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“What do you mean you’re not in New York?” Nick said into the phone.  “Where are you?  We’re supposed to be going out tonight.”

“I know, Nick, and I’m sorry,” said Tamara.  “But something came up.”

“What’s his name?” asked Nick and was accorded a stony silence.  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, after a moment.  He knew he wasn’t allowed to ask that.

Nick hadn’t seen Tamara Vance for nearly three weeks.  She had come home from Vancouver for the weekend after the second week of rehearsals, but Nick’s head had been full of Melody Jones’ voice and ideas about what he wanted to do with the music.  He hadn’t paid a lot of attention to Tamara’s description of her sojourn in Vancouver, other than to note that the ‘prick’ was now the ‘genius’.  They’d had sex, but it was perfunctory.  Both of them seemed to have their mind on other things.

Tamara went to Denver for a week and planned to get back to L.A. for the weekend.  But weather conditions forced them to delay shooting for two days and she didn’t make it.  That was okay with Nick – he had his video shoot that weekend and wanted to concentrate fully on that.

They had tried to arrange some time together during the few days between the end of Nick’s rehearsals and his flight to New York, but it didn’t work out.  Tamara had promised to come to New York and spend some time with him before he headed for Europe.

Nick wasn’t sure why he wanted to see her so badly.  Yeah, he wanted to get laid, there was that.  And with Tamara, there was no guesswork.  They knew what each other liked.  And since they were just friends, there was never any of that other crap to interfere – none of that ‘you never talk to me’ or ‘where is this relationship going?’ nonsense.

Nick guessed maybe he just wanted to have a friend in New York.  He was going to be doing a couple of personal appearances – two radio interviews and one performance, Monday on Letterman.  It was Nick’s least favorite part of his job – doing interviews.  He was getting better at it – he used to be flat-out pathetic – but he still got a queasy feeling every time he thought about it.

“Are you okay, Nick?” asked Tamara.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.  When are you getting in?”

“Tomorrow…late.”

“Okay, call me when you get in.”

“Sure, and Nick…cheer up.”

“Yeah, okay.  I know I’ll cheer up when I see you.”

“That’s because you know I’ll…” and she gave him a graphic description of what she intended to do with her mouth the next time they were together.

Nick laughed and rang off.  But he was blushing.  He still wasn’t completely comfortable with Tamara’s totally open attitude toward sex.  He punched number two on his speed dial.

“Toby Gray.”

“Hey, Toby.  It’s Nick.”

“Yes, Nick.  Is there something you need?”

“No, nothing.  I just wondered…well, if there was stuff I had to go over with you…I’ve got some free time now.”

“No, there’s really nothing…”

“Okay, then, no problem.”

Toby could hear something in Nick’s voice.  He’s lonely, thought the personal assistant.  “Well, there are a couple of things, but they’re minor.  I didn’t want to bother you with them, but…”

“No, that’s cool.  Come on over.  I’ve got time.”

Toby disconnected and smiled to himself.  This is exactly what he wanted, for Nick to depend on him, to call him when he was feeling down or wanted company.  Toby knew that none of the others was in town yet – well, Rafe, but Nick would drive a nail through his hand before he’d call Rafe – so maybe Toby wouldn’t have been his first choice, but that didn’t matter.  Toby was here and he was going to set the precedent.  He grabbed his New York folder and headed across the hall.

Nick Carter was a pretty low-maintenance kind of guy, thought Toby.  It was a refreshing change after some of the prima donnas he’d worked with.  My God!  The stories he could tell!  But Nick didn’t seem to be a ‘brand name’ kind of person.  Bottled water was bottled water.  He didn’t rant and rave if he didn’t get Dasani.  Toby doubted if he even noticed the label. 

It made Toby’s job easier but it made it harder for him to be indispensable.  He had to find a way to make Nick need him, to rely on him.  And if conversation was it, Toby would be happy to supply it.

Toby went over a few things with Nick.  None of it was new or urgent, but Nick didn’t seem to mind.  “So I’ve ordered a car for you and Tamara tonight,” Toby said.  “For nine o’clock.”

“Tamara’s not coming today.  She got held up,” said Nick.

Ah, I see! thought Toby.  “Well, you’re supposed to meet Rafe at Ziggy’s at 11:00.  Do you want me to change the car?”

“No,” said Nick.  “We’ll go out.  Do you want to go out for dinner?”

“Sure,” said Toby, “I don’t have any plans.  What about Jeff?  Did he get in?”

Jeff Blackwell’s sister lived in upstate New York.  She was expecting her first child any day now.  Nick told Jeff he didn’t need a bodyguard until people knew he was in New York.  He wasn’t doing Letterman until Monday, so really Jeff didn’t need to be there for the weekend.  Even though Letterman would make announcements about upcoming guests, the Nick-spotters wouldn’t really be out in full force until Sunday.  Not if Nick kept a low profile.  And he intended to do just that.  Especially since Tamara wasn’t coming tonight.

“Jeff’s not getting in until Sunday.  So it’s just you and me.  What do you say, we’ll get some dinner and then hit the club?”

“Um…” 

Toby didn’t know how to say this, but he was under strict orders from Rafe not to go to the club with Nick.  Rafe hadn’t even wanted Tamara along, which made Toby wonder if Rafe had anything to do with the delay in the model’s arrival.

“What?  You don’t want to go, that’s cool,” said Nick.

“No, it’s not that.”  Toby explained that Rafe wanted Nick to make an entrance at the club…alone.

Nick digested the thought.  He had come to realize that Rafe had a good reason (or at least what Rafe thought was a good reason) for everything he did, and just because Nick didn’t know what that reason was, didn’t make it any less valid.  But he sure wasn’t telling Toby that.

“Up to you,” said Nick, saving face.  “I don’t give a shit what Rafe wants, but…”

“No sense in making waves unnecessarily,” shrugged Toby.

“We can still do dinner, though,” said Nick.

“Where do you want to go?” asked Toby, picking up his New York folder.

“Whatever.  You pick a spot,” said Nick.  “Something low-key.”

Toby nodded.  “Sure.  No problem.” 

He was thrilled.  Here was a chance to really prove himself.  They chatted for a few more minutes, but Toby was now anxious to go, to research and pick the perfect restaurant.  Low-key.  Laid back.  Just a perfect place for a couple of friends to hang out and get a bite to eat.  Some place that didn’t serve a lot of fried food, so that Nick could order what he wanted, but it would still be nutritious.

Nick moved around the room fiddling with stuff for a couple of minutes and then he flung himself on the bed.  “I think I’ll have a nap and then a shower,” he said.

“Good idea,” said Toby.  “The car’s coming at nine.”

“Better hammer on the door at 8:30 then,” laughed Nick.  “Make sure I’m awake.”

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

Back in his room, Toby made the reservations and went over his notes for the next day, coordinating flight arrivals and car services.  He was a little pissed at Murray.  He had not been very forthcoming on the details for New York.  People’s arrival times were very sketchy.  Murray was a detail man, and this was the kind of information he usually had at his fingertips.  His shrug and his comment about people “making their own plans” was a blatant lie, and Toby knew it.  And since Murray never did anything on his own, that meant that it was Rafe’s lie.  And Toby wondered why.

He’d managed to pin down some of them.  Innocent-sounding phone calls “just to make sure you have everything you need” got departure times out of Blaine and Rashad.  Chris had been less interested in sharing the information, saying he didn’t really remember, Murray’s package was around here someplace.

No problem, said Toby, zeroing in on what he knew everyone’s weak spot to be – a ride in from the airport.  I’m just trying to coordinate transportation in from the airport, he told Chris.  I can always check with Murray.  If he’s in the office.  But no big deal, Chris (Toby would not call him Tofu until invited to do so, and so far he hadn’t been), you can always catch a cab in by yourself.

Tofu became a little more amenable and found the papers.  Toby thanked him for the ‘confirmation’ of the information and promised there’d be a car and driver waiting for him.  Toby hung up the phone and wondered what the hell Rafe was up to.  None of the men was on the same flight.  Everyone was arriving at a different time.  It made no sense, from either an organizational or financial standpoint.  Well, Gus was going to have his work cut out for him, ferrying them back and forth.

And what about Melody Jones?  He hadn’t been able to contact her at all.  Murray’s response that he had “absolutely nothing to do with it”, when asked about her flight arrangements, made Toby suspicious.

He was still smarting from her comment the other night.  Don’t let him drive. As if he would.  As if Toby Gray didn’t know how to do his job.  And she’d said something to upset Nick too, Toby knew.  When Nick staggered back into the bar after following Melody out, he didn’t look happy.  When Toby asked him if everything was okay, Nick said, “Sure, sure” and disappeared into the men’s room.  When he came out a minute later, he told Toby to call him a cab.  “Keep the party going,” he said.  “Put it all on my tab.  But I’m done.”

Toby wondered if Nick had put a move on Mel or if she’d put one on him.  He didn’t know how to ask that so he just said, “Sure Boss, I see some people have already gone – Rashad, Blaine.  Chris said he was going downtown to pick up a chick.”  He looked around dramatically.  “Melody’s gone too, I guess.  I don’t see her.”

Nick snorted.  “Probably doing the same as Chris.”

Which confused Toby even further.

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

Toby and Nick had a nice dinner out.  Toby kept the conversational ball rolling because Nick didn’t seem too interested in doing it.  He told anecdotes from some of his previous jobs, without mentioning any names of course, and made witty observations about the food and the other diners.  Nick nodded and smiled but didn’t add much.

“Are you okay, Nick?” Toby asked at one point.  “You seem a little distracted.”

“Nah, I’m okay.”  Nick waved the comment off, but then he saw the hurt look on Toby’s face and realized that the guy was just trying to be nice to him.  “I just hate the middle bit – the bit where there’s no music.  I love the recording and the touring, but I hate the promoting bit, answering the same questions all the time, trying not to offend anyone or say something stupid.  They expect that from me, you know, that I’ll say something stupid.”

Toby was very pleased.  Nick was opening up to him, sharing his anxieties.  “Well, do you know the questions in advance?  Can you prepare the answers before you go in?”

Nick shrugged.  “I guess I have kind of an idea what they’re going to ask.  I sure as hell knew one question last time.  Every goddamn time.”

Toby nodded.  The Backstreet question.  “Do you think they’ll ask that one this time?”

Nick sighed.  “They’ll be asking that one until I’m dead.”

“What are you going to say this time?”

“I dunno.  I wore out ‘I’ll be a Backstreet Boy for life’ last time.”

“Well, we’ll just have to think up a good answer,” said Toby.  To all the questions, he thought.  He could really prove his usefulness here, he figured.  Helping prep Nick for interviews.  Yes, things were falling into place nicely, Toby thought.

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

Nick had Toby drop him at the club.  Keep the car, he told his assistant.  Go out on the town.  I’ll get Rafe to bring me back.  Nick watched the long, white limousine glide away, then turned to the non-descript entrance of one of the hottest clubs in Manhattan.  He wondered why there wasn’t a line-up.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” said the doorman, when Nick walked up.  “There’s a private party here tonight.”

Nick looked confused.  “I’m supposed to meet someone here.  Rafael Ariando.  I’m Nick Carter.”

“Oh, yessir.”  The doorman brightened.  “Yes, go on down.  They’re expecting you.”

They?  Who was they? 

Nick descended the stairs into the dimly-lit room.  He could hear the loud music – it sounded good.  When he stepped through the doorway, he stopped and looked around.  Every eye in the place was on the stage. 

Nick recognized the group – Satan’s Offspring.  The lead singer and guitarist, Jason Simons, was standing with his back to Nick, jamming on the guitar with someone behind him, someone Nick couldn’t see, someone who was really good, someone who had the audience on their feet. 

Jason moved to the side, letting the someone play for the crowd.  Nick grimaced.  The someone was Melody Jones, someone who didn’t think Nick Carter could play the guitar and sing at the same time.