Chapter 99
AN: Haha, once again… a huge thanks to Bianca for her help and
reassurance with Chapter 99. You’re
forever my hero, UBR! b^__^d
Oh, but don’t worry… no big bad shocker moments for Nick this time
around. ;)
On the long
plane ride to Sweden, Nick took Veronica’s advice. He opened up the notebook he always carried
around to doodle or jot down song lyrics in and started writing. He didn’t read over his words as he was
writing them, didn’t pause to organize his thoughts or form them into eloquent
phrases, didn’t concern himself with spelling and grammar and all of that. He just wrote, plain and simple. Any of his thoughts were fair game; he knew
that the only way for this to be truly therapeutic was if it was all natural,
honest, and from the heart. And so he
made it so.
When his
thoughts finally slowed, and with them, his pen, his eyes drifted back to the
top of the page, and he began to read what he had just written.
I guess maybe I should have seen the
signs way before I came home that day and found her note. Two weeks before, she told me she was going
to be staying at her parents’ house for part of the week. She said it was because of her dad, and I
know he was a part of it. But sometimes
I wonder if she was already wanting to move out then, and this was just a
gradual way for her to do it. Maybe the
whole break-up was more gradual than I realized. She’d been acting different for weeks. When her dad had his heart attack, she called
Jamie before she called me. Maybe I
should have realized I wasn’t the one the wanted to be with. But I didn’t.
I was in the dark about a lot of
things, and even now, it’s not all clear to me.
I asked her – or accused her really, I guess – if there was something
going on with her and Jamie, and she always swore there wasn’t. But then what’s she doing with Jamie
now? She also told me it wasn’t my
fault… but if it wasn’t cause of Jamie, I know she left because of me. Because she couldn’t handle me not being
around. Same damned reason celeb couples
never seem to last – they’re just too damn busy, and the long distance thing…
it never works. But I always thought
Claire and I were something different, something special. If any couple could have worked through it,
we could have. Sometimes it pisses me
off – why didn’t she try harder?
I kept up my end of the bargain, for
the most part. Maybe I wasn’t always
there, but she could have been here. I
was always offering to fly her out to visit, but she never would. Not even for a weekend. She had a valid excuse – her job – but come
on. Love’s about sacrifice. And if anyone knows anything about fucking
sacrifice, it’s me. I’ve made sacrifices
for things I care about. I gave her
everything, or at least tried to.
Couldn’t she see that? Why
wouldn’t she keep up her end of the bargain, instead of just throwing it out
altogether?
All these questions… never any real
answers. That’s just how it is. My last break-up with Leah was so
straightforward, but this one isn’t.
Maybe it’s cause I wasn’t the one who did the breaking up. Except I don’t think Claire fully understands
it either. I know she’s been going
through a rough time lately… or was then at least. I used to think she just wasn’t in her right
mind when she did it and might come back to me when she came to her
senses. But now I know that’s not going
to happen, at least not anytime soon.
She’s got Jamie now. (So
technically that part about her not still having a thing for Jamie wasn’t
true.) And except for the fact that
he’s a total dick, he’s everything a woman like her could ever want. People have always told me I could get any
chick I wanted, ever since we became famous, but it’s not true. I can’t compete with a guy like that, not in
Claire’s eyes at least. She doesn’t give
a shit about my fame; that’s never done it for her. Whatever she saw in me went beyond the
celebrity thing.
I wonder what changed in that picture
for her. When did she start seeing me
differently? When did whatever she had
seen in me disappear?
I’m in the dark about this; I don’t
think I’ve changed all that much since we started dating. And if I have, it’s been for the better. Claire made me a better person. I just don’t understand. She had feelings for me before I ever had
them for her, and now it’s totally changed.
The one I want doesn’t want me.
And I don’t really get why. Women
are a mystery. I guess I’ll never “get”
Claire as well as she got me.
I’ll always love her though. Even if I do move on, with Veronica or
whoever else might come along, a part of me will always love her. I can’t help the way I feel any more than she
could. I guess that’s why she said it
wasn’t either of our faults. Her feelings
changed while mine stayed the same, and neither one of us could help it.
I hate feeling helpless…
When he
reached the end of his reflection, Nick closed the notebook and stuffed it into
his backpack, never intending it to be read by anyone else.
***
The next
day, tired from jet-lag and still stiff from the long flight, Nick sat in a
lounge inside Maratone Studios in Stockholm, Sweden, waiting for his turn in
the recording booth to add his vocals to the track they were working on with
Max Martin. While he waited, he doodled
absently in his notebook, sketching funny little caricatures of the other guys,
Max, and whoever or whatever else came to mind.
AJ came in,
popping the tab on the can of soda he had just bought. He took a long swallow and sighed in
refreshment, then came over to Nick.
“Whatcha drawing, Nicky boy?” he asked, flopping down onto the couch
next to Nick. Wordlessly, Nick handed
his notebook over to AJ, who nearly snorted cola out of his nose when he
started snickering at the sketch on the top page.
It was a
cartoon of all of the guys in a recording booth together, singing. Nick had drawn himself in the middle, behind
the mic, strumming a guitar and singing with a “sexy” smirk on his face. On either side of him, the other four were
portrayed as exaggeratedly doing the characteristic things they did as they
sang on stage: Howie was winking, while
pointing ahead with a cheesy smile; Kevin was clapping his hands high above his
head, as if urging the non-existent audience to clap along; Brian had his eyes
closed tightly, a constipated (Brian would prefer “passionate”) expression on
his face, his right hand over his heart while the left one was raised, index
finger pointed up; and AJ was…
“Hey!” AJ
shouted suddenly. “I haven’t done that
stage-humping move since, like, ’98!”
“You should
think about bringing that one back for this tour, J. The chicks dig it,” Nick replied, his face
dead-pan.
“Ha ha,” AJ
chuckled humorlessly, rolling his eyes.
“What’s so
funny?” Kevin asked, as he strolled into the room. Before waiting for his question to be
answered, he added, “Nick, you’re up, bud.”
“Nick thinks
he’s funny,” said AJ, as Nick stood up.
AJ tossed his notebook to Kevin, who smirked in amusement at the doodle.
“How come
you drew yourself looking all suave?” Kevin asked Nick before he could walk out
of the lounge.
“’Cause I
am,” Nick joked, showing Kevin his “sexiest” magazine pose. “I’m not the most popular for nothin’, ya
know. I only draw the truth.”
Kevin
chuckled. “Oh, is that so? Well, you must have missed part of the
truth. The part where you sing like
this…” In an imitation of Nick, he
scrunched his face up, making his eyes go all squinty, and started moving his
mouth with a pained expression, looking like he was about ready to either cry
or crap his pants.
Nick
giggled at the impression, then slugged Kevin in the shoulder on his way to the
recording booth.
***
After a
session in the recording booth, Nick and the guys left the studio for lunch, choosing
a restaurant down the street that they’d been going to since their first trip
to Stockholm over ten years ago. It was
always nostalgic for them to come here; Stockholm held so many memories of when
the five of them were young and just getting their feet wet in the
business. Those were happy times, even
if, looking back, they were merely at the beginning of a road filled with
trials and tragedies, as well as fame.
They
reminisced over lunch, and as he sat at the center of their table, wedged between
Brian and Howie and looking across at AJ and Kevin, Nick was struck by a strong
feeling of gratitude for his four brothers.
How thankful he was to be here with them, away from all the shit that
had been going on in his life back in the States. This was how it would be once they started
touring in the fall, and he couldn’t wait.
If anyone was going to pull him out of the slump he’d been struggling
with ever since Claire left him, it would be these guys. They were everything to him, especially now.
He was in
an especially good mood when they returned to the studio, and his spirits were
only lifted higher when he sat down with the guys to listen to some clips of
the material they’d recorded that morning.
The vocals were good, even better than the demo. Nick felt a soaring sense of pride and
excitement. This album was going to be
good. Much better than their last. And it needed to be. After everything they’d been through in the
past few years, and even since the last record, they needed to come back
strong.
“Have you
seen Max? He should listen to this,”
said Michael, the man who was supervising the sound boards.
They found
Max in the lounge with his half-eaten lunch, looking at the sketches in Nick’s
notebook, which had been left laying open on a table. Nick saw that the page had been turned; Max
was laughing at a doodle of himself that Nick had done first thing that
morning.
“I always
love your drawings,” he told Nick, smiling fondly at him. Nick smiled back. Max had been a close friend to the entire
group since their first album; his songs had put them on the charts. They’d kept up a relationship with him ever
since, and he’d never let them down. His
songs were always among the best they released, instant catchy classics. Over the years of working together, he had
become not just hit-creator for them, but a friend and mentor as well. They’d learned a lot about music from Max
Martin.
“I have
some inspiration for a new song,” Max told the guys later that day, before they
left the studio for the evening. “I will
get to penning some lyrics tonight, and if they come out good, I will bring
them into the studio tomorrow. You might
have interest… I think this will be – how do you say? – right up your
alleys.” Though he used the plural form
of “alley,” Max looked directly at Nick as he said this. Nick cocked his head to the side, perplexed,
but did not ask. He nodded along with
the others as they expressed their interest in Max’s project and decided he
would wait and find out what Max was talking about tomorrow.
By the time
he crashed in his hotel room that night, however, Nick had forgotten all about
Max’s rumored new song.
***
Bright and
early the next morning, Nick was following his four bandmates through the doors
of Maratone Studios once again. They
crossed through the lobby and made their way to the studio in which they had
spent the better part of the day yesterday recording. There, they were met by Max Martin, who had a
look of anticipation upon his face.
Clapping his hands together, he said, “Good morning, boys. How are you all?” The five guys chorused that they were doing
fine. “Good, good. Excellent,” Max went on. “Before you begin the recording, I have something
to play for you.”
He led them
over to his keyboard and sat down. “I
did some writing, as I promised, last night.
Tell me if you like this.” Nick
stood with the other guys, gathered around Max, and watched as his fingers
began to move over the keys. The tune he
played was simplistic, yet catchy, the way all of his hits were. It was driven by a single repetitive phrase, more rhythmic than melodic
in nature, though its rhythm was simple.
Quarter, quarter, quarter, eighth-eighth, quarter, quarter, quarter,
eighth-eighth…
“This is
great; I really like it,” Nick was the first to say, nodding his head in time
to the punch of the motif. He noticed
the other guys were bobbing their heads too; it was sort of impossible not to. The mark of a good song, thought
Nick. “You got lyrics for it yet?” he
asked.
“Here’s the
chorus,” replied Max, still playing. He
let three consecutive chords resonate, then started to sing as he continued
playing. “My heart did time in
Siberia… was waiting for the lie to come true… ‘cause it’s all so dark and
mysterious… when the one you want doesn’t want you too.”
God, I hear that, Nick thought, instantly connecting to
the words of the song as he thought of Claire.
Max took
his hands off the keyboard and twisted around to look at them. He met Nick’s eyes first, then panned across
to the others, searching their faces for a reaction.
“That was
beautiful,” said Kevin. “‘My heart
did time in Siberia’… I love that!”
“I do too,”
Nick chimed in. “It’s really…
powerful. So how does the rest of the
song go?”
Standing
up, Max dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which
he silently handed to Nick. Nick
unfolded the slightly crumpled sheet of looseleaf and found himself looking
down at a full set of handwritten lyrics.
He started reading them out loud and didn’t stop until he reached the
stanza immediately after the bridge. “When
I came back, she wasn’t there,” he read.
“Just a note-“ All of a
sudden, his eyes bugged out of his head as they processed the rest. Just a note left on the stairs. If you wanna talk, give me a call…
He looked
up slowly, dumbfounded, meeting Max’s eyes as if he’d just seen a ghost. The guys looked momentarily confused, but
then they, too, appeared to realize the startling similarity between the song
lyrics and what Claire had done to Nick.
“H-how did
you know?” Nick asked Max quietly.
“Howie told
me what happened with your fiancée,” said Max.
“I hope you’re not angry. The
song never has to be played again if you don’t want it to; I just thought…”
“No… no,
I’m not mad,” Nick replied slowly. He
wasn’t surprised that Howie had filled him in on Claire. Although it was common knowledge that Nick
and his fiancée had split up, only a few people knew what had actually happened,
but Max was a close enough friend that Nick didn’t mind him being included in
this small circle. What surprised him
was how well Max had articulated his emotions, in these simple, yet powerful
song lyrics.
“God,
you’re a frickin’ genius, Max,” he said.
“These lyrics… you got it perfect, man.
The way I felt… you just knew.”
He was still awed. Max had put it
more eloquently and poetically than Nick ever could, but he got it. The pain, the confusion, the emptiness and
the loneliness and the coldness...
Siberia… it
was a perfect metaphor.
Max shifted
his weight, suddenly looking awkward. “I
must say a confession. Yesterday, I… saw
something… private. I was looking at the
drawings you laid out, and I found your writing. I didn’t intend to read it… I should not
have… but…” He trailed off, shrugging
apologetically.
Nick
realized instantly what he was talking about:
the narrative he had written on the plane, about Claire. He blushed, embarrassed at first; he didn’t
like for his private thoughts to be read.
But then he looked down at the piece of paper he was still holding onto
and saw what Max had done with them. The
songwriter had turned them into a beautiful set of lyrics, complete with a
unique, captivating melody, the kind that was sure to get stuck in your
head. That was hit material right there,
he realized.
He looked
back up at Max, then around to the guys.
“We should record this,” he said at once. “For the album. What do you think?”
He watched
as the other exchanged glances. “If
you’re okay with it,” Kevin said finally.
“I think it would make a great track… but it does hit close to home. Are you sure you-?”
“That makes
it even better,” Nick interrupted him with a nod of defiance. “Let’s do a demo this week, before we fly
back to the States. Max, you think you
can get some instrumentation recorded on such short notice?”
Max Martin
smiled. “I would not show you the song
if I didn’t think it is possible,” he replied.
“Awesome. We’re gonna do this. Take it back to the record execs and see what
they think,” Nick stated, his voice sharp with resolve. “I can’t wait for them to hear it.”
As Kevin,
Brian, AJ, and Howie responded with enthusiasm, Nick smirked to himself,
thinking of another person he couldn’t wait to hear the Siberia song…
***
Nick and
the Backstreet Boys were recording vocals for the demo of their new song two
days later, when, six hours behind them and an ocean away, Claire was just
waking up.
She was
oblivious, of course. She didn’t even
know where Nick was and wouldn’t hear the song for months. Her only thought upon waking up was that she
needed to get out of bed because she was supposed to pick Amber up in half an
hour for their first kickboxing class.
After months of saying they were going to start working out together,
the two women had finally decided to act on their vow and signed up for aerobic
kickboxing.
Claire was
looking forward to their first workout.
She’d done Tae-Bo in college, when it was all the rage, and thought it
was pretty fun, as far as exercise routines went. Her sister-in-law was less enthusiastic. “I don’t know about this,” Amber confessed as
she climbed into Claire’s car that morning, dressed in a t-shirt and fitted
workout pants. “I’m probably going to
look like a huge, clumsy pig huffing around out there. I wish we’d signed up for something a little…
slower.”
Claire
laughed. “Oh, puh-lease. You don’t look like a pig, Amber; you look
like a woman who had a baby. And you’ll
catch on; it’s not bad once you’ve done it a few times. Just take it slow at first. The instructor will know we’re beginners;
she’ll understand. I promise, you’ll
like this more than some lame Richard Simmons’ ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies’ crap.”
“I dunno…
if we had that Richard Simmons tape, I could just do the routine in my own
living room and not worry about looking like a fat-ass.”
Claire
shook her head. “It’s better that we’re
paying for classes… trust me. You know
if we just bought a tape, we’d never have the willpower to keep up with it for
more than two weeks. I wouldn’t, at
least.”
Amber
laughed. “You’re probably right. I’ll take your word for it.”
When they
got to the rec center, the two women went inside and found their kickboxing
class. Much to Claire’s chagrin, the
instructor looked like a Barbie doll – with the arms of G.I. Joe. She was dressed in spandex shorts and a
matching sports bra that showed off her powerful thighs, toned abs, and
muscular arms, not to mention a deep tan.
Her peroxide blonde hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and bounced
as she talked, for she was the type who spoke animatedly, head and hands flying
every which way as she did.
Claire and Amber
exchanged wary glances. “I take back
what I said,” Claire whispered to her.
“With her in the room, I’m gonna look like a dumpy pig too.” Amber laughed.
“Come on
in, ladies!” called the Barbie I. Joe, clapping her hands together. Now she reminded Claire more of a
cheerleader… on steroids. “I’m Keeley,
and this is cardio kickboxing,” she said when they got closer, enunciating all
the hard K sounds.
“Kill
me,” Amber whispered to Claire when Keeley was not looking, stressing her hard K
too. Claire clapped her hand over her
mouth to stifle a giggle.
They found
a place in the back corner of one of the large mats that filled the room; Amber
was adamant about not wanting to attract too much attention to herself. Luckily, most of the other people in the
class didn’t look like Keeley. They
looked like regular people, just like Claire and Amber, although, granted, some
appeared to be in better shape, having already taken kickboxing classes for
awhile.
Class began
promptly at ten o’clock with a warm-up.
“This isn’t bad,” Amber murmured to Claire as they stepped in place,
jabbing first with their right arms, then with their left.
Claire chuckled. “This is only
the warm-up. Just wait.”
“Claire!” Amber hissed. “You
said this wasn’t going to be bad!”
“It’s not! I’m just saying,
it’ll get a little more… intense… than this.”
Amber groaned, but kept up.
Claire knew that despite all her complaining, she wanted to do this; she
wanted to take off the rest of her baby weight and get back the figure she’d
had before she got pregnant with Kamden.
Meanwhile, Claire just wanted to get herself back into shape. As they moved from the warm-up into the
cardio session, she was more aware than ever of how much her stamina had
decreased since before she’d gotten cancer.
Not long into the main part of the workout, she was already running out
of breath and knew she was going to have to tone down her movements if she
wanted to last the entire class.
This is
harder than I thought it was gonna be, she admitted to herself as she struggled alongside Amber, trying in
vain to keep up with the rest of the class.
By the time they finished the cardio part and moved to the cool-down,
Claire found herself totally winded and exhausted. Her heart was racing, and as soon as she
slowed down her movements, fatigue quickly set in.
She felt light-headed at first, then dizzy. Just breathe, she coached herself, but
trying to suck in a deep breath was difficult when she was completely out of
it. It just made her chest tighten and
ache, her lungs screaming for air. Her
pounding heart felt as if it were beating out of control.
I need to
sit down, she
thought, but she didn’t. She needed to
cool down gradually, to give her heart time to slow down, not stop moving all
at once. That was what she had always
been told, anyway. What she was not used
to was the way her heart seemed to be palpitating, erratically. It scared her, which made her feel even more
light-headed.
She paused and turned to Amber, trying to see her sister-in-law through
the black mist that seemed to be closing in on her vision. But the minute her legs stopped moving, her
knees buckled, and she felt herself sliding helplessly to the ground, the room
seeming to spin around her.
“Claire!” she heard Amber cry out, but her voice sounded faraway and
oddly distorted, as if she were speaking through a tin can. Claire saw Amber’s face swimming before her
blurry eyes briefly, before it was shrouded by the dark mist.
For several seconds, she was gone to the world, as it blackened and
faded around her.
***
Lyrics:
“Siberia” by the Backstreet Boys