“Style and Grace.”
“Hey there!”
Grace’s heart leapt at the sound of his voice. “Hey there, yourself! How’s the Big Apple?”
“It’s pretty big. It’s an amazing city. Have you ever been here?”
“No, I was going to go for a weekend last year with my sister, but Matt said he thought it would be too dangerous.”
“It’s not that dangerous if you’re careful,” Nick answered. Jeez, this Matt guy was something else. What a control freak!
“Said the man with the big, hulking bodyguard,” laughed Grace. “Of course, an anonymous computer geek probably wouldn’t be besieged by screaming fans. How are the fans?” Grace clipped the phone to her belt and grabbed her crutches. She made her way to an armchair and sat in it sideways, making herself comfortable for a long chat.
In New York, Nick sat on his bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows, his long legs spread out in front of him. Nick loved talking to Grace. He felt like he could talk about anything with her. She made him feel at ease with conversation – something he had never been able to do before.
Nick had never been taught to talk with people. Long conversations were something he had never encountered. He had lived in a world of sound bytes and Q & A sessions. He sat at a long table with his brothers and prayed he wouldn’t say anything stupid.
It was hard to come up with an original, interesting answer when four other people had just answered the same question and it was the same question they had been asked the day before and the day before that. And they had learned early on that you had to say something different each time. Brian had used the exact same answer to a question twice in two days and people leapt on it, saying they were scripted and unoriginal, just like their music.
Nick thought it was ironic how quickly they had gone from being discounted as a manufactured pale imitation of New Kids on the Block to being written off as has-beens with the advent of similar groups, such as NSYNC. Even the fleeting blaze of glory that was Millennium had been buffeted by criticism and cries of ‘lucky break’. It didn’t seem to matter how many a cappella performances they gave at press conferences, the media was determined not to like them or acknowledge their talent.
And they zeroed in on Howie and Nick as the weak links in extemporaneous speech.
Kevin took the lead in interviews, answering slowly and thoughtfully. AJ didn't care how he sounded. The more outrageous the better, he figured. Brian was always sincere and, when in doubt, thanked the Good Lord or the fans or both. That didn't leave much for the other two.
Howie always answered earnestly, but his words didn't come out right all the time. Howie never realized this as he was speaking. In his mind, the words were fine. It was only later that people would tell him what he'd said. He would shrug it off and laugh. So what? he would say.
Fine for him, thought Nick, but not so easy for me. Everyone knew that Howie mixed up his words but they called it 'cute' and 'endearing'. They saved descriptions of 'stupid' and 'dumb' for Nick.
Nick realized when he had said something wrong the moment it was out of his mouth. His famous "I resign here" comment, when he was asked what he thought of Florida, had never been forgotten. His own personal memorable humiliation had occurred when a British interviewer had asked the nervous youngster if he had any tattoos and did they effect his sex life. "I'm only 15," he had answered honestly. "I don't have tattoos or a sex life." The fan mail from that one had amused and titillated Denise McLean, their publicist at the time, for months.
Each of them had a public persona they could do little about. Brian was the down home country boy with a sincere faith in God and an undying devotion to his Lord, his wife and his country. Oddly enough, this was almost exactly the truth.
Kevin had fought hard against the Backstreet Boy definition of himself. He had established his JWR environmental foundation and spoken out numerous times as a serious political lobbyist on behalf of environmental causes. It was an uphill battle but one he was determined to win. Nick thought it would probably be easier for Kevin to be taken seriously, if he wasn't so damn handsome. It didn't matter how often he spoke out before Congress or at environmental summits, it was what he did with his hair that generated the most talk on the fan sites.
AJ had thought he was the smartest of them all. By choosing the 'wild child' image, he could do and say almost anything with impunity - the more tattoos, the wilder the hair color, the more they loved him. It had almost killed him, of course, when he had started believing his own hype and living out his wild fantasies.
And Howie. Dear sweet Howie. Sweet D. That was pretty much all you needed to say, thought Nick. The man did not have a mean bone in his body. He saw the best in everyone and just wanted the whole world to be happy. Howie was the epitome of pouring oil on troubled waters. You couldn't be mad at him. He always meant well.
Nick wondered how he did it. Nick couldn't manage it. He always seemed to be mad at someone - often himself. He tried to keep his anger under control, but inwardly, he raged at the destruction of his youth, the lost opportunities to learn something, to be of use. He hated being the youngest, bristled whenever anyone but Howie or AJ called him 'Nicky'. He wanted to be treated like a grownup, even though he wasn't really sure he was one.
Grace treated him like a grownup. She asked his opinions on a wide range of topics from politics to the weather. Sometimes, he had to admit that he didn't really know much about it, and she would quickly fill him in, not in a condescending manner, but in a way that said she understood that his career didn't include opportunities to scan the latest headlines every five minutes as hers did. Nick didn't like to read, but he had begun reading the newspaper every morning. AJ had been all set to tease him about it the first morning in New York, but a shake of the head from Howie had warned him off.
******************************Friday
Nick had called Grace every night from New York. He loved the time difference. It meant that he could get her before he went out in the evening or even after he came home. Two o'clock in the morning was only 11:00 in California and she would still be up, sometimes still at her computer.
Tonight he was calling her at 1:00 New York time. They had finished the charity gig and had returned to the hotel to change. They were going clubbing on their last night in town. Sarah had not come to New York with AJ. Wedding plans, he had explained, rolling his eyes. He was looking to cut loose a little. Nick said he was going to call Grace. Give me five minutes, he said. You mean, give you an hour, said Howie. He hadn't met Grace yet, but he liked the change he saw in Nick since he had met her. Less angry, less...Howie didn't really know how to say it...less looking to hurt someone.
Nick could hear Grace moving around her apartment. He pictured her wearing her headset, the phone hitched to her waistband. He didn't know why that image turned him on, but it did. He swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
"Tell me what you're doing right now," he said.
"Actually, I was just about to go to bed," she said. "I'm tired. It was a long day."
"Are you wearing the headset?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. She knew he liked her in that for some reason.
"Where are you in the apartment?" he asked.
"I'm in the bedroom," she answered. There was a pause as they both digested that sentence. Actually, she was in the big room, but as hastily and silently as she could, she turned off lights and made her way to the bedroom.
"What are you wearing?" he asked with a catch in his voice.
"Khaki shorts and a cotton blouse," she responded.
"Put the phone on the nightstand," he ordered, "and take off your shorts." They both paused and considered the game they were about to play. He waited with bated breath, hoping he hadn't gone too far.
"Okay, they're off," she whispered.
"Describe your underwear," he said.
Grace looked down at her plain cotton briefs. "They're nylon," she breathed, "Flesh colored bikinis with lace over the...middle area." She made a mental note to buy some like that.
Nick leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Take off your blouse," he ordered. His hand wandered downward and adjusted his pants to make room for his growing erection.
"Okay," she whispered. "I did."
"Describe your bra," he demanded huskily.
“I’m not wearing one,” answered Grace, quietly removing her plain cotton bra and tossing it behind her. Nick’s sharp intake of breath made her smile. She pulled back the covers on the bed and crawled onto it, placing the crutches on the floor as silently as she could.
“Now I’m laying on the bed,” she said, taking the lead in the game. “How do you want me to be?” He moaned into the phone. She smiled and leaned her head back. She had never done anything like this before. It was very liberating.
“Put two fingers in your mouth,” he whispered. Grace complied, sucking on them gently.
"Now move them down to your throat."
She did.
"Those are my lips," he said. The feeling that swept over her was overwhelming and she felt it in every nerve ending.
"Now move them downward," he breathed, "to your breast, to your nipple...my lips..." She did what he said, a tiny whimper escaping her throat and racing through space to New York, where it made an erection grow larger and begin to throb.
"Now the other one," he panted, his voice thick with desire.
"Mmmm..." was all he heard, but he could picture her manipulating herself, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted.
"Nick, I want you here," she breathed so softly that he barely heard her.
"I know. I wish I was there too. I wish those really were my lips moving down your stomach, kissing your sweet skin, putting my tongue in your navel." He heard the groan and knew that her fingers were tracing the pattern he described.
"I'm running my tongue along...awww fuck!" They both snapped back to reality with the pounding on Nick's hotel room door.
"Come on, Frack, we want to go!" AJ called out petulantly.
"In a minute," Nick yelled back and then spoke into the phone. "Sorry 'bout that. We're uh...going out...they're waiting."
"Mmmm..." said Grace, clearing her throat and trying to sound normal. "You go on and have a good time. But, um, Nick, I remember something you said to me the first night we met."
"Yeah, what's that?" he asked.
"You said you give good phone. And you were right. You really do."
"I'll be home tomorrow," he said.
"I'll be here," she answered. "'Night."
They disconnected and he went to the hotel room door.
"Holy crap, Nick. Are you planning on taking that with you?" AJ pointed at the bulge in Nick's pants.
"Aw, Grace and I were just messing around a little on the phone."
"Well, do you want five minutes to get rid of it? 'Cause if you do, hurry up. We're ready to roll."
"Nah," said Nick, with a secretive little smile. "I think I'll keep it awhile. Let's go. Where's D?"
"Waiting by the elevator," said AJ, following Nick up the hall. He shook his head. This girl must really be something. Popular notion had it that being a Backstreet Boy meant getting laid all the time. And in AJ's case, it had been true. Before he met Sarah, he had slept with lots of girls, at least one after every concert. He would point out the one he wanted and his security guy, Jonas, would arrange to have her taken to Jonas' room. Jonas couldn't count the number of times he had slept in AJ's room because AJ was banging away at some broad in his.
But Nick...never on the road. Nick was too scared of the media. The frenzy surrounding Willa had frightened him and made him distrustful of girls who said they wanted him. One-night-stands weren't his thing anyway. On the road, he'd curl up with his video games. No video game ever asked him to help it get into show business. No video game ever generated a website full of hatred. No video game ever offered him a blow job in exchange for an autograph.
******************************Grace leaned her head back against the pillows and replayed the conversation in her mind. Phone sex! Who would ever have thought it would be such a turn-on! She slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties and searched out her center. She was already wet and she stuck two fingers into herself for lubrication. She pushed her panties down and spread her legs. She massaged herself gently, then faster and harder, as she pictured Nick's mouth over hers, over her breasts, her stomach, her...
She came with a bucking of her hips and a guttural sound of pleasure. "Nick," she whispered, "Oh, Nick." as she arched her back and her head slammed back against the pillows.
A few minutes later, her breathing returned to normal. The visions of Nick stopped flashing before her eyes. She removed her hand from her crotch and pulled up her panties. She got off the bed and headed for the bathroom, grabbing her nightie on the way and cursing the crutches. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Passion still glazed her eyes and her cheeks were red. She ran the hot water and washed herself all over as best she could. She knew her knees were too weak to manage a shower at this point.
