Date: Sun, 23 Jul 2000 20:54:11 -0400 (EDT) From: bsbwriter@altavista.net Subject: Chaperone (Nick and Rhys), first installment (gay/celebrity/boy-bands) Legal Note: Please don't read this if you are under the age of 18 years or the particular age of permission where ever you live. The story below is in all parts fictional. All portrayal of the Backstreet Boys and other persons mentioned is in no way based on fact. All other characters are completely fictional. All names, songs, events, and other licensed material remains so. Thank you. Oh my freaking god has it been a long time. Yes, I dropped off the radar. And my apologies for worrying anyone as to my whereabouts. Please accept this new story as an offering to those folks. Although my deepest fear is no one noticed I was gone, which is probably the case. Uh-oh. Anyway, enough of the frivolity. Here, at long last, is my second story. Completely apart from Adam, Zach and BSB. None of the same characters, (save our illustrious Boys), but strangely, picking up on the same day that AZBSB left off. And the same place. Just a dash of continuity to keep the readers sane. A note about installment size and frequency: The size will be short and the installments weekly. I will try to send them in every Tuesday for publishing by Wednesday. With the brutal summer job, its a hard balancing act to start a new story at all, but hey, its something I wanna do. So please enjoy the story. As always, I thrive on feedback (unhealthy, I know) and always reply. E-mail me with critiques, comments, suggestions as bsbwriter@altavista.net. Sincerely, the suddenly reappearing EG (aka Edan) Nickolas Gene Carter once ate my entire birthday cake. All of it. And then he blamed it on the dog. It would have worked too, had it not been for the icing smeared across his face. Yes, Nick and I go way back. We were great friends, catching fireflies in summer and having horrible, maiming snowball fights in winter. No injuries that a mug of hot chocolate from either of our moms couldn't fix, of course. We were two of the happiest boys east of the Atlantic...and then he moved. Separated by a couple of days' straight driving, and neither of us with any means to travel the coast, Nick waving from the moving truck was the last I saw of him for a long, long time. I'm amazed now that even at such a young age and both of us struck by habitual little-boy-laziness that we managed to keep up as pen pals. True to our blood-brother promise though, every two weeks I got an envelope bearing postage featuring a flamingo or the Everglades. I sent letters back with stamps of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. Once, he even sent me a legal-sized envelope bulging with something heavy. I remember weighing the envelope, carefully turning it in my palms. When I opened it, the contents poured onto the new carpet. Needless to say, my mother was not too happy with sand all over the floor, even if it was from the lake Nick now lived a block away from. Small boys turned into teenagers, and the letters from Nick became less regular. When he did write, he told me he gotten into commercials, had been singing at sports games and all sorts of wild things. I told him about making the soccer team and failed algebra tests. Ashamedly, I must say I doubted his stories until he sent an advance copy of his demo tape. It was labeled "The Backstreet Boys," and skeptical though I was, I popped it in. I could clearly pick out Nick's familiar voice, almost squeaky along side smoother, older voices. The music was good-even though I wasn't that much into music at the time. I wrote back congratulating him. In the next years, I heard news of his first record deal, performances at Sea World and touring in Europe. In those days, he sent me more magazine clippings and tapes than actual letters. While Nick was being tutored on the road, I fought through the crowded halls of high school. While he sang on stage in Germany, I went to my first homecoming dance. He called occasionally, and wrote less frequently. I wrote him letters to his parents' house, because if I had sent them care of his record company, I think I would have been inducted into the Backstreet Boys Fan Club accidentally. I moved past freshman and sophomore year. It was that summer when I first heard the Backstreet Boys on the radio. And on MTV. And in magazines, newspapers and malls. Everywhere. It was quite surreal, a boyhood friend plastered all over the cover of Tiger Beat. But I guess teen dreams do come from somewhere, although somehow I imagined they had all been genetically engineered in middle-America. Years have passed since then. Now I'm in college and Nick and the Boys regularly battle N Sync on TRL. I haven't heard anything from Nick in close to two years-since graduation. I sent a birthday card to him at his parents' house when he turned 20 two weeks ago. I understand stardom gets in the way of friendships-but it sure would be nice to see him sometime. If not for nostalgic purposes, then to find out just how much the fame game has fucked with his head. ---------------------------------------- I never planned on going to a Backstreet Boys concert. It went down like this: The phone rang on a lazy Sunday winter morning in the apartment in the Village. The sun was offensive and the ringing more so. I dragged myself outta bed and grab for the phone. "Hello?" I ventured in a rough bed-head voice. "Rhys?" "Yeah?" I answered, wholly unconcerned with the conversation and thus putting the least thought possible into it. "It's Jan Bledsdoe. How have you been?" Shit. Jan...Jan....oh, right-neighbor from back home. Parents' friend. Little annoying twerp kid named Tiffany. How old would she be now? Ten? "Uh, good," I managed. "Glad to hear it. Rhys, I have a huge, huge favor to ask you." "Yeah?" What the hell could the woman want? The full amount of contact I'd ever had with her was when I baby-sat...shit. I was not about to baby-sit. I'm twenty, for godsakes. Baby-sitting is for teenage girls who wear pastels and talk on the phone all night long. "There's this thing our little Tiffany has been wanting to go to. Its in mid-February, in Albany. And honey, bless her heart, but we won't be able to take her.....me and the mister sort of have this Valentine's vacation planned in Aruba and...." "Um-hmmm..." I mumbled unenthusiastically. "And, well, we were wondering if there was any way you could find it in your heart to take her and her friend Stephanie, well, we'd pay you, of course...She's just set her little heart on going..." "How old is she now?" I asked. "Thirteen this March." "Thirteen....Okay, and what days exactly?" I fumbled for a pen and piece of paper. "Well you'd have to go up on the fourteenth, the event's the fifteenth, and you'd probably come home on the sixteenth. We'd be willing to give you a hundred a day and all the costs of the hotel, food and things for the three of you...Do you need time to think about it?" Three days...three hundred dollars...no, I didn't need time to think about it. Baby-sitting for five bucks an hour and snacks is one thing, but starving college students don't tend to look down their noses at this kind of easy money... "No, I'll do it Mrs. Bledsdoe." "You will? Fantastic. Tiff will be so glad to hear about it. Look, I'll call you back with more details...we'll make the reservations and such. One more thing Rhys, don't you want to know about what's happening in Albany?" "Uh, happening in Albany?" I asked. "Yes! It's a little concert by those nice young men...the Backroad Boys? Something like that...I can never remember the name. Well Tiff and Stephanie are just madly in love with them, posters plastered all over the walls and such. The girls will be so happy. Anyway Rhys, thanks again. Talk to you soon! Toodles!" Mrs. Bledsdoe hung up. The Backroad Boys? Surely she didn't mean...Fuck. The Backstreet Boys? Maybe Nick and I would have a reunion after all these years. Scratch that. It was big stadium and it'd be dark in the audience. That's just what I'd tell myself. I looked down at the paper February...fourteenth? That's Valentine's Day. Randall was going to kill me. Randall's my main squeeze. Terribly serious and perhaps pretentious but beautiful as all get out and smart as anything. So I made the phone call. It rang a few times. "Hullo?" he answered the phone, painfully apparent he was more than half asleep. "Hey sweetie, it's me. Look, I have some bad news..." No point in prolonging the wait for the inevitable. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?" "No, no, I'm fine, its just...its just that...it looks like I won't be in the city for Valentine's Day," I blurted worriedly. "Well." There was a long, unnerving pause. "That's okay," Randall brushed it off. "It's just a stupid holiday that the greeting card companies made up to spice up the lull between Christmas and Easter anyway. No biggie." "No biggie? Really?" Randall never said `no biggie.' I could tell he was faking his indifference. "Really. If you don't mind me asking, where will the young and dashing Rhys be on this Valentine's Day? The French Riviera? Rome? Venice? Prague?" "Albany." "Albany, New York?" "Yup." "Whatever reason are you going to that godawful town?" I explained to Randall the lurid details of my escort duties of the two teeny boppers and we decided to meet for coffee. All was forgotten in the hours that followed in ways one can imagine but that I cannot be bothered to retell. Just know that it was hot. -------------------------------- On the morning of Valentine's Day there were effusive ringings of the doorbell and knockings on the door. Outside of the apartment, I could hear giggling and nonstop chattering. Hyenas. Tiny little hyenas. Wearing Tommy Hilfiger. Deep Breath. I got out of bed, pulled on a shirt and opened the door. Jan Bledsdoe, and her husband Stan stood in matching windbreakers alongside two walking (albeit, four foot tall) Backstreet Boys billboards. Tiff, who I easily recognized from family resemblance, wore a t-shirt, backpack, bandanna and lanyard with the band name all over them. Her friend, Stephanie, not to be shown up, wore the same, not to mention a pint sized denim jacket with silk-screened signatures of each member of BSB on the back. I sighed. It would be hard to preserve my image with these two at my side. Don't get me wrong. I'm not half as cynical and cold as I come off. I really do have a heart of gold underneath that cool guy exterior. I promise. Its just...all of that giggling really got to me first thing in the morning. "Hi honey!" Jan squealed and hugged me. Stan shook my hand and patted me on the back. I did my best to smile a groggy smile and return the gestures. I leaned down to Tiff and Stephanie. "Hey guys. You ready?" I was hit with two of the meanest, `you're SO uncool' looks I have ever experienced...and that includes the time in elementary school when I threw up in the middle of the cafeteria. "Yeah." Tiff said defiantly. "Don't mind her-she's just in one of those `phases.' I bet she can't wait for the concert!" Jan reassured me. Personally, I was in it for the money, but if these kids didn't smile at me pretty soon I was going to break down in tears. I glanced over, hoping to receive a more forgiving look, but, as if on cue, both rolled their eyes at me. Apparently, at the doddering age of twenty, I was just hopelessly unhip. "Well, sorry to drop and run, but our plane leaves in twenty minutes! Here are the bus tickets, hotel reservation information papers, concert tickets, emergency phone numbers, the credit card, our itinerary and list of foods each girl is allergic to. And if Stephanie gets stung by a bee, there's a shot in there you'll have to give her to reduce an allergy attack. Okay?" I nodded. Nevermind that it was freezing cold, threatening to snow and that not even a cockroach, much less a bee would venture out in this weather. "Okay!" Jan hugged and kissed each girl on the cheek, gave me a quick hug and dragged Stan to the elevator. As the doors closed, both adults waved vigorously. "Don't forget to relax! Have fun!" I called out to them as they disappeared behind the doors. And here I was. Alone with the girls. Another deep sigh. "Okay guys, lemme get my stuff together and we'll get to the bus station, okay?" Both wordlessly flopped down on the couch as I began to pack. It was five minutes of uninterrupted silence before Stephanie piped up. "Do you have a girlfriend?" "Well," I said, unsure of what the hell I should say. I listened to the girls' legs swing back and forth against the couch for a few moments. "I have friends..." I paused, "who are girls..." "That's not what I mean," Stephanie said, tucking her legs under her. "I mean," she paused for dramatic effect. "Do you have a *girlfriend* ?" she finished, with a tiny exasperated sigh. "Then, no." I continued to pack. "Do you guys want something to drink?" I asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible. "Orange juice," Tiffany demanded, more than requested. What a brat. "With ice." Make that a double brat. I just concentrated on the cash. I took the carton out of the fridge and reached for a glass. I had just grasped the glass when there was a knock at the door. "Could one of you go ask who it is?" I requested, back turned. I heard both girls' footsteps to the door. I was reaching for the ice when I called, "Who is it?" and then heard a heavier set of footsteps. I turned quickly. I was so surprised I dropped the glass. "Shit!" I yelled as the glass shattered on the floor. There, with a huge bunch of roses, was Randall. "Nice to see you too," he said. I walked so I was within spitting distance of him. "Look, um, this isn't the best time to talk or for flowers or anything." "Last time I do something romantic for my beau on St. Valentine's." "Do you not notice the munchkins?" "How was I supposed to know they'd be here?" Randall shrugged. "Randall, godammit, apparently, you have not mastered the art of listening. Which part of this did you not understand when I told you *multiple* times: I am taking these two girls to see a concert in Albany on Valentine's Day which happens to be February fourteenth, which, coincidentally, happens to be today!!!" I yelled a little too loudly. "Sheesh, I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be a big deal." "Sorry about yelling, I just need to get going and this isn't helping." "No, wait, I'll help entertain them while you pack. I can be Uncle Randall and we can talk about Hollywood gossip. Its all so very high camp!" "Randall, I think it would be best if you just left," I said, half-pushing him to the door. "No-wait-" he said as I kept pushing, right into the closed front door. My lips were inches away from his as I pinned him against it. He closed his eyes and puckered. "Randall! I'm sorry. I'll talk to you when I get back." With that, I opened the door into the hallway. He spilled out and I shut it behind him. I turned to see the girls gaping at me. "Okay, scratch the orange juice." I zipped up my bag, grabbed my backpack and the girls' luggage and said, "Time to go! The bus leaves in half an hour. Let's move!" The girls followed me out of the apartment building without event. I hailed a cab and twenty minutes later, we were at the Peter Pan Depot. I heard an announcement over the speaker. "Bus number 182 to Albany will be delayed one hour due to severe storm watches in the upstate area." It crackled into silence. Great. We made our way to the frozen yogurt stand and then a newsstand where I bought the girls cones and Teen Beats, respectively. I then led the caravan back to the waiting area. I found three seats on the end of an aisle and motioned for them to sit down. They did, and both girls were quiet for more than twenty minutes. It was a miracle really. I- "Are you gay?" Tiffany asked nonchalantly. "What?" I asked, taken aback by the twelve year old's bluntness. The old man sitting next to me glared and got up to leave. "Can we not have this conversation?" I whispered to both of them. "Why not?" Stephanie asked with a face of innocence. "Because." I whispered again through my gritted teeth. As if a miracle, the P.A. announced the delays had been lifted. Our bus was called and I was saved. We boarded the bus and we were on our way to Albany, on my way to being closer to Nick than I had been in years. And, to tell the honest, raw truth, I was nervous.