Nick awoke the next morning feeling much better than he had the
night before. His nausea was gone for
now, and he felt rejuvenated. Slowly
sitting up, he looked around the small, private room he had been moved to late
the previous night. It was on the
Oncology Floor; apparently they had decided that because he had cancer, he
automatically belonged in the cancer ward, no matter why he was in the
hospital. He couldn’t complain much
though; at least he was fairly familiar with many of the nurses on that floor.
Bored now that he was awake, Nick turned on the television and
started flipping, checking out the channel selection. Being a Friday morning, not much was on. Most of the shows were catered to the little
kids, stay-at-home moms, and old people that were home in the mornings. By some miracle, MTV was actually playing videos,
something Nick hadn’t been witness to since the early 90’s. As it turned out, so was VH1, but since VH1
was still living in the 80’s, Nick settled on MTV, watching both amusedly and
disgustedly as that damn Timberfuck beat-boxed his way around a room of
multi-colored lights in whatever his latest video was. Nick wondered vaguely if he’d gone to see the
new movie “Malibu’s Most Wanted” yet. If
he hadn’t, he definitely should, ghetto white trash wannabe that he was. God, how Nick hated that self-centered, obnoxious,
whiny little prick.
When Justin’s video ended, it naturally went to a commercial break
(Nick couldn’t understand why there had to be a commercial break after every
video), and he was about to flip when the flashy MTV News intro came on. He hesitated, setting down the remote long
enough to watch the news brief, in case something actually interesting had
happened in the music business.
Some black guy that called himself Sway reported the news, while
Nick sat wondering what had happened to Kurt Loder and John Norris (had he
really been out of the loop for that long?).
He spaced out while the Sway dude rambled about Fifty Cent, but when he
heard the words “In other news, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter…,” he immediately
looked back up at the TV, his heart racing in trepidation.
“… was hospitalized last night, according to our sources, after
passing out in a Tampa bar. The name of
the hospital has been withheld, and hospital officials declined comment when
asked about Carter’s condition. We will
update you on this story as we know more.”
Nick groaned. He knew he
could just play it off, say he’d had too much to drink. But that would be lying. Fans would want to know what had happened,
and he didn’t want to lie to them. When
Brian had had his heart surgery, they had told the truth. When AJ had gone into rehab, they had told
the truth. Now Nick had bone cancer.
It was time to tell the truth.
***
As promised, Nick was discharged from the hospital later that
morning. He came home to find an
answering machine full of messages, which he grudgingly played. Only three really caught his attention – one
from Brent, one from Howie, and one from his mother.
“Hey, Nick… dunno when you’ll actually hear this, but it’s 10:00
on Friday morning, and I’ve been trying to call the hospital since last night,
but they won’t let me talk to you, so… um… call me if you get home and get
this, and I don’t hear from you later today, I’ll come try to visit you at the
hospital… if they’ll let me. Damn you
for being Mr. Celebrity.” Brent laughed
lightly. “Oh well, if you’re listening
to this, hope you’re feeling better.
Call me.”
Nick sighed. He would call
Brent when he was done listening to the other messages. And he would tell him what was going on. What was really going on.
“Nicky, it’s Howie. Listen,
I heard on the news that you were taken to the hospital last night, and I don’t
know if it’s true or what, but I’ve been trying to call all the Tampa
hospitals, and no one will tell me anything – they don’t believe me when I say
who I am – and I tried your cell, but it was turned off, so I figured I’d just
leave a message here. When you get this,
give me a call and let me know what’s going on.
I hope you’re all right…” Howie
trailed off, his voice worried, and then there was a click, and the message
stopped. Nick made a mental note to call
Howie back too. Knowing him, he had
already called Brian, Kevin, and AJ, and they were probably all worried about
him too.
There was a beep, and the last message played. “Nick, this is your mother. Call me the instant you get this; there are
rumors going around that you passed out in some club last night and were taken
to the hospital. If that’s true, you
were probably drinking too much again, weren’t you? You’d think you’d have learned something from
AJ’s experience with alcohol. I don’t
know what the hell has gotten into you, but I don’t like it at all. I didn’t raise you and your sister to turn
into wild, irresponsible, drug-using, binge drinking party animals.” There was a heavy, irritated sigh, and then
she finished, “I mean it, you better call back and not ignore this like you did
before, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Thanks, Mom, for your concern,” Nick remarked dryly, deciding to
ignore that message. Hell to pay – yeah,
right. She couldn’t do anything to him.
He was already in Hell.
***
“I want to have some kind of press conference. It’s time to come clean with the fans.”
Howie’s reply was simple.
“Okay, Nick. Tell me when and
where, and I’ll make sure the arrangements are made.”
Nick felt an overwhelming sense of relief, though he was not sure
why. “Thanks, D. I want to do it soon… this week sometime.”
“I think that’s a good idea.
Where should we have it? Tampa?”
“No…” Nick sucked in a deep
breath. “I want to do what we did with
AJ.”
There was a pause, and then Howie exclaimed, flabbergasted, “Go to
TRL?!”
Nick smiled, imagining his friend’s eyes bulging out of his head
on the other line. “Yup. Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not! But,
Nick…” Howie fumbled for words, “that
was so hard then, and this time… it would be even harder. Much harder.
Are you sure you want to appear on live TV? Maybe we could just call in… or the guys and
I could go ourselves…”
“No, Howie, I wanna go,” Nick said firmly. He really didn’t, not at all, and the
thought of just talking over the phone or sending the rest of the group in his
place was too tempting. But this was for
his fans… he had to be there, live, on TV, and break the news to them. He had to show them that he was okay… that he
would be okay… that they weren’t covering up anything.
“Well, okay, Nick,” Howie accepted reluctantly. “I’ll call the other guys and let them know,
and then one of us will get in touch with MTV.
I’ll get back to you when everything’s set up, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks for doing
this for me.”
“No problem!” Howie sputtered quickly. “If there’s anything else you need, let me
know.”
“No, I’m good,” Nick replied.
But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he did think of one thing…
“Oh, wait, Howie?”
“Yeah?”
“There is something… when you call MTV, will you see if they can
get Carson to host that day? Or… or John
Norris? None of those new weird
VJ’s…” Carson got on his nerves
sometime, but at least he was a familiar face… he had been there when they
broke the news about AJ, when Nick had been sitting there, struggling not to
cry on live television… and John, John Norris, he was a good guy… he
understood… unlike so many others, he cared.
It was sort of a stupid request, Nick realized as he asked it, but
even something small like that might make the horrible experience just a tad
bit more bearable.
Howie laughed. “Sure, Nicky. I’ll see what I can do.”
Nick forced a laugh. “They
damn well better be able to get one of those two on… after all these years… and
all those number one videos…”
Another chuckle from Howie.
“Damn straight. Don’t worry,
Nicky, I’m sure they’ll come through.”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I guess I’ll let you go then so you can rest.”
Instantly, the amused smile vanished from Nick’s face. There it was again. “So you can rest” – God, how he hated phrases
like that. He was not an infant, nor an
invalid.
But what he hated worst of all was not those words, but the fact
that they were actually justified. A nap
sounded like Heaven to him. He was
exhausted, fatigued from the previous night’s excitement and from the chemo in
general.
In fact, he was sick and tired of the whole rotten deal. Yes, that’s what he was.
Sick and tired.
***