Prologue

Jeanie sat down on the edge of her bed, fighting tears. Size 14...and she could hardly get them zipped up. She was only twenty-four, quasi-successful in her song writing career, but a failure in her mind's eye because of her weight. How did this happen?

It wasn't such a big deal. Not really. Through connections at a local radio station in Dallas, she wrangled two tickets and backstage passes to take her twelve-year old niece to see some new teenybopper group. No big deal...until she tried to find something to wear. It wasn't so much where she was going or whom she was going to see. What upset her so much was how she looked. To her, she looked fat. Plain and simple...she couldn't deny it. She began to cry.

"This is stupid," she scolded herself. "Nobody cares what the hell I look like." That was the problem. She enjoyed the company of lots of friends, but no one really cared. There was no husband or steady boyfriend. No one to snuggle up to or sit through stupid award shows with...casual friends, numerous colleagues and business acquaintances, but no one special. She was Jeanie Kirkpatrick, you know: kind of cute...blonde, green eyes, chubby...but she writes kick ass ballads.

"Jean?" Jessie poked her head in. "Hey, how do I look?" She spun around showing off her skin-tight size 5 jeans and tiny little tee shirt. "I can't believe in like an hour I'm going to see Brian," she giggled. "Oh my God...BRIAN...BRIAN..."

Jeanie forced a smile. "You're the adult," she told herself. She couldn't let Jess see her cry. "You look darling, sweets. Who's Brian?"

Jessie rolled her eyes in mock disgust and made a face. "Brian. How can you be so cool and so stupid at the same time?" she laughed. "The concert. The Backstreet Boys...Brian Littrell. He's the cute one," she rummaged through Jeanie's make-up scattered on the vanity of the adjoining bathroom. "Can I wear this?" she held up a tube of dark lipstick.

"You're twelve," Jeanie smiled.

"Brian doesn't know that," she giggled.

"I'll tell him," Jeanie laughed. "So, how old is Mr. Brian, the cute one?"

Jess ducked her head a little, "Ummm, kinda older...maybe in his twenties..." she smeared the lipstick across her lips. "This isn't right, is it?"

Jeanie took one look at her and started laughing, "No.God, you look like a hooker. Come here..." she wiped her mouth with a tissue and reapplied the dark lipstick...sparingly. "One of these days we need Make Up 101...till then, go LIGHT!" she playfully scolded.

Jeanie and Jess were close as sisters, only twelve short years separated them in age. They shared just about everything...Jess knew her aunt probably better than anyone. "You okay? You sure you want to go?" she lowered her voice a little.

The fact was that Jeanie didn't want to go. Right now, she wanted to put on something loose and comfortable and wallow in self-pity, preferably with a bag of Oreos.

She forced a smile instead. "Hell, yes! I want to go. You know how I love the Bronco Bowl!" she laughed. It was a small concert venue with a game room and actual bowling alley. A great place for a concert, but getting there was a little scary. Dallas has good areas and rough areas. There was no way in hell her niece would go without her.

One last look...maybe she didn't look that bad. White blouse with French cuffs, black leather boots with silver buckles...size 14 jeans. She slipped a black wool blazer over her blouse. There...maybe nobody would notice. She took a deep breath..."Okay, let's go, baby..."

Jeanie had no idea who The Backstreet Boys were. In February 1997, hardly anyone in the U.S. did. They had a small, but growing legion of young followers. They were on the cusp of a popularity explosion that would catapult them into super-stardom.

And little did Jeanie Kirkpatrick realize, on that chilly February night, The Backstreet Boys would be dragging her right along for the ride.

Ain’t Nothing But A Heartache >