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“Nick, there’s someone in our seats,” said Mel, in a whisper.  It was a commercial break and they were being escorted back to their spots.

“They’re supposed to be there,” whispered Nick.  “They’ll move.”

“Who were they?” asked Mel, when they were seated.  She hadn’t recognized them.  They hadn’t made a fuss about moving.  Boy, that was nerve! she thought.  To sneak down to the front row at the Grammys.

“They’re supposed to do that,” Nick explained.  “They’re called seat-fillers.  They get paid for it.  The TV people don’t want there to be empty seats when the camera pans the audience, so they hire people…mostly just let ‘em in for free…and their job is to fill up an empty seat when someone goes to perform or like…to the bathroom or something.”

”You’re kidding,” said Mel, but the conversation ended when the lights went down and the next presenters came out on stage.  They engaged in stilted repartee, obviously read from cue cards.

“I’m so glad you’re not doing that,” Mel whispered to Nick.

He leaned his head over to whisper in her ear.  “Why not?” 

Mel waited for a break to answer…joining in the applause for the winner.  “…because it’s all so phony. Who writes that crap?”

Nick laughed.  “Well-paid writers.  What’s the matter, don’t you like it?”

“No,” said Mel, “they’re trying to make musicians funny…most of them aren’t.  They didn’t make Chris Rock sing, did they?”

Nick laughed.  He picked up her hand and squeezed it.  The temptation to keep holding it…but no, the person on the other side of her could see…oh, shit, he thought and dropped Mel’s hand.  He turned his attention back to the stage.  Everything was starting to blur together.  They had someone come out and read a list of the technical award winners.  These had been presented at an earlier ceremony.  Those people got a lunch apparently. 

There were so many categories, and there seemed to be more every year.  Different kinds of music emerged, and each genre wanted recognition.  They were still giving out the Best Polka Album, though, Nick noticed.  Even though the same guy won it every year.  Some hick from Canada.

“…REM for Coming Home…”  Best Rock Song.

“…REM for Coming Home…”  Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group.

Meanwhile, over in the pop categories, Tallisa Ellis was wiping up.  She was this year’s pop princess, having filled the gap left by Britney’s year off with an album of teenaged love songs with an edge to them.  Hillary Duff meets Alanis Morissette! 

Nick wondered how Justin felt.  To be beat out by REM was almost a compliment.  Nick didn’t think Justin would feel the same way about this.  He had a lot more nominations too…one in every category he was qualified for.  He was also nominated for Song of the Year and Record of the Year for Cry Me a River.  Nick thought the media would make something out of that song title when he lost.  Nick didn’t mind losing to Michael Stipe, but he didn’t want to lose to Tallisa Ellis.  And he really didn’t want to lose to Justin Timberlake.

“…and here to present Song of the Year, a man with seven Grammys and an Academy Award…Bruce Springsteen…” 

This was a real coup.  Bruce didn’t usually do award shows unless he was nominated, but they were doing a tribute to Johnny Cash this year, and he wanted to be part of that performance.  He had agreed to present the award for songwriting.

“…and the nominees are:  Nick Carter for Alias Me; Tallisa Ellis for You Can’t Hurt Me Anymore; B. B. Rollins for Whodaman; Michael Stipe for Coming Home and Justin Timberlake for Cry Me a River.  And the Grammy goes to…” 

Bruce tore open the envelope and looked at the name.  He chuckled to himself and said, “Yeah, this is good.”  Then he looked at the audience.  He leaned into the microphone and said, “Nick Carter.”

Nick didn’t move.  Because he was sure he hadn’t heard right and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.  He looked at Mel, the question in his eyes.  She nodded.  He could feel hands clapping him on the shoulders.  Finally, Mel grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled.  He stood up and looked around. Michael Stipe was standing and applauding.  And so was Justin. 

Nick made his way to the stage, wishing the electronic force field that was surrounding him would go away, so that he could hear and feel again.  There was a loud humming sound in his brain that was cutting off his nervous system.

“Good job,” said Bruce, shaking his hand.  Then he handed Nick the award and turned him toward the microphone. 

Nick looked out at the sea of faces.  He couldn’t make out anyone beyond the first couple of rows.  He looked at Michael Stipe and shook his head.  Michael just grinned at him and nodded. 

“Um…” 

The screaming in the back died down when Nick leaned into the microphone. 

“Um…man, this is a surprise!”  Nick shook his head to clear it.  “I…uh…”  He took a deep breath and exhaled.  “I guess I should…there’s so many people…”  C’mon Nick, he told himself, get it together!  He looked over at Mel. 

She nodded.  You can do it.

“…um…there’s way too many people to thank, and I know I’ll forget someone, so I’m just going to thank some people who got me here…”  Nick grinned.  “They’re the only four people who are still allowed to call me Nicky…Howie, Kevin, Brian, AJ…”  He raised the award over his head.  “Thanks, Fellas!”

Nick stepped back from the microphone and looked at Bruce.  Bruce nodded his head toward the wings.  They started in that direction, escorted by a busty blonde in an evening dress.  Backstage Toby and Gus were waiting for him.  They hugged him and clapped him on the back.  Toby looked like he might cry. 

“Mr. Carter…”

Nick turned to find one of the gofers.  “Would you like to return to your seat or stay here?  It’s about five minutes until they do Record of the Year.”

“I want to be with…I mean, I’d like to return to my seat,” said Nick.  “Hold this for me, would ya, Fellas?” he laughed, giving the trophy to Toby.

Nick slipped into his seat.  Mel leaned over and whispered in his ear.  “Every eye is certainly on you now, my beautiful, beautiful man.  I’m so proud of you.”

Nick whispered in her ear.  “I love you.”

Then the lights dimmed and it was back to the show.  The Best Overall Performances.  Best Individual Performance – Tallisa Ellis.  Best Album – REM.  Record of the Year…

Norah Jones took the stage.  She talked.  Nick knew that.  He could see her lips move.  But the force field was back, and nothing was getting through.  And the nominees are… He read her lips.  But he couldn’t hear anything.

Suddenly, his hearing came back, as she picked up the envelope and opened it.  She looked at it for a moment.  “Alias Me,” she said into the microphone and then looked over at Nick.  “Nick Carter,” she added, although no one could hear her over the screaming from the fans.

Nick made his way to the stage.  His knees were shaking.  Don’t faint, he told himself, that would be such an uncool move.  Norah gave him the award and kissed him on the cheek.  “Bravo,” she said into his ear. 

Nick turned to the microphone and took a step backwards in surprise.  The whole audience was standing.  It was too much.

“It’s too much,” said Nick, shaking his head.  “It’s too much.”   He waited until the audience sat down again.  Don’t blow it, he told himself.  The whole world is watching.

“Um…Record of the Year…Wow!!  That’s a little hard to take in.  But…uh…I just want to say…and I think you all probably agree with me…making records is great, but the best part is performing…getting out there with the fans…” 

Nick had to stop for applause.  He could see many heads nodding in the audience. 

“So…I’d like to thank the fans…”  There was another pause for screaming.  “…and I’d like to thank my band.  I’m on tour right now, and I’m having the time of my life.   I’ve got the best musicians in the world working with me…so thank you to Rashad Williams, Blaine Hawkins, Chris Sandoval and…” he paused and took a breath, “…and to my…our lady…Melody Jones.”  He raised the Grammy in the air in salute to the band and turned away from the microphone.

Backstage, there was bedlam.  Chris Rock wrapped up the show, and the backstage area filled up with people.  Nick was hustled away for press interviews.  He was the Man of the Hour.  He was taken to the Media Room and grilled for nearly twenty minutes by the phalanx of reporters gathered there.  How did it feel?  How did it feel?  How did it feel?  Over and over again. 

Were you surprised? 

Nick wondered what kind of idiot would answer ‘no’ to that one.  He paid tribute to the other nominees and said he was flattered just to be included in the nominations.  To win was so far out there, he hadn’t even considered it.

“Who did you think would win?” 

Loaded question, thought Nick.  I can only answer that by insulting three other people.  He paused.  Toby’s work with him on interviews paid off. 

“I guess you can never tell what will happen…”  He paused and held up his award.  “…obviously.”  He gave a shy grin and shrugged.  “But…um…I guess I was sort of pulling for REM.  I think their album is wonderful.  So are the others, but that’s more the style of music I like to listen to.”

“Do you think Justin is disappointed?” 

Man, this was hard!  Why did they ask questions like this?  “I guess you’d have to ask him that.  But I’m willing to bet that he’ll say ‘no’, that being here is enough.”  Nick wrinkled his forehead.  “Winning is great,” he said, then laughed.  “It’s really, really great.  But being told by your peers that you are… like…in the top five…it’s not something anyone would ever call ‘disappointing’.”

“Who’s your date?”  This came from a reporter who thought he was taking pity on Nick after the tough questions.

“Melody Jones.”

“You mentioned her in your acceptance speech.”

“Yes, she plays guitar in my band.  She’s the best in the business.”

“Why did you bring her?”

“None of the other guys could fit into the dress.”

There was much laughter, and they left that topic. 

What’s next for Nick Carter? 

“Well, we’re finishing up the tour…we’ve got a couple of months to go on that…then I’m making a movie…and then after that…well…” He paused.  “…another album…”

“Solo?”

Nick flashed his lopsided grin and raised one eyebrow.  “I’m not at liberty to say.”  He hoped the Boys would forgive him for this.  He could always plead the euphoria of the moment.  And he hadn’t really said anything definitive. 

The fans would go wild, but that was okay with Nick.  He liked wild fans.  And maybe it would be enough to get them all back together again…talking seriously, instead of just giving individual interviews about how they all hoped to make another album together…some day.

“Um…could you excuse me?” he said.  Toby was holding up a cell phone and waving his arms frantically.  “Thanks for your interest,” he added and moved off the podium.  The media coordinator ushered in Tallisa Ellis.

The reporters’ eyes followed Nick as he took the cell phone from Toby.  They figured it was the president.  It wasn’t.

“Hey, L’il Bro.  What are you up to?  Doin’ anything special tonight?”

“Hey, Kev,” said Nick.  Even the most hard-bitten reporters sighed at the look on Nick’s face.  He listened intently for a few moments and then said shyly, “Hi, Bri.”  Then he turned his back on the crowd of reporters and walked out of the room.

Getting away from the media scrum was difficult.  There were so many of them.  And well-wishers.  Everyone wanted a piece of Nick tonight. 

“Great job, Nick!”

“Thanks, Bruce.”  He looked around, trying to find Toby.  He’d disappeared. 

“Congratulations, Nick.”

“Thanks, Michael, but…” 

“No buts.  It was good to see it shared around.  I hate it when one person takes it all.”

“Yeah, it got shared around tonight.” 

Where was Mel?  Was someone getting her, or was she sitting patiently in the audience waiting for him? 

“Oh, Nick, I’m so happy for you.”  Marisa Tang slid her arms around his neck and kissed him with more vigor than she had a right to.

“Thanks, Marisa,” said Nick, disentangling himself.  He saw Toby by the door.  Nick was relieved to see that Toby had Mel with him. 

Nick wanted to scoop her up in his arms and walk away from them all.  She must have read it in his eyes because she wouldn’t come near him.  She hovered on the edge of the crowd, talking to old friends.  Nick didn’t realize that she knew Justin, but she spent several minutes talking with him.

Rafe appeared backstage.  He was elated but didn’t show it.  Two Grammys!  This put the plan on the fast track.  Now he had to take advantage of it.  Ideas were spinning through his mind.  He wished he could pull out his miniature tape recorder and get them all down.  A duet with Marisa Tang on her album.  That was for sure!  Rafe wanted to loop Marisa into the plan.  He had picked her out as the rising star and taken over her career from a colleague who, although disgruntled at losing her, knew better than to take on Rafael Ariando.

So…a duet with Marisa.  Maybe extend the tour…that might be difficult, thought Rafe, because Nick had that stupid movie coming up…Rafe had taken a good, long look at that but couldn’t stop Nick from doing it.  Rafe didn’t want him in some schlocky, teenage movie.  This was a cut above the usual crap, but not much.  If there had been a way to stop Nick from doing it, Rafe would have.  He didn’t think Nick was all that good of an actor.  Of course, he hadn’t thought he’d win two Grammys either. 

Rafe didn’t know that Nick had dangled the Backstreet bait.  He wouldn’t know that until morning.  He wouldn’t be happy.

Rafe walked over to Nick.  All Rafe’s plans would have to wait.  Right now, it was time to party…time to put his boy out there.  Because this evening was the greatest photo op of all time.  Rafe shook hands with Nick and then hugged him.  He told him how pleased he was and how Nick deserved it and how all the hard work had paid off. 

Nick nodded and said ‘thanks’.  He wondered if Rafe was pissed off that Nick hadn’t mentioned him in his ‘thank you’ speech.  It wasn’t a deliberate slight.  The truth was that Nick hadn’t even thought of him…or anyone else, for that matter.  He was going to have to get a tape of the program to see how he looked and what he had said, because he really didn’t have any idea what he’d said. 

But he knew what he hadn’t said.