Date: Sat, 1 Jan 2000 16:58:12 -0500 (EST)
From: bsbwriter@altavista.net
Subject: Gay: Celebrity: Boy-Bands: adam-zach-and-bsb-48-50

Legal Note: Please don't read this if you are under the age of 18 years or
the particular age of permission where ever you live. The story below is in
all parts fictional. All portrayal of the Backstreet Boys and other persons
mentioned is in no way based on fact. All other characters are completely
fictional. All names, songs, events, and other licensed material remain
so. Thank you.

Hey guys. I know, long time no post. I've been particularly busy-I'm
sorry. But I finally got some of this writing done. I know its not too
long, but I've been having some trouble finding as much time to write as I
used to. But it has all that I promised-action, romance, mystery, and a bit
more.

Thanks to readers rye, mystic rich, rich, mystery T, baby, jon, cross,
matt, arlette, and jmf.  You guys are real good at guilt tripping me into
finishing up installments. Just kidding. Your writing as always means a lot
to me.

And last but not least, thanks to the wonderful Jeff, and just as wonderful
DLS: my friends who manage to motivate me every step of the way.

Please enjoy and respond to bsbwriter@altavista.net with comments!

Have a wonderful Y2K.

EG

Part 48

	When Kevin had disappeared again into his room, Zach and I stared
into the walls and sat on the couch quietly. There was no way to follow up
conversation with what had just happened. I was still recovering. My heart
pounded against the walls of my chest as I replayed his entrance. He had
been such a beautiful cowboy, with his James Dean posture, silhouetted in
the fluorescent lights. I would forever remember the contour of his body in
that door frame.

	After a little while, Zach cleared his throat. "Do you want to go
see the roadies setting up the arena?"

	Not having any other ideas, I nodded and followed Zach. We
traversed the halls until I saw the waiting room I had been in before, and
then an elevator which we boarded. Zach pressed a button to the ground
level and I closed my eyes as the elevator began to make its ascent.

	It bounced a bit when it got to our destination, and Zach led me to
the main hall, and through the closest doorway into the
stadium. Immediately, I saw the pentagon stage, and the beam with zip wires
dangling from one end on which the Boys would "surf" in on.  There were
men, young to middle aged, in ratty clothes crawling all over the floors,
seats and even above, on the lighting grid.

	"Before the last show," Zach said, leading me down towards the
floor, "I just sat and watched the whole show get set up. Its such a
complicated deal." I nodded, watching the roadies work like citizens of
anthill, raising columns and platforms and rigging lights.  Each man worked
hard, under the deadline. Sweat poured off of them and I would venture to
say that at a closer proximity, the bunch would not be too pleasant. I was
about to turn back to Zach, when one particular man caught my eye. He was
young, about my age, and just looked really familiar.

	For a fleeting second, he glanced over, but my attentions were
diverted when Zach spoke up again. "Come on, I'll intro you to all the
guys. They're super-nice..." he said. "Oh!" with a childish grin," And
maybe they'll let us try out the floating skateboards. Wait `til you see
them tonight, with the smoke and lights and stuff. Its awesome...." I
followed him wordlessly down the steps, still watching that one boy, who
had gone back to work on the flooring of the stage.

	"Eh!" a large, shirtless man greeted us as we made our way to the
floor. "Zach, my man, what's up?"

	"Not much, Len, not much," Zach replied. "Hey Lenny, this is my
best friend Adam. Adam, Lenny. Lenny, Adam." Lenny offered his huge hand to
shake mine, and I returned the gesture. "Lenny's sort of the foreman of the
roadies. The manager."

	"The boss?" I asked.

	Lenny laughed. "Got that right!" He turned to Zach. "I like this
kid."

	"Well good, cause I think he's gonna be with us for a while." Zach
winked at me, but I shot him back a long stare. Sure, I was happy to be
reunited with Kevin, but was I emotionally ready to go on tour with them?
And was it okay with Kevin? Yeah, he'd been happy to see me, but would he
be ready for that kind of commitment so soon?  Zach just shrugged, and he
gave me a tour of the stage gizmos and zip wires and camera crew cranes. He
explained how the catwalk above the stage was to dangerous during a
performance, and so the guys filming the show were strapped into seats on
long mechanical arms which each controlled separately. "The catwalk's just
too dangerous-someone could get killed falling off that thing," Zach said
and laughed a bit to lighten his comments and show he was kidding. But I
wasn't listening. I was thinking back to Kevin.

	The more I thought, the more claustrophobic the situation all began
to feel. My heart rate went up again and I started getting a headache. I
needed a drink of water.  "Where's the nearest water fountain?" I asked.

	Zach gestured back up the stairs. "They're right outside all of the
restrooms. It shouldn't be too hard to find one."

	I half-ran up the stairs, slowing only when I tripped and regained
my footing on the landing. I walked the outer hallway until finally I saw a
fountain. I bent down and gulped down the frigid water. Leaning closer, I
let the stream cover my face, drenching my skin and calming me down a bit.

	I wiped the water from my eyes with the back of my hands and
straightened up. I took a deep breath. I looked at my watch. I headed back
towards the elevator.

	Once downstairs, I maneuvered the halls pretty well, considering I
had only been down them a few times. Soon, I found the familiar dressing
room corridor.

	I walked down, looking at each door, looking for his name. It was
the third one on the right. With determination, I knocked on the
door. Kevin answered in a light blue t-shirt and well-worn jeans. It was
obvious he had been sleeping on the couch and even more so when he rubbed
his eyes. "Hey," he smiled, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me
inside.

	"I thought you were upstairs getting the grand tour," he said,
smiling. God, I had missed that smile so much.

	"How could I have stayed up there when you were down here, all
alone?" I grinned.

	Kevin pouted playfully. "Good point," he said as he led me to the
couch. He sat me down and then laid on top of me. You know how people
always tell you to close your eyes when you kiss someone, because everyone
looks funny at that proximity? Kevin doesn't. He looks good from all
distances. Maybe that sounds ridiculously corny, but its true. Accordingly,
our faces were just inches away from each other, our foreheads
meeting. Then, Kevin kissed me.

	The kiss drew all of my breath into him, along with all my senses
of logic, judgment, and cold resolve. It took something from me-the numb,
frigid something that had allowed me to stay away from love. The kiss
filled me with his warmth and all over again I was the boy waking up under
the sun the rising in Provence. Until now, I hadn't realized the degree of
depth in my slumber. But now I was wide awake, with a searing hot velvet
box in my pocket.

	Finally we parted, both out of breath and flushed. "Kevin," I said,
glowing in happiness, "I have something to give you." He sat up and looked
at me, pleasantly expectant. I withdrew the box and opened it so that he
could see the ring inside.

	He took it from me, and let his fingertips trace along the edge of
the silver band. "What does this mean?" he asked.

	"Whatever you want it to mean," I said, and together, we slipped
the ring on his left ring finger. It fit, thankfully, and examining it
against his tan skin, I began to understand the ways of love.

Part 49

	It was a few long moments until either of us dared to move. Just
then, Kevin saw the clock on the wall. It was six twenty-five already. The
concert started at seven, and even though there was an opening band, Kevin
was expected to be in the lounge in a matter of minutes. He looked at me
with disappointment, and sighed. "I'm so sorry. We'll pick up where we left
off later, okay?" I nodded glumly. "Besides, I want you to meet the opening
band before they have to go on."

	"Who is it?" I asked, somewhat interested.

	"EYC." When my face remained blank, Kevin followed up. "It stands
for: Express Yourself Clearly," he said with flamboyant hand
motions. "They're another boy band. They're real cool guys. You'll like
them, I promise."

	"Promise?"

	"Yes, I promise. And plus," Kevin said with a wane smile and a
quick look around, "I heard they're a bunch of hotties."

	"Did you, now?" I asked jokingly.

	"Yeah, I did. Gives some one like you a run for his money."

	"Some one like me?"

	"Yeah, such a sexy guy should watch out."

	"Hmmm, and why's that?"

	"Because." Then Kevin broke up in laughter and kissed me lightly on
the forehead. He got up from the couch, still holding my hand. "Come on!"

	We went down to the lounge, but the EYC guys were nowhere in
sight-but a very mad Ellen paced around the perimeter of the room with a
walkie-talkie in hand. "Did you find them yet?" she yelled into it. But no
one answered. "This is it. No one can find the opening band. I cannot
believe this is happening." She looked like she was about to cry.

	Kevin came to the rescue. He put his arm around her, "You know
Ellen, this isn't the first time a concert hasn't been late to start."

	She looked up at him. "Really?"

	"Really. Our shows go on late nine times out of ten...In fact,"
Kevin went on, rubbing her shoulder, "its a good thing."

	"How is it a good thing?"

	"Well," he reasoned, "it helps to build the energy of the crowd."

	Ellen nodded but then seemed to remember why exactly she had been
so upset. "I appreciate the sentiments, Kevin, but we need to find the band
and you need to be with the other guys getting the final harness fittings."

	"Okay, don't worry, Adam will help you find them." I looked at him
questioningly.  I started to protest, but he patted me covertly on the
butt, shutting me up effectively. "Adam, just go check the loading docks."
When Ellen looked at him questioningly, he answered her look: "Maybe one of
them smokes." She nodded slightly and motioned for me to follow her.

	We walked down the maze of hallways and finally reached the loading
dock. Sure enough, three guys stood outside a charter bus. They were not,
however, smoking. Instead, I saw them talking to some teens, kids about my
age, maybe a little younger-a girl and a boy. The girl looked like she was
about to explode and the boy looked like he was trying extremely hard to
seem disinterested. A less experienced observer might have said he was her
boyfriend, but, hey, after all that had happened to me, I give myself a
little more credit. Trust me, he was just a friend, and just as excited to
be there. I smiled a knowing smile and watched as the band signed the back
of some flyers. Ellen glanced repeatedly at her watch.

	After a few minutes, Ellen, as being impatient was her job, broke
in-although, to her credit, she did it gracefully. She fumbled in her
pocket for something. Finally, she withdrew some stickers that I assume
were backstage passes of some sort. Ellen advanced out of ear-shot to
approach the band. After a short conversation, she handed the backstage
passes to the two fans and waved goodbye, returning to me with the band
following not too far behind.

	"Hey Adam, these are the boys from EYC-Damon, Dave and Trey. Guys,
this is Adam. He's a friend of Backstreet." The guys smiled, but I could
tell they were worried about being late. "Well, Adam, I have to show the
band to the stage. Remember your ticket. Enjoy the show!" She ran off with
the guys and I was left standing in one of the underground's non-descript
hallways.

Part 50

	I turned and jumped off the loading dock, landing in a parking lot
behind the MCI Center. Masses of fans moved in rivers of excited screams
through the doors ahead. Girls with painted faces, huge, brightly colored
signs and home-made "B-Rok B-Mine" t-shirts ran wild. I kept walking, and
got to the sidewalk. It was true mayhem.

	I gave my ticket to the attendant at the door. A highly permed and
primped woman next to me peered over at my stub and saw that I was in the
first row, floor. She pushed my shoulder playfully and laughed. "What did
you do, sell your soul to the devil? My husband owns the local pop station
and we're *still* in the nosebleed section," she said in a thick southern
accent. I really have no problem with southern accents, (especially soft
Kentucky ones), but I always forget that Maryland and Virginia, (the states
that surround DC), are actually southern. I guess DC is too, but here,
there's so many people that come from all over the world that the accents
just mingle until they negate each other. Nevertheless, her accent and the
question caught me off guard. How would I answer? I elected to go
casually. I just shrugged and smiled. She patted me on the shoulder and led
her gaggle of kids into the crowd.

	I peered into the closest arena entrance and saw that EYC had just
run onto the stage. Instead of going to my seat, I decided to walk a bit
and people watch. Lines for food, bathrooms and merchandise stretched
around corners in sweet, sticky strings of young girls and their
chaperones. Wandering slowly between the fans, it became a surreal
experience. How many girls, and boys for that matter, would give their
souls to the devil to be in front row, or, worse yet, have what I have with
Kevin? The thought shocked and scared me at the same time. My friends' fame
had never been pushed so closely into my realm of reality as it was
now. And here, in the midst of the giggling crowd, I realized how lucky I
was.

	A sudden darkness and then a building piece of music signaled the
Boys' entrance. I ran to the doorway to see their familiar forms sail onto
the stage via floating boards. The heavy electronic beats of "Larger than
Life" blasted into the smoke and the boys ran onto the stage and began to
sing. I sang along, despite myself. I could see Kevin dancing on the view
screen high above their heads. My love became abundantly apparent, finally,
in my own mind. Maybe I was just imagining it, but in the glint of the
spotlight, I thought I saw our ring.

	I finally managed to make my way down to my seat, which, in no
questionable coincidence, had been placed on the side of the stage which
was Kevin's. I sat next to a particularly flirtatious girl, who desperately
tried to make friends with the security guard standing in front of us in
exchange for backstage passes. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't observant
enough to see my badge or polite enough for me to volunteer my status.

	The show was incredible. I danced, sang and paid special attention
to Kevin. Their performance was in every way perfect-I saw the months of
hard work coming together. I also realized something-these guys, the ones I
had played basketball with, shopped, watched movies and talked endlessly
with-were amazing. I found a new level respect for each of them.

	After a sweaty two and a half hours of singing, dancing, and
endless costume changes, they had finally made it to the end of their
show. They were introducing the band who had accompanied them. Kevin was
waiting on the edge of the platform center-stage for his turn to speak. I
caught his eye and waved. He beamed back.

	They ended the band introduction, and began to break into their
encore- "I Want It That Way." The crowd began to clap their hands and I
broke into an uncontrollable smile as Kevin pointed at me as he sang: "You
are my fire/My one desire..." I looked up at the ceiling to avoid
completely loosing it.

	Above the stage, I saw the camera men sailing through the air on
their cranes, back and forth. Just then, I saw movement in the catwalks.

	Zach words came back to me: `The catwalk's just too
dangerous-someone could get killed falling off that thing.' If that was the
case, why was there anyone up there? I squinted into the spotlights. There
were two figures. The first stood above the second and appeared to be
clutching the other's neck. I panicked and ducked under the bar in front of
my seat. The security guard stopped me, but then saw my badge and my
stricken expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

	"There's someone up on the catwalk." I pointed above our heads.

	"Why would anyone be up there?" he asked, but looked up just the
same. He saw them and whipped out his walkie talkie and began speaking
rapidly into the speaker. The two silhouetted figures appeared to be
struggling. One constrained the other. I strained my eyes, hoping to get a
glimpse of their identities. Watch out what you hope for. As they continued
to fight, the dominating man's face was thrust into a beam of light. It was
Zach.

To be continued.