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She played one hell of a hot guitar.

Nick stood at the side of the room, watching Melody jam with Rashad. They looked funny together. Rashad Williams was a tall black man, so big he made Nick look small. Beside him, Melody looked like a doll. They would look funny on stage, if they stood together, Nick thought. It’s a good thing they’ll be on opposite sides.

Nick had gone over this whole thing in his head several times during the last week, and he wasn’t sure he was any happier about it now than when he first found out about it. He’d checked around. Murray was right, Melody Jones was very well-respected in the industry, and people expressed surprise that she had finally decided to tour after so many years of refusing. And they seemed very surprised that she was touring with him.

Nick was surprised too.

He thought he understood Rafe’s motivation in getting Ms. Jones, but he wasn’t sure what hers was. The people he spoke to told Nick that Melody did studio work and club gigs…always in the background…did some backup vocals, played a mean guitar… They told Nick that she could work every day and every night if she wanted. So why was she giving all that up to tour with someone she didn’t respect? Boybandland, she’d said. Nick grimaced to himself. He’d be hearing that shit when he was fifty.

Nick watched Melody make music with Rashad. She was dressed differently today – tight denim jeans and a t-shirt stretched over her breasts. She had good boobs, thought Nick, for someone who’s thirty, and for someone who’s so thin.

Knock it off, he told himself, here you were worrying about her coming on to you and now you’re thinking about her boobs.

“Hey, Nick! What’s shakin’?” Blaine Hawkins came up behind him.

“Yo, Blaine!”

Nick touched his fist to the other man’s. Here was the one person involved with all this that he knew. Nick had been a fan of the drummer for a long time, even copied his style for awhile until he developed his own. Blaine was always in demand, in the studio and on the road. He’d been part of Aaron’s band for his last tour. He and Nick had become friends and even spent time together socially.

Nick felt that Blaine was Rafe’s gift to him – that he could have Blaine if he would accept Melody. Nick didn’t know why he felt that way. As for Rashad, everybody wanted Rashad. He was just the best bass guitarist on the planet, the very best. They were still looking for someone for the keyboard. Geordie Baker had apparently been unavailable.

Nick and Blaine listened to the other two work magic from their guitar strings. When Rashad and Melody finished the song, both Nick and Blaine began to applaud. The other two looked over. They hadn’t noticed them come in.

Rashad flashed a toothy grin. “Nick! Blaine! Hey there, y’all!”

Melody nodded at them. The four met in the middle of the room and exchanged handshakes. Melody noted that this time Nick’s was a little firmer. They made small talk for a few minutes, but not long. They were here for the music.

“Who we got for keys?” asked Rashad, nodding to the setup in the corner.

“I heard Geordie Baker wanted it,” said Blaine, looking at Nick.

Nick was surprised. Rafe had told him that he had asked Baker and been turned down. He looked over at Melody. He recalled her reaction to Baker’s name and wondered if she had anything to do with this.

They were in a small rehearsal studio in Burbank. This was their first meeting with them all together. Everything about this tour was topsy-turvy. The album wasn’t even done yet, and Rafe was going to start prepping the tour. The songs were all recorded, and the final selections had been made. The order of the album had been decided. There was art work and liner notes. The only thing missing was a title.

Melody didn’t know that this wasn’t the usual way of planning a tour, and Rashad and Blaine were too happy with the money they were getting to ask questions. Besides, they liked Nick. He was a laid-back kind of guy…and his needs were few. He didn’t do drugs, although he consumed a fair amount of alcohol in party settings. He got laid regularly… but never with fans on tour. And he stayed the hell out of everyone else’s business.

“Okay,” said Rafe Ariando, coming up behind them, “let’s get down to business.”

Nick thought he hated Rafe. Yep, he was pretty sure he did. In the past week, Nick had attended several “strategy sessions” with Rafe and Tom Wilson, the so-called tour manager. Nick thought ‘so-called’ because it was pretty clear who was calling the shots. Every meeting seemed to be full of ‘dos and don’ts’ for the tour…for Nick…mostly for Nick. He was beginning to feel like he was nothing but the front man for the other four, that he was the one most easily replaced. Nick wasn’t used to being treated that way, and he didn’t like it. No sir, he didn’t like it one bit.

Nick got it that it was make-or-break time for him as a solo artist. He couldn’t count on Backstreet fans any longer. He had to get his own. He knew that his first effort was not a success in many people’s eyes. Nick didn’t care. He loved it and it would remain a big part of him for the rest of his life, but he knew that he wouldn’t be allowed another self-indulgence like it.

Rafe hustled them all into a small meeting room and settled them around a table. A tray of drinks sat in the middle. Nick reached for a Coke but settled on a bottle of water instead. No need to start the whole thing off with a discussion of his weight. The others picked up water or fruit juice. Melody took the Coke. Nick looked longingly at it.

Tom sat at Rafe’s right hand, taking notes. Like a secretary, thought Nick. Rafe started talking, laying out ‘the strategy’. You would think we were fucking going to war, thought Nick.

“It’s like going to war,” said Rafe.

Nick snorted.

Rafe turned on him. “It’s true, Nick. There’s only so much money out there, and there are a lot of artists making albums and having tours. We have to grab everyone’s interest, or we’ll never grab their cash.”

Nick felt like he’d been talked down to, and he resented it. He snuck a glance at the others and saw that they were all looking down, embarrassed for him. All except Melody. She was looking right at him, wondering what he was going to do about the slight.

“I thought that was what the music was for,” retorted Nick. He saw a ghost of a smile flit across Melody’s lips, but he was unsure whether she was laughing with him or at him. He took a sip of water.

Rafe sighed. It spoke volumes. It put Nick in his place completely. It said that he would tolerate the young man and his attitude, even though it was going to be difficult. Tom sighed along with Rafe and shook his head.

“Of course, it’s the music, Nicky,” said Rafe in a placating tone that made Nick want to choke him. “But it’s important that we use that good basis and build a dynamite show around it.”

“Don’t call me Nicky,” Nick blurted and realized, as he said it, that he had fallen into Rafe’s trap, that he was appearing troublesome and juvenile. His opinions would count for nothing for the rest of the meeting. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, a sullen scowl on his face.

Rafe went over the songs that they would play. Most of the stuff from his new album, plus some from Now or Never. Did anyone have any preferences?

“Well, the rock song, of course,” said Melody, not realizing that she’d said it out loud. All eyes turned to her.

“Which one would that be?” asked Tom. “They were all supposed to be rock songs.”

Nick wanted to take the word ‘supposed’ and shove it down Tom’s throat.

“Well, they weren’t,” said Melody, matter-of-factly. “Most of them were pop songs with some electric guitar thrown in.”

They all waited.

“Do I Have to Cry for You?” she said finally.
“That was a ballad,” said Tom.

Melody shrugged. “Still a rock song.”

They all looked at her. She looked straight at Nick and said, “Which song on that album can you picture Aerosmith singing?” Nick wanted to say ‘all of them’, but he knew that wasn’t true. Melody had a point, and she had said it in a way that kind of made it a compliment, so he just nodded.

“Any others?” asked Rafe.

“What about Help Me?” said Tom. It was standard practice to include the hits.

“No,” said Nick, “I’m past that.” A quick glance around the table showed him that the musicians agreed with him.

Rafe conceded gracefully. “Okay, scratch Help Me. Any others?”

Blaine mentioned My Confession, and Rashad suggested I Stand for You. They all looked at Melody.

But she only looked at Nick. “Everything that you wrote. Plus…” she gave a silly smile, “I Got You.”

They could only stare at her. A Max Martin song? The evil popmeister that true rockers loved to hate?

Melody shrugged. “I like it. It’s a good song. And it’s got some real potential…if we rock it up.”

“I did. We did. On the tour. Before.” Why can’t I make a fucking sentence, Nick wondered.

“It was the last song they did in the show,” said Tom, finally speaking without Rafe having to pull a string in the back of his neck. “He did. He rocked it up.”

“Well, there you go,” said Melody.

“Okay,” said Rafe, dragging their attention back to him. “So mostly the new album but with the songs Nick wrote and I Got You from Now or Never. Any Backstreet?”

The silence was deafening. Nick had been forced to include a medley of Backstreet songs in his Now or Never tour. He hadn’t wanted to, but his tour managers had told him that he had to, that the fans coming to see him were, in essence, Backstreet fans. And those songs got the loudest reaction of any during the show…and Nick hated that. He looked around the table but said nothing. He waited them out. He wasn’t going on record first.

No one said anything for the longest time. Finally, Nick looked at Melody and lifted his chin. What did she think?

“You don’t need to,” she said softly and then shrugged. But if you want to…the unspoken words sent it back to him.

Nick shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll see how it goes, but I don’t think so.” Take that, you fucker, he thought, glaring defiantly at Rafe.

Rafe just nodded and motioned to Tom to write it down. No Backstreet. Rafe thought they were making a mistake but he was going to let them make it. He could always correct it later on; it would consolidate his authority. He sighed again.

“Now, if we could just come up with the name for the album…”

Oh, fuck! thought Nick. He was so sick of this. It was so easy the first time. Someone asked him about the timing of his solo album, and he said, ‘It’s now or never,’ and everyone knew that was the perfect title. But this time, thought had to be put into it. It had to be analyzed and discussed and turned over. Nick was so fucking sick of fighting about it.

“Round Two,” he said, laughing. They all looked at him. “Well, ‘cause it’s the second one…and we’re always fighting about the title,” he explained to the musicians.

“No,” said Rafe thoughtfully. “That would make the fans think that you’re still fighting the group or…”

“Forget it,” said Nick, with an edge to his voice. “It was a joke.”

Rafe held up his hands. “Okay, okay. We have developed quite a list. We have…”

“Don’t call me Nicky.”

Everyone looked at Nick. No one had…but wait a minute, it wasn’t Nick who had spoken. They looked down the table at Melody.

She said it again. Only this time it was a title. “Don’t Call Me Nicky.”

Nick stared at her. Was she making fun of him?

Then he thought about it. Don’t Call Me Nicky. Yeah, don’t, ‘cause I’m not a Backstreet Boy any more. I’m a rocker. I’m Nick. So respect me. Yeah! Don’t call me N…

“Perfect!” said Rafe. “Absolutely perfect. Melody, you’re a genius.” He beamed at them all. “Don’t Call Me Nicky. I love it.”

Nick bristled. Now he wasn’t sure. “It makes me sound like I’m whining. I…”

“No, no…it’s perfect,” said Rafe.

“Yes, perfect,” chimed in Tom.

Melody was embarrassed. She had just been thinking out loud. They had asked, after all. And it summed up this young man perfectly, as far as she could see. He was trying to break the mold, trying to fly free. Trying to be Nick. And in his vulnerability, all Melody could see was…Nicky.

Blaine and Rashad looked at each other. There were way too many vibrations going on in this room that they didn’t understand. Once they got the suits out of it, once they got into the music, then they would figure it out, then they would get it. Man, they hated the suits.