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***RECAP: Brian nodded, trying desperately not to show his anxiety. "And, well, the songs were quite good, I must say...." Mr. Walters trailed off. Brian nodded again, but knew from experience that there was still more to come.***
"However," Mr. Walters continued, "as good as they are, they aren’t quite we’re looking for....you’re not quite what we’re looking for, Mr. Littrell....I’m sorry."
Brian’s eyes widened at the words which stung his ears. "I’m....I’m...not quite what you’re looking for?" he repeated softly.
"We just aren’t in the market for this kind of music....surely you understand! Rap is what’s selling now....alternative is also up there in the music market.....we just aren’t looking for a pop solo artist," Mr. Walters explained.
"But...but..." Brian sputtered, not knowing what to say. This was his third try at a record label, and his third rejection.
"Mr. Littrell, you are a very talented young man....anyone can plainly see that...but I’m just afraid that pop isn’t selling like it used to anymore....you know that, right?" Mr. Walters continued.
"Of course I know that," Brian retorted, trying not to raise his voice, "I know that better than anyone! Don’t you know who I am?! What I did?!......" He trailed off, catching himself in the process. ‘Who I was,’ he corrected in his head.
"I’m sorry Mr. Littrell," was all Mr. Walters could say.
Brian hightailed it out of that office as fast as he could. He made his way to his car, and was at his house in less than 10 minutes.
****************************
AJ sniffed loudly, as he opened the door of his house. His hands were shaking, and he needed something to take the edge off. All through his "date" with Amanda, he had an urge like he couldn’t even explain. He dashed for his medicine cabinet and popped in two of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed him two months ago when he had injured his leg.
He breathed in deep, as he grabbed his package of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up, inhaling the smoke as it billowed around him in thick circles. His head began to feel light, and he collapsed on to his bed with a content sigh. These pills always made him feel wonderful.
****************************
".....Not what he’s looking for..." Brian mumbled angrily, as he burst through his front door, thankful that Leighanne wasn’t home. He couldn’t even look at her right now.
"How could I not be what he’s looking for?!" he shouted, stomping up the stairs to his room, "I’m the EXACT person he’s looking for! I’ve ALWAYS been the person he’s looking for!"
"Jesus Christ!" he screamed, smashing everything he came in contact with, "I’m a Backstreet Boy! How can they not want me?! I RULE this industry!"
He opened up his walk in closet and went to the very back where he rarely ever went. He started tearing through his stuff in a fit of rage. He knew he was out of control; that he was having something that his psychiatrist called an "episode", but he couldn’t control himself. He knew he also had medication he should be taking, but he was beyond that point now.
"How can they reject me?!" he screamed, tearing through the hard work and sentiments, "how?!"
He tore through old newspaper articles, pictures, certificates, demo tapes....memories. Memories of the past. Brian stopped suddenly, as the horrid memories came flooding back to him as they had so often done.
"...Yo! Yo, Brian, dude, we gotta get up....we have to be at MTV in less than an hour!" Nick exclaimed, shaking Brian violently to try to wake him up. "Fuck off, Nick," he groaned, rolling over, "how did you get in here anyway? I thought that was the reason we got separate rooms?!"
Nick rolled his eyes and backed away. "Fine," he said, heading for the door, "make your own choices...see if I care."
Nick dashed down the hallway of the hotel, back into his own room. He yanked open the door to the mini bar and grabbed the mini sized bottle of vodka. "Bottoms up," he said to an empty room, as he downed the whole bottle in one gulp. "Yech!" he exclaimed, making a face and wiping his mouth, but he was already beginning to feel the effects.
He grabbed another bottle and did the same, before popping in a piece of gum and heading down to the lobby where the limo was supposed to be waiting.
Brian shuddered as he stood up shakily, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. He stumbled over to his medicine cabinet and swallowed two of the red capsules his doctor had prescribed him a while back. The pills were supposed to suppress anxiety and control nervous breakdowns.
********************************
Howie scanned furiously through his Rolodex, trying to find the name of someone who could take over as a model in his upcoming show. "Shit," he swore, as he finished looking through the P’s, "how is it possible that I know so many people, and I can’t even find a single person who’s qualified?!"
He ran his finger down the list of R’s. "No, no, no....no! I can’t use any of these people!" he exclaimed. Then his finger came to a familiar name. Kevin Richardson.
Howie bit his lip and tried to avert his eyes, but they didn’t steer away from the name. His eyes bore into the name like it was in a foreign language.
"Kevin, where are you going?" Howie asked, looking up from the Sports section of the newspaper.
Kevin smoothed out his shirt and checked himself in the mirror for the third time. "I have an appointment with the representatives from Donatella Versace this afternoon," he answered.
Howie nodded, his eyes furrowing in concern. "But....but...we have that interview today! Remember? That woman from Entertainment Weekly is interviewing us," he said.
Kevin nodded, trying not to look Howie straight in the eye. "I know man, I’m gonna have to duck out on that....this came up last minute, and it’s really important...you understand, right?" he asked.
"Sure....sure thing," Howie answered, lowering his eyes to the newspaper again. ‘What could be more important than the promotion of our new album?’ he thought to himself.
Howie snapped out of his daze. He looked at the name again, but immediately turned the page, moving on to the S’s.
DIDN'T WE ALMOST HAVE IT ALL MAIN PAGE
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