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And so they had. 

The original pawnshop guitar was long gone, replaced by a much higher-quality model.  Once Hank Jones realized the depth of Melody’s talent, he spared no expense.  The greatest joy of his life was to listen to her sing and play his favorite hymns in church on Folk Sundays.  It was getting to the point where Melody was being asked to accompany the choir more and more during the regular services.  And it was the only time that there was applause in church.

“Clapping in church!  My goodness!  What is the world coming to?” said her mother.  But the pride shone out of her eyes.  Hank knew that Elizabeth was as proud of Melody as he was.

But electric!? 

Hank didn’t know about that.  His wife had very strong opinions.  No way!  That led to drugs and debauchery, to…well, Elizabeth Jones wasn’t even going to utter the ‘s’ word in the same sentence as her fifteen year old’s name. 

“But Mom, it’s just music,” Melody pleaded. 

Of course, it wasn’t to her mother.  It was screeching.  You couldn’t understand a word those rock people sang.  And the way they moved on stage…just shocking!  Melody’s protestations that they had said the same thing about Elvis and the Beatles fell on deaf ears.  A month of sulking and pouting on Melody’s part and sighing and praying on her mother’s brought them no closer to a compromise.

Melody was using Stevie Ray’s guitar during her lessons now and was going totally electric.  He was overwhelmed by what she was doing and knew that he could get her studio time whenever she wanted it.  He also knew that Melody was an underage juvenile and that he was going against her parents’ wishes.  He wanted to tread very cautiously.

It all came to a head at dinner one night.  Hank Jones asked Melody what song she was playing during the next Sunday’s folk service.  Melody announced that she would no longer be participating in the music activities of the church.  A stunned silence followed that remark.  It was too shocking for Elizabeth to even react. 

Ben’s eyes got big, and he stared across the table at his sister.  Careful there, Sis, he tried to tell her silently.

“What do you mean?” asked her father. 

Melody tried to read his voice.  She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt or just surprised.

“I can’t make music on command,” she replied with the haughtiness that only fifteen year olds with no idea of what the world is really like can muster.  “If I can’t make the music I want, I won’t make the music you want.  Until I can save enough to buy an electric guitar, I will not play my acoustic one.”

“And where do you think you will play this so-called electric guitar?” said her mother with ice in her voice.

Ben tried to warn Melody with his eyes.  He knew that tone.  It was dangerous. 

“In the garage.  Like the last time,” said Melody.

“Well, the last time, you were still living in this house,” said her mother, speaking through lips pressed so tight they were white.

Ben looked at his father.  Uh oh, this was serious. 

Before Hank had a chance to react, Melody threw her napkin down on her dinner plate and rose to her feet, knocking her chair over behind her.  “You’ve never believed in me,” she shouted at her mother.  “You hate me because I won’t be…because I won’t be…just a girl.”  She ran from the room and flung herself on her bed, weeping.

Melody spent a few minutes feeling sorry for herself and believing that her life was over.  But adolescents are resilient, and it wasn’t long before she began developing a plan.  She’d phone Stevie Ray, that’s what she’d do.  He’d help her.  She could find an apartment.  Or maybe he’d let her move in with him.  He had two bedrooms.  She could take care of the place for him.  He was always saying he was a lousy housekeeper.  She had no money, but she could get a job.  She could quit school. 

Yeah, that was it.  She’d quit school and get a job at 7-11 – she really wasn’t qualified for anything else – and then she could arrange her shifts so that she could go to the studio with him – yeah, that was it, that was a good idea.  And soon, they’d all see that she was as good as he was…well, not as good, she thought guiltily, but close…and then she’d get studio work and she could make it on her own.  Yeah, that’s what she’d do.  She’d call Stevie Ray. 

Melody jumped off the bed and started throwing clothes into her backpack.

Ben spoke to her from the doorway.  “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Don’t think about what?” asked Melody, with a toss of her head.

“Calling Stevie Ray.  He won’t help you, you know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know him, and he’s not a stupid man.  Do you think he’d be crazy enough to take in a juvenile, especially a girl, especially one who…”

“Especially one who what?” demanded Melody defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.  Especially one who doesn’t look so much like a kid anymore, she thought.

“Especially one who’s out of her friggin’ mind,” said Ben, although he had been thinking along the same lines as Melody.  “Look, just let Dad handle it.  Give Mom some time.  She’ll come around.”

“Well, she hasn’t so far,” retorted Melody, biting on the edge of her thumbnail.  “This is really important to me, Ben.  This is what I want to do.  This is all I want to do.  I don’t even want to go to college.  I just want to get through high school and play.”

“Okay, a word to the wise,” said Ben.  “Never, ever say that sentence to Mom.  That you don’t want to go to college.  She will lock you in your room, and you will never see another guitar as long as you live.  Hey, I know…”  His voice softened.  “I know what this means to you.  At least, I think I do.  I wish I had a passion for something like you do.  The best I can come up with is that I’m good at math.”  He laughed bitterly.  “The folks don’t seem to brag about that too much to the relatives, now do they?”

Melody’s heart went out to him, and she felt ashamed.  She was being very selfish.  She never thought about Ben.  “Trust me, Big Brother, you are the one they are going to be bragging about for years to come.  I’m going to be the black sheep of the family, whispered about in secret corners at family reunions, while you will be the favored child, the success story, the happy family man with the great career.”

Even though Melody spoke a little enviously and even though it was exactly what Ben wanted from life, he still thought that maybe he would be happier being her.  He also knew that she would never be happy being him. 

“Leave it to Dad,” he repeated, “and I’ll see what I can do.  But…” he shook his finger at her, “…be prepared to eat a little crow and apologize.”

“I’ll lick her shoes if it will get me an electric guitar,” said Melody.

Ben laughed.  This proud, stubborn little girl?  Licking someone’s shoes?  He didn’t think so.

Between Ben and her dad, it all worked out.  Melody had to spend a lot of time making it up to her mother – doing household chores without being asked, paying very close attention to her mom’s appearance and complimenting any changes, playing guitar and singing in church – but she was willing to do it.  Because she got her electric guitar.  Melody laughed now when she looked back on it. The big promise she had to make, the ultimate sacrifice…that she would not give up the acoustic guitar.  Like she ever would!  It went with her everywhere.  She was taking it on tour, in fact. 

And it was what she was playing tonight with Carly Hyndman.  Carly was a bluesy-folk-sort of rock singer along the lines of Sarah McLaughlin.  She would have fit in perfectly in the Lilith Fair lineup and in fact, had played the show when it passed through L.A.  She sang a mixture of songs she had written herself and others by such people as Jann Arden and Amanda Marshall.

Nick stood in the doorway of the club.  He had been here twice before – once to hear a rock group that had been really bad and once to hear an R & B duo that had been really good.  At Pineapple Ranch, it was all about the music.  There was no VIP section, no personal waitresses, no fancy décor, no preening by the customers doing star turns on the dance floor – there was no dance floor.  You came to Pineapple Ranch because you wanted to hear the music.  You sat and drank and listened.  And you’d better get your drinks between sets because the waiters wouldn’t serve you while the musicians were playing. 

It wasn’t the most financially sound way of conducting business, but Stevie Ray Latimer didn’t care.  It was his club, and for Stevie Ray, it was always about the music.  Stevie Ray didn’t do studio sessions any more.  He ran his club and scouted for new talent to showcase there.  And any time someone needed a guitar player, he knew who to call.

At Pineapple Ranch, there was no star treatment.  Nick Carter stood in line like everyone else.  Which was okay with him.  He didn’t want star treatment tonight.  He wanted to be anonymous, invisible even.  He looked down at his clothes.  He was wearing dark pants, a light blue shirt and a leather jacket…grown up clothes, he thought to himself.

“Just one?” said the doorman.

“Yeah,” said Nick, “I’ll sit at the bar if there’s room.”

The doorman looked over his shoulder.  “Yeah, there’s room.”

“Can you see the stage okay from there?” asked Nick.

The doorman raised an eyebrow.  “You can see the stage from everywhere in Pineapple Ranch.”

Nick nodded and headed for the bar.  He chose a stool which afforded him a good view of the stage.  He pulled the stool sideways a little so that he was partially hidden from the stage by the tap handles for the draft beer.

Nick wasn’t sure if he wanted Mel to know he was here.  He didn’t know what she would think.  Would she think he was spying on her?  Well, he thought guiltily, you kind of are.  He tried to plan it in his head what he would say. 

Heard you were here.  Wanted to come and support you. 

Maybe not ‘support’.  That might sound condescending. 

Okay, what then?  See what you’d sound like.

No, that sounded like he wasn’t sure she was any good.

Further thought was forestalled by the dimming of the lights.  Stevie Ray came out on stage and introduced Carly Hyndman.  He also introduced the drummer and the guitarist.  Melody gave a slight nod at the mention of her name. 

Nick thought Melody looked great.  She was wearing navy pinstripe trousers, like from a man’s suit.  And the vest to match.  And that was all.  She had bare arms and cleavage.  Very sexy, he thought, and wondered if she would wear something like that on tour.

The trio began playing.  Carly ran through a few numbers.  She had good patter between the songs, humorous.  Nick sat at the bar, nursing a beer.  Chick rock, he thought, not really what he liked.  He watched Melody and saw that she was basically the same as at the warehouse – really good at what she did.  He was fascinated by her playing of the acoustic guitar.  Her whole body language was different from when she played the electric one.

The set ended, and Nick decided he would leave.  He guessed he’d seen what he came to see.  He still wasn’t sure what that was.  But his anger seemed to have dissipated. 

Melody didn’t leave the stage during the set break, however.  She did some things to her guitar and then she sat on the edge of the small stage and talked to a couple of people who approached her.  Nick didn’t think he could get out of the club without her seeing him, and he didn’t want to try.  So he hunkered down behind the draft taps and ordered another beer.

The second set was more of the same.  After the third song, Carly apologized, “I’m sorry, folks, I’m sounding a little raspy tonight.  I think I might be coming down with something.  Good thing I’ve got the weekend off.” 

Stevie Ray brought out a glass of water and set it on the piano.  Carly sang one more song and then stopped.

“Mel, come and help me with this next one,” she said.

Nick looked over at Mel.  Was this a setup?  Part of the act?  Some cutesy way of getting her to sing?  No, it wasn’t, he decided.  Mel looked genuinely surprised and concerned.

“You okay?” she asked Carly.

“Yeah, I think so.”  Carly took a sip from the glass of water.  “Grab a mike.”

Melody placed herself by the piano and waited while Stevie Ray positioned a microphone for her.  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.  Nick smiled to himself.  He thought the two women had forgotten all about the audience.

“Just sing with me,” said Carly, “but you take the high notes.”

Carly played the opening chords and started to sing.  Melody blended her voice with Carly’s but took the higher notes herself, as Carly rested her vocal chords.  When they finished the song, Carly announced a short break.  “I’ll be right back.  I’m going to go gargle.”

This time, Melody followed her from the stage.  Nick threw two twenties on the bar and walked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Monday at rehearsal, Tom announced the song schedule for the day.

“No,” said Nick, “we’re going to start with Alias Me.”

They all looked at him.  They had practiced this song to perfection already.  There was really nothing to it – the musicians played, and Nick sang.  It was all about his voice – there were no flourishes or musical embellishments.  It was a straight melody line with Nick singing his guts out.  So why did he want to start with that?

Nick turned to Scott Thornton.  “Put a mike on Mel,” he said.

Everyone looked at Melody, who shrugged.  She didn’t know what he was talking about.  She figured it might have something to do with Friday night.  Nick’s presence at the club had not gone unnoticed, of course.  But he hadn’t mentioned it to her this morning, and she wasn’t bringing the subject up if he didn’t. 

‘What?”  Scott didn’t know if he’d heard right.

Tom was halfway onto the stage to interfere or protest or something – he wasn’t sure what.

Nick turned to Melody.  “Sing Alias Me,” he said.  “Not the whole song – just the line, ‘Alias me’.  Every time I sing it, I want you to sing it with me.”

“This is crazy,” said Tom. 

The phrase ‘alias me’ was repeated numerous times throughout the song, emphasizing the theme of Nick’s estrangement from people’s perception of him.  It was his vocal triumph.  It did everything Rafe wanted it to do.  It was a rock song, no doubt about it.  And it was also sort of a ballad, not slow, but gut-wrenching.  This song alone would make every Backstreet fan buy the record…and it would get the word out to the rock world that this album was a force to be reckoned with.  Tom was under strict orders from Rafe not to let Nick change the song at all.

“Trust me,” said Nick, “and get off the stage.” 

He turned back to Melody.  “Sing all the ‘alias me’s,” he repeated.  He looked at the rest of the band members and gave the signal to start.  They played the song, and Nick sang it.  And Melody sang along. She sang every ‘alias me’ and nothing else.  And when it got to the end – a descending scale of tension leading from wailing to calm to sad and accepting – she sang two of them but left the third one to Nick alone.

Nick sang the song to the phantom audience, as he always did, but this time, every time he sang ‘alias me’, he looked over at Melody, and at the end of the song, he walked over and stood in front of her.  And when she pressed her lips together at the end and sang nothing, leaving the last plaintive notes to him, Nick knew that he had been right.  The sound of the instruments died away, and still they stared at each other. 

Then Melody grinned.  Good job.

Suddenly, the sound of applause filled the air.  Nick turned to see everyone – techs, catering staff, janitorial staff, everyone – applauding.  He ignored them and turned to Tom.  “That works, don’t you think?”

Tom did think it worked.  But how the hell was he going to sell it to Rafe?