Date: Fri, 31 Dec 1999 17:01:20 -0600
From: Michael Ellis <michaelwashere@netzero.net>
Subject: The Studio in the Country, Part 7

THE STUDIO IN THE COUNTRY, Part 7

* * *    No pop singers were harmed in     * * *
* * *   the creation of this installment.  * * *

FEEDBACK: Still no sex in this one, but we're getting there. I'm trying to
make this story sound sensible, but I'm afraid I'm just boring people by
taking so long. If you want to contact me and make any comments, please
send them to michaelwashere@netzero.com.

DISCLAIMER: The story that follows is a work of fiction. It should not be
considered accurate or truthful representations of any actual person. This
story is not intended to reflect the behavior, work habits, personal
hygiene, sexual proclivities, or real feelings about Whitney Houston 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're looking for the end of this paragraph, read no further.

ANOTHER SHAMELESS PLUG: Because the building in the story is complicated, I
drew a floorplan before I began (maybe it's the DM in me?). You can see the
floorplan at michaelwashere.homepage.com by clicking on the smiling
Brian. So far, few have seen the floorplan, but it seems to get more
criticism than the story. Joe Bob says "check it out."


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


THE STUDIO
Part 7 - Wednesday night

Actually Robby had been in the studio booth with Ed and Dave for most of
the afternoon, so nothing had been done yet for dinner. But my brother had
been planning ahead: he'd asked Mike to pick up lots of coldcuts while he
was at the store. By 4:00, Robby had a tray full of club sandwiches on the
dining room table for the guys' afternoon snack.

If everyone had shown up, there wouldn't have been enough sandwiches to go
around. Luckily, it was just the guys. The producers were still at work in
the studio, and Ms. Shaw was on some conference call in her suite. Mom had
heard reports of rain tomorrow, so she was out painting, taking advantage
of the sunshine despite the relative heat. Dad and Stacey were at work in
the offices, and I, of course, was in the laundry room.

Fortunately, that was close enough that I managed to snag a sandwich. I
couldn't really participate in the conversation around the table, but I
could hear most of it, and from time to time I stick my head into the
hallway and yell some remarkably intelligent, incredibly funny comment.

At least, Howie and AJ laughed at them. I *knew* they were the smart ones.



It was almost 5:00 when the laundry was done. The sheets were folded and in
the cabinets, and the guys' clothes were hanging or folded on the large
cart we used for luggage, everything sorted by room and marked
accordingly. I didn't want to give anyone the wrong clothes, even if the
large number of T-shirts and sweatpants made them pretty interchangeable. I
figured that if they'd had opportunities to dress up, there'd be more
distinction.

Heading for the elevator, I pushed the cart into the corridor and
immediately blocked the way for Mike, Nick and AJ.

"Jeez!" Mike yelled, pretending to be angry. "Can't they get good help in
this place?"

I assumed my most deferential attitude. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. A thousand
apologies, sir. Please, sir, let me move the cart out of the way, sir. May
I carry you upstairs on my back, sir?" Mike and AJ laughed a little as I
pulled the cart to let them by.

"See that it doesn't happen again!" Mike said as he and AJ walked by. Nick
just stood there, and I looked at him quizzically.

"I wanna be carried up to my room," he said, whining a little.

As quick as I could, I grabbed his left wrist and, leaning down a little,
pulled him over my left shoulder. Standing up again, I started toward the
elevator. Nick laughed but didn't struggle. The four of us went to the
elevator, and AJ pushed the button.

While we were waiting, Ed came from the studio toward his suite. Seeing
Nick over my shoulder, he asked, "Is Nick okay?"

"He can't walk," AJ said. "His ego's too heavy for him to carry by
himself."

Ed, Mike and I laughed. Nick said, "Hey!"

"Great comeback," AJ said.



I was careful not to bang Nick's head getting into the elevator. Once we
were inside, Mike pushed the buttons for 2 and 3.

"What's on 3?" I asked him.

"The Playstation," he told me. "We're gonna move it back to the game room,
so we can play during the barbecue."

The doors opened on 2. AJ and I got out. Mike continued up, and AJ headed
toward his room. "See you guys downstairs," he yelled.

I walked toward the other suite, bouncing Nick more than was really
necessary. I deposited a laughing Nick on the floor outside his door. As he
unlocked it with his key, I said, "Well, I have laundry to deliver."

I turned toward the elevator, but Nick stopped me. "Ben, can the laundry
wait?"

I turned to look at him. "I guess." I felt my forehead crease into my
concerned expression. "You need something?" I asked him.

"No, nothing. I just wanna talk. You and I haven't talked much since I got
here. Come in." Nick had the door open, and I followed him into his suite.



The living rooms of the suites were pretty plain. A long rectangle, with a
balcony at one end and a kitchenette at the other. On one long wall was a
door and a small fireplace. On the opposite wall, there were two bedrooms
that shared a bath at one end and a bedroom with a private bath at the
other end. The decorations were uniformly bland -- lots of beige and light
tan and off-white -- but each suite had a different accent colour. This one
had maroon, which showed up in upholstery fabric, throw pillows, ceramic
lamps, and mats around the pictures.

>From cleaning the suite twice now, I knew that Nick and Brian were sharing
the bathroom at the west end and Howie had the solitary room in the middle
of the building.

Nick flopped onto the beige love seat. "Aw, man," he said. "It feels so
good to not have anything to do."

I laughed as I sat in the overstuffed chair that faced him. "I'll take your
word for it. I don't remember the last time I didn't have something to do."

"Yeah, this place does seem to keep you guys busy," he responded. "I'm
surprised you don't have more people working here. Do you want something to
drink?" Before I could answer him, he was off the couch and in the little
kitchen. The jokes I'd heard about him being hyper started to make sense. I
walked over to the kitchenette. He had the door to the fridge open and was
leaning over looking into the fridge. All I could really see was his legs
and his butt.

I'd had a sandwich downstairs but nothing to drink, so I relieved him of a
can of Dr. Pepper. Nick closed the fridge and hopped up to sit on the
kitchen counter, so I climbed onto one of the three bar stools that faced
the kitchen and popped the tab on the can.

"What's it like to have a hotel and a recording studio in your house?" Nick
asked me.

"Well, unless there are clients using the place, it just feels like a big
house. But when they're are clients here, it's fun," I told him. "It's a
lot of work, but it's fun."

"I think it would be pretty cool," he said. "If I had a studio in my house,
we could all live at home while we're recording."

"But then you would never have had the pleasure of meeting us," I reminded
him with a grin.

He smiled. "That's true. This place is great! It needs more night life, but
it's great! I wish we could do more work here. Maybe we could come back and
record our next album here."

"That'd be cool. But I guess that won't be for a while, since you're
working on an album now."

"Oh, we're not working on an album," Nick said. "'Millennium' just came
out. We're touring with that for the next few months. We just got a week
off to record two Christmas songs."

"Christmas songs! That's what you've been doing here!"

"Yeah. They're for some compilation album that our record company's putting
together. There are songs on it from a bunch of different people. We do one
song by ourselves, and on the other we sing this really cool harmony behind
Whitney Houston."

"Is she coming here?" I was imagining the money she'd bring in.

"No, she recorded her solo with Ed in LA last week. We're just
incorporating the harmony underneath."

"Oh," I said, as the dollar signs in front of my eyes faded. I thought for
a second. "You singing with her sounds like what 'NSYNC did with Gloria
Estefan."

"Yeah. 98degrees is doing a song with Mariah Carey too," Nick told me.

"It sounds like as soon as one 'boy band' does something, the others do the
same thing."

Nick laughed. "Yeah. Don't mention that around Kevin, though. He hates
that."

"Hates what?"

"He hates the way the record companies copy each other," Nick said. "As
soon as one does something that makes money, the others do the same
thing. Like the way we started selling records and now there are other guy
groups everywhere."

"Or the way Brittney Spears comes out with a record, so then Christina
Aguilera and Mandy Moore appear," I added.

"Yeah," Nick said. "And Jessica Simpson."

I laughed a little. "You say 'yeah' a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah."



We were laughing at his little joke when someone knocked on the door. Nick
yelled "come in" and Mike stepped inside, cradling the Playstation in one
arm. He seemed a little surprised to see me but closed the door and walked
over.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked.

"Just talking," I said.

"Yeah," Nick began. "I've spent lots of time with you and Robby, but I
haven't talked to Ben much at all."

"Well, I'm going down to connect the Playstation, then I'm gonna help Robby
in the kitchen."

"Make sure he doesn't spit in the food," I said.

Mike came back with, "But that's the only kind of seasoning he knows."

"Oh, you guys are so gross!" Nick said, making a hideous face but laughing
at the same time.

Mike was heading toward the door. "Don't do that with your face -- it'll
stick that way." Mike swung the door open and found AJ about to knock on
it.

"People keep doing that to me today," AJ said, lowering his raised hand. He
stepped into the room, around Mike. He was wearing a black bathing suit and
a T-shirt. "C'mon, Nick! The pool is waiting, and you haven't even
changed."

"He's been busy flirting with my brother," Mike laughed, exiting through
the door that AJ had left open.

AJ looked at the departing Mike, then at Nick, then at me, then at Nick
again. "Is that true?" he asked.

He sounded so sincere that I wasn't sure for a second that he was
kidding. But I said, "Well, if he was flirting, he was doing a lousy job
'cause I didn't notice a thing." I smiled at Nick to show I was kidding and
stood up. "I really need to get that laundry put away."

"C'mon, Nick! Get changed!"

"You go on down," Nick said to AJ. "I'll change and be right down."



AJ and I stepped out into the hall, leaving Nick to change. While we waited
for the elevator, I noticed AJ looking at me for a second.

"What is it?" I asked. "Do I have something in my nose or something?"

"What were you and Nick talking about?" He tried to make it sound casual,
but he wasn't completely convincing.

"About the songs you were recording. I thought you were working on an
album, but he said they were Christmas songs."

The elevator doors opened and we stepped in. "Yeah," AJ said. "Two songs
for some Christmas album. They're pretty cool, if you like Christmas
music."

"He also said that he'd like to come back here the next time you guys do an
album."

"That would be cool," AJ said. "It'd be a long way to bring the musicians,
though. The more people have to travel, the more it costs to do the album."

I'd heard that same thought from Dad before. It was one of his concerns
about making this studio a viable business, and one of the reasons we
mostly recorded bands that played their own instruments. The studio was
large enough to hold singers and a small orchestra, but getting a large
group to come this far from the city was a real obstacle.

The elevator let us out on the first floor. AJ stepped out toward the
patio, and I headed to the laundry room to deliver the laundry.

The laundry was put away by 6:30. Tired, I went up to my rooms, flopped on
the couch in my living room, and watched a rerun of the Simpsons. At seven,
I headed down for dinner.



Everyone was on the patio when I got there. And had been for a while,
judging by the number of empty aluminum cans and beer bottles on the three
round picnic tables. Mike had opened the windows into the game room and
turned the stereo to a Dallas radio station to provide background music.

Robby had commandeered the fourth round table and set it next to the grill
to use it as a buffet. He was behind the grill, wearing Dad's apron that
said "Don't ask me. I just work here." On the grill, hamburgers and hot
dogs were sizzling away, while ears of corn and some kind of mixed
vegetables cooked slowly in foil trays on the top rack. The table held all
the bread, condiments and side dishes.

Stacey and AJ were sitting on two of the lounge chairs, their food resting
on an empty chair between them. Dad sat with Ed and Dave at one of the
tables. Kevin, Mom and Ms. Shaw sat nearby at another table and, judging
from the laughter, the six of them seemed to be having a great
conversation. I heard Dad use the words "filthy apartment," so I guessed he
was telling them about how he and Mom met during their hippy days in San
Francisco.

Mike, Nick, Howie and Brian sat at the third table. The guys were wearing
T-shirts and wet bathing suits, and their hair had the messy look of having
been rubbed with a towel. Damp towels were hanging over the two empty
lounge chairs near the pool. Everyone had been eating for a while, judging
from the mess, but there was still a lot of food.



I stepped up next to Robby. "This looks good," I said, looking over the
spread on his table.

"It's about time you got out here," Robby said. He looked at his watch,
noticed the time, then asked, "Which episode of the Simpsons was it?"

Sometimes, I think my brothers know me too well. "The one where Marge was
in 'A Streetcar Named Desire'." I reached for a plate from his table.

"Here," he said, pulling two hot dogs from the grill and indicating for me
to put two buns on a plate. "I saved these for you. Mike said you wanted me
to spit on your food."

"Aw, you're too sweet!" I laughed. Once my plate was ready and I'd grabbed
a glass of water, I started looking around for a seat.

"Ben, over here!" Mike was yelling. I grabbed one of the leftover chairs
and carried it toward their table, even though the other two were less
crowded. Howie and Nick moved over a little to make room for me, and I sat
down.

"No Dr. Pepper?" Howie asked, noticing what I was drinking.

"Nah, I've had enough for a while," I said. "I'm gonna have a couple of
beers, but I wanted to get some water in my system first."

"Ben has this theory," Mike started explaining, "that if you drink enough
water, you won't have a hangover."

"Well, that's part of it," I said. "Having a Dr. Pepper the next morning
helps. It evens out your blood sugar and gives you some caffeine to get
your metabolism going."

Howie laughed. "You sound like a hangover expert."

"He was a liberal arts major," Brian said. He was talking to Howie, but he
grinned at me when he went on, "They have to know a little about a lot of
things." I grinned back at him. When I cast my eyes down to my own dinner,
I noticed that Brian wasn't drinking from the same kind of cup everyone
else had. He was using one of the highball glasses that we kept in the bar
in the first floor common room. It was mostly empty, with just ice cubes
and the remains of something amber-coloured in the bottom.

"Drink your water," Nick said, "so you can have a beer with us." I noticed
that Howie had a beer, but Nick and Mike were drinking soft drinks.

"Well, this is awkward," I said. I was smiling at Nick but talking a little
loudly, hoping that Dad would notice. "On one hand, you're a client so we
want to keep you happy. But on the other hand, you're an underage kid who
wants a beer. What should we do about this, Mike?"

I was really asking Dad that question, but it was Kevin that
answered. "Nothing," he said. "If Nick wants a beer, he'll have to deal
with me."

"Oh, you're no fun," Nick said over his shoulder to Kevin. His tone was
whiny in an exaggerated way, so I could tell he didn't really mean it. When
he turned back around, he said quietly to me, "You're no fun either." I
thought he was still kidding, but I really couldn't tell.

"So, any exciting plans for tonight?" Howie said, changing the
subject. "What are we gonna do?"



"I've got the Playstation set up, if anyone wants to play," Mike said.

"I do," Nick said, reaching for his drink. "And AJ might."

"I don't have any real plans," I said to Howie. "There's a lot of movies on
the third floor. Maybe there's something you wanna watch."

"Sounds good," Howie said. "What about you, Bri? Whaddya wanna do?"

Brian seemed a little out of it. Whether he was thinking hard about
something or a little drunk I don't know, but it took a couple of seconds
before he heard Howie's question and replied, "Huh? Oh, uh, I don't know. A
movie sounds good. What do you have, Ben?"

"Lots of stuff," I told him. "After we eat, let's go up and have a look."

Stacey started yelling, "Oooo! Oooo! Listen!" Everyone looked at her then
got quiet to hear whatever it was she was directing our attention to. The
only sounds were the pool filters and the stereo, which was playing some
song I didn't recognize at first. But the guys did.

"It's 'NSYNC," Stacey yelled. "Aren't they wonderful?" She really
exaggerated the last word, drawing it out to have at least four Ns in
it. Then she smiled big as the guys started booing and yelling insulting
things, laughing all the while. Nick threw a wadded-up paper napkin at her,
and she laughed as she deflected it with her hands. It hit AJ instead, but
he was laughing as much as anyone.



When the laughter died down a bit, I looked at Howie and Brian. "Do you
really hate those guys as much as everyone says?"

Brian said "no," and Howie embellished on it. "They're just another bunch
of guys who make records. We don't really hate them, but we do get mad at
their record company using them to copy us so much."

"Only now they're working for the same record company," Brian said.

Kevin had evidently been listening from his table. "They're the
competition," he said, "but they're fairly nice guys in person. They're
just another group in the same business."

"Well," I heard Dad's voice begin, "we may get a chance to find out how
nice they are for ourselves." We looked at him, and he looked toward
Ms. Shaw before continuing. "The record company may be sending them here to
do some work in two or three weeks."

"That's part of what my conference call was about this afternoon," Ms. Shaw
explained. She was talking to all of us, but looking mostly at Dave and
Kevin. "There's some song they want to re-work a bit for a movie, and their
management wanted to know what I thought of the facilities here." Looking
toward Mom and Dad now, she continued, "I told them that the facilities
were first rate, so they could send the guys on if the scheduling worked
out."

I looked at Mike then Robby. We all knew that our schedule was free. The
studio wasn't booked by anyone else until November, so we needed the
business. Especially another popular group with some money to spend.

"So 'NSYNC will be working here?" Stacey asked.

"Perhaps," Dad told her. "We should know something by Friday or Monday."

"Is that what your phone call was about this morning?" Mike asked him.

"Yes. Their people wanted to know what kind of equipment we had here and
whether our studio was booked for the week after next or the week after
that. I told them the larger studio was available, and they said they'd get
back to me by Monday at the latest." Mike smiled slyly at me. We knew what
Dad was doing: both studios were available, but we didn't want the record
company to know that nothing was going on here.

"Stacey, watch out for Joey!" Howie yelled across the patio to
Stacey. "He's a bigger flirt than AJ!"

Most people laughed. "Hey!" yelled AJ.

"Great comeback," Nick and Robby said to him at the same time.



It wasn't long after that that Mike and Nick moved into the game room to
play games on the big screen TV. The rest of us lingered over dinner for a
long time, sitting and talking long after we were done eating.

With the radio off, I could hear more of what was being said at the other
tables. Dad had been telling stories of his years as a hippy guitar player,
before going back to college and then law school. Now the others were
talking about what they'd done during the 60s and 70s. Ms. Shaw, it turns
out, had spent a couple of years as a disco queen in Miami, and she had
some great stories.

After covering the food, Robby sat beside me in what had been Nick's
chair. He, Howie and I had a nice conversation about their current
tour. Brian didn't say much.

AJ, Stacey and Kevin tried to swim again, but as the sun disappeared behind
the house it got too cold. They climbed out, and the guys went up to their
room to shower and get dry clothes. Stacey headed into the office to change
in the restroom.

Brian had followed Kevin inside, but he didn't go up to his room. He was
back a few minutes later, with his glass refilled.

"What're you drinking?" Robby asked him.

"Rum and Coke," Brian said. "I found the bar downstairs and made
this. That's okay, isn't it?" His tone was a little apologetic, like he
didn't know if he'd done something wrong or not.

"Yeah, sure," Robby said.

"You're not the one who spilled the pretzels in the couch, are you?" I
asked him. I smiled, trying to sound casual, but I was really curious.

"Uh, I'm afraid that was me," Ed said from behind me. "Dave and I played
pool last night, and I dropped the bag a couple of times."

Well, that was one mystery solved, I thought. I intended to ask Ed who'd
won the games, but Robby spoke first.

"I guess I should start the cleaning process." He stood up.

"Ben and I will help you," Howie said, standing himself.

I gave him a confused look, then looked at Robby, then Howie again. Then I
shrugged like I was resigning myself to my fate. "I guess we will," I said.

Robby and Howie began gathering the dishes onto trays while I drank the
last of the beer in my bottle. Then I stood up. Brian was now sitting alone
at the table, and I said, "Brian, what are you gonna do?"

He laughed slightly. "I'm gonna sit here and watch you guys work."



Everything was cleaned and put away inside an hour. Howie, Robby and I were
heading toward the third floor common room.

When we got to the elevator, the door beside it was open a bit and we could
hear noise from the first floor common room. The door to the room was open,
and our first sight was Kevin's butt: he was bending over the pool table
taking a shot. Dave and Ed were sitting at the little bar, and Dave was
holding a pool cue, evidently awaiting his turn. Behind the bar stood
Brian. I was glad to see he wasn't alone.

I let my gaze return to Kevin's butt. While I was checking him out, hoping
I was being discreet, Howie reached over and pinched it.

Kevin stood up fast enough to hurt himself and whirled around to see who'd
done it. I pointed right at Howie and Robby pointed left at Howie. The
other guys laughed. Our pointing like that was funny because it was done at
the same time, like we'd rehearsed it. They didn't know that we had: my
brothers and I did that to each other every chance we got, usually blaming
everything on Mike.

"Sorry, Kev," Howie said with a grin. "I couldn't resist."

"You should have tried harder," Kevin said. He tried to sound angry, but he
was grinning a little bit.

"Don't blame Howie, Kevin," Robby said. "I saw Dave slip him five bucks to
make you mess up this shot."

"I did not," Dave protested, feigning indignance.

"And," I started in, "if Howie hadn't done it, I would have." I grinned at
him.

"I guess my butt is irresistible," Kevin said.

"No, I wanted the five bucks," I said, walking past him to the bar. The
others laughed again. I hopped onto a stool beside Ed, but Robby and Howie
were still at the door.

"I gotta take this shot," Kevin said to Howie. "You go stand over there."
Howie grinned big and walked over to stand next to me, but Robby didn't
move. "You too," Kevin added, and Robby walked away with his what-did-I-do
look on his face.

Kevin and Dave kept playing, with occasional critiquing from Ed. I decided
I wanted a drink and stepped behind the bar. Brian was standing with his
knees blocking the small refrigerator, leaning onto the bar. His glass
stood nearby.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "How ya doing, bud?" I asked him.

He looked up at me slowly. His eyelids were drooping a little, and a thin
smile crossed his face. "I'm okay," he said softly.

I looked around. Kevin and Dave were discussing how best to take some shot,
and the others were watching them. No one was paying attention as I leaned
in to Brian and whispered, "Are you sure? I've been worried about you."

He smiled up at me, multiple dimples appearing. "Thanks. But you don't need
to worry about me."

"Well, I do," I argued. "You're a good guy, and I don't like to see you
unhappy."

Another smile and another "thanks."

I looked around again and whispered, "Would you do me a favour?"

A slightly confused look crossed Brian's face. "What?" he asked me.

"Move so I can open the fridge?" I said, very seriously. But then we smiled
again. Brian stepped to one side, and I opened the fridge and took out the
small bottle of vodka that I kept in the freezing compartment. I poured a
bit into one of the highball glasses, but I kept the bottle.

"Ew!" Howie said. "You drink that stuff?"

"Yeah," I told him, having a sip.

"Not me," Robby said. "I only use it to clean paint brushes."

"Let me try it," Brian said. I started to pour him some into another glass,
but he took my glass instead and sipped from it. He tried to be cool about
it, but the look on his face told me he didn't like it much. "I think I'll
stick to rum and Coke," he said once he'd recovered voluntary control of
his face.

"Fine," I said. "You drink your little girly drink, then." I was joking,
but the look that crossed his face was more serious than it should have
been.

"C'mon, Ben," Howie said. "Let's go watch a movie." He grabbed my arm and
dragged me from the room, following Robby.



The third floor common room was the same layout as below: a long room with
a little alcove in one corner. But while below there was a pool table, here
there was an open space with two couches on either side and a big-screen TV
on the outside wall. The couches faced each other instead of the
television: this was so that two people could lie lengthwise on them to see
the television.

Between the long couches and two easy chairs, the room could accommodate
lots of people comfortably, but the arrangement was really designed to keep
two people really comfortable. Mike's idea: he used the room most often to
watch really loud movies where the rest of us wouldn't have to listen.

The corner alcove on the first floor had a bar built around it. This alcove
had shelves for movies above and below a row of cabinets with a small
fridge, sink and microwave. I stashed my vodka in the fridge while Howie
and Robby looked over the movies, then I claimed one of the couches, lying
lengthwise with my head at one end.

Howie turned, saw me, glanced at Robby, then grabbed the other couch while
my brother loaded a tape into the VCR.

I grinned at Howie. "What are we watching?" I yelled toward Robby.

"Die Hard," he said, turning around. When he saw us, lying comfortably and
smiling up at him, he waved his hands in the air and shook his
head. "Fine. Fine," he said. "I'll sit in a chair."

"Don't sit down yet," Howie said. "Can you call downstairs and tell Brian
what we're watching. He likes this movie."

"Oh, sure," Robby said. "Any other orders, sir?"

Howie grinned. "You could get me something to drink."

"And put some popcorn in the microwave," I added.

"And then come rub my feet," Howie said, smiling and kicking his shoes
off. "They hurt."

"If he'd gonna touch your feet," I said, "I'll make my own popcorn."



Brian did come up and watch the movie with us. He and Robby grabbed the two
easy chairs and put them between the sofas, Robby sitting next to Howie and
Brian next to me. Every time the spies spoke German to each other, Robby
would yell, "What'd they say?" and I'd tell him.

"You speak German?" Brian asked me.

"A little," I said. "I studied it in college."

"What all did you study in college?" Howie said. "It sounds like you know
everything."

"Not everything," I said, "but I'll kick your butt at Trivial Pursuit."

"Shut up," Robby yelled. "I can't hear what the spies are saying."

"Big deal," Brian laughed at him. "You can't understand them anyway."



When the movie ended, we all scrambled around a little. Brian and Howie
looked through the movies for something else to watch. Robby ran down to
the kitchen to get us food. I unlocked on of the third floor suites so we
could use the bathroom. It was a popular idea: Brian and Howie were both
behind me as soon as I got the door open.

I laughed at them. "You guys need something?" I asked as I clicked on the
lights.

"Plumbing," Brian said, brushing past me and entering the suite. The layout
was the same as his room, so he found the bathroom with no problem. Howie
said he could wait, so I used the other one.

When I came out, Howie and Brian were standing in the living room. "Why is
all the furniture still wrapped in plastic?" Howie asked.

"We haven't used these two suites yet, so everything is still wrapped up,"
I explained to him. "So far, the four suites downstairs have been enough."



When Robby came out of the elevator, he had Nick, Mike and AJ with
him. Mike was helping him carry the food, and AJ had a little ice chest
with him. While the guys got food and something to drink, I reclaimed my
couch. I knew I had to be fast, especially with the increased competition.

AJ noticed what I'd done and grabbed the other couch before anyone else
could.

"Mikey, look what time it is!" Robby yelled. Most of us glanced at the blue
clock on the VCR. Mike and Robby yelled "South Park time!"

Robby and Brian got their chairs back. AJ bent his legs and let Howie sit
down. Mike just lay down on top of me with his head on my chest. He'd done
this ever since he was little. In the family no one thought much about it,
but I wondered how it looked to the guys. Howie and Brian looked at us a
little odd, but Nick distracted them by whining about having to sit on the
floor. Finally he sat in front of Brian, with his back against the couch
Mike and I were lying on.

While Robby was finding the right channel with the remote, Brian handed me
another glass of vodka. He had another rum & Coke in his other hand. "Why,
Mr. Littrell," I said, aping the voice of a scandalized Southern lady, "I
believe you're trying to get me drunk."

Brian smiled. "I don't know why I'd bother," he said, nodding at
Mike. "You've already got another guy in your lap." I was still trying to
think of some comeback when the show started.

As usual, the show was funny and disgusting and tasteless and politically
incorrect. We loved it. Afterward, we were still laughing at it when our
next movie started. Howie, it turns out, could do a pretty good imitation
of Cartman. If anyone complained about his choice of LA Confidential, he'd
tell them to "Respect his authori-tie!"



At some point during the movie, Mike fell asleep on top of me. Brian
noticed it before I did. When I noticed Brian smiling at me, he nodded at
Mike and I saw he was asleep. Brian leaned over toward me and whispered,
"You two are awfully affectionate."

"Yeah," I told him. "We're an affectionate family."

"I come from an affectionate family," Brian said, "but I never fall asleep
on top of Kevin like that."

"Maybe you should," I grinned up at him. Mike stirred a little, and I
signaled to Brian that we shouldn't wake him up.

I must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing I knew Robby was
leaning over me, waking me up. Drowsily, I looked around the room. AJ was
asleep on the other couch, but Brian and Howie were no where to be
seen. Mike was still there asleep, but now he was lying on his side with
his arm over the shoulder of a sleeping Nick.

When he saw that I'd noticed them, Robby said, "It looks like our baby
brother has made a friend." I smiled at him but saw in Robby's face what he
was thinking.

"You don't think...," I began. "I doubt it. He just turned over in his
sleep."

"Yeah. Sure," Robby said. He didn't believe me, but I figured it was
nothing.  We woke Mike up first so that he could move his arm before we
woke up Nick. Once everyone was awake, Nick and AJ said "good night" and
headed down to their rooms. Robby started to clean, but I offered to do it.

"Don't worry about this," I told him. "Get Mike to bed, and I'll take care
of all this."

"You sure?" Robby asked.

"No problem," I told him. Mike was sitting up on the couch but was quickly
going back to sleep. He'd always slept harder than anyone in the
family. "Mikey?" I whispered, leaning in close and putting my hand on top
of his head. "Mikey, c'mon. Time to get to bed."

Mike was trying to stand up. "C'mon, Mikey," Robby said, helping him to his
feet. "Let's go."

Mike was standing and moving, but he wasn't awake, not even when he wrapped
me in a tight hug and whispered "G'night, Big Brother."

Once the little brothers were gone, I turned off the TV and VCR and
returned the tapes to their boxes. Once the room was straightened up fairly
well, I went into the suite, made sure all the lights were off, and locked
the door back. Maybe ten minutes later, I headed downstairs to go to bed.



I was getting pretty sleepy as I half-walked, half-stumbled through the
dark dining room toward the staircase beside the kitchen. I didn't need to
turn on any lights. The security lights around the patio, with their
insect-discouraging yellow bulbs, cast a hazy glow through the French
doors, enough for me to avoid any impending furniture. I rounded Mom's end
of the dining table and was about to pass through into the hallway when I
heard a quiet voice.

"Hi, Ben," the voice said slowly, drawing the syllables out. It was Brian's
voice. Looking into the dark game room, I could barely see him sitting on
the couch there. "Does your offer to talk still stand?" He sounded tired,
but there was more than that. He was speaking a little indistinctly, almost
mumbling.

A little more awake now, I stepped up to the doorway and looked at him. My
eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and I could see him better. He was
sitting at one end of the couch that faced the big-screen TV, his back to
the open doorway toward the living room. "Sitting" may be generous -- he
was really hunched down low, the back of his head against the armrest and
his bare feet almost reaching the other end of the couch.

"Sure, bud." I was trying to make my voice sound friendly and
compassionate, but I never know how good a job I've done at stuff like
that. "I told you: if you need me, you know where I live."

He laughed slightly. "That's why I staked out the road to your apartment."

I walked around the opposite end of the couch, casting a shadow across him
as I passed between him and the French doors. He bent his knees and pulled
his feet up to give me room to sit down facing him. As I sat with my back
against the couch's other armrest, the yellow light from outside again hit
Brian. His eyelids were drooping half-shut. "Whaddya wanna talk about,
Brian?"

He just looked at me for a few seconds. His mouth was open slightly, and I
could hear that he was breathing through it. I heard a glassy sound from
the coffee table. When I looked, I saw his bar glass sitting there, the ice
cubes resettling as they melted against each other.

"You have a great family," Brian said finally.

I looked at him. I don't know what I was expecting to hear from him, but
this wasn't it. "Yeah, I do," I replied.

"I do, too," he said. "I have *two* great families. I have my real family
in Kentucky, and I have those guys upstairs. They're both my families, and
they're great." I was listening, but part of me wondered how much Brian had
had to drink. And how much drinking he did in general.

"And I don't ever want to do anything to hurt them," he went on. He wasn't
looking at me. He was looking down at some meaningless point between
us. His chin moved back and forth a little as he spoke.

After he'd paused for a few seconds, I said, "I'm sure you wouldn't do
anything to hurt them."

Now he looked me in the eyes. His blue eyes were fully open now, watery and
sad in the pale light. "I am too." His voice wavered as he said the
words. "I'm gonna hurt them. I'm gonna hurt them all." His lower lip was
trembling as he spoke, and his face wrinkled a bit as he began to cry while
still talking. Tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks. "I don't
want to, but I am."

Now he was really sobbing. His head went forward to rest on his knees, and
he wrapped his arms around his legs. I didn't think about what I did next:
I just moved down the couch toward him and put my arms around him.  He let
go of his legs and wrapped his arms around me. His knees were between us,
but he touched my right shoulder with the top of his head and buried his
face in his left arm. The sobbing became quiet crying. His breath came
deeply from his mouth as his body shuddered. A quick inhalation, then more
crying.

I just sat there and held him as he cried.



After a few minutes, the worst of it was over. He gave a long sigh that
sounded so sad, so desperate that I knew he hadn't stopped crying because
of any consolation I had given him. He just couldn't cry anymore just then.

He took his arms from around my shoulders, sat up and wiped his eyes with
his fingers. I sat up straighter too but didn't move away from him. After
wiping at his eyes a few times to take care of any straggling tears and
sniffing once or twice, Brian looked up at me. His eyes were partially
closed again, still sad but not so pained as before. "Thanks," he
whispered, his voice a little scratchy but more sober than before.

"Sure," I said softly. I smiled at him and reached out with my left hand to
squeeze his shoulder. He tried to smile back, but it only lasted a second
before he was looking down toward the carpet, at nothing in particular. My
voice still quiet, I said, "Brian, do you wanna tell me the rest?" His
lower lip trembled a little at that idea, so I added, "You don't have to,
buddy. But if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

He kept looking at the carpet, but his lip stopped trembling. His face
became calm, and he stiffened his shoulders a bit. "My family's gonna hate
me," he said quietly. "Hell, *I* hate me. Why shouldn't they?"

Instinct almost took over. I was tempted to say "Don't say that," but that
would not have been the right thing to say. I'm here to listen, I told
myself. Not to critique what he's telling me, or to tell him how to
feel. So I sat and waited for him to go on. When he didn't, I prompted
him. "Why?" I asked.

He turned his head to look at me, his face at an angle and his chin jutted
out a little defiantly. It didn't last long: his eyes teared and his lower
lip trembled a bit as his resolve faltered. But he pursed his lips to stop
from crying again. When he felt safe to speak again without losing it, he
said, "I think I'm gay."



I lost track of how many thoughts went through my head when I heard
that. Oh, God! I know exactly how this feels. He *thinks* he's gay, but is
he really? This could ruin his career, and the guys' too. Maybe his family
won't hate him. Mine didn't. But I remember how scary it was to tell
them. What about the guys? How will they take this? Why is he telling me
this? Does he know about me? How many times have I had this same
conversation with somebody? Eight? Ten? God, I remember how hard this was
for Dad to hear when I told him. How will Brian's dad feel? And his mom? At
least he's famous, and there are thousands of guys that are already
attracted to him. A gay guy in show business: is that cliche or what? What
if the guy's throw him out of the group? Maybe he's not, maybe he's just a
little confused. I mean, most people wonder at some point. What about
Kevin? Kevin's his cousin. And the ones that say they don't wonder are just
repressing something. If Brian's gay, do I have a chance with him? Brian
doesn't have to be totally gay. He could be bi. 'Depends how he feels about
women. It'd be awfully hard for him to have any kind of social life and
keep this secret. Jesus, he's hurting and I'm already fantasizing about
hitting on him. How mercenary can I get? I'm just sitting here. He's gonna
think I'm disgusted or something. I'd better say something.

That's some of what I thought. But all I said to Brian was a very
non-committal "okay."



He seemed confused by my reaction, but he didn't say anything. I switched
into my logical, sensible voice -- the one Mom uses when she slowly asks us
a series of questions until we realize how supremely stupid something we've
done was. "Okay, you said you 'think' you're gay. Why do you think that?"

He still looked confused. I went on. "Brian, I'm not making light of
this. But a lot of people wonder about this at some point in their lives. A
guy can go along, perfectly straight all his life, then one day in the
locker room he catches himself checking out another guy's ass and he
agonizes for weeks that he's gonna be gay."

"This isn't like that," Brian said. "I've been..." He paused, hesitant to
use a verb. "...checking out guys for a long time. Years. At first, I
didn't even admit to myself that that's what I was doing. I didn't want to
admit it to myself. I didn't want to be gay."

"I can understand that," I said. "Even if you don't think it's abnormal or
evil, it can still be difficult. The world is full of people ready to hate
you for it."

"Sometimes, I do think it's evil or abnormal," he said quietly. I didn't
say anything, wanting him to explain more and not really liking where this
was going. "I'm very religious -- my whole family is -- and we were taught
that it's a sin, that it's evil." His voice began by just explaining, but
toward the end of the sentence it filled with despair as he realized the
real weight of what he was saying. I put my hand on his shoulder again.

"That would make it hard. If you are gay, and if you honestly believe that
being gay is evil, then that makes you evil." The look in his eyes made me
sorry that I'd been so blunt, but I didn't know how else to say it. I gave
up trying to argue against someone's religious beliefs a long time ago. How
do you argue against something that's based on faith and not logic?

"Do you feel evil?" I asked him.

His eyes panicked even more for a second; then they calmed down quite a
bit. "No," he said, a little confidence returning to his voice. "No, I'm
not evil. I'm a good guy. I'm nice and friendly and generous, and I help
people. I'm not evil."

Good, I thought. This is better. "And if you are gay, are you still a good
guy who just happens to be gay?"

The confused look returned for just a second, then was gone. "I guess so,"
he said simply. His shoulders visibly relaxed. I squeezed his right
shoulder again. When he smiled up at me, I reached around to pat him on the
back in my most brotherly fashion, before putting my arm over the back of
the couch and leaning to that side.



"How long have you seriously been considering that you might be gay?" I
asked him.

"Seriously?"

"Well, you said that you thought about it but wouldn't admit the
possibility to yourself. When did you finally admit the possibility?"

Brian's eyes went back to the meaningless spot on the carpet. He sighed
slightly and shook his head. "I don't know. I guess the idea's really been
building for almost a year. But it seems like all the time, I'm noticing
guys more and more. I find myself watching them. Staring at them. And..."

Brian turned to look me straight in the eye. "And sometimes I have these
really sexy dreams. At first there were a lot of dreams about playing
basketball with guys, but they'd turn me on. Then there was less
basketball, and more..." Another pause while he breathed deeply. "...more
sex."

His expression was a little worried, like he was again afraid that he'd
admitted too much and disgusted me. My eyes looked straight into his. For a
second I was distracted, wondering whose eyes were bluer, but I corralled
my thoughts. "Do you ever have sexy dreams about women?" I asked him.

"Not really," he said softly. "I mean, I notice good-looking women. I like
them. I like going out with them, and holding them, and kissing them. But
it's never been really, y'know, lustful, like these dreams about guys. I
always thought it was because I was a nice guy who respected women too much
to just treat them like sex objects. But I guess I really don't think of
them as sex objects. I mean, with the right guy, I can get pretty..." More
groping for the right word. "...passionate."

We both smiled at his choice of word. The whole situation between us was a
lot more relaxed than just a few minutes ago. I was really lean into the
back of the couch by now, and Brian shifted to face forward, sitting with
his back shoulders against the back of the couch, his hands resting
casually on his widespread knees.



"Brian, look," I said simply. "It sounds like there's a lot going on with
you right now. I don't want to sound too much like a therapist here, but
you're gonna have to figure out if you *are* gay. Some people just know;
some people take years to realize it; some people are and never figure it
out -- it's very different for everyone. Then, if you decide you are,
there'll be a lot of decisions to make. And you might want to spend some
time trying to figure out *why*."

"Figuring out why? Whaddya mean?" he asked.

"Well, no one really knows why some people are gay," I told him. "Some
people say it's just they way they were born. Some people say it's a
choice. Some doctors say it's a chemical imbalance or hormone deficiency
that affects the brain. Maybe it comes from things that happened in
childhood, or sexual abuse, or lousy parents: I mean, I know lots of gay
guys and they almost all had crappy relationships with their father --
maybe there's a connection there."

I knew that was a lot to take in, but I had one more thought to add. "And a
lot of people never worry about *why* they're gay: they just accept it as
part of who they are and go on."



Brian was shaking his head in disbelief. "Dude, you've spent a lot of time
thinking about this!"

"Yeah!" I nodded. "In college, I did all kinds of reading on the possible
causes. Personally, I think they all make sense. Maybe some people are born
gay, and some are made gay by various reasons. I'm sure there's no one
explanation for everybody."

Brian looked over at me and grinned. "I just thought you'd be easy to talk
to. I didn't know you'd researched this."

"Well, when I was trying to come to terms with being gay..."

"You're gay!" He was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah." It was my turn to look surprised. "I thought you knew."

"No." He sat up and turned to face me. At first he had nothing to say, but
then he shook his head again and laughed slightly. "Aw, man, if I'd known
you were gay, this would've been a lot easier."

"'Sorry, bud. I thought you knew and that why you were talking to me about
this."

"I had no idea," Brian said. He sat for a couple of seconds, staring at
nothing over the back of the couch and biting his lower lip. Finally, he
said, "I don't know if this makes things easier or more complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wasn't going to tell you, but yesterday I had one of those dreams
where I had sex with another guy." His voice trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"It was you."

"Me? You dreamed about having sex with me?"

Brian's face was hard to read. He looked maybe a little scared, like he was
afraid again that he'd disgusted me. "Yeah," he said finally.

I looked deep into his eyes, trying to decide what to say next. I didn't
want to hurt his feelings, but I also didn't want to come on too excited:
he was confused about a lot of things right now, and I didn't want to take
advantage of that. One weak joke coming up, I decided.

"Was I any good?" I asked him shyly. It took a couple of seconds for him to
smile back at me. Then we both laughed. We laughed longer than made sense,
really, but I guess it was a relief after such an intense conversation.



When I stopped laughing, I asked him, "Have you told the guys about any of
this?"

"Just Kevin. He cornered me yesterday and wanted to know what was bothering
me. Wouldn't leave me alone until I told him. He seemed okay with it, but I
know he worries about me telling my parents."

"Yeah, that is hard. Even the coolest parents don't always take this well."

Unconsciously glancing toward the second floor, Brian asked, "Do your
parents know?"

"Yeah, I told them three years ago. Just before my junior year of college."
I smiled a bit at the memory of my timing. "I guess it was kind of
cowardly. I told them, then went away for four months 'til they could get
used to the idea."

"Were they cool about it?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "I mean, they weren't happy about it. I talked, then we
talked, then they went upstairs and talked to each other, then they came
down and we talked again -- it took hours before we were done."

"What did they say to you?"

"They told me that if I was sure about this they'd support me, but they
wanted me to be sure. Mom made me promise to start seeing the university
counselor for a semester, to straighten things out. And Dad sent me all
kinds of articles and books to read. He read them too. He probably did more
research than I did." I laughed a little, remembering how fervently Dad had
dug into those books, then I added, "Once a lawyer, always a lawyer."

Brian didn't laugh. He was staring at the carpet again. "I'm really worried
about telling my parents," he said, his voice soft and timid again.

I squeezed his right shoulder one more time. "Don't tell them until you're
sure about things. I mean, don't make them worry unnecessarily."

"I won't," he said seriously.

"Are you worried about telling the guys?"

"Nah." Brian shook his head. "They were pretty cool when Howie told us he
was..." He stopped and looked up at me quickly. The look on his face said,
"shit, I've said too much."

I just smiled. "Howie's gay?" When he nodded, my smile widened as I sat
back and said, "Well, that will make Robby happy?"

"You mean Robby's gay too?"

I laughed. "No, but he guessed that Howie was. He's been trying to fix me
up with him."

Brian's face was serious. "Well," he began slowly, "if you're interested in
Howie, I could see what I could..."

I laughed again. "No, don't go to any trouble. Howie's a good guy. If
something happens, it happens." I shifted on the couch so that I wasn't
sitting on my foot anymore. "And it better happen fast. You guys are
probably out of here on Friday, right?"

Brian nodded. "Probably." He didn't sound happy at the idea, and inwardly I
was happy that he didn't sound happy. Suddenly, it was really important to
me that they stay.

But I didn't want to be too pathetic. After all, we were just becoming
friends. "Well, when you guys leave," I said, "can we stay in touch? You're
gonna go through a lot, and I wanna be there for you, even if you are
thousands of miles away."

"Yeah," he smiled, "I'd like that."

That was when we heard Kevin's voice from the dark dining room. "Brian?"



We both looked over toward the doorway just as Kevin ambled sleepily into
it. "Hey, Kev," Brian said. "What are you doing up?"

"Looking for you. Nick called my room to tell me you were missing, so I
came down to find you. You okay?"

"Yeah," Brian said. He turned to smile at me. "I'm just talking to Ben
here."

Kevin looked at Brian, then at me, then back at Brian. It was pretty
obvious he was thinking hard, but I don't know him well enough to begin to
guess what. His expression was pretty unreadable. After half a minute, he
said, "Well, I'm going back to bed." He turned to step back into the dining
room.

"Kev, wait up!" Brian stood up, and I followed suit. "I'm going to bed
too." Kevin stopped walking away and turned back toward the game room in
time to see Brian grab me in a tight hug. During the hug, he whispered
"Thanks, Ben" into my right ear.

His warm breath on my ear did crazy things to the little hairs on the back
of my neck, but I was cool. I broke the hug and held Brian by the shoulders
at almost arm's length. "Sure, buddy. I'm glad I could be here to listen to
you."

Still standing in front of me, Brian looked over at Kevin but said to me,
"Do you think we could get breakfast up in our rooms tomorrow? I think we
need to have a group meeting in the morning. I have something to tell the
guys."

This seemed to surprise both Kevin and me. I put my hand on Brian's
shoulder for the umpteenth time that night. "Are you sure you wanna do
this?" I asked him quietly.

"Yeah," he said to me. He looked at Kevin and continued. "The guys are
already worried about me. I might as well tell them what it's about before
they imagine something worse."

"Well, Mike is supposed to make omelets in the morning. When you're ready
for them, call down to the kitchen and tell us what you want in them. I'll
bring them up to whichever room you want."

"Thanks, bud," Brian said, squeezing my shoulder for a change. He walked
around the couch to Kevin, patting him on the back as he went past
him. "C'mon, cuz. Let's get some sleep. G'night, Ben," he said before
stepping into the dining room.

"G'night, guys," I said to them both.

Then Kevin said "goodnight, Ben" very flatly and walked off.

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

Well, there it is. It feels like it took forever to write that. It clears
up some things, but I hope it didn't answer all your questions: I want you
to come back for Part 8.