Cary
Three weeks
into my stay in LA, I was starting to question my decision to come.
I enjoyed
spending time with Nick, but it wasn’t like what I’d expected. After our kiss at the Relay for Life, I
thought things would be different between us.
Instead, our situation was pretty much the same as it had been before,
with me sleeping in Nick’s guest room and keeping house for him while he went
about his business. Only that part had
changed – now, instead of lying around the condo while he got his chemo, he
spent his days running around LA, tying up loose ends and talking to the people
he still needed to tell about his condition before going public. As a result, I spent a lot of time at the
condo by myself, lonely and bored. I
didn’t dare complain; I knew that what Nick needed was a caretaker, not a
girlfriend, and so I put on a happy face and continued to be supportive, as a
friend and nothing more. But inside, I
felt a little let down and led on.
The turning
point was when Nick said, “So I’ve been thinking… I wanna go to Nashville for a
few days before all this transplant stuff starts.”
I looked
over at him in surprise. “Nashville?”
He stared
straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Yeah… I got a house there, ya know, and my lawyer’s there, too. I gotta talk to him about some stuff before I
check into the hospital, get my legal shit in order, just in case…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
I swallowed
hard, finishing the sentence in my head:
…in case you don’t make it out. I wondered if he had an advance directive, a
living will, to specify his wishes if he was no longer able to make his own
treatment decisions, or if that was some of the “legal shit” he had to take
care of.
“Anyway,”
he went on abruptly, clearing his throat, “we could do it over the phone, but I
thought it’d be better to meet in person, and besides, it’ll be nice to get out
of LA for awhile. After this interview,
I don’t wanna have to deal with any press or paparazzi for awhile.”
I smiled. “Makes sense.”
We were on
our way to the Warner Bros. Studios in Burbank, where The Ellen DeGeneres Show was taped.
The show was on hiatus for the summer, but Ellen had agreed to meet Nick
there for the exclusive interview he had promised her, which would air once her
new season started in September. It was
the perfect arrangement for Nick, who had wanted to make the announcement
before he went in for the stem cell transplant, while he was still looking and
feeling reasonably good. This way, he
wouldn’t have to do it in front of an audience, and by the time the story
broke, he would hopefully be on the road to recovery.
When we
arrived at the studio, Ellen was all smiles at seeing the two of us
together. Nick had been on her show
before, and of course, she knew me from American
Idol. “When you two announce your
engagement, make sure you mention I was the one who set you up,” she joked,
winking at Nick. Then her jaw suddenly
dropped. “That’s not what you’re here to
announce, is it?”
I couldn’t
tell if she was kidding or not, but Nick played along. “No… I wish,” he said, with a nervous
chuckle.
“Well, so
what is it? You’re not gonna make me
wait until we’re in front of the camera, are you? Come on, spill!”
When Nick
told her, the eager smile dropped off her face, and her whole demeanor
changed. “…And you picked my show to tell your fans this?” she
asked, at one point.
“Why not?”
Nick replied, shrugging. “It’s perfect…
You’ll keep it light, right? I like
that. I’m not ready for the heavy Oprah
stuff.”
Ellen
laughed weakly. “Well… I’ll certainly
try. Rest assured, I’m no Oprah.”
But she was
plenty professional, going over the questions she wanted to ask Nick ahead of
time, so neither of them would be caught off-guard during the on-camera
interview.
There was a
hair and makeup crew on set to fix Nick up for the cameras, and by the time he
sat down with Ellen, he appeared to have a healthy glow. Dressed in a simple button-down and designer
jeans, with his hair styled, he looked gorgeous, and if I didn’t know better,
it would be hard to believe the truth he was about to tell Ellen. He didn’t seem sick at all.
Nick had
invited me along for moral support, and I was allowed to watch behind the
cameras as they filmed the interview.
Under different circumstances, it would have been fun to be behind the
scenes like that, but there was no joy in seeing Nick spill his guts to
Ellen. I just felt sorry for him and sad
for all the fans who would watch this interview in shock.
True to her
promise, she tried her best to keep it light, focusing on the positives,
cracking a few jokes where it seemed appropriate. Nick spoke seriously, but sounded hopeful as
he emphasized certain points, like that the treatment he’d already finished had
been successful, and that he wanted to finish touring sometime in the new year,
once he had recovered from the stem cell transplant. All in all, I thought it went as well as
could be expected, and I told Nick so when he was done.
“I hope
so,” he muttered darkly, as we left the studio.
The optimistic smile he’d maintained for much of the interview had
dropped off his face, and he looked pensive.
“I’m dreading the fallout after it airs.
I just hope the news doesn’t leak before then.”
“That would
be terrible,” I said. “The fans deserve
to hear about this the right way, straight from your mouth, not from some
rumor.”
“I know,”
he agreed. As we headed back to his
condo, he asked, “So what do you think about Nashville?”
I wasn’t
sure if he was asking my opinion or inviting me along. I didn’t want to assume anything, but I hoped
it was the latter. “I think it sounds
like a great idea,” I replied, figuring that would cover all bases.
He smiled
over at me. “You’ll love Nashville.”
I guess
that answered my question.
***
A few days
later, our plane touched down on the tarmac at Nashville International
Airport. Nick rented a car, and we drove
forty minutes to Franklin, the suburb of Nashville he called home. Between the beaches and the mountains,
Southern California sure was beautiful, but Tennessee, with its gently rolling
hills and dark green forests, had its own charm. Looking out the window while he drove, I
could see why Nick had wanted to come here.
He lived on
the outskirts of a large, upscale neighborhood called Westhaven. The homes we passed were perfectly
maintained, their lawns perfectly manicured.
Everything seemed bright and shiny and new, but the architecture had a
classic feel; many of the larger houses reminded me of old Southern plantation
homes, while the smaller ones looked more early twentieth century. They were a far cry from the outdated
split-level and ranch houses and modern McMansions that divided my hometown.
When Nick
pulled into the driveway of a large, foursquare-style house, I said in
surprise, “This is yours?” The house was
cute and charming, with pale gray siding and a dormer on the top story,
cheerful red brick and a big front porch on the bottom. After seeing his condo, it just wasn’t the
type of home I’d expected him to live in.
Sandwiched in between a big, gray McMansion and an equally pretentious
Tudor-style home, it looked surprisingly modest, not at all like some celebrity
palace you’d see on MTV Cribs.
“This is
it,” said Nick, coasting on past the house to park in front of the three-car garage
in back. “What do you think?”
“I love
it!” I replied, eager to see the inside.
As it
turned out, the house seemed much bigger and more luxurious on the inside than
it had on the outside. Nick showed me
through room after room, all tastefully decorated with dark wood and leather
furniture, accented with warm, bold colors to compliment the neutral
walls. The floors on the main level were
all hardwood, while the second story had plush, beige carpet, and there were
white baseboards and crown molding throughout the whole house. It was clear to me that he hadn’t decorated
the place himself; the artwork on the walls were generic landscapes and
still-life paintings. Still, I could see
touches of him throughout, especially when he took me upstairs, where his
platinum record plaques lined the lofted landing at the top of the
staircase. There were more in his huge
office, which held a few pieces of music equipment, and on the walls of a
smaller TV room, where his drumset sat in the corner, next to a huge, cream
leather, wrap-around couch.
“Wow, Nick…
this is amazing,” I said, digging my big toe into the fibers of the red shag
rug that sat under the couch.
“Thanks,”
he replied casually, slipping past me to sink down onto the couch. The leather squeaked underneath him as he
made himself comfortable, stretching out his long legs and leaning his head
back leisurely.
I saw then
how much he needed this trip before he went back into the trenches of
transplant hell. He had already spent
two more days at the hospital, being poked and prodded and tested and evaluated
to make sure he was fit for the transplant.
I knew his doctors were concerned about his heart, since high doses of
chemo can damage it, and his was already weakened. But it would take a few days for them to
process all of the results, so Nick had been granted this reprieve. Besides meeting with his lawyer, he had no
other business to take care of here, and I hoped he would be able to relax and
take his mind off everything. I also
hoped we could spend more time together.
“Thanks for
bringing me here,” I returned, as I sat down next to him.
“No
problem. I’m glad we came.”
“Me too.”
We sat in
silence for a few minutes. I looked
around, while Nick just stared down at the rug.
I expected him to turn on the TV or something, but eventually, he just
stood up and announced, “I’m taking you out tonight.”
I looked up
at him in surprise, and my heart soared, but I tried to play it cool. “Aren’t you tired?” I asked, thinking of our
early start, the long flight, and the drive out of Nashville. Heck, I
was tired, so I couldn’t imagine he wasn’t.
“Yeah, but
I don’t wanna just sit around. I’m gonna
be sitting around, lying around, in the hospital for three weeks when I do the
transplant. Gotta live it up, make every
day count before then.” One side of his
mouth jerked upward in a little half-smile, and then he asked, “Why? You’re
not too tired, are you?”
Too tired for a date with Nick Carter? Never. I smiled back and answered quickly,
“Nope. Let’s go out.”
“Good.” He grinned.
“There’ll be plenty of time for sleeping later.” But the way he said it, with a wink and that
little smirk of his, made me think he wasn’t talking about just sleeping. My heart
started to race with anticipation.
As I got up
and followed him out of the room, I decided Nick was right: I was going to love Nashville.
***
He took me
out to eat at an Italian place in the city called Valentino’s. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any
significance to the name of the restaurant.
Wishful thinking, probably.
Still, the
place sounded romantic, and it was – intimate dining rooms, filled with tiny
tables set for two or four, each with a crystal vase of flowers in the
middle. It was just the right amount of
fancy, without being too hoity-toity.
The tables were dressed with black linen tablecloths and white linen
napkins, folded into pyramids that sat in front of the crystal wineglasses, and
the menus didn’t list any meals under twenty dollars or in English, but at least
the descriptions were in English, so I had some idea of what I was ordering,
even if I wasn’t sure how to pronounce it.
“What are
you getting?” I asked Nick, once I’d narrowed the choices down to lasagna or a
fettuccine dish with meatballs.
“I’m thinking
the Fettuccine alla Pescatora,” he
said, putting on an accent to pronounce the Italian words.
I giggled,
looking for it on the menu so I could read the description. “Shrimp,
scallops, mussels, clams, calamari, extra virgin olive oil, garlic, white wine,
and fresh parsley.” I couldn’t help
but wrinkle my nose at the thought of eating clams and squid. “Mmm,” I said, without much enthusiasm.
Nick
laughed at the look on my face. “Not a
seafood fan, I take it?”
“Not so
much. Sorry.” I blame my less-than-distinguished palate on
my father. He’s always been a meat and
potatoes kind of guy. His idea of
Italian is a thin crust supreme at Pizza Hut, and except for there, he won’t go
to any restaurant that doesn’t have a burger and fries on the menu. If it weren’t for my more cultured friends,
I’d probably have never experienced anything but classic, American fare. As it turns out, I like a lot of different
things, but I guess I’m a little old-fashioned – I’d much rather have sausage
meatballs with my pasta than squid.
“No need to
apologize.” He smiled easily. “What are you getting?”
I decided
on the fettuccine and meatballs. When
the waiter brought it out, I was suddenly reminded of Lady and the Tramp – you know what scene. Sitting there at the tiny table with Nick,
the big plate of pasta and meatballs in front of me, the brick wall behind me,
the Italian music playing softly in the background, I thought of Lady and the
Tramp sharing spaghetti and decided Nick had picked the perfect place. It really was romantic. Not that we were going to start slurping on
the same noodle, but maybe, if I was lucky, I’d get another kiss that night.
We split a
slice of tiramisu for dessert, and I finished my second glass of wine, feeling
warm and just the slightest bit tipsy.
Nick had just had one glass, and I hadn’t said anything – he’d been off
chemo for a month, and anyway, a glass of red wine is supposed to be good for
you. Once he’d taken care of the check,
we went outside to have the valet bring his car around.
The night
was overcast and misty with a light rain that seemed to float in the air,
rather than fall. “Should have thought
to bring an umbrella… sorry,” Nick apologized, as we stood under the awning in
the narrow entryway.
“It’s okay…
I don’t mind getting a little wet.” To
prove my point, I stepped out from under the awning to move out of the way of a
family leaving the restaurant. Even
after they had strolled off, I stayed on the sidewalk, letting the drizzle fall
on my bare arms and face. My hair was
going to frizz out, and my dress would show the water stains, but I didn’t
care. I wanted to show him I wasn’t as
prissy as I looked in my red lipstick and heels. There was something romantic about being out
in the rain, and for the second time since we’d been there, I wished he would
kiss me again.
He didn’t,
though, just came out and stood beside me, until the valet pulled his car up to
the curb. We got in, and Nick turned the
air conditioner down and the radio up. Soon
we were cruising out Nashville, warm and dry, with the music blasting. Katy Perry’s new single “Teenage Dream” came
on, and automatically, I started singing along.
“You… make… me… feel like I’m
living a… teen… age… dream… the way you turn me on. I… can’t… sleep… Let’s run away and don’t ever look back,
don’t ever look back. My… heart… stops…
when you look at me. Just… one… touch…
Now baby, I believe. This… is… real… so
take a chance and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back…”
Tossing my
damp hair in time to the music, I felt looser and lighter than I had in months…
probably since the time Nick got me drunk and had me dancing around in the back
of a cab, singing along to Lady Gaga.
That was the day I’d met him… and the night he’d told me about his
cancer. Looking back, that drunken cab
ride was like my last moment of innocence before everything changed. My life ever since had revolved not only
around Nick, but around his illness, and for the first time, I felt like I
could finally forget – or at least push it to the back of my mind, where it
wouldn’t bother me. This trip to
Tennessee was proving to be the perfect escape for both of us.
When the
song ended and the radio cut to commercials, Nick turned it down and looked
over at me, smiling. “Anyone ever told
you you look like her? Katy Perry, I
mean.”
I smiled
back. “Actually, yeah… Kara DioGuardi
said that at my first audition for Idol.” I’d taken it as a compliment; I wasn’t out to
copy her or anything, but I liked Katy Perry’s colorful, vintage style.
“You can
sing circles around her, though,” Nick added, making me blush.
“You’re
sweet.”
He made an
adorable face, scrunching up his nose and flashing a toothy grin. I giggled.
In that instant, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world, riding
shotgun next to Nick Carter on the way back to his house. The feeling bubbled up inside me,
overwhelming me with sheer joy, and by the time we’d pulled back into the
driveway, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“I’m glad we came here,” I said.
“It was nice, going out tonight, like a date.”
He
smiled. “I had fun, too.” But even though I was glad he’d enjoyed
himself, that wasn’t what I’d hoped he would say. I wanted him to offer me some reassurance,
some confirmation that this had, in fact, been a date. I still wasn’t sure where I stood with
him. The last few weeks had me all mixed
up. How did he think of me? As a caretaker? A friend?
More than a friend?
He hadn’t
shown me any real sign of affection since we’d left Illinois, but I hadn’t
given up hope that there was something there.
Why else would he have kissed me, if he didn’t feel something? He had just been preoccupied with the whole
transplant business. Maybe now that he
was away from LA again, he’d be able to think about something else… like
me. But maybe it was my turn to make the
first move.
I was
grateful for the wine I’d had at dinner; it made me braver than usual. As soon as he shut off the engine, I
unbuckled my seatbelt, leaned over, and kissed him. It was just a peck on the cheek; my lips
grazed his jawline, that was all, but just as I’d hoped, he turned his head
toward me, giving me the perfect angle to kiss him again – a real kiss this
time, full-on and deep.
I felt him
react, his lips pressing against mine, his arm sliding around my shoulders to
pull me closer. I opened my mouth,
letting his tongue slip in and tangle with mine, and like a couple of
teenagers, we made out in the driveway for a few minutes before we stopped long
enough to get out of the car.
But it
didn’t end there. As soon as we got
inside the house, we were back in each other’s arms. I had flipped a switch and turned him on; he
was horny, flattening me against the back of the door with his frantic
kisses. How long since he’d been with a
woman? I wondered. I had shared a bus
and a hotel room with him on tour; he hadn’t brought back any groupies. As far as I knew, he hadn’t slept with anyone
since he’d broken up with Lauren, since before he was diagnosed with
cancer. I could tell by the way his
hands groped over my body that he’d been deprived a long time. I’m not normally an easy lay, but in this
case, I was happy to provide.
He took me
into his room, the largest of the four bedrooms, and flopped me down onto his
bed. I sank into the cream-colored duvet
as he crawled on top of me, bracing himself with his arms so he could keep on
kissing me. I wrapped my arms around his
neck, sliding my fingers under the collar of his shirt. Untucked, it hung loose from his trim body,
until he finally got tired of it getting in the way and took it off. Sitting back on his haunches, he tossed the
t-shirt aside and offered me a little smirk.
“You wanna keep going?” he asked.
“Yeah…” I
breathed. My heart was thumping so hard,
I was sure he’d be able to feel it if he got down close to me again. “Do you have…?”
“Yeah… hold
on one sec.” He got off the bed and
disappeared into the bathroom. I sat up,
reaching around for the zipper in the back of my dress. “Let me,” he said when he came back a few
seconds later, stripped down to his boxers and carrying a box of condoms.
I turned
without a word and shivered with pleasure as I felt his fingers on my back,
fumbling with the zipper. Cool air hit my
bare skin, causing goosebumps to rise, as he parted the material and slowly
slid the dress straps down my shoulders.
I freed my arms and lowered the front, revealing my strapless bra. Soon that was gone, too, as he undid the
clasp in the back and climbed onto the bed to face me again.
I was
surprised to find that I wasn’t embarrassed to expose my body to him, maybe
because I’d already seen so much more of his, and because although he was
beautiful, he wasn’t perfect either. I
tried not to look at the little, round lump of the port in his chest, but I
felt it, hard against my breast, as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me
close. His skin was warm, and my
goosebumps melted away as our bodies pressed together, burrowing back down into
the soft bedding.
Lying
there, underneath his warm weight, I closed my eyes in bliss and blocked
everything out, everything but him and his body and his lips and his
kisses. I wished I could stay in the
moment forever, for in that moment, there was nothing else weighing on my
mind. No worries, no regrets. Nothing else mattered – nothing but Nick and
me.
***