There were differences in the way they performed the songs. Abby liked that and she figured the Boys did too. She knew that in the early days, improvisation was discouraged. They rehearsed until they dropped to get everything exact and they were expected to do it exactly the same way every time. But they were older now and had more control over their own existence. When they did Tell Me, Baby, there was a section in the middle, where they just jammed…their voices doing whatever they felt like. At least, that’s the way it sounded. They rehearsed it, of course, they just changed it every day. It was one of the hottest downloads on the Internet.
The crowd in New York was frenzied. They couldn’t get enough. Ticket demand had been incredible. The scalpers were making out like bandits, which quite honestly, is what they were. Bidding for tickets on eBay had reached the point of hysteria. People begged for a second show to be added.
It would be added all right, but not until six weeks down the road. Management had decreed that the Boys would pass through New York three times, and that was just on the first leg. Maximum exposure would be guaranteed. They could do a different set of television shows each time they hit town…one of the network morning shows, one of the late nights and one of the mid-morning talk shows…Regis and Kelly...the View…Caroline Rhea… When the wisdom of this was questioned, Johnny Wright merely replied, “Trust me, boys.” They did, so they accepted it without further skepticism. The theory was that hype from the first show would help sell tickets to the second, and so on… That didn’t turn out to be necessary since all three shows sold out within hours of tickets going on sale. There were a lot of Backstreet fans in the Big Apple.
Patrick led Abby away from the pit before the final song. There were two encore numbers to follow, but it was time for her to get on the bus. The engines were already running and the smell of diesel fumes filled the air in the enclosed space.
Abby went into the bathroom and got some towels. She moistened them slightly and then put one of them in the microwave. She ran a sink full of the hottest water she could get. She put the kettle on to boil.
A few minutes later, Nick came bounding onto the bus. The door closed behind him and Terence. The bus pulled out immediately. The driver picked his way carefully through the few fans who had given up the last couple of numbers to hang around the loading area in hopes of catching a glimpse of their heroes.
“Phew!” said Nick, plopping down onto the armchair. He was wearing a bathrobe and slippers, having had his last costume of the show stripped off him by a wardrobe person as he exited the stage.
“Good show,” said Abby with a smile.
“Thanks, B…Abby,” said Nick. He was so wired, he was twitching. It was so different from the last concert…their wedding night…when he’d been paralyzed with fatigue. His foot bounced up and down and he snapped his fingers, humming one of the songs from the show.
Terence brought out some food from the kitchen. Nick munched on some veggies and ate the sandwich. He drank one beer really quickly and then he sipped a second. Abby watched him wind down from the frenzy. When he yawned, she stood up and beckoned him to follow her.
“Get into bed,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Nick got into bed and lay on his back. He wanted to go to sleep. That was all he wanted to do. He could feel it all closing in on him and he knew that if he didn’t get a good night’s sleep, he was going to be dog shit in the morning. He opened his eyes as Abby came back into the room.
“What have you got there?” he asked.
“Hot cloths and warm towels,” she said. “I’m going to give you a sponge bath.” She set down the cloths along with a bowl of water.
“What?” That sounded like something you got in the hospital, thought Nick. Was it supposed to be something sexy? He tried to give her a sexy leer. He yawned halfway through it.
“Your job is to go to sleep. Do you hear me, Nick? That’s what I want you to do tonight. Now close your eyes.”
Nick closed his eyes and then opened them a moment later when he felt the hot, wet cloth on his forehead.
“Too hot?” asked Abby.
“No,” said Nick, “it feels good.”
Abby nodded at him to shut his eyes again and he did. Abby used the wet cloth to wipe his forehead and his face. Then she moved on to his neck. When she was done, she put a second hot cloth over his face and left it there, while she gently washed his chest and arms.
Nick made little cooing sounds that he was totally unaware of and that went straight to Abby’s heart. When she was done, she carefully lifted the cloth from his face and peered at him. He opened one eye and grinned sleepily.
“Turn over,” whispered Abby. She repeated the routine on his back, massaging the warmth into his shoulders. His breathing changed and she knew he had slipped into sleep. She placed a hot towel across his shoulders and pulled the sheets up to it. She quietly gathered up the cloths and tiptoed from the room.
“You’re still up?” asked Terence when she came out into the living area.
“Yes, dear,” she said with a grin. “I’ve put the baby to bed.”
Terence and Patrick chuckled.
“Um…do you guys mind if I sleep in the third bunk tonight? I want Nick to get a really good sleep. The last few days have been…”
The most wonderful of his life, thought Terence. He wasn’t sure why Abby didn’t seem to know that. “…pretty hectic,” he said with a nod. He knew that Abby didn’t really get it that this was the pace that the Boys lived at on tour. The whole wedding thing was an extra emotional load but if it hadn’t happened, that time would have been filled with interviews and publicity crap.
“Do you snore?” asked Patrick, grinning.
“I don’t know,” said Abby, with a laugh. “I guess you’ll be able to answer that for me in the morning.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Abby was the first one up in the morning. She was usually an early riser and it was only “circumstances beyond her control” that had broken her routine. Yeah, she thought. Circumstances beyond my control. My marriage. My husband. His entourage.
She wanted to write. She ached to write. She knew that she could if she wanted to. No one would stop her. They would all be very happy for her. They loved her stories, didn’t they? Except that she needed to be alone. She couldn’t just curl up in the corner of the sofa while Nick played video games and the two giant men tried to be invisible. She couldn’t scrawl down thoughts while makeup artists and opening acts swirled around her. Princess Penelope was too shy to come out unless Abby was alone…although Abby thought that maybe when she was finally alone, Princess Penelope might have to have an episode in a crowded place, perhaps during the traveling minstrel show.
Abby set up the coffee and boiled the kettle for tea. She thought about sneaking into Nick’s room to get her notepad from the pocket on her suitcase, but she decided against it. Nick was going to sleep until he woke up. She didn’t care if she had to barricade the door. If he missed an interview, if he missed a concert, if he missed a freakin’ Grammy…he was going to sleep until he woke up.
Terence woke up next. He stumbled into the kitchen area and took a step back, surprised to see Abby there. He mumbled thanks (for the coffee) and apologies (for his attire and demeanor) and disappeared for five minutes.
“How long have you been up? Did you sleep okay?” Terence thought that his job would be much easier if Wife-of-Nick was happy and sleeping well.
“Actually, this is my usual time,” said Abby. “And yes, I slept fine. I was tired.”
“That’s the one thing you’ll learn pretty quickly about touring,” said Terence. “You are always tired. They run these boys ragged and everyone else along with them. It’ll be a little easier this time, I think,” he added, almost to himself. “They’re older now and they’re not going to take it any more. I think management was smart enough to realize it, but they are management after all…”
“I’m not waking him,” said Abby. “No one is waking him.”
Terence knew that they were sleeping their way into Boston. The trip hadn’t even been that long. They’d been parked and asleep under the Fleet Center for much of the night. The trip from NYC to Boston was just over four hours. The drivers pulled into the underground parking area just after two, shut down the bus and climbed into their bunk behind the driver’s seat. They were spending three days in Boston, but they might as well grab what little sleep they could.
No one was that anxious to wake up yet. They were here for awhile, two sold-out shows, and the publicity machine didn’t gear up until later this morning. Abby didn’t get how carefully orchestrated the whole thing was. She wasn’t going to have to fight to let Nick sleep. It was built into the schedule.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“It ain’t happenin’, Dawg!” Kevin’s lips were pinched and his green eyes were slits. He hated when management slipped up behind them and smacked them across the back of the head.
“Look, all I’m saying is…”
The others sat silent, staring at the floor while Kevin engaged in a battle of wills with Frank Bayliss, their publicity rep. KISS 108, the radio station that was sponsoring the Boston concerts was running a contest for the fans. Win a Dream Date with the Backstreet Boys…get picked up in a limousine for the concert, have a backstage pass, attend the after party, the whole works…the same kind of crap they’d been doing for over a decade.
Jive got their fingers on it, however, and decided it would be a great gimmick if the girl picked her favorite Boy and they focused on that. Win a Dream Date with your Favorite Backstreet Boy. The girl would ride with him to the venue, accompany him through the whole makeup/preparation thing and be with him for the private after party, also sponsored by the radio station and taking place at Sissy K’s, a club in the Faneuil Hall district, far enough away from the venue that it wouldn’t be stormed by errant fans. Jive liked the idea so much that they had already given the concept to Teen People for an article. The magazine was sending a photographer to document the evening. Frank Bayliss had neglected to mention it to the Boys until it was too late to do anything about it.
“Three of us are married now, and one of us is on his frickin’ honeymoon.” Kevin was adamant. Those days were over!
“It might not be him.”
“Give your head a shake. Of course, it will be him.”
Since the radio station was a teenage pop one, Kevin figured the chances were that the girl would choose Nick, if only to pump him for details about the wedding. And there was just no way…no way…
“Maybe they could say ‘single Backstreet Boys’,” offered Howie, trying to be helpful. “Maybe we could make them choose between me and AJ.” He looked over at his tattooed friend. AJ shrugged. He didn’t care. He hated all this publicity bullshit anyway, but he’d learned that it was better just to bend over and take it, rather than try to fight it every step of the way.
“No…that won’t work. There’s no mystery there. It’s a 50-50 chance,” said Frank. “No offence, guys,” he added, turning to Howie and AJ. They shrugged. None taken.
“If they picked you, Brian, would you go?” asked Abby. She had been sitting quietly beside Nick, feeling very much out of place.
Brian looked at her. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “It’s just a publicity thing. Yeah, I’d go. Leigh understands. It’s part of the game.”
Abby stood up. “Then I don’t see the problem.” She smiled at Nick and walked out of the room.
Nick sighed. He hated this situation on so many levels. He hated that they all knew he would be the one chosen. And they were right. Chances were it would be him. The fan mail and e-mail that came into Jive was mostly for him. There were a lot of adults who loved their music and supported them by buying their records and attending concerts. They just didn’t tend to write fan letters. Lovestruck teenagers did that. If it had been an adult contemporary station, Kevin and Howie would be the ones, or maybe AJ, if the fan had an edge to her. Brian had a good chance of being the one, thought Nick, but nah, not with the wife and kid thing happening. The teenagers weren’t into that.
The wife. There was reason number two why Nick hated this whole thing. How would this look to the public? Backstreet Boy takes time out of honeymoon to go on date with other woman! That wasn’t what it was. Everyone knew that wasn’t what it was. Did the tabloids care? Nope!
The third reason that Nick hated this was because it was exactly the kind of thing that he had got married to avoid. Having to make conversation, knowing that the fan would either have a tape recorder secreted on her somewhere, or would be going to the washroom every five minutes to write down what he said, that was what Nick hated. He’d be sure to say something dumb. Even if it wasn’t dumb in context, it would be made out that way.
The fourth reason was that the fan would probably want to talk about the wedding and Abby. And Nick didn’t want to. Those were private things, that he wanted just for himself. But it wouldn’t be that way. And he’d have to answer. What could he say to his ‘dream date’? Mind your own fucking business.
Nick looked up. They were all watching him, waiting.
“You don’t have to,” said Kevin, with steel in his voice.
Nick raised his hands in surrender. “It’s okay. It might not even be me.”
Please, please, please, he prayed, let the girl pick Brian. Please, please, please!
The girl picked Nick.
