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Stepping out of my brand new Mustang, I ran my fingers through my blonde hair. I looked over to the small crowd that had formed at the entrance of the studio. Lifting a hand, to wave, I flashed my signature…uh…look. Yeah…see I do this thing, where I purse my lips together, smirk and raise an eyebrow, all at the same time. It drives the chicks crazy!! Anyways, I slowly walked towards the entrance, with long steps. They always tell me to use the back entrance, but everyday I enter through the front.

“Ni-ick! Ni-ick!” the girls chanted, as I drew closer. Sure, guys always come to the show, too, but it was only the girls that came early, to catch a glimpse, and chant my name. I won’t deny that I love it!

“Hello, ladies,” I flashed my signature look again, scratching a few autographs, onto little notepads and t-shirts. I gave another small wave as I approached the security that was manning the entrance.

“Morning, Nick,” he smiled his own signature smile. It wasn’t known, like mine, and it wasn’t famous, like mine, but it was one hell of a grin.

“Hey Bri. How’s it?” I bumped knuckles with him and smiled widely. I have always gotten along with the older man, we’ve even played ball on occasion.

“Pretty typical day. Although watch out for D., he’s been goin’ looooocoooo!!!” He chuckled heartily, “That man has been talking in Spanish, aaaaaaall morning.”

“Problems, I take it?” I snickered. Howard Dorough…a great guy, just…a little temperamental. It takes a lot to set him off, but when he starts speaking Spanish…LOOK OUT!

“Someone didn’t show.” Brian shook his head, with a slight amusement. I just rolled my eyes. It always put everyone in an uproar, when someone decided not to show. Half the time, it turns out that, the plane was delayed and the people are just late.

“Nice…” I was cut off by a loud shouting, from in the building.

“NICK! Where is that damn boy! I swear to fucking hell, he better be here within the next five minutes! CAAAARTEEEER!”

“That’s my cue.” I rolled my eyes, knowing that the man shouting was on a rampage, as well. “Catchya later, Bri. We should get together for the game, on Saturday.”

“Yeah, for sure. See ya after the show.” He smiled, steping in front of the door, that I had just entered through.

“Alright,” I shouted, over the bustling crew. “Who wants me?”

“Where, the hell, have you been?!?” The shorter man came hurrying up, to me. “Howard is fuckin freaking out and you are nowhere within sight! We have a shitty problem to fix and new material to cover! Hurry up…let’s go!” His words were jumbled, as he dragged me, by the arm.

“Chill out Al.”

“You know I hate it, when you call me that!” He scoffed, giving me a death glare. Al was a tough guy…or at least he tried to be….covered in tattoos, dyed hair, lots of jewelry, sunglasses inside, and wild facial hair. Really, if you know him, he’s like a squishy little teddy bear and I doubt he could do anything that, that glare implied.

“But, everyone calls you that,” I reminded him, with a snicker.

“Shut, the fuck, up, you oversized twerp! We have 15 minutes until show time and you’re just dickin around. I am the damn stage manager for a fucking reason! Now let’s GO!”

“Alright, alright! Geesh!” I followed him back, further, into the bustle. I had people coming up and practically attacking me, but it was routine. Sarah Lynn pulled off my t-shirt and slipped on my clean one, for the show. Melissa was walking and putting foundation, onto my face. Joan was trying to work, around Melissa, to brush the blush, onto my cheeks. Kara was frantically combing my frazzled hair. Who knows what else was being done, to me, at that moment, but I was used to it. I’ve been doing this for years and it all seems normal, now.

“TEN MINUTES!” That man…he’s a piece of work, let me tell ya! He’s the only one, around here, that’s even close to my height, being only an inch or two shorter than me. He’s the Producer, of the show, and he can be a bit…anal…sometimes.

“You hear him, we’ve only got ten minutes until show time.” Al rushed around me, grabbing papers from different people. To an outsider, it would look like pure chaos, in here, but, to us, it was all an organized symphony. Every person had their part and did it well. Al spun around, facing me again. “First set is the typical he-she married shit…you know the drill. Commercial. Then we’re onto the she-he, illegal immi…don’t forget to question about the immi thing…” He spoke in a blurred rush, of words. It had taken us years to perfect our communication. He spoke quick, I listened quick…he used funny terms for things, I knew what they all meant…we had a code, of sorts…it helped us to communicate quicker and more efficiently, and we used it five days, out of our week.

“Right…second set is the immi, got it.” I nodded, paying close attention, as we walked towards the set. I peered out, taking in the looks, of today’s crowd.

“Okay…commercial. Then were back to the he-she married shit with the kid twist…not the real father…who is…blah blah blah. Paternity test after the break. Cut to commercial.” I took the cards that Al handed to me. I glanced at them, shuffling through them, to see what was written for my notes. It was typical…Al always kept it short and simple, for me. The music was cueing and the crow was starting to clap. It was show time. Al turned me, to face him, and fixed my shirt, as he finished up.

“NI-ICK! NI-ICK! NI-ICK!” The crowd shouted their usual chant, as I positioned myself, to go on.

“After the test read, you go to the thought. First commercial we’ll discuss. Get through first set…he-she married…on the rocks…big surprise…chairs and security…rips…chant…break. Ready? Let’s go! You’re on!” I suppressed my laughter, as he gave me a light push, onto the stage.

“Hello! And, welcome to the Nick Carter Show!”