Chapter Five: Nick Cut's a Funny One
Scene One
Press conferences. I don't hate them as much as photo shoots, mainly because they don't often give the press the chance to touch my thighs. To be truthful with you, if I had a choice between being stripped naked, smeared with honey and staked out on an ant hill in 120 degree heat or attending a press conference, I would choose the ant hill. The torture would be less painful, and most likely wouldn't last as long.
I had awakened to the familiar voice of Mr. Dad Kevin, who asked me if I felt "refreshed" after a full nights sleep. I hate that term, refreshed, especially before a shower. How can one feel "refreshed" when they still have eye-buggers? Not to mention the smell from under the covers (Well, you sleep under six blankets and see how sweet you smell in the morning.) and the taste of what I was sure was once some type of rodent in my mouth. Did you ever notice that "refreshed" is a main topic in feminine commercials? What, did Kevin think I was having my period? Perhaps Kevin was confused after that day with Frank. On the other hand, I guess it could explain those stomach cramps.
I was feeling better, no nausea and no "twist and shout." Brian had pressed chicken broth on me the night before, and as I had "no return" on the subject, once showered I bravely tackled a scrambled egg and toast for breakfast. No problems there. Perhaps later in the day I will bravely tackle a nine year old fan.
To end the less than stellar flashback, we were now trapped in that never ending question and answer cycle. I had paid attention at first, and had even come up with a few answers about our next CD that had Kevin and AJ nodding their heads and expanding on my answers. That's all good. After about an hour the conference degenerated into the same old questions, what is your fav song, what about n'stink, oops, I mean N'sync. Then something about us being brothers, blah, blah, blah. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was paying attention, unfortunately not closely enough. Reporters must train with ex-KGB agents. They wait until your guard is down, or you are not paying enough attention, then they strike. The tactic is usually enough to get me in hot-water, but today was to be unusually bad for old Nicky. Just as one of the Sadists homed in on the fact I had gone on one of my mental walks, my stomach decided it was time to come out of hibernation.
Oh, crap! A sharp pain shot through my stomach, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back for not doubling over and yelling at the top of my lungs. That type of behavior should be reserved for only the smallest of rooms, when doubling over and yelling will guarantee an elbow in someone's eye and at least one ruptured eardrum, preferably not mine. What was it? The pizza? No, that was three days ago, surely it couldn't still be hanging around. Actually I had proof that it was no longer in my system, but let's not discuss it, there's been enough gross-out material in my life.
The chicken broth from the night before? No, anything with the word "broth" could do little to be blamed for a red-hot knife twisting in my innards. Wait a minute, maybe it was Brian's eye funk! Oh God, my stomach is on fire! Oh shit! There it went again. Not nausea, but a real pain. I breathed in and out, trying not to do my own impersonation of someone in labor. I felt the female reference was not appropriate, being as Kevin and I were already under suspicion.
"...Blah, blah,
blah." Would those reporters never shut up? How many answers
could AJ and Kevin have? Who the hell cares
what type of underwear Howie wears? It was all I could do not to
yell that he didn't even buy them.
Ohhhh, that pain again, not as
bad now, more like a cramping. Man, was I feeling refreshed.
Maybe gas? That's what it was, gas. I was
in danger of releasing a noxious burp in front of the cameras.
Brian would be so proud of his little Frack.
"...last fight about, Nick?" Oh, man, Nick? Who's Nick? Is he the one with the tattoos?
"Gas." I'm such a blurt. Or such a blond, whichever way is most comfortable for you.
"Gas?" The laughter almost drowned out the question. "You mean for the bus, or did one of the boys cut one?"
I realized I had just added yet another stellar intellectual quote to the infamous "Nick's best quotes" list. Damn it, why can't Norway be in Sweden?
The guys were laughing as well. AJ like he was going to shoot beer out of his nose (Despite the milk add AJ never touched the stuff. He once explained to me that it might rust his insides. Brian actually drank quite a bit of milk, or at least he left half-empty glasses of it around in his hotel rooms. In reality I think he was just using old milk as an excuse. 'Why no, that's not my feet, it's this old milk!), Howie with that high giggly sound that most often lead people to question his "I like girls" statements, Brian as if I was just being good old Frack. Kevin was not laughing, rather he was giving me a look one would give to a small puppy that had just piddled on your best rug, or in his case your best pair of chaps.
I gave them that silly half-grin that usually gets me out of trouble, and prayed for the end. Not necessarily mine, though at that point I might have taken it. It wouldn't be much trouble, I already have some of my funeral planned. Lonely, long nights on a bus lead to weird thoughts. See, I was thinking, you should pick a song that says something about the real you, not a tried and true funeral hymn. Why follow the pack? And if you want to, why not a song that reflects that? "Leader of the Pack" or "Running With the Pack", though I doubt many of our fans listen to Bad Company. Still, it might make an impression. Me, I was thinking of "Welcome to the Jungle" in case I died with sins on my conscious. On the other hand, I hate encroaching on AJ's territory. Then I considered "Greased Lighting" because I would love to see that Kodak moment when they sing "she's a real ***** wagon" in front of my Mom. Then again, having five silver jump-suited guys singing at your funeral could lead to rumors, and I had enough alive, so who needs that trouble?
Better yet, "I've Got a
Lovely Bunch of Coconuts." This is my choice at the moment.
It says so much about my life, on so many different
levels. Six years spent mainly on a tour bus with the same four
people would give anyone the right to claim insanity. It would
also be the most entertaining funeral, what with the women in the
coconut bras, except for my cousin Amy. She would have to wear
watermelons as she is a bit "blessed" in that area. I
know it would ruin the theme, but my Mom would insist I have her,
it's a family thing.
Funerals may sound like a
strange stream of consciousness, even for me, but at the moment
it made sense, as another sharp pain ripped it
way through my intestines, and I swear out my back. I gripped the
chair arm and hung on, just in time to hear the next question
thrown at good old Nick. "What would be your dream
date." I HATE that question. I have been asked the same
question a total of one-hundred and thirty-one times to date. I
have counted. I usually make up some bunk about the beach, as I
have no idea. It would depend on the person you are with. Being
in pain and pissed at the same time had a strange effect on me,
and I really decided to yank the presses' chain. Damn the
consequences, and the Kevin lecture.
"I would start with a visit to "Brother Bubba's Rodent Ranch" followed by dinner at Bubba's "Fresh Kill Kafe", then for the evenings highlight, the 32nd annual "Ozarks Worm-Wrestle." Have you heard that saying about cutting the silence with a knife?
"Ha, ha...Nick's on a roll," Kevin managed, with that really tight grin of his.
"A hot-buttered one." I chimed in. I figure, if you are going to go down, go down in flames.
Brain and Howie took over at that point, though I am fairly positive the press would rather have been subjected to my strange but interesting answers rather than Howie's run-of-the-mill boring ones. I was no longer available for comments as Kevin was pinching my arm under the table and giving me the look-of-death. I chose to pay attention to it. Stomach cramps are one thing, going three rounds with Kevin is just cruel and unusual punishment.
Scene Two
"Damn it Nick, what got into you in there?" Kevin was not pleased with my behavior. Man, that was strange-NOT.
"Leave him alone, he's probably still tired. Come on Kev, those guys were being jerks anyway."
"Brain, that's no excuse for Nick to be a jerk! He was totally out of line in there. Right AJ?" Uh-oh. Kevin was not looking for support, he is quite capable of taking me on by himself. Rather he was in his "rip Nick apart in front of others because he is much less likely to act up if he knows this will be the punishment" mode.
"I don't know Kev. Maybe it wasn't called for, but you got to admit that was some funny manure." Manure? AJ in correct usage mode.
"Kev, Nick had a hard time yesterday. Cut him some slack." Howie in "understanding" mode. Man, modes were flying all over the place.
"Understanding? That I can give, but you want me to just let it go, him making a fool of us in front of the press?"
"He didn't make a fool of us! If anything he only made a fool of himself." Thanks Brain, I feel better now.
I guess I should have stood up for myself, but that rarely gets me anywhere with Kevin. I know I should have told the guys about my stomach, but I didn't want anymore trouble. So I took my worm wrestling self to the bus. We had a concert to get to, and I for one had no intention of being late.
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