” Sharon continued.
Now John’s life was flashing before his eyes. This was not Sharon talking. She’d never say words like that.
“I know. We hurt her,” he managed to choke out.
Sharon turned back into Sharon. She waved her hand through the air in dismissal. “We made a mistake,” she repeated. “A tactical error. Abby wasn’t ready for our advice. In this situation, she will either get to keep this young man, in which case everything will be fine, or she will lose him, in which case, she will be more amenable to our suggestions. One does not have to marry for love. That can come later.”
And she’s back, thought John, happy that the universe had been restored to its rightful order and that it was, indeed, his wife sitting across the table from him, but sad at the thought that his daughter might lose the one she loved and have to learn to love the one she was given.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby’s mind was racing faster than her fingers. She jumped out of her story and opened another file. She called it Notes and she tried to put down in point form all the ideas that were swirling through her brain. She hoped that she would be able to make sense of it all later.
Then she went back to the story. It had a title now. It had named itself. It was called Why Me? and it was a comedy, still a children’s story, but an over-the-top farcical romp with Princess Somebody…the title character had not named herself yet…overcoming all obstacles in very inventive ways, but crying out “Why meeeee?” at every new impasse.
Abby put the story ‘in the freezer’ and went to bed. When she got up Sunday morning, she was afraid to look at it, afraid that she wouldn’t like it. She remembered Nick’s words. “Things look different in the daylight.” She turned on her computer and went straight to the story without even checking her email. She read it and then re-read it. She liked it.
She set it down and got into the shower. The kids at school would let her know if it was really a good story. You couldn’t fool kids. She’d tell it to them tomorrow. Of course, that meant that the Princess had to have a name… She ran over some names in her head. Princess Serena. No, that didn’t make any sense. This princess was far from serene. Princess Nicola. NO! Abby turned off the shower and grabbed the towel. I am not naming her that and I am not thinking about him once today. Not once!
Abby dressed in her tennis whites. She had a match at the club and then she would have brunch with her parents. She hated Sunday brunch at the club. It was all about currying favor and making an impression. Business talk had been forbidden by Sharon, but that is all the men were there to do, make contacts and deals. The women talked about social things and each other, or at least those of their set who were absent or out of earshot. Mothers dragged reluctant sons over to meet Abby.
At least that has stopped, thought Abby. Because of Nick. Abby was rapidly sorting her acquaintances…or more accurately, her mother’s acquaintances…into two groups, Backstreet Boys fans and non-Backstreet Boys fans. And the former group was much larger than the latter. Abby smiled to herself. Who would have thought that so many of these upper-crust society matrons would be secretly lusting after younger men?
And these matriarchs who could send a disapproving look across a room and bring a husband or a child to heel, turned shy and unsure of themselves when they spoke of the Boys. Kevin was their favorite, most of them confessed shyly. That didn’t surprise Abby. Kevin was the oldest, the most mature. But she was very surprised by the number that claimed Nick as their favorite. Silly, blond beach boy Nick. The youngest of the group and most definitely the least mature. Perhaps it was maternal instinct kicking in, but Abby didn’t think so. There had been one or two truly rapacious looks when Nick’s name was brought up.
So much for not thinking of him for the entire day, thought Abby, descending the stairs.
“Oh, there you are at last, Abigail,” said her mother. “Hurry along, we have to pick up your Aunt Penelope. She’s coming to brunch. Your father invited her.”
Abby smiled to herself. Aunt Penelope was her favorite person in the world. She was John Fremont’s sister. She had never married and lived on a trust fund set up by her father. She used the money to travel the world, dropping into Chicago now and then to hug her niece and needle her staid and proper sister-in-law. Sharon Fremont disapproved of everything about Penelope, from her speech to her dress to her way-of-life, and she made that disapproval obvious. Penelope felt the same way about Sharon and used every opportunity to fill Abigail’s head with notions contrary to the tripe she was sure Sharon was pouring in there.
Abby wondered what Aunt P. would think about Nick. She sighed, chastising herself again for bringing his name and face into her brain. At least, she’d made it to the bottom of the stairs this time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Penelope Fremont had been a thorn in the side of the Fremont family, practically since her birth. It was her role and she was proud of it. She didn’t give a rat’s ass for tradition and breeding, and she’d tell you so. Her language was colorful, a little too colorful for Sharon, who nearly fainted every time Penelope said ‘shit’ or ‘ass’.
John Fremont held the back door of the car open for his sister. She climbed in and immediately threw her arms around Abby. They hugged awkwardly and then settled back in the seats, after having whispered ‘I missed you’ in each other’s ear.
“Good day, Sharon,” said Penelope, formally, winking at Abby.
“Penelope.” Sharon acknowledged her sister-in-law’s presence with a crisp nod.
Penelope picked up Abby’s hand and pressed it between her two. The two kindred spirits held hands all the way to the club, communicating silently with little squeezes in response to the conversation in the front seat, where Sharon was giving John his weekly warning not to discuss business and John was giving his weekly agreement not to, while turning over in his head the things he would need to discuss with Miles or Frederick or…
Suddenly, Abby and Penelope were drawn into the conversation.
“Abigail has a new beau,” said Sharon.
Penelope looked over at her niece. “I hope he’s better than that last piece of trash,” she said. Penelope did not know the circumstances surrounding either Philip’s arrival or departure from the scene; she just knew that she didn’t like him. She thought he was phony.
“He’s famous,” said Sharon. “His name is Nick Carter. He’s in a group, the Back…”
“The Backstreet Boys?” Penelope looked at Abby in question. Abby nodded. Penelope lifted her right hand in a thumbs-up gesture. You go, girl, she whispered. Abby rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her aunt.
“You’ve heard of them, then?” Sharon wasn’t surprised. She was never surprised by what Penelope did or knew. Shocked, dismayed, appalled, yes, but never surprised.
“Sure. They’ve only sold umpty-gazillion records…and they’re cute.” Penelope looked over at Abby. She mouthed the word ‘Howie’ and then she made a circle of her lips. Oooooh, she mimed, fanning herself with her right hand.
Abby cracked up. “Oh, Aunt P., you’re a riot.” And she knew that she had the name for her story. Princess Penelope.
