Date: Sat, 25 Dec 1999 22:28:53 -0600
From: Michael Ellis <michaelwashere@netzero.net>
Subject: The Studio in the Country, Part 6

THE STUDIO IN THE COUNTRY, Part 6

NOTE: Part 6 is not as long as some of the others, and I'm afraid that Part
7 will be delayed a few days by things beyond my control. I'm sorry about
this, but a lot of key things will happen in Part 7 and I don't want to
rush it. Quality is as important as speed here.

SHAMELESS PLUG: A couple of people have complained about how complex the
descriptions of the building have been. So I have drawn a floor plan for
you, proof once more that some of us don't have enough to do. You can see
the floor plan at michaelwashere.homepage.com by clicking on the smiling
Brian

DISCLAIMER: The story that follows is a work of fiction. Many characters
are completely fictional. Though some characters are based on actual
persons, they should not be considered accurate or truthful representations
of those persons. This story is not intended to reflect the behavior, work
habits, personal hygiene, sexual proclivities, or preferred laundry methods
of any real person, living or dead.

WARNING: This story deals with homosexual themes. If this offends you, read
no further. If you are under 18 years of age, read no further. If accessing
this story causes you break any laws applicable to your location, read no
further. If you don't enjoy amusing short stories, read no Ferber.

FEEDBACK: If you want to contact me and make any comments, please send them
to michaelwashere@netzero.com. But please don't write to mention that I've
changed the spelling of Robby's name. It occurred to me that, in America,
men usually spell their names with Y and women with IE, so I just changed
the spelling to reflect that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


THE STUDIO Part 6 - Wednesday

I had planned to sleep late and wander downstairs in time to eat the
breakfast that Robby had to get up early to fix. That was the plan
anyway. But for some reason, I woke up at 6am and couldn't get back to
sleep.

For a minute or two after I got up, I thought about hitting the story I'd
been working on yesterday, but it was too nice a morning to sit behind a
computer, so I decided to go running instead. After throwing on a pair of
shorts and my usual white T-shirt, I tied on my shoes and headed
downstairs.

I used to go running three or four mornings a week, but I had seriously
slacked off during the summertime. The heat was oppressive, even early in
the morning. And I was always kinda wimpy when it came to the heat. I guess
that comes from living in Chicago for twelve years.

The house was still quiet when I got downstairs. I stepped into the entry,
punched the 60-second pause code into the keypad, and slipped outside. On
the front porch, I stretched a bit, just enough to get me going. Usually
I'd run for 5 or 10 minutes before I did my real stretching. Cold muscles
don't stretch out really well.

Because I knew the gates in the south pasture were open, I headed that
way. The sky was already light and was just beginning to turn china blue in
the east. The sky in the west was still dark. I smiled to think about a
running argument between Mom and Dad: Mom's family had lived in Chicago for
generations, and she still made jokes about living in barbarian
Texas. Whenever she'd say something about how proud Dallas was for so
little reason, Dad would say, "Well, the sun does set over Dallas
everyday."

The grass was still wet with dew, and short blades left from its cutting
stuck to my shoes as I ran across the lawn. I stayed on the grass until I
came to the fork in the driveway, then I crossed the drive, gravel
crunching underfoot, to head toward the horse trail that led to the south
pasture. When I hit the trees, the cool of the shade was a bit of a
shock. Among the oak leaves, the birds were going crazy, singing to wake
each other up.

I passed through the gate Kevin and I had found open yesterday and emerged
from the trees into the pasture itself. A warm wind found me, and it felt
comfortable after the coolness of the woods. After another five minutes, I
was at the corner of the fence. I stopped here to really stretch out my
legs.

I continued along the path Kevin and I had taken, around the south and east
pastures. But when I got back to the tractor barn, I turned left and went
into the trees. I jumped across the shallow creek and headed back to the
house using the path Brian and I had walked two days earlier.

When I got back to the house, I saw Mike on his way to the stables to turn
out the horses for Robby.

"Hey," he laughed. "Who you runnin' from?"

"Aunt Jessie!" I yelled back, trotting past him toward the patio. Every
family seems to have one pushy, overbearing relative, and my mom's
sister-in-law was ours.

"Tell her I want a moustache just like hers!" he yelled back.

It was good sign that Mike was up and about. I'd been worried that if no
one had deactivated the alarm system, I might not be able to get into the
house without waking up everyone. My plan had been to stretch out by the
pool and nap in the sunshine until I heard breakfast, but that wasn't
necessary. I slipped in through the French doors into the gym, and headed
to my rooms.

I showered and changed. By the time I sat down at breakfast, it was 8:15.



Robby and Mike were at the table eating, but the only one of the Boys at
the table was Brian. He looked up as I entered and gave me a small smile
before re-joining the conversation he was having with Robby and Ed. He
still looked tired, but at least he smiled. Dad was talking to Ms. Shaw. I
tried to eavesdrop on their conversation a little, but Mike yelled at me as
soon as I entered the room.

"Ben, look! There's a scary message in my Alpha-Bits!" He held his cereal
bowl at an angle. "It says, 'ooooooo'!"

I looked at the cereal in his bowl, then at him. "Mike," I said flatly,
"those are Cheerios." Robby grinned up at me. I nodded toward Mike and
said, "Has he been like that for long?"

"He thought up that joke this morning," Robby explained. "Every time
someone comes in, he has to tell them."

Still shaking my head, I got a plate from the buffet table and covered it
with French toast. Not seeing any honey, I got it myself from the
kitchen. When I returned, I took my plate and sat down next to Brian.

"Hey, bud! D'you get enough sleep last night?"

"Yeah," Brian smiled shyly at me. "I went to bed right after you went in."
He watched me pour honey onto my French toast. "Honey?" he asked.

I looked at him for a second before saying, "Yes, dear?" He smiled and
pointed at my plate. "Yeah, I always eat honey. I can't stand the taste of
maple syrup."

"Then you probably haven't tasted the real thing," Ms. Shaw said, smiling
at me. "My grandparents made syrup on their farm in Vermont. It was
incredible."

"Oh, I've had real maple syrup," I told her. "Mom used to bring home maple
syrup from a little place near Toronto, but I didn't like it either." I
smiled back at her. Remembering how unpleasant she'd seemed two days
earlier at the airport, I was glad to find out she was really kinda okay.

"So, you're from Vermont?" Dad asked her.

They went back to talking to each other. Brian leaned over to me and said,
"Thanks for being so friendly last night. I hope I wasn't rude or
anything."

I smiled at him. "You weren't rude. And 'friendly' is my middle name."

>From somewhere to my left, I could hear Mike mutter, "Your middle name is
'Russell'." I ignored him, and Brian didn't show any signs of having heard
anything.

"Good," Brian continued. "I appreciate you being willing to listen to
me. And I really appreciate that you didn't try to nag me into talking
about it. The guys always care when one of us is upset, but they always try
to harass you into talking about it. Thanks for not doing that."

"No problem," I told him. "Are you feeling better this morning?"

"Yeah, a little." His voice was quiet and a little withdrawn again. "I just
have a few things on my mind."

"Well, my offer still stands: find me if you need to, bud."

Brian smiled at me again. God, what a smile! It must run in their family or
something. "Thanks," he said.

I noticed that Ed had stood up and refilled his coffee mug. "Whaddya say,
Brian? Ready to get to work?"

Brian looked at him and nodded. "Sure. I'll start warming up, and we can
get this done." With a small grin at me, Brian stood up, and he and Dave
headed out the door. A few steps beyond the doorway, they met AJ and Howie,
coming in to breakfast. Dave went on, but I could barely see the two guys
speaking quietly to Brian. After maybe a minute, Brian went on down the
hall and the other guys came in to the dining room.

"AJ, look!" Mike said. "There's a scary message in my Alpha-Bits!"




By noon, I had done a lot of work. After updating Ms. Shaw's daily
statement, I left it with Stacey then set to work on the four suites. The
first floor went fast: Dave, Ed and Ms. Shaw were occupying two suites, but
three of the six bedrooms weren't being used so there was little work. As I
pushed the cart toward the elevator, Robby came by with a carafe of coffee
for the studio.

"You skipped the coffee break," he said.

"Too much to do," I answered. "Besides, I had breakfast kinda late."

"So did everyone else. The only person who showed up to eat was Nick, and
he just wanted ice cream."

I laughed. "Did he share with Mike again?"

"Mike's gone to the store. He tried to get Nick to go with him, but the
guys have work to do."

"Too bad you have kitchen duty," I said. "I know you'd rather be in the
studio."

"I'll be in there this afternoon," Robby replied. "Right now, I gotta
deliver this coffee."



He walked on down the corridor, and I pushed the button for the
elevator. When it arrived, Kevin stepped out.

"Hey, Kev," I said. "I thought you'd be at work already."

He smiled -- yeah, it definitely runs in the family. "I was. I'm on my way
back." Noticing the cart, he added, "You get to clean the rooms today?"

"Yeah, Mike's gone shopping."

"Can you put a couple of extra cans of grape soda in the fridge? There was
one in there yesterday, but I guess AJ drank it."

I was proud of my poker face. "Sure," I said. "No problem."

I got the two suites done pretty quickly. It seems like all the guys had
left laundry in the nylon mesh bags that we leave in the bedrooms, so I
made sure the bags had names on them and put them on the cart. I also
checked on the common rooms. They looked untouched on 3 and 2, but the
common room on the first floor was a mess. There were maybe half a dozen
empty beer bottles on the bar, and the billiard balls were all over the
table. I cleaned the room, including setting the pool table up for another
game and vacuuming some pretzels out of the couch. I wondered if it had
been the producers or the singers who'd been drinking beer and playing
pool.

While I was unloading the cart in the laundry room, I heard people passing
by on the other side of the door. I checked my watch and saw that it was
lunch time. Looking at the dirty sheets and bags of laundry told me what my
plans for the afternoon were. I left the laundry and headed to lunch.



Almost everyone was in the dining room when I got there. I'd heard Mike
drive up a little over an hour earlier, so Robby must have been busy to get
everything put away and get lunch on the table in time. I suppose I could
have helped him, but I rationalized that it might have seemed to him like I
didn't have faith in his abilities.

The guys were talking very excitedly. It seems that they'd got a lot done
in the studio that morning. Dave was telling them that -- depending on how
much they got done during the next two or three hours -- they might be
basically done for the week. Ms. Shaw even suggested that they might be
able to leave on Friday and spend the weekend with their families.

About then, Robby and Mike set two large platters on the table and everyone
started eating in earnest. This stopped most of the conversation for a few
minutes, but I could hear Howie, Kevin and Nick talking about the
possibility of going home for the weekend. AJ was spending all his
attention on Stacey, sitting next to him and showing only a slight sunburn.

I turned to Brian to ask if he were excited about going home, but the look
on his face stopped me. He looked pretty miserable, just picking at his
food. I didn't speak to him, but without my thinking about it my right hand
reached out to rest on his shoulder. When he looked over at me, I
smiled. "You okay?" I whispered.

He tried to return the smile, but it looked pretty laboured. "Yeah, I'm
okay," he said.

"I don't believe you," I said, repeating what I'd said to him last night,
"but I'm not gonna nag."

"C'mon, Brian, eat!" Robby said cheerfully as he sat on Brian's
right. "Just 'cause I cooked it doesn't mean it's dangerous."

"That's not what I heard," Brian said to him.

Robby leaned forward to look past Brian straight at me. "What did you tell
him?" he asked with mock seriousness.

Taking my hand off Brian's shoulder and picking up my fork, I said very
nonchalantly, "Oh, I just told him about the chicken pot pie."

"You didn't!" Robby looked almost serious now, but I saw his eyes
twinkling. He was gonna milk this for all the attention he could get.

"What happened?" AJ was listening too now, grinning across the table at
Robby.

"Nothing!" Robby yelled. "Nothing happened!"

"Food should not explode," Mike said simply. "That's all I'm gonna say."

Now Nick and Howie joined AJ in wanting a full explanation. For the next
ten minutes, Robby entertained everyone with a detailed account of how he
made tiny chicken pot pies that burst open when stuck with a fork. The
family had heard the story before, of course, but we could enjoy watching
Robby telling it, even if the facts got stretched a bit further every time
he did.

By the end, Robby had all the guys laughing when he described having to get
the ladder to clean the chicken off of the ceiling while Mike and I went to
wash it out of our hair. Personally, I don't remember that happening, but
hey, it's Robby's story.

After lunch, the producers and all the guys but Howie headed to their rooms
to rest a bit before going back to the studio at 1:30. Dad and Stacey went
back to the offices, saying something about expecting an important call. I
was surprised. Usually I know everything that goes on in the office, but I
had been busy with other things for a couple of days. Dad would fill me in
later, I was sure.

Mike and Robby started to clean the dishes into the kitchen. Howie and I
were going to help, but as soon as the little brothers were both out of the
dining room, I pinched Howie's sleeve and lead him to the laundry room,
holding a finger over my lips to tell him to be quiet. He caught on, and we
made good our escape.

In the laundry room, Howie whispered to me, "Have I been kidnapped?"



"No," I told him, "but Mike goofed off all morning while I cleaned the
rooms, and Robby's gonna goof off all afternoon while burgers cook on the
grill. I think we can let them clean up from lunch by themselves."

Still grinning, Howie looked around the laundry room. It's a good-sized
room, about twenty-feet square, with five washing machines on the left wall
and five dryers on the outside wall. The right wall was covered with
cabinets for sheets and cleaning supplies.

Seeing all the mesh bags of laundry, Howie recognized his clothes. "You do
our laundry, too!"

I was amused at how surprised he sounded. "Did you think it washed itself?"
I said with a grin.

"'Guess I didn't think about it," he said. "I'm not sure I like having a
friend of mine doing my laundry."

"Oh, I'm very discrete," I told him, noticing that he'd called me a
"friend" but not mentioning it. "I never tell anyone's laundry secrets," I
added with exaggerated seriousness. "My biggest worry is to get the right
clothes back to the right people."

"Hey, is there an ironing board in here?" he asked.

"Sure," I said pointing the board hanging on the back of the door.

"Could I use it while I'm here?"

"Got some formal dinners planned?" I asked him. I jumped up to sit on top
of one of the washing machines.

"No, I like to iron my pajamas," he said a little shyly, like he was almost
expecting to be made fun of for it.

"Y'know, I read that on some Web site, but I'd forgotten all about it." I
said. "But sure, the board is on the door and the iron is in that cabinet,"
I went on as I pointed to one of the cabinet doors. "Use 'em whenever. This
room's never locked."



Howie came across the room to sit on one of the dryers. I turned to face
him and leaned back against the washing machines control panel. "So, you
guys really researched us on the Internet?" Howie asked me.

"A little bit," I said. "Stacey did most of the 'research,' if you wanna
call it that, but Robby and I looked around a bit too."

"Did you find any of the I-hate-the-Backstreet-Boys sites?"

I laughed. "Of course, they're all over the place. But we didn't spend any
time looking at them." I paused as I remembered something. "Wait! That's
not true. Stacey and I didn't look at them. Robby thought they were pretty
funny."

"Some of them are," Howie said. After a second or two, he added with a
grin, "But the I-Hate-'NSYNC sites are funnier."

I laughed, then I got quiet because I didn't want the little brothers to
hear me from the next room. "Are you personally responsible for any of the
I-Hate-'NSYNC sites?"

"Not anymore," he said with mock seriousness. "I don't really have time for
it anymore." A big smile crossed his face. When he realized that I knew he
was kidding, he added, "Personally, I think Ricky Martin is behind them
all."

We both laughed at this. My backside was starting to hurt from sitting
awkwardly on unbending metal, so I jumped down to the floor. For a second,
I considered stepping into the dining room long enough to steal two soft
drinks for us, but before I could decide, Howie started talking again.

"While you were on the Internet," he began, "did you see any of the fan
fiction about us?"



"You mean the sites where people write stories with you guys as characters?
Yeah, I saw some of those."

Actually, I'd seen a lot of those. At first, they'd been a surprise, but
once I knew they existed, I'd gone looking specifically for them. I'd even
found one huge database full of stories, a large portion of which was just
stories about the various boy bands - most of which involved homosexual
fantasies about the band members. For over a week, I'd spent all my free
time just reading these stories. But Howie didn't need to know all this, I
decided.

Howie continued talking, but his voice was quieter. "Did you find any of
the stories where the fans write out their sexual fantasies about us?"

"Yeah, a few," I lied. "I can't imagine that kind of attention. How does it
make you feel?"

"I don't know," he said. "Sometimes they're flattering, but sometimes
they're kinda creepy. At first we got mad because these stories were just
out there, on the Internet, for anyone to read, and no one asked us for any
kind of permission. But we figured out that there wasn't much we could do
about it, so the guys just pretend they're not there."

"Do you really spend time reading them?" I asked him.

"Well, the production company has someone who watches them for us. Y'know,
just to see if they're too creepy, or if a writer sounds too crazy." He
leaned over just a bit, and his voice sounded a little conspiratorial. "But
I read 'em too, sometimes. Just to see what they're like."

I smiled at him. "We're alone in here, but you're still whispering. I take
it the guys don't know you read these stories."

"Well, Kevin and AJ know I used to, because they saw me a couple of
times. But they don't know I still look at them." He paused just a second,
staring at me with his huge, dark brown eyes. "And they don't know *which*
stories I look at."

Now it was my turn to pause as I considered what he'd said and how he'd
said it. Finally, I said, "Let me guess: are these stories written by women
fans or men fans?"

He stared at me for a full five seconds before quietly saying, "Men." The
look on his face after he said it was a little scared and very
vulnerable. It was like he'd taken a huge chance in telling me that, and he
didn't know now whether he'd made a mistake or not.

I knew that look, and I knew that feeling, so I tried to be as friendly as
possible when I said, "Yeah, I read some of those too. They can be
very...." I groped for an appropriate word. Finally, the best I could come
up with was "...interesting," said with a sly grin on my face.

I was rewarded with a smile from Howie. His shoulders
relaxed. "Interesting. Yeah."

"I noticed," I went on, "that the stories I read spent most of their time
on Brian and Nick."

Howie pretended to roll his eyes in disgust. "Everyone spends most of their
time on Brian and Nick. I get mentioned too, but usually I'm the asshole in
the story. But I'm really a nice guy."

"Yeah, you are," I said. "If the writers knew what you're like in real
life, maybe you'd be in more stories."

"Well, if they knew what we were like in real life, those stories would be
*very* different."

I was really tempted to ask him to explain that remark, but just then we
heard AJ's voice in the hall outside. "Where's Howie D?" he was asking
someone, probably Mike or Robby. "It's time to get back to work."



I didn't hear if there was an answer because of the sound of Howie jumping
down to the floor from the dryer. "Gotta go," he said with a smile.

"No problem. After all, I have all this lovely laundry to do." He smiled
and opened the door, just in time to see AJ standing there with the
knuckles of his right hand poised to knock.

"C'mon, AJ!" Howie said. "It's time to get back to work." Howie turned
right and went down the hallway, leaving AJ standing there.

AJ looked the room and me over. "You guys having fun in there?" he said
with a grin.

I laughed, then pointed at the laundry bags. "Howie was just telling me
that you like extra starch in your underwear."

A frown creased AJ's forehead. "I hope you're kidding," he said.

"Usually," I answered. He grinned and followed Howie down the hall.

I took the opportunity to step into the dining room. The soft drinks were
still in a tray of ice on the sidebar, so I grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper.

As I stood by the sidebar, I could hear Robby's voice through the kitchen
door. "Yeah, I know they're in the laundry room. But you didn't need to
tell AJ. They're getting to know each other better." His voice stressed the
words "know each other" in a very unflattering way, but I knew Robby well
enough to not be offended.

"But they need Howie in the studio," Mike's voice said.

"If we heard AJ, so did Howie and Ben," Robby answered. "Let them worry
about it."

I didn't like eavesdropping on my brothers through the door, so I just
walked into the kitchen. They didn't notice my entrance, and Mike said,
"Why is he talking to Howie? I thought he liked Brian."

"Robby's playing matchmaker," I interrupted. At the sound of my voice
behind them, they both turned to look at me. "He's trying to fix me up with
Howie. And Mom's trying to fix me up with Kevin."

Mike shook his head. "I still think you should go after Brian."

"Maybe he'll surprise us all," Robby said with a big grin, "and go after
AJ."

"If I really wanted to surprise you," I said as I popped the ring on my
drink can, "I'd go after Ms. Shaw." I turned to leave the room, but Mike
got in the last remark as I was going out the door.

"Just leave Nick alone," Mike said with a laugh. "He's mine."

I could hear them both laughing at that as I walked across the dining
room. I laughed a little too, until it occurred to me what an odd thing
that was for Mike to say. He didn't mind my being gay, but never made jokes
about it himself, even though most guys did at one time or another.



The laundry wasn't that bad. I started one load in each of the five washing
machines, being careful not to mix the various loads. While they were
washing, I ran up to my room to get the book I'd been reading. For the next
couple of hours I did nothing but load the washers, unload the washers into
the dryers, fold clothes and read.

At three o'clock, I gave myself a break. Leaving all the machines working,
I wandered into the game room to watch Jeopardy! on the big screen TV. I
made it through the two rounds without interruption, but I skipped the last
question to return to the laundry room.

Because the room was getting warm, I had left the door open, so when Nick,
Brian and Howie came by about 3:40 they saw me inside. "Still having fun?"
Howie asked, loudly enough to be heard over the ten machines.

"Loads," I said, "pun intended." At that second I was folding some clothes
still warm from the dryer.

"I don't think I like the idea of some guy folding my underwear," Nick
said.

"I'm just folding them, Nick," I said. "It's not like I'm fondling them and
drooling."

"Thank you!" Nick said. "There's a mental picture I want to carry with me."

"At least, if your underwear's still damp," Brian said quietly, "you'll
know why."

The guys laughed, but I felt the need to change the subject. "So, I guess
you guys are done for the day."

"For the week," Nick said. He did a weird little celebratory dance.

Brian looked at me and explained, "We have to be available for a couple of
days to do retakes or changes, but it looks like we're pretty much done."

"Does this mean you'll be leaving on Friday?" I asked, mentally adding up
how much their early departure would cost the studio.

"We haven't decided yet," Brian said. "A lot depends on how many retakes we
have to do, or when Dave finishes the mixing, or what the company wants to
spend on us. If staying 'til Monday is cheaper for them than changing our
flight arrangements, then we'll probably stay."

"We could pay the difference ourselves," Nick added.

"Well, I'd like you to stay," I said to them. "We like having you here. But
I can see where you'd want a chance to go home for two or three days."

"We'll probably have to decide by tomorrow night," Howie added, "after we
see how many changes Dave needs."

"Right now, I want food," Nick said. "How long before this cookout of
Robby's?"


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Well, there's part 6.

Again, I'm sorry that part 7 will be delayed, but hopefully I've dropped
plenty of hints for you to speculate upon. I'm curious to hear theories of
what's gonna happen next, so if you have ideas, please send them to
michaelwashere@netzero.net.