The next morning, my throat hurt even worse. When I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue in the bathroom mirror, I saw that the whole inside of my mouth was still bright red and dotted with patchy, white sores. My throat was just as red, and my tonsils were like golf balls. I wondered if that was all from the mucositis, or if I was getting sick again, on top of everything else.
“Fuck my life,” I muttered into the mirror. I immediately regretted it when I remembered the conversation I’d had with Cary the night before. No, don’t fuck my life. I like my life. I’d like to keep living it, thanks, I thought desperately, pleading to whoever it was who controlled these things. God? If there was a god, sometimes I hated him for the cruel joke he’d played on me when he gave me cancer. My life was so awesome before all this, and now... well, now it kind of sucked. But I wasn’t in much of a position to piss him off, so I would have to try to have a more positive attitude.
It wasn’t easy, though. I felt like crap, and when I walked to the front of the bus, I saw a dreary, gray sky full of clouds. We were in a completely different state by now - North Carolina, I thought - but it still looked like it was going to rain. At least there were no amusement parks to visit that day. We had a typical schedule: soundcheck in the afternoon, soundcheck party in the evening, and a show that night. There was no after party, thank god, and with the second NBA playoff game on that night, I knew I’d have an excuse to go back to my bus right after the show and stay in for the night without anyone wondering why I was being so lame lately.
As usual, Cary was already up. She had the TV on, and I was surprised when I heard my own voice coming out of it. I looked and saw the four of us on the screen; we were singing “This Is Us.”
“Private Sessions?” I asked, recognizing the set behind us.
She turned, startled. “Yeah. You sound terrible.”
I frowned, my feelings hurt. I thought I’d sounded damn good on that performance, all things considered.
It must have shown on my face, because Cary giggled and quickly added, “In real life! Not on TV. You sound awesome on TV.”
“Oh - thanks.” She was right; my voice was about an octave lower than usual and gravelly. “Not sure I’m gonna be able to hit those high notes today,” I croaked.
She looked worried. “Are you feeling okay?”
I shrugged. “Not especially, but when was the last time I really felt ‘okay’? It’s all relative now.”
“You know what I mean. Come here.” She beckoned me over, and when I sat down, she said, “Open up and say ‘ahh.’”
I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious! Open up!”
So I opened my mouth wide and stuck out my tongue as far as it would go, seeing if I could gross her out. “Ahhh...” I said loudly, breathing my morning breath all over her, and waggled my tongue.
“Ugh...” She made a face. “I can’t see anything in this light. Hang on.” She jumped up and scurried to the back of the bus, returning with a big pink bag with lots of pockets. She set it next to her on the couch and opened it up, and I saw medical equipment poking out of all the pockets on the inside - a stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, stuff like that.
“Where’d all that come from?” I asked, watching as she fished out one of those little penlights doctors shine in your eyes.
She looked surprised by the question. “This is my medical bag,” she said. “I wanted to have my own equipment with me on the road.”
“Did you bring that to LA?” I’d never seen her use it back in my condo.
“No, I had my dad bring it when he came for American Idol.”
“Did you tell him about-?”
“No, of course not. I just said I thought it would be a good idea to have my stuff with me, in case of an emergency. You never know when you’re going to need a nurse.” She winked at me.
“Oh.” I relaxed a little. “Okay.”
“Open up again,” she said, clicking on her penlight. I did, normally this time, and she shined the light into my mouth. I saw her grimace as she got a load of what I’d seen in the mirror. “Wow, your tonsils are huge,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “Are you running a fever?” She felt my forehead. “You’re warm, but not that hot...”
“I dunno, most fans think I’m pretty hot,” I joked. “Especially with my voice all husky like this.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty sexy,” she played along, smirking. “Your swollen tonsils, however, are not. Let me take your temperature.” She got out a thermometer from her bag and stuck it in my ear. When it beeped, she looked at the reading and pursed her lips. “99 on the nose.”
I was relieved. “That doesn’t even count as a fever, does it?”
“It’s mild,” she admitted. “We just have to watch it. If it goes above 100.4...”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Then we call the doctor.” That was how she had gotten me to go to the hospital the last time, but I was only humoring her. I had no intention of making any hospital visits this time. If I got admitted, the way I was before, it would mess up our whole tour schedule and ruin everything.
Cary nodded, but she didn’t look satisfied. “I wish we had the results of your blood work. If you’re neutropenic again...”
“I’ll be fine,” I interrupted her, before she could say I shouldn’t perform. I had this conversation memorized by now; I didn’t need to hear it again. “Hey, how ‘bout you go mix me up some of that saltwater stuff before Private Sessions comes back from commercial?” I added, glancing at the TV.
She gave me a look, like, I know you’re just trying to distract me. But I guess it worked because she got up and went into the kitchen, and after we had watched the end of the show together, I didn’t hear anything more about not performing.
***
“You sound like shit, dude,” AJ said that day at our soundcheck, the real one we did before they let the VIP fans in. “You sick or somethin’?”
“I think I got some bug,” I replied, clearing my throat. It didn’t help; it still felt scratchy and raw, and my voice was still a lot lower than usual. I didn’t mind that part, but it was going to make singing difficult. “I feel like I’ve got a golf ball in my throat; my tonsils are all swollen.”
“Ew... well, don’t breathe on me.” AJ backed away, holding his fingers up like a cross to ward me off.
“You gonna be okay to sing tonight, Nicky?” asked Howie, looking at me with concern. “Do you wanna get checked out?”
See, this was why I didn’t want them to know how sick I really was. Maybe it was because he was taking Kevin’s role too seriously, or maybe it was just because he was a father himself, but Howie tended to overreact about stuff like that, and Brian was getting almost as bad. We had cancelled a show on the last tour because I had the flu, which was unheard of in the old days. Ever since I’d gotten the cardiomyopathy diagnosis, they’d been keeping a closer eye on me, staying on my back about taking care of myself. If they knew what was really going on with me, they would completely freak out.
My answer was to downplay everything. “Oh, you know plenty of ladies’ll be checkin’ me out tonight, Howie,” I replied, putting on my most smoldering smirk. Unfortunately, there were no ladies around to squeal at it yet. Howie just rolled his eyes. “Nah, it’s all good,” I added seriously. “I had Cary look at my throat already.” I glanced out into the rows of empty seats. She was standing in the back with Leigh and Leighanne, while Baylee pulled James up and down the aisles in his little, red wagon.
AJ snickered. “You two better lay off the tonsil hockey tonight, or you’re gonna infect hers, too.”
It cracked me up that they still thought Cary and I were hooking up, since they’d never seen us show the slightest bit of PDA, but then, we had been spending every night alone on my bus. What else would they think we were doing? As long as they didn’t figure out what we were really up to, I was fine with it, but I think Cary had minded, at first. She was coming around, though; she’d been playing along.
“Drink hot tea,” was Brian’s suggestion.
“I’m on it,” I replied. Cary had been pushing the fluids on me all day, insisting that my mouth would feel better if I kept it moist and that it would be worse if I got dehydrated. When I wasn’t drinking something or gargling saltwater, she had me sucking ice chips on the tour bus, and I had to admit, it did help. All I needed was a Red Bull or two backstage before the concert, and I’d be good to go. It wouldn’t be my best show, but I’d probably done worse shows, too.
The soundcheck party turned out to be pretty laid-back, and the fans who came let me off easy. Two of the songs they requested were “Drowning” and “I’ll Never Break Your Heart,” which meant I didn’t have many solos to sing. I sat on my stool and jumped in with my harmonies while Brian and AJ did most of the solos and most of the goofing off.
“Panic” was the only real test; that had been one of my favorite songs to perform on the Unbreakable tour, but we hadn’t really sung it since then. The music brought it all back, though. AJ even started doing the choreography, and if I’d felt better, I would have, too. Singing took enough effort, though. “Go, stop and go; I just hit static; I used to read you loud and clear, not like this; it’s so erratic...”
Brian took over, “... and I’m not rational, when I see you around... your inconsistency, and you know it’s dragging me down... you’re so conflicted, baby...”
“You’re always walking away,” we sang together. “One step and everything’s over, and you’re running back to me. You say I let you down... Baby, take me in or just take me out... I’m already dead. I already said... I’m sorry.”
I knew my solo came next, but as soon as I hit my cue, I completely forgot the lyrics. “I... da-da-da...” I trailed off and looked helplessly at AJ, my mind going blank. “I dunno the words,” I confessed over the music that was still playing.
“I was tryin’ to think of the bridge right now,” AJ laughed, waving me off as if to say, “Who cares?”
I was still racking my brain, and some of it came to me then. “... you’re not immune to the panic, when somebody turns on you...”
“When the sun hits your skin,” Brian came in, changing the lyrics to fit the warm weather, “the cold don’t last forever. Maybe we’ll tan again, if you don’t let seasons change...”
Well, at least I wasn’t alone in forgetting lyrics. Still, it bugged me that I had. “Blame the chemo brain,” said Cary when I told her this later, in the privacy of her dressing room.
I laughed. “Chemo brain?” I thought she was making a joke. Turns out she was serious.
“No, really. It’s a side effect of some kinds of chemo. It’s actually a form of mild cognitive impairment that affects your memory and concentration.”
“Cognitive impairment?” I repeated. “You mean, like, brain damage??”
“Yeah, sort of. It’s usually not a permanent thing, though.”
“Well, fuck, that’s all I need, is more problems concentrating and trying to remember shit,” I ranted, dragging a hand over my hair. I stopped and looked at my hand to make sure there were no stray hairs in it. There weren’t. “I mean, hell, I take enough crap from the guys for being so ADD.”
She smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, Nick. I didn’t mean to make you upset. Just give yourself a break; you’ve got a lot on your mind. It’s not like you forgot the words to ‘I Want It That Way’ or something.”
I snorted. “It would take some serious brain damage to make me do that.”
“Yeah, then you can start worrying,” she joked, digging out her cell phone. She flipped it open and shut again before adding, “I gotta get ready; I’m on soon.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
She smirked. “As much as I’m sure you’d love to watch me change... yes, I’m kicking you out. Go get some dinner before your show.”
I made a face. Food had lost its appeal; it hurt my mouth to eat, and everything I did manage to get down tasted funny. Cary said that was the chemo’s doing, too. I hoped it was at least still killing off cancer cells while it fucked with the rest of my body; I was getting pretty sick of these weird new side effects.
“At least try,” Cary begged. “You need some energy before you try to perform.”
I promised her I would try. But once I left her dressing room, I went and drank a Red Bull instead. It was better than food for boosting my energy, and it was a lot smoother going down.
When Cary went onstage, I stood backstage, hidden in the wings, and watched her perform. She’d changed into a short, red dress and heels that showed off her legs as she stood in the center of the stage, wiggling in time to the strumming of her ukulele. “Off in the morning with the sweet sunrise, takes her time getting ready, then she’s off and running...”
Her voice sounded as clear and pretty as it ever had, and if she still got nervous, I couldn’t tell. She wasn’t exactly a seasoned performer, but she had a charisma about her that made people want to watch and listen to her. I was so engrossed, myself, I didn’t even notice Brian standing next to me until he put his hand on my shoulder.
I turned in surprise. “’Sup, Frick?”
“How ya doin’?” Brian asked in return.
I shrugged. “Meh. Being sick sucks, but I’ll live.” The irony of saying the one thing I couldn’t guarantee was not lost on me, but it was all I could think of to say. I didn’t want sympathy, and I didn’t want him to worry about me.
“Good medicine?” Brian asked, smirking, as he tipped his head toward the stage.
I followed his line of sight back to Cary and smiled. “I keep tellin’ her I want to see her in a naughty nurse costume, but that red dress sure ain’t bad, either.” I’ve always had a thing for legs. Lauren had killer legs. And Paris... legs for miles. Big feet, though. Cary’s feet looked dainty in her little heels, the way girls’ feet are supposed to be.
“She’s cute,” Brian acknowledged. “You like her?”
“Sure, I like her,” I said. And it wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t my usual type, but if circumstances were different, I might have pursued her. Besides being pretty, she was a sweet girl, a shy girl, the girl next door. She would have been a nice change from the badass chicks and just plain bad girls I’d dated in the past, the Mandys and Parises of the world. But I knew it was the wrong time to get involved with anyone right now.
Brian nodded. He slung his arm around me and sidled up closer, his eyes still fixed on Cary. Then he said, in a low voice just loud enough for me to hear, “She seems nice. But just... be careful with her, alright, Frack? They all start out nice, and then they start using you.”
I looked over at him, feeling my eyebrows shoot up. “You sayin’ she’s another gold digger?”
Brian shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is, take your time. Get to know her better before you get too serious. I’m not trying to criticize, but I know you, Nick. I know how you tend to fall head over heels for a girl and get too wrapped up in her, too fast. And then you get burned.”
I resented that. “I haven’t been that way since Paris. Lesson learned. I wasn’t like that with Lauren.”
Brian considered that, then nodded. “No, you weren’t. I know you’ve grown up since Paris, but you and Cary have been spending so much time together...”
I shook my head. “It’s not that serious, Brian, trust me. I just like being around her. We’re just havin’ fun.” Yeah, that’s it. Lots and lots of fun, I thought sarcastically, pissed off that I was even having this conversation with my best friend. If he only knew what was really going on. Butt the hell out, Brian, I wanted to tell him, but of course I would never really say that to him. I knew he was just being the big brother, trying to protect me. That seemed all too familiar. “You know, you act a lot like your cousin sometimes.” That I would say to him; he’d heard it more and more often over the last few years, since Kevin had left.
Brian just shrugged and grinned, unoffended and unapologetic. “Well, someone’s gotta fill the void,” he said cheerfully, slapping me on the back. “I’m glad you’re havin’ fun. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I won’t. Not by her, anyway.”
He gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head, shrugging him off. “We should go get dressed.”
“Yeah...” Brian looked over at me again as we walked backstage to our dressing rooms. “You sure you’re all right to sing tonight?”
I nodded. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine, Brian.”
I guess he could tell he’d pissed me off, ‘cause he left me alone after that. I could understand where he was coming from, but in this case, he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, and I knew it would hurt Cary if she knew what he thought of her. You’re her favorite, Bri, not me, I wanted to tell him. And she’s not using me. If anything, I’m using her.
But he would probably still hold it against her if he knew what she was helping me to do. And he would find out, eventually. Unless the chemo cured me and the cancer never came back, I would have to come clean at some point, after the tour. It wasn’t going to be pretty when I did. At this point, I was in way over my head, and I dreaded the day when I’d have to tell them the truth about everything. But when you’ve got cancer, you take things one day at a time. And today wasn’t that day.
***
