Date: Fri, 13 Apr 2001 02:38:50 EDT From: NCC1701DS9@aol.com Subject: every-little-thing-i-do-13 Hey ho hi! Wow, it has been a LONG break since I last submitted anything! I'm sorry it's been so long, but my life has just been beyond hectic for the past few weeks, and it's only been during break that I've been able to do any sort of writing. As for future chapters...well, yes, 14 has been partially started, but...it may be a while before I really get things going again. Summer maybe? School is playing a big role in this massive headache of attempting to write anything. I will try, promise, I will. But lack of sleep leads one to forego writing for sleeping. Sorry. Before we continue with the rest of my headers, a big thanks to Ryan out there, just for being a cool friend, even if he is a R, and much inspiration to Gabriella and her novella My Surprise Romance, as well as her other shorts, but...you're part of my sleep deprivation Gabriella! Go visit her site: http://freespeech.org/gabriella, it's awesome. A thanks to Ken, even though he's not on much anymore, and to Jeff for his amazing inspiration through Twist of Fate (good luck!). And yeah. Now, keep reading, and...FEED BACK! And the rest, if you've read it before, it's the same thing. Y'know, blah blah blah... Oh, yes, please, please, PLEASE give me a heads up if you notice any changes for the worse in my writing...I'm not sure if I can keep up with the quality I had over the summer. And just general criticism! Please, nothing like "Good story, keep writing." I want something like REAL literary criticism...and don't worry about sounding like a jerk (which, by the way, is defined as delta a over delta t) because I'm used to really cutting remarks...it's called the music department, theater, and photography. If you're involved in the arts, you KNOW how harsh some of that criticism may be. So don't worry! But mail me, address is at the top, or IM me at MooToYou42! OK, and here are the boring, various disclaimers. This is a FICTIONAL story involving the band NSync, specifically member Lance Bass. I do not know NSync in any way, shape, or fashion with the exception of what I can get off of fan pages, their official site, various interviews, and the like. I do not know the sexual orientations of any members, although a guy can dream, can't he? :-) I do not claim to know the personalities of any member of NSync either, and all reactions are the product of one deranged author. If you're part of NSync, please e-mail me! If you're not, e-mail me anyway! Iff (test your math/science terminology here!) you are offended by homosexual relationships, or are under 18 or the legal age in your area, or your local laws/customs do not permit the reading of such material, then don't continue. This is (hopefully!) a real story with emotions beyond passion. If those rules apply to you, then don't get caught reading this if you do decided to go on and read it. Previously in "Every Little Thing I Do"... "Well, I'll let you two enjoy your breakfast. Just leave the cart outside when you're done. Have a good day, guys." Ken backed into the hall and closed the door on his words. "Lance, I'm sorry...so sorry, about that whole thing." I went over and gave him a hug, knocking him back onto the bed. "Can you forgive me?" I looked into his green eyes, the same eyes that first trapped me. The glint told me he would, but was still disappointed about our interruption. "Of course, it wasn't your fault. Come on, let's eat and get on with our day." He pushed me off, and sat up, and looked at the food. I grabbed a shirt, slid it on, and pulled up a chair opposite him. We dug into our food, eating in silence for a while, just looking at each other. Lance was so cute, with his spiky hair with blond tips, that angelic face. I noticed that his eyes were also wandering around my face, from my own light brown hair to the bottom of my chin, across my face which had seen plenty in the nineteen years I had been alive. As Lance finished off the french toast and washed it down with a glass of OJ, he looked at me once again. "So, what's up with that Ken? Did you notice how he looked at me that entire time he was in the room?" Every Little Thing I Do Chapter 13 By Mahka I looked at Lance. So, he had caught the roving eye of my PA as well. It was at that moment that another thought struck me, and as extremely odd. "Lance, two things. First, yes, and we'll get to that in a minute, and second...I thought I already HAD a PA? What was her name? Kristin?" My mind wandered back to the show I had introduced Nsync, having gone through wardrobe and make-up in just a few minutes. That had been totally exhilirating. That was also before I had fallen in love with Lance, before he had first tried to kiss me. The last time I saw my friends. "Oh yeah, Kristin. No, she's not really a PA. Well, in a sense, she is. Except that her PA stands for Production Assistant, not Personal Assistant," Lance replied, looking at me. "She just takes care of-" His voice trailed off, his emerald eyes filling with concern. "Are you OK?" "Huh?" I responded, snapping out of my reverie. I had been thinking about my friends back home, of Steve and Sarah, of my mom, of everything that was still only two hours away by car and not by plane. "You zoned for a bit when you mentioned Kristin. Are you all right?" His hands reached under the table, searching for mine. "Yeah...just that thinking of Kristin reminded me of everything back home, since I first met Kristin at your second concert in Philly." "It's understandable. I remember the first time I went off on tour without my mom. That was pretty tough. It took me several weeks to really get used to it. I used to go to JC or Justin every night for comfort. You've only been with us for four days, so really, you're doing quite well." "Thanks," I replied, still thinking about home. I gazed at the splotch of ketchup on my plate, sprawled out in some abstract art form. It reminded me of...a blob of ketchup. Lance forked the remainder of his breakfast up, his eyes leaving me for only a few seconds as he looked to his plate. I shook myself from my thought, reminding myself that I was sitting here, eating breakfast across from Lance Bass of Nsync, a position that many would've fought tooth and nail for. But that didn't matter anymore. He wasn't a pop star to me. He was just another person. And really, my friends and family back home were weighing a bit more heavily on my mind than the superstar across from me. Then it struck me. I was homesick. The thing was, I had been away from home before for much longer stretches of time without being homesick. Off in foreign lands with people I only sort of knew at first, and I hadn't been homesick. Why now? "You...haven't called home in a while," Lance said gently. "Huh?" "I said, you haven't called home in a while. We usually call home about every other day or so...you haven't really called home since...well...since we left, right?" I thought back...let's see...shopping...hospital...Rent...no, I really haven't contacted home in a while. The last time was...on the bus to New York? I couldn't even remember. "Yeah, but...I've been on longer trips farther away before and never felt like this," I replied. "Overseas without a means of contacting home?" "Yeah..." "Well, see, here, you're really close, and you have methods of contacting home, so that's what you want to do. When you were over seas without a means, then you didn't feel so obligated. Get it?" Lance...Lance was good. He had just figured the whole thing out. "Wow, that was pretty good. How'd you do that?" "Well...I wouldn't be a very good boyfriend now, would I, if I couldn't figure my boyfriend out?" He grinned that devilish grin that always made my heart feel light. I gave him a horrified stare. "You mean...I'm supposed to figure you out? I never-" "Ha, no! You think I'm actually that good at analyzing people? I just know because that's what I went through, so I figured it would be similar to your situation. Touring is really different from any other form of travel." "Yeah, I know. I did a tour once...that was hell. Of course, I don't think it was quite like yours with a bunk bus and what not." I smiled. Lance had managed to lift the gray mood over me, and I was back on track with my mind in New York and not in Pennsylvania. "So what's in store for today?" I asked, pushing back and flopping onto the bed. I was way too lazy for my own good. "Let's see...today's...Monday, so we have the first show tonight. We have a meeting at 1:30, rehearsal from 2:30 'til 5 to make sure the stage is all set...then we have to go and prep for the show, Meet and Greet...ah, back to the rigors of performing." He stretched and flopped down next to me, turning his head to look at me. "Are you still interested in introducing us?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. I sat bolt upright. "Dude, are you serious?! Hell yeah! I thought that that was a one time thing!" "Well...it was supposed to be, but I think the guys and all like you enough to let you do it a few more times. I don't think we'll be able to let you do the HBO performance, especially not after that news story, but...the rest? Sure, why not? You've got everything set, wardrobe numbers made up already, the make-up artists have their stuff down..." He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and then JC's muffled voice. "Lance? Mark? We have a meeting in a few minutes...you guys coming?" I looked at the clock, noticing that yes, in fact, it was very late, and that 1:30 really was just a few minutes away. Hell, we weren't even dressed yet! Well, dressed appropriately. Unless people constantly showed up to meeting dressed in pajamas or boxers... I noticed that Lance hadn't said anything, and that he was looking straight at me with this look on his face that was a cross between horror and amusement. "What?" I asked. "JC's last words-" and with that, he promptly fell off the bed, laughing. I was still confused, trying to remember what JC had said... And then I joined Lance on the floor, doubled over in laughter. There were a few repeated knocks, and JC's voice picked up in urgency. "Guys? Are you OK? Really, we've got a meeting in about five minutes! What's going on?!" I managed to pull myself over to the door, opening it for JC. Lance had crawled onto the bed and was still grinning wildly, with an occasional chuckle escaping his lips. JC barged into the room, his eyes darting back and forth between Lance and I in our semi-hysteric state. "What's so funny? What are you laughing at?" he asked, thoroughly confused. "JC...your last few words...taken in context of what you said the last time you were here..." I tried to explain before succumbing to laughter again. "What...what did I...OH..." JC turned a funny shade of red, shuffling his feet. "Um, anyway, I was just, uh...wondering if you guys were ready for our meeting...Mark, you're invited too." "Yeah, we're about to go," Lance replied through gasps, his face still split into a smile. "Now get out of here so we can get dressed!" JC practically ran from the room, showing the extent of his embarassment. "If he only knew..." Lance whispered into my ear. "I know," I said with a grin. "But, until later, YOU, my friend, have a meeting to attend, and you are not dressed. Go get changed and spike your hair and everything. I can get changed out here." "OK," he replied, and disappeared into the bathroom with some clothes. "Ugh...that was way too much!" complained Chris as he left the suite that management occupied. They guys were now late for rehearsal, having sat through nearly two hours of meeting. Unfortunately, a good 45 minutes was spent discussing me and my situation. Even though we had a cover story, we had to make sure we stuck to it. Of course, the greatest thing was, everyone but Lance and I thought that it was pretty close to the truth. We still hadn't told the other members about us. Which was something that neither Lance nor I seemed ready to broach at the moment. "OK, well...c'mon, to rehearsal guys," sighed Lance. Leave it to Scoop to keep people in line. "What, no food?" protested Justin. "You ate in the meeting! Now, let's go! We're late!" "My cell phone..." JC began. "Is safe in your room. Besides, we're not splitting up for the rest of the day. No biggie." Ah, Lance. The ever business-minded member, who was starting to sound like me. Could it be possible? I was influencing him? Nah. The four other members that made up Nsync dragged themselves to the elevators, being shepherded by Lance. I followed them in, Mel behind us listening to her cell phone. Mel snapped her phone shut, then turned to the guys as the elevator descended. "OK, that was Ron. There were some problems with the wiring, so they're still trying to fix it. The lighting board wasn't hooked up properly. Rehearsal will now go to 6..." there were a few groans, "and your opening act will start at 7:45 instead of 7:30, which should give you a bit more time. Meet and greet is pushed back 'til 7 instead of 6:45." The elevator dinged and opened its doors, depositing us on the main floor of the hotel. We trudged to the back door of the hotel, where the van was waiting. Joey, Chris, then JC and Justin hoisted themselves into the interior, Justin taking shot gun. Lance followed JC into the interior, and then moved out of the way as I placed a foot on the threshold of the van. "Nuh-uh, not you mister," said Mel, grabbing my shirt and tugging me back. I placed both feet back on the pavement, my eyes on Lance. His face was in shock. I couldn't blame him. I was pretty shocked too. "What?" I asked, turning to face Mel. Mel wasn't a very tall woman, but she certainly looked imposing despite her dressed down outfit. It was her attitude. "You're coming with me. We'll meet you guys there," she called in, then slammed the door shut on Lance's gaping mouth. She turned and walked away from the van, back towards the hotel. I stood rooted to the spot, and the van slowly pulled away into New York traffic. "You coming?" she called, turning to look back at me. "Yeah, I am," I replied, shuffling towards her, then breaking into a short jog to bring me closer. She never broke stride, not even when she had turned to yell at me. My mind, understandably, was a whir of thoughts. What could she want? We had already discussed my situation and story in the meeting, which made the guys late. I barely knew her, so I doubted that she was intent on discovering my life story. Hell, as far as she knew, I was just another teeny-bopper, albeit male, who was along for the ride, and after New York was over, I'd be gone and she'd never see or hear from me again. She didn't say a word as she led me back into the hotel, then to the bank of elevators leading to the underground parking lot. I found myself several stories below the building, watching Mel unlock a sporty little car from a distance with a remote. She opened the passenger side door and held it open. "Get in," she said simply. Confused and totally bewildered, I got in, settling into the seat and fastening my seat belt. Mel slide behind the steering wheel and started the car. She drove up the several levels, out of the hotel, and into the streets of New York. The radio was off, and she didn't say a word. The silence was deafening, and I was getting worried. "Where are we going?" I finally asked. "Madison Square Garden." "Oh," I said, for lack of better things to say. I stared out the window at the unmoving traffic, then to the radio console. The clock read 3:50. Not that time meant much anymore. Mel navigated the streets like a pro, swerving this way and that, inching ahead in congested Monday traffic. You'd think that management would have been smart enough to house the boys in a hotel closer to the venue. But no, of course not. In fact, when they had performed in Philadelphia, they stayed in New York. That's when Lance slept over. I remembered that day, that fateful Thursday when I literally ran into Lance, and not even knowing who he was, fell in love with the eyes. And as the day wore on, I began liking the person underneath the smooth, pale exterior. The sky was gray in New York, not revealing anything even remotely interesting. I lost track of where we were. All I knew was that we were somewhere in New York City, final destination Madison Square Garden. We paused at yet another traffic light, watching both pedestrians and other vehicles cross the intersection, a mix of cultures and styles, the melting pot New York was famous for being for. Without removing her eyes from the scene in front of her, Mel spoke to me. "So how are you liking the whole touring deal?" Whoa, what was this? Since when did she take an interest in what I thought about this whole thing? So far, management had only dealt with me as an aside. In fact, I had given them a slight publicity headache with the whole Lance getting run over thing. Or rather, me saving Lance and me getting run over. "Umm, it's cool. I'm enjoying it," I replied, trying to make something up. "That's good. Y'know, I've been wanting to know how you managed to get on this to begin with." "Well, Lance-" "Yes, I know the Lance connection. I mean, how did you get onto his good side and get him to invite you on?" My mind was suddenly whirling. Had she caught on? No, if she knew about Lance and I...it wouldn't just be Lance's current career down the tubes - it would be the entire group, including all of their support staff. Even Mel's job, although I was sure Wright Entertainment managed other groups. "Huh? What do you mean?" I asked, playing dumb. "Usually the people who are invited on tour are girls, and they're just groupies that some of the guys picked up in a club somewhere. A brief fling, and then we drop them off in the next city." Mel drove through the streets, bringing us closer to our destination, or so I hoped. "Oh." Wow, that was a relief. "I'm sure Lance told you how I met him, in the mall and all. And I didn't even realize who he was until after I had talked to him and mentioned that I had always been interested in entertainment, especially the production side, with all the backstage work. And I never mind a chance to get on the stage myself." "Ah, OK. I was just wondering," said Mel, and she fell silent. However, just by the look on her face as she said those words, I knew that that wasn't the reason why she had dragged me away from the guys. If she just wanted to know how I was liking things, a quick knock on our hotel room door would have done the trick. We drove in awkward silence a bit more, and suddenly made a sharp turn into a gate. She rolled down the window and flashed her ID at the guard standing there, and he waved us through. In front of us was the rear of Madison Square Garden, large and uncompromising. I could see large cargo doors open in the back, trailers scattered throughout the lot. It was similar, yet different from the setup at the First Union Center. Mel pulled into a spot, threw the car into "P," and turning off the engine, opened her door. I followed suit as she locked the doors and headed toward the building. Mel walked through the several burly security guards, getting mumbled greetings as they bowed out of her way. But as I walked up to them, they stepped into my path. "Where do you think you're going?" rumbled the guard in front of me. "I, uh, I'm hanging out with the guys. I'm introducing them at tonight's concert, and..." Oh shit, I had left my ID badge back in the hotel. No wonder I was being stopped! "A likely story. Now go along now. Doors open at 6." Dammit! I wasn't a stupid teeny-bopper who was going to fawn over and maul JC or Justin! Lance, maybe, but not the rest of them! "Please, I need to get through. The guys are waiting for me." I continued my ramblings and pleas, but the guards wouldn't budge. By this time, Mel had entered the venue, and was out of earshot, probably directing this and that, hustling people around. "MEL! MELLLLL!" I shouted in desperation, but no answer came. "Please, if I could borrow your radio?" The guard gave me one of those looks. "Or...you can use it. Can you call Lance out?" Another look. Dammit, I'm not going to rape him or beat him down or propose to him (well, not right now)! "Please? I have to go prep for meet and greet and get wardrobe..." The guard finally relented under my insistent ramblings and I heard him call for Lance. I fretted and paced for what must have been ten minutes before I saw a familiar pale, blond-haired face appear at the cargo doors. "LANCE!" I waved my arms in the air, getting his attention. He came over to us, and looked at me over the shoulders of the two guards, who were still standing in the way. "What's the matter?" he asked. "I left my pass at the hotel, and they won't let me through. "Can you vouch for him, Mr. Bass?" asked the other guard. "Well," Lance drawled, a twinkle in his eye. I knew what was coming. "Please, no, no games!" I pleaded. Did I really want to stand in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun even longer? "Yes, let him in, he's with me," said Lance finally. "Yes sir," the guards replied, and moved out of the way. "Thanks," I mumbled as I walked beside Lance into the arena. "No problem," he said, his hand brushing my waist. "Lance," I hissed. "Sorry...it's just that..." He stopped. Shit. "Just what?" "Nothing." Lance continued on his way, leaving me standing a few feet from the cargo doors. "Lance, what?!" I called after him as he entered the throng of people. He waved over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd. Dammit dammit DAMN IT! I mentally kicked myself over and over. Knowing my worrisome boyfriend, he'd dwell on it for a bit. Actually...he probably would forget about it in due time, since it was HIS thought, whereas I would dwell on it for the rest of the night. "Mark!" A shout penetrated my thoughts through the cacophony of noise backstage. I whirled, looking for the source of the sound. I saw a hand waving frantically in the air as Mel pushed her way through the crowd. Actually...she didn't really push as much as part her way, as people moved around her. Wow, Miss Power herself. "What happened to you? I've been looking for you for the past twenty minutes! You weren't in any of the dressing rooms, none of the guys had seen you." "I was-" "But whatever, c'mon, I've got a job for you," she said, turning around and walking toward the dressing rooms. She gave me a look over her shoulder, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "not in that." Not in that what? "Wait, Mel! What job?" I jogged to keep up with her. "One of the PAs is sick today, and she can't be here to do Meet and Greet. All of our other PAs are busy on other projects, and can't cover. That's where you come in." "Oh, ok, you want me to do the Meet and Greet. Alright, that's fine." Wow, this was greater than anything! On top of getting to tour with NSync and having Lance as my own, beating out all those squealy girls, I was actually getting some experience in production work! I suddenly knew that all of those years spent dealing with mild backstage and administrative work in the music department would help. "OK, so get yourself over to wardrobe. You're in no condition to meet these girls. I'll leave a clipboard for you with all your instructions in the room. When you're done, get changed and go to make-up for your introduction of Nsync. Got it?" I barely had time to say "got it" before Mel turned on her heel and walked the other way. Sheesh. Reminded me of my friend Rebecca, running about like a rabid squirrel, with rapid-fire chatter and a million things going on at once. The set up was similar to Philadelphia, although different in some areas. For one, signs around the area now read "YOU ARE IN NEW YORK CITY" instead of "YOU ARE IN PHILADELPHIA." Lance had explained those signs, claiming that with all the moving around, people got confused where they were, and once upon a time, a long time ago, Justin had shouted out the name of the wrong city during the concert. I found my way to wardrobe and was handed a shirt, tie, pants, and even shoes. They had taken down all my measurements from my Philly appearance, and everything fit fine. After a few minor adjustments, I was ready to go. True to her word, Mel had left a clipboard on the other side of the wardrobe quick change curtain on a stand, with my name in bold red letters on a piece of tape. I picked it up and read it. Twenty minutes later I was still reading the instructions, probably for the third time, trying to make heads or tails of what was presented to me. "Mr. Bechent," said a voice. "Mr. Bechent. MR. BECHENT!" "Huh? Wha-?" I responded, tearing my eyes off of the sheets in front of me. "It's 6 o'clock. Don't you need to be checking the Meet and Greet room?" I glanced at my schedule, mentally adding fifteen minutes to every time on the sheet. Sure enough, the schedule read "5:45 pm - Prepare M&G". Fifteen minutes added on to that would make it 6. I sighed. This was a lot of work! But I told myself, I might as well do it, so I don't seem like a leech. And besides, Mel or Johnny or one of the production or management staff might write me a letter of recommendation, and I'd get some better jobs in the Arts Department. "Yeah, thanks," I said absentmindedly, walking off. "Mr. Bechent!" I turned. "Your radio?" Me forgetting things, again. There, on the same stand that had held my clipboard was a radio with a headset. Not like the performance mikes and IEMs, but rather real two-way radios, with bulky headset and all. "Thanks," I murmured, grabbing the system and slipping it on. Instantly I heard garbled words, voices shouting. Then a clear voice. "Someone get the wires! Why isn't anything where it's supposed to be?! Come on people, let's move! We have a show in two hours!" Technically, an hour and 45 minutes, but who was counting? It sounded like Evan, but I wasn't sure. I strode through the throng of people, turning this way and that. And then I realized I didn't have the foggiest idea as to where I was going. The schedule Mel had left for me was the generic schedule, not city-specific. I stopped to ask some crew members, but they were rushing by so quickly I doubted that any of them even heard me ask the question. Gaffers and grips were running about, wires trailing them. How was I going to find the room? A voice filled my ear, demanding to know how the guys were doing. That's it! The sudden realization that I had a radio and could use it made me feel very, very stupid indeed. I reached for the talk button, trying to find it on the radio itself, which was attached to my waist. I found a knob and turned it. The static that I received was awful. I must have fiddled with the squelch. I finally found it, and called out to anyone out there, asking where the Meet and Greet room was. Mell replied, saying that the "MG room is through the doors leading to the arena, last door on your right." All the abbreviations! With my mind whirling with all the thoughts of getting through this production nightmare, I had no time to dwell on my personal thoughts, nothing about Lance, or about the moments of passion we had brushed with early that morning. But as I entered the MG room and started sorting through the multiple boxes of photos and other Nsync paraphanelia, I couldn't help but spend a little more time gazing at the picture of Lance. No surprise there, but it my moment of quiet, it was frightening, to see a commercialized picture of my boyfriend, in professional makeup and wardrobe, and especially the fact that in about an hour, or even less, a few dozen girls (and maybe a boy or two) would be in this room, clamoring for MY boyfriend. Who said that dating a celebrity was easy? It was torture on the soul, especially with the fact that Lance was gay and he had not a girlfriend but rather a BOYfriend. Anything to jeopardize his career was unacceptable. At the moment, I had no career. It's hard to have a career when your education is yet unfinished. Two years to go, and when I returned to the campus in the fall, I had to declare a major. I had spent two years just messing around, trying this and that, testing out different fields, a lot like my years in high school. At the end of high school, I didn't even have an inkling of what I'd like to do. Surprise, after the maximum two years of being an undeclared, I STILL had no idea what to do. Not only that, but I was getting kicked off campus housing wise as well, so I had to find a place to live. I had spent the final months searching the boards and working with the housing office, but I hadn't found anything. The few apartments I had visited were filled with repulsive, sloppy people. I wouldn't be able to live with them. I looked down at what I was doing. Unconsciously, I had removed many pictures of Lance and set them up on the table, facing me. The clipboard with my instructions was on the floor, discarded. Oops. The schedule on top told me that the girls would start pouring into the room in about ten minutes, ten minutes before the guys showed up. In fact, I could hear excited voices outside the room. I grabbed the clipboard off the floor with one hand as my other swept Lance's pictures carelessly into the box containing the remaining pictures. A quick flip of the wrist, and I had the second page facing me, along with instructions. I started reading. Meet and Greet Set Up. Ensure all chairs are set up in an orderly fashion, no more than two groups of five wide by three long, leaving a minimum of six feet between the two groups. Five chairs should be placed behind the table, equally spaced, three feet apart. The table should be covered with the appropriate banner. Banners should be found in Box B. What box B? I thought. I glanced quickly around the room. Stacked in the corner were even more boxes, labeled B, C, D, and E. Five boxes. Oh no. Remove pictures from Box A, C, or D and set, in order, from SL to SR, Lance, JC, Justin, Joey, Chris. Place along with marker pens, in Box E. Each band member should have... I the directions continued, and the hyphenated word at the bottom of the page indicated there would be more instructions on the next page. I flipped the page over for a quick look. More instructions, as expected. In fact, three-quarters of a page more. And then a speech, which ran off the bottom of the page onto another page. Hell. A voice crackled in my ear. "Mark, is MG ready? The dogs are here." I panicked. "Uh, no, not quite. Besides, I have ten more minutes! And I can't find water. Can someone get water?" I waited for a response, but none came. "Mel to Mark, come in. Is the MG ready?" What? I just told her! I started speaking again, and then realized that my voice wasn't coming back to me. I had forgotten to hit the TALK button in my haste. I repeated my message, this time properly. "OK, someone will be bringing you water. Everything else set?" I looked around the room. Luckily, someone had pre-set the chairs and tables, and only the banner, photos, and water were left. I quickly opened Box B and pulled out the banner inside, furiously clipping it to the table. I then went back to Box A and started setting up the pictures and markers in proper order. Justin had run out of photos, so I opened C for more photos. While I was busy preparing, another PA who I didn't know walked in with three pitchers of water and five glasses. She set them up promptly, aided me with a few final things, and then left. I looked around the room, my hospitality instinct kicking in. Everything had to be perfect. Years spent helping my parents entertain were not lost on me, and I was notorious both at home and on campus for throwing well-planned, wild dry parties. Yes, dry. I was underage, and in high school, my friends and I had made a pact saying that we would always keep our parties dry as long as there was even one underage person. Dry and drug-free. We were the good kids. As for the sex though...that was another story. Actually, nothing ever happened. People just got high on adrenaline and the good vibes, and left in good spirits. "Alright, MG is set. Let them in." I opened the double doors in the back of the room to allow the girls in. I heard them down the hall, squealing, excited. I returned to the podium, making sure everything was there. Lance, JC, Justin, Joey, Chris. Was there a coincidence in Lance sitting next to JC? They seemed close, just as I felt JC was one you could trust. I spoke into my headphones once again. "Band members, prep for MG. Ten minutes." A faint "affirmative" came through, and then the radio was only filled with noise as Mel, Evan, and Johnny issued orders. I guessed that they kept theirs on continuously. An increase in volume of voices announced the arrival of the specially chosen group. 30, according to my quick calculations. 30 patrons, out of who knows how many that Madison Square Garden held. They better feel damn special. Two security guards entered the room, leading the pack. They directed the first few to the front of the room and started seating them. When they were done and all were seated, they left, closing the doors behind them. Another five minutes or so. I let them wait, tittering, on the edges of their seats, whispering excitedly, clutching pens, copies of No Strings Attached and NSYNC and other albums, pictures, and even the little dolls. I noted with some amusement that out of 30 people, only two were guys. Not even 10%. Some of the girls gave me odd looks, as if to say "What is HE doing up there?" I looked at my clipboard for final instructions. The paper told me that I should turn on my headphones before reading the speech so the guys could hear their entrance. But even before that, I was to give three calls. If I received one buzz back, they were ready; two if they were not. It seemed like Paul Revere. I duitifully buzzed my three calls, and after a minute or so, I received one buzz, and then the radio fell silent with the exception of Mel and Evan barking orders. OK. Here we go. I took a deep breath, turned my clip board to the proper page, and started reading. Or at least, I should have started reading. Instead, my throat seized up and I coughed. Nervousness. I still couldn't control it, after 19 years of performance after performance, this presentation and that. Damn. Well, at least the crowd shut up instead of squealing. I swallowed and tried again. This time I managed to get through, and read through the page and a half of speech, my acting instincts taking over and slowing my speech down, articulating. I read the last line, the guys' introduction. Right on cue, they ambled in through a side door, dressed in casual clothes, although I knew that wardrobe had provided them. They entered opposite me, and Lance was the last to enter, and consequently the farthest away. Chris gave me a reassuring wink and a smile, and sat down. I looked down the line, and caught Lance's eye before he too sat down and turned to look at the audience. "Alright people, I've read you the instructions. We'll have a ten-minute formal question and answer, then a photo signing. And if you remember, if you get that finished quickly, by being orderly, the guys will have more time to just chat. OK?" I could see the girls clutching their paraphenelia, bouncing in their chairs with all the excitement. I wanted to join them, but I had to act cool and collected. I turned to face the guys, and after receiving a nod from each of them, confirming they were ready, I started choosing from the sea of hands in the air. Or, at least, I thought it would be a sea of hands. Instead, not a single hand was up. I guess the surprise showed on my face, because Chris leaned over and whispered "You have to get them going, they're all too excited." He grinned and leaned back in his chair. Ugh, I was so bad at doing this moderating thing. "OK," I said, placing my hands on the podium. "I'm sure at least one of you has a question for the guys. Not everything is answered in those magazines, y'know." I looked out. Still nothing. I sighed, exasperated, and started to turn to Chris, seeking guidance from the oldest member of the group. That's when a piercing voice screamed from the back of the room. "Lance, will you marry me?!"