Studio in the Country

THE STUDIO IN THE COUNTRY, Part 7

• • • No pop singers were harmed in * * * * * * the creation of this installment. * * *

FEEDBACK: Still no sex in this one, but we're getting there. I'm trying to make this story sound sensible, but I'm afraid I'm just boring people by taking so long. If you want to contact me and make any comments, please send them to michaelwashere@netzero.com.

DISCLAIMER: The story that follows is a work of fiction. It should not be considered accurate or truthful representations of any actual person. This story is not intended to reflect the behavior, work habits, personal hygiene, sexual proclivities, or real feelings about Whitney Houston of any real person, living or dead.

WARNING: This story deals with homosexual themes. If this offends you, read no further. If you are under 18 years of age, read no further. If accessing this story causes you break any laws applicable to your location, read no further. If you're looking for the end of this paragraph, read no further.

ANOTHER SHAMELESS PLUG: Because the building in the story is complicated, I drew a floorplan before I began (maybe it's the DM in me?). You can see the floorplan at michaelwashere.homepage.com by clicking on the smiling Brian. So far, few have seen the floorplan, but it seems to get more criticism than the story. Joe Bob says "check it out."

THE STUDIO Part 7 - Wednesday night

Actually Robby had been in the studio booth with Ed and Dave for most of the afternoon, so nothing had been done yet for dinner. But my brother had been planning ahead: he'd asked Mike to pick up lots of coldcuts while he was at the store. By 4:00, Robby had a tray full of club sandwiches on the dining room table for the guys' afternoon snack.

If everyone had shown up, there wouldn't have been enough sandwiches to go around. Luckily, it was just the guys. The producers were still at work in the studio, and Ms. Shaw was on some conference call in her suite. Mom had heard reports of rain tomorrow, so she was out painting, taking advantage of the sunshine despite the relative heat. Dad and Stacey were at work in the offices, and I, of course, was in the laundry room.

Fortunately, that was close enough that I managed to snag a sandwich. I couldn't really participate in the conversation around the table, but I could hear most of it, and from time to time I stick my head into the hallway and yell some remarkably intelligent, incredibly funny comment.

At least, Howie and AJ laughed at them. I knew they were the smart ones.

It was almost 5:00 when the laundry was done. The sheets were folded and in the cabinets, and the guys' clothes were hanging or folded on the large cart we used for luggage, everything sorted by room and marked accordingly. I didn't want to give anyone the wrong clothes, even if the large number of T-shirts and sweatpants made them pretty interchangeable. I figured that if they'd had opportunities to dress up, there'd be more distinction.

Heading for the elevator, I pushed the cart into the corridor and immediately blocked the way for Mike, Nick and AJ.

"Jeez!" Mike yelled, pretending to be angry. "Can't they get good help in this place?"

I assumed my most deferential attitude. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. A thousand apologies, sir. Please, sir, let me move the cart out of the way, sir. May I carry you upstairs on my back, sir?" Mike and AJ laughed a little as I pulled the cart to let them by.

"See that it doesn't happen again!" Mike said as he and AJ walked by. Nick just stood there, and I looked at him quizzically.

"I wanna be carried up to my room," he said, whining a little.

As quick as I could, I grabbed his left wrist and, leaning down a little, pulled him over my left shoulder. Standing up again, I started toward the elevator. Nick laughed but didn't struggle. The four of us went to the elevator, and AJ pushed the button.

While we were waiting, Ed came from the studio toward his suite. Seeing Nick over my shoulder, he asked, "Is Nick okay?"

"He can't walk," AJ said. "His ego's too heavy for him to carry by himself."

Ed, Mike and I laughed. Nick said, "Hey!"

"Great comeback," AJ said.

I was careful not to bang Nick's head getting into the elevator. Once we were inside, Mike pushed the buttons for 2 and 3.

"What's on 3?" I asked him.

"The Playstation," he told me. "We're gonna move it back to the game room, so we can play during the barbecue."

The doors opened on 2. AJ and I got out. Mike continued up, and AJ headed toward his room. "See you guys downstairs," he yelled.

I walked toward the other suite, bouncing Nick more than was really necessary. I deposited a laughing Nick on the floor outside his door. As he unlocked it with his key, I said, "Well, I have laundry to deliver."

I turned toward the elevator, but Nick stopped me. "Ben, can the laundry wait?"

I turned to look at him. "I guess." I felt my forehead crease into my concerned expression. "You need something?" I asked him.

"No, nothing. I just wanna talk. You and I haven't talked much since I got here. Come in." Nick had the door open, and I followed him into his suite.

The living rooms of the suites were pretty plain. A long rectangle, with a balcony at one end and a kitchenette at the other. On one long wall was a door and a small fireplace. On the opposite wall, there were two bedrooms that shared a bath at one end and a bedroom with a private bath at the other end. The decorations were uniformly bland -- lots of beige and light tan and off-white -- but each suite had a different accent colour. This one had maroon, which showed up in upholstery fabric, throw pillows, ceramic lamps, and mats around the pictures.

From cleaning the suite twice now, I knew that Nick and Brian were sharing the bathroom at the west end and Howie had the solitary room in the middle of the building.

Nick flopped onto the beige love seat. "Aw, man," he said. "It feels so good to not have anything to do."

I laughed as I sat in the overstuffed chair that faced him. "I'll take your word for it. I don't remember the last time I didn't have something to do."

"Yeah, this place does seem to keep you guys busy," he responded. "I'm surprised you don't have more people working here. Do you want something to drink?" Before I could answer him, he was off the couch and in the little kitchen. The jokes I'd heard about him being hyper started to make sense. I walked over to the kitchenette. He had the door to the fridge open and was leaning over looking into the fridge. All I could really see was his legs and his butt.

I'd had a sandwich downstairs but nothing to drink, so I relieved him of a can of Dr. Pepper. Nick closed the fridge and hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, so I climbed onto one of the three bar stools that faced the kitchen and popped the tab on the can.

"What's it like to have a hotel and a recording studio in your house?" Nick asked me.

"Well, unless there are clients using the place, it just feels like a big house. But when they're are clients here, it's fun," I told him. "It's a lot of work, but it's fun."

"I think it would be pretty cool," he said. "If I had a studio in my house, we could all live at home while we're recording."

"But then you would never have had the pleasure of meeting us," I reminded him with a grin.

He smiled. "That's true. This place is great! It needs more night life, but it's great! I wish we could do more work here. Maybe we could come back and record our next album here."

"That'd be cool. But I guess that won't be for a while, since you're working on an album now."

"Oh, we're not working on an album," Nick said. "'Millennium' just came out. We're touring with that for the next few months. We just got a week off to record two Christmas songs."

"Christmas songs! That's what you've been doing here!"

"Yeah. They're for some compilation album that our record company's putting together. There are songs on it from a bunch of different people. We do one song by ourselves, and on the other we sing this really cool harmony behind Whitney Houston."

"Is she coming here?" I was imagining the money she'd bring in.

"No, she recorded her solo with Ed in LA last week. We're just incorporating the harmony underneath."

"Oh," I said, as the dollar signs in front of my eyes faded. I thought for a second. "You singing with her sounds like what 'NSYNC did with Gloria Estefan."

"Yeah. 98degrees is doing a song with Mariah Carey too," Nick told me.

"It sounds like as soon as one 'boy band' does something, the others do the same thing."

Nick laughed. "Yeah. Don't mention that around Kevin, though. He hates that."

"Hates what?"

"He hates the way the record companies copy each other," Nick said. "As soon as one does something that makes money, the others do the same thing. Like the way we started selling records and now there are other guy groups everywhere."

"Or the way Brittney Spears comes out with a record, so then Christina Aguilera and Mandy Moore appear," I added.

"Yeah," Nick said. "And Jessica Simpson."

I laughed a little. "You say 'yeah' a lot, don't you?"

"Yeah."

We were laughing at his little joke when someone knocked on the door. Nick yelled "come in" and Mike stepped inside, cradling the Playstation in one arm. He seemed a little surprised to see me but closed the door and walked over.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked.

"Just talking," I said.

"Yeah," Nick began. "I've spent lots of time with you and Robby, but I haven't talked to Ben much at all."

"Well, I'm going down to connect the Playstation, then I'm gonna help Robby in the kitchen."

"Make sure he doesn't spit in the food," I said.

Mike came back with, "But that's the only kind of seasoning he knows."

"Oh, you guys are so gross!" Nick said, making a hideous face but laughing at the same time.

Mike was heading toward the door. "Don't do that with your face -- it'll stick that way." Mike swung the door open and found AJ about to knock on it.

"People keep doing that to me today," AJ said, lowering his raised hand. He stepped into the room, around Mike. He was wearing a black bathing suit and a T-shirt. "C'mon, Nick! The pool is waiting, and you haven't even changed."

"He's been busy flirting with my brother," Mike laughed, exiting through the door that AJ had left open.

AJ looked at the departing Mike, then at Nick, then at me, then at Nick again. "Is that true?" he asked.

He sounded so sincere that I wasn't sure for a second that he was kidding. But I said, "Well, if he was flirting, he was doing a lousy job 'cause I didn't notice a thing." I smiled at Nick to show I was kidding and stood up. "I really need to get that laundry put away."

"C'mon, Nick! Get changed!"

"You go on down," Nick said to AJ. "I'll change and be right down."

AJ and I stepped out into the hall, leaving Nick to change. While we waited for the elevator, I noticed AJ looking at me for a second.

"What is it?" I asked. "Do I have something in my nose or something?"

"What were you and Nick talking about?" He tried to make it sound casual, but he wasn't completely convincing.

"About the songs you were recording. I thought you were working on an album, but he said they were Christmas songs."

The elevator doors opened and we stepped in. "Yeah," AJ said. "Two songs for some Christmas album. They're pretty cool, if you like Christmas music."

"He also said that he'd like to come back here the next time you guys do an album."

"That would be cool," AJ said. "It'd be a long way to bring the musicians, though. The more people have to travel, the more it costs to do the album."

I'd heard that same thought from Dad before. It was one of his concerns about making this studio a viable business, and one of the reasons we mostly recorded bands that played their own instruments. The studio was large enough to hold singers and a small orchestra, but getting a large group to come this far from the city was a real obstacle.

The elevator let us out on the first floor. AJ stepped out toward the patio, and I headed to the laundry room to deliver the laundry.

The laundry was put away by 6:30. Tired, I went up to my rooms, flopped on the couch in my living room, and watched a rerun of the Simpsons. At seven, I headed down for dinner.

Everyone was on the patio when I got there. And had been for a while, judging by the number of empty aluminum cans and beer bottles on the three round picnic tables. Mike had opened the windows into the game room and turned the stereo to a Dallas radio station to provide background music.

Robby had commandeered the fourth round table and set it next to the grill to use it as a buffet. He was behind the grill, wearing Dad's apron that said "Don't ask me. I just work here." On the grill, hamburgers and hot dogs were sizzling away, while ears of corn and some kind of mixed vegetables cooked slowly in foil trays on the top rack. The table held all the bread, condiments and side dishes.

Stacey and AJ were sitting on two of the lounge chairs, their food resting on an empty chair between them. Dad sat with Ed and Dave at one of the tables. Kevin, Mom and Ms. Shaw sat nearby at another table and, judging from the laughter, the six of them seemed to be having a great conversation. I heard Dad use the words "filthy apartment," so I guessed he was telling them about how he and Mom met during their hippy days in San Francisco.

Mike, Nick, Howie and Brian sat at the third table. The guys were wearing T-shirts and wet bathing suits, and their hair had the messy look of having been rubbed with a towel. Damp towels were hanging over the two empty lounge chairs near the pool. Everyone had been eating for a while, judging from the mess, but there was still a lot of food.

I stepped up next to Robby. "This looks good," I said, looking over the spread on his table.

"It's about time you got out here," Robby said. He looked at his watch, noticed the time, then asked, "Which episode of the Simpsons was it?"

Sometimes, I think my brothers know me too well. "The one where Marge was in 'A Streetcar Named Desire'." I reached for a plate from his table.

"Here," he said, pulling two hot dogs from the grill and indicating for me to put two buns on a plate. "I saved these for you. Mike said you wanted me to spit on your food."

"Aw, you're too sweet!" I laughed. Once my plate was ready and I'd grabbed a glass of water, I started looking around for a seat.

"Ben, over here!" Mike was yelling. I grabbed one of the leftover chairs and carried it toward their table, even though the other two were less crowded. Howie and Nick moved over a little to make room for me, and I sat down.

"No Dr. Pepper?" Howie asked, noticing what I was drinking.

"Nah, I've had enough for a while," I said. "I'm gonna have a couple of beers, but I wanted to get some water in my system first."

"Ben has this theory," Mike started explaining, "that if you drink enough water, you won't have a hangover."

"Well, that's part of it," I said. "Having a Dr. Pepper the next morning helps. It evens out your blood sugar and gives you some caffeine to get your metabolism going."

Howie laughed. "You sound like a hangover expert."

"He was a liberal arts major," Brian said. He was talking to Howie, but he grinned at me when he went on, "They have to know a little about a lot of things." I grinned back at him. When I cast my eyes down to my own dinner, I noticed that Brian wasn't drinking from the same kind of cup everyone else had. He was using one of the highball glasses that we kept in the bar in the first floor common room. It was mostly empty, with just ice cubes and the remains of something amber-coloured in the bottom.

"Drink your water," Nick said, "so you can have a beer with us." I noticed that Howie had a beer, but Nick and Mike were drinking soft drinks.

"Well, this is awkward," I said. I was smiling at Nick but talking a little loudly, hoping that Dad would notice. "On one hand, you're a client so we want to keep you happy. But on the other hand, you're an underage kid who wants a beer. What should we do about this, Mike?"

I was really asking Dad that question, but it was Kevin that answered. "Nothing," he said. "If Nick wants a beer, he'll have to deal with me."

"Oh, you're no fun," Nick said over his shoulder to Kevin. His tone was whiny in an exaggerated way, so I could tell he didn't really mean it. When he turned back around, he said quietly to me, "You're no fun either." I thought he was still kidding, but I really couldn't tell.

"So, any exciting plans for tonight?" Howie said, changing the subject. "What are we gonna do?"

"I've got the Playstation set up, if anyone wants to play," Mike said.

"I do," Nick said, reaching for his drink. "And AJ might."

"I don't have any real plans," I said to Howie. "There's a lot of movies on the third floor. Maybe there's something you wanna watch."

"Sounds good," Howie said. "What about you, Bri? Whaddya wanna do?"

Brian seemed a little out of it. Whether he was thinking hard about something or a little drunk I don't know, but it took a couple of seconds before he heard Howie's question and replied, "Huh? Oh, uh, I don't know. A movie sounds good. What do you have, Ben?"

"Lots of stuff," I told him. "After we eat, let's go up and have a look."

Stacey started yelling, "Oooo! Oooo! Listen!" Everyone looked at her then got quiet to hear whatever it was she was directing our attention to. The only sounds were the pool filters and the stereo, which was playing some song I didn't recognize at first. But the guys did.

"It's 'NSYNC," Stacey yelled. "Aren't they wonderful?" She really exaggerated the last word, drawing it out to have at least four Ns in it. Then she smiled big as the guys started booing and yelling insulting things, laughing all the while. Nick threw a wadded-up paper napkin at her, and she laughed as she deflected it with her hands. It hit AJ instead, but he was laughing as much as anyone.

When the laughter died down a bit, I looked at Howie and Brian. "Do you really hate those guys as much as everyone says?"

Brian said "no," and Howie embellished on it. "They're just another bunch of guys who make records. We don't really hate them, but we do get mad at their record company using them to copy us so much."

"Only now they're working for the same record company," Brian said.

Kevin had evidently been listening from his table. "They're the competition," he said, "but they're fairly nice guys in person. They're just another group in the same business."

"Well," I heard Dad's voice begin, "we may get a chance to find out how nice they are for ourselves." We looked at him, and he looked toward Ms. Shaw before continuing. "The record company may be sending them here to do some work in two or three weeks."

"That's part of what my conference call was about this afternoon," Ms. Shaw explained. She was talking to all of us, but looking mostly at Dave and Kevin. "There's some song they want to re-work a bit for a movie, and their management wanted to know what I thought of the facilities here." Looking toward Mom and Dad now, she continued, "I told them that the facilities were first rate, so they could send the guys on if the scheduling worked out."

I looked at Mike then Robby. We all knew that our schedule was free. The studio wasn't booked by anyone else until November, so we needed the business. Especially another popular group with some money to spend.

"So 'NSYNC will be working here?" Stacey asked.

"Perhaps," Dad told her. "We should know something by Friday or Monday."

"Is that what your phone call was about this morning?" Mike asked him.

"Yes. Their people wanted to know what kind of equipment we had here and whether our studio was booked for the week after next or the week after that. I told them the larger studio was available, and they said they'd get back to me by Monday at the latest." Mike smiled slyly at me. We knew what Dad was doing: both studios were available, but we didn't want the record company to know that nothing was going on here.

"Stacey, watch out for Joey!" Howie yelled across the patio to Stacey. "He's a bigger flirt than AJ!"

Most people laughed. "Hey!" yelled AJ.

"Great comeback," Nick and Robby said to him at the same time.

It wasn't long after that that Mike and Nick moved into the game room to play games on the big screen TV. The rest of us lingered over dinner for a long time, sitting and talking long after we were done eating.

With the radio off, I could hear more of what was being said at the other tables. Dad had been telling stories of his years as a hippy guitar player, before going back to college and then law school. Now the others were talking about what they'd done during the 60s and 70s. Ms. Shaw, it turns out, had spent a couple of years as a disco queen in Miami, and she had some great stories.

After covering the food, Robby sat beside me in what had been Nick's chair. He, Howie and I had a nice conversation about their current tour. Brian didn't say much.

AJ, Stacey and Kevin tried to swim again, but as the sun disappeared behind the house it got too cold. They climbed out, and the guys went up to their room to shower and get dry clothes. Stacey headed into the office to change in the restroom.

Brian had followed Kevin inside, but he didn't go up to his room. He was back a few minutes later, with his glass refilled.

"What're you drinking?" Robby asked him.

"Rum and Coke," Brian said. "I found the bar downstairs and made this. That's okay, isn't it?" His tone was a little apologetic, like he didn't know if he'd done something wrong or not.

"Yeah, sure," Robby said.

"You're not the one who spilled the pretzels in the couch, are you?" I asked him. I smiled, trying to sound casual, but I was really curious.

"Uh, I'm afraid that was me," Ed said from behind me. "Dave and I played pool last night, and I dropped the bag a couple of times."

Well, that was one mystery solved, I thought. I intended to ask Ed who'd won the games, but Robby spoke first.

"I guess I should start the cleaning process." He stood up.

"Ben and I will help you," Howie said, standing himself.

I gave him a confused look, then looked at Robby, then Howie again. Then I shrugged like I was resigning myself to my fate. "I guess we will," I said.

Robby and Howie began gathering the dishes onto trays while I drank the last of the beer in my bottle. Then I stood up. Brian was now sitting alone at the table, and I said, "Brian, what are you gonna do?"

He laughed slightly. "I'm gonna sit here and watch you guys work."

Everything was cleaned and put away inside an hour. Howie, Robby and I were heading toward the third floor common room.

When we got to the elevator, the door beside it was open a bit and we could hear noise from the first floor common room. The door to the room was open, and our first sight was Kevin's butt: he was bending over the pool table taking a shot. Dave and Ed were sitting at the little bar, and Dave was holding a pool cue, evidently awaiting his turn. Behind the bar stood Brian. I was glad to see he wasn't alone.

I let my gaze return to Kevin's butt. While I was checking him out, hoping I was being discreet, Howie reached over and pinched it.

Kevin stood up fast enough to hurt himself and whirled around to see who'd done it. I pointed right at Howie and Robby pointed left at Howie. The other guys laughed. Our pointing like that was funny because it was done at the same time, like we'd rehearsed it. They didn't know that we had: my brothers and I did that to each other every chance we got, usually blaming everything on Mike.

"Sorry, Kev," Howie said with a grin. "I couldn't resist."

"You should have tried harder," Kevin said. He tried to sound angry, but he was grinning a little bit.

"Don't blame Howie, Kevin," Robby said. "I saw Dave slip him five bucks to make you mess up this shot."

"I did not," Dave protested, feigning indignance.

"And," I started in, "if Howie hadn't done it, I would have." I grinned at him.

"I guess my butt is irresistible," Kevin said.

"No, I wanted the five bucks," I said, walking past him to the bar. The others laughed again. I hopped onto a stool beside Ed, but Robby and Howie were still at the door.

"I gotta take this shot," Kevin said to Howie. "You go stand over there." Howie grinned big and walked over to stand next to me, but Robby didn't move. "You too," Kevin added, and Robby walked away with his what-did-I-do look on his face.

Kevin and Dave kept playing, with occasional critiquing from Ed. I decided I wanted a drink and stepped behind the bar. Brian was standing with his knees blocking the small refrigerator, leaning onto the bar. His glass stood nearby.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "How ya doing, bud?" I asked him.

He looked up at me slowly. His eyelids were drooping a little, and a thin smile crossed his face. "I'm okay," he said softly.

I looked around. Kevin and Dave were discussing how best to take some shot, and the others were watching them. No one was paying attention as I leaned in to Brian and whispered, "Are you sure? I've been worried about you."

He smiled up at me, multiple dimples appearing. "Thanks. But you don't need to worry about me."

"Well, I do," I argued. "You're a good guy, and I don't like to see you unhappy."

Another smile and another "thanks."

I looked around again and whispered, "Would you do me a favour?"

A slightly confused look crossed Brian's face. "What?" he asked me.

"Move so I can open the fridge?" I said, very seriously. But then we smiled again. Brian stepped to one side, and I opened the fridge and took out the small bottle of vodka that I kept in the freezing compartment. I poured a bit into one of the highball glasses, but I kept the bottle.

"Ew!" Howie said. "You drink that stuff?"

"Yeah," I told him, having a sip.

"Not me," Robby said. "I only use it to clean paint brushes."

"Let me try it," Brian said. I started to pour him some into another glass, but he took my glass instead and sipped from it. He tried to be cool about it, but the look on his face told me he didn't like it much. "I think I'll stick to rum and Coke," he said once he'd recovered voluntary control of his face.

"Fine," I said. "You drink your little girly drink, then." I was joking, but the look that crossed his face was more serious than it should have been.

"C'mon, Ben," Howie said. "Let's go watch a movie." He grabbed my arm and dragged me from the room, following Robby.

The third floor common room was the same layout as below: a long room with a little alcove in one corner. But while below there was a pool table, here there was an open space with two couches on either side and a big-screen TV on the outside wall. The couches faced each other instead of the television: this was so that two people could lie lengthwise on them to see the television.

Between the long couches and two easy chairs, the room could accommodate lots of people comfortably, but the arrangement was really designed to keep two people really comfortable. Mike's idea: he used the room most often to watch really loud movies where the rest of us wouldn't have to listen.

The corner alcove on the first floor had a bar built around it. This alcove had shelves for movies above and below a row of cabinets with a small fridge, sink and microwave. I stashed my vodka in the fridge while Howie and Robby looked over the movies, then I claimed one of the couches, lying lengthwise with my head at one end.

Howie turned, saw me, glanced at Robby, then grabbed the other couch while my brother loaded a tape into the VCR.

I grinned at Howie. "What are we watching?" I yelled toward Robby.

"Die Hard," he said, turning around. When he saw us, lying comfortably and smiling up at him, he waved his hands in the air and shook his head. "Fine. Fine," he said. "I'll sit in a chair."

"Don't sit down yet," Howie said. "Can you call downstairs and tell Brian what we're watching. He likes this movie."

"Oh, sure," Robby said. "Any other orders, sir?"

Howie grinned. "You could get me something to drink."

"And put some popcorn in the microwave," I added.

"And then come rub my feet," Howie said, smiling and kicking his shoes off. "They hurt."

"If he'd gonna touch your feet," I said, "I'll make my own popcorn."

Brian did come up and watch the movie with us. He and Robby grabbed the two easy chairs and put them between the sofas, Robby sitting next to Howie and Brian next to me. Every time the spies spoke German to each other, Robby would yell, "What'd they say?" and I'd tell him.

"You speak German?" Brian asked me.

"A little," I said. "I studied it in college."

"What all did you study in college?" Howie said. "It sounds like you know everything."

"Not everything," I said, "but I'll kick your butt at Trivial Pursuit."

"Shut up," Robby yelled. "I can't hear what the spies are saying."

"Big deal," Brian laughed at him. "You can't understand them anyway."

When the movie ended, we all scrambled around a little. Brian and Howie looked through the movies for something else to watch. Robby ran down to the kitchen to get us food. I unlocked on of the third floor suites so we could use the bathroom. It was a popular idea: Brian and Howie were both behind me as soon as I got the door open.

I laughed at them. "You guys need something?" I asked as I clicked on the lights.

"Plumbing," Brian said, brushing past me and entering the suite. The layout was the same as his room, so he found the bathroom with no problem. Howie said he could wait, so I used the other one.

When I came out, Howie and Brian were standing in the living room. "Why is all the furniture still wrapped in plastic?" Howie asked.

"We haven't used these two suites yet, so everything is still wrapped up," I explained to him. "So far, the four suites downstairs have been enough."

When Robby came out of the elevator, he had Nick, Mike and AJ with him. Mike was helping him carry the food, and AJ had a little ice chest with him. While the guys got food and something to drink, I reclaimed my couch. I knew I had to be fast, especially with the increased competition.

AJ noticed what I'd done and grabbed the other couch before anyone else could.

"Mikey, look what time it is!" Robby yelled. Most of us glanced at the blue clock on the VCR. Mike and Robby yelled "South Park time!"

Robby and Brian got their chairs back. AJ bent his legs and let Howie sit down. Mike just lay down on top of me with his head on my chest. He'd done this ever since he was little. In the family no one thought much about it, but I wondered how it looked to the guys. Howie and Brian looked at us a little odd, but Nick distracted them by whining about having to sit on the floor. Finally he sat in front of Brian, with his back against the couch Mike and I were lying on.

While Robby was finding the right channel with the remote, Brian handed me another glass of vodka. He had another rum & Coke in his other hand. "Why, Mr. Littrell," I said, aping the voice of a scandalized Southern lady, "I believe you're trying to get me drunk."

Brian smiled. "I don't know why I'd bother," he said, nodding at Mike. "You've already got another guy in your lap." I was still trying to think of some comeback when the show started.

As usual, the show was funny and disgusting and tasteless and politically incorrect. We loved it. Afterward, we were still laughing at it when our next movie started. Howie, it turns out, could do a pretty good imitation of Cartman. If anyone complained about his choice of LA Confidential, he'd tell them to "Respect his authori-tie!"

At some point during the movie, Mike fell asleep on top of me. Brian noticed it before I did. When I noticed Brian smiling at me, he nodded at Mike and I saw he was asleep. Brian leaned over toward me and whispered, "You two are awfully affectionate."

"Yeah," I told him. "We're an affectionate family."

"I come from an affectionate family," Brian said, "but I never fall asleep on top of Kevin like that."

"Maybe you should," I grinned up at him. Mike stirred a little, and I signaled to Brian that we shouldn't wake him up.

I must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing I knew Robby was leaning over me, waking me up. Drowsily, I looked around the room. AJ was asleep on the other couch, but Brian and Howie were no where to be seen. Mike was still there asleep, but now he was lying on his side with his arm over the shoulder of a sleeping Nick.

When he saw that I'd noticed them, Robby said, "It looks like our baby brother has made a friend." I smiled at him but saw in Robby's face what he was thinking.

"You don't think...," I began. "I doubt it. He just turned over in his sleep."

"Yeah. Sure," Robby said. He didn't believe me, but I figured it was nothing. We woke Mike up first so that he could move his arm before we woke up Nick. Once everyone was awake, Nick and AJ said "good night" and headed down to their rooms. Robby started to clean, but I offered to do it.

"Don't worry about this," I told him. "Get Mike to bed, and I'll take care of all this."

"You sure?" Robby asked.

"No problem," I told him. Mike was sitting up on the couch but was quickly going back to sleep. He'd always slept harder than anyone in the family. "Mikey?" I whispered, leaning in close and putting my hand on top of his head. "Mikey, c'mon. Time to get to bed."

Mike was trying to stand up. "C'mon, Mikey," Robby said, helping him to his feet. "Let's go."

Mike was standing and moving, but he wasn't awake, not even when he wrapped me in a tight hug and whispered "G'night, Big Brother."

Once the little brothers were gone, I turned off the TV and VCR and returned the tapes to their boxes. Once the room was straightened up fairly well, I went into the suite, made sure all the lights were off, and locked the door back. Maybe ten minutes later, I headed downstairs to go to bed.

I was getting pretty sleepy as I half-walked, half-stumbled through the dark dining room toward the staircase beside the kitchen. I didn't need to turn on any lights. The security lights around the patio, with their insect-discouraging yellow bulbs, cast a hazy glow through the French doors, enough for me to avoid any impending furniture. I rounded Mom's end of the dining table and was about to pass through into the hallway when I heard a quiet voice.

"Hi, Ben," the voice said slowly, drawing the syllables out. It was Brian's voice. Looking into the dark game room, I could barely see him sitting on the couch there. "Does your offer to talk still stand?" He sounded tired, but there was more than that. He was speaking a little indistinctly, almost mumbling.

A little more awake now, I stepped up to the doorway and looked at him. My eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and I could see him better. He was sitting at one end of the couch that faced the big-screen TV, his back to the open doorway toward the living room. "Sitting" may be generous -- he was really hunched down low, the back of his head against the armrest and his bare feet almost reaching the other end of the couch.

"Sure, bud." I was trying to make my voice sound friendly and compassionate, but I never know how good a job I've done at stuff like that. "I told you: if you need me, you know where I live."

He laughed slightly. "That's why I staked out the road to your apartment."

I walked around the opposite end of the couch, casting a shadow across him as I passed between him and the French doors. He bent his knees and pulled his feet up to give me room to sit down facing him. As I sat with my back against the couch's other armrest, the yellow light from outside again hit Brian. His eyelids were drooping half-shut. "Whaddya wanna talk about, Brian?"

He just looked at me for a few seconds. His mouth was open slightly, and I could hear that he was breathing through it. I heard a glassy sound from the coffee table. When I looked, I saw his bar glass sitting there, the ice cubes resettling as they melted against each other.

"You have a great family," Brian said finally.

I looked at him. I don't know what I was expecting to hear from him, but this wasn't it. "Yeah, I do," I replied.

"I do, too," he said. "I have two great families. I have my real family in Kentucky, and I have those guys upstairs. They're both my families, and they're great." I was listening, but part of me wondered how much Brian had had to drink. And how much drinking he did in general.

"And I don't ever want to do anything to hurt them," he went on. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking down at some meaningless point between us. His chin moved back and forth a little as he spoke.

After he'd paused for a few seconds, I said, "I'm sure you wouldn't do anything to hurt them."

Now he looked me in the eyes. His blue eyes were fully open now, watery and sad in the pale light. "I am too." His voice wavered as he said the words. "I'm gonna hurt them. I'm gonna hurt them all." His lower lip was trembling as he spoke, and his face wrinkled a bit as he began to cry while still talking. Tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks. "I don't want to, but I am."

Now he was really sobbing. His head went forward to rest on his knees, and he wrapped his arms around his legs. I didn't think about what I did next: I just moved down the couch toward him and put my arms around him. He let go of his legs and wrapped his arms around me. His knees were between us, but he touched my right shoulder with the top of his head and buried his face in his left arm. The sobbing became quiet crying. His breath came deeply from his mouth as his body shuddered. A quick inhalation, then more crying.

I just sat there and held him as he cried.

After a few minutes, the worst of it was over. He gave a long sigh that sounded so sad, so desperate that I knew he hadn't stopped crying because of any consolation I had given him. He just couldn't cry anymore just then.

He took his arms from around my shoulders, sat up and wiped his eyes with his fingers. I sat up straighter too but didn't move away from him. After wiping at his eyes a few times to take care of any straggling tears and sniffing once or twice, Brian looked up at me. His eyes were partially closed again, still sad but not so pained as before. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice a little scratchy but more sober than before.

"Sure," I said softly. I smiled at him and reached out with my left hand to squeeze his shoulder. He tried to smile back, but it only lasted a second before he was looking down toward the carpet, at nothing in particular. My voice still quiet, I said, "Brian, do you wanna tell me the rest?" His lower lip trembled a little at that idea, so I added, "You don't have to, buddy. But if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

He kept looking at the carpet, but his lip stopped trembling. His face became calm, and he stiffened his shoulders a bit. "My family's gonna hate me," he said quietly. "Hell, I hate me. Why shouldn't they?"

Instinct almost took over. I was tempted to say "Don't say that," but that would not have been the right thing to say. I'm here to listen, I told myself. Not to critique what he's telling me, or to tell him how to feel. So I sat and waited for him to go on. When he didn't, I prompted him. "Why?" I asked.

He turned his head to look at me, his face at an angle and his chin jutted out a little defiantly. It didn't last long: his eyes teared and his lower lip trembled a bit as his resolve faltered. But he pursed his lips to stop from crying again. When he felt safe to speak again without losing it, he said, "I think I'm gay."

I lost track of how many thoughts went through my head when I heard that. Oh, God! I know exactly how this feels. He thinks he's gay, but is he really? This could ruin his career, and the guys' too. Maybe his family won't hate him. Mine didn't. But I remember how scary it was to tell them. What about the guys? How will they take this? Why is he telling me this? Does he know about me? How many times have I had this same conversation with somebody? Eight? Ten? God, I remember how hard this was for Dad to hear when I told him. How will Brian's dad feel? And his mom? At least he's famous, and there are thousands of guys that are already attracted to him. A gay guy in show business: is that cliche or what? What if the guy's throw him out of the group? Maybe he's not, maybe he's just a little confused. I mean, most people wonder at some point. What about Kevin? Kevin's his cousin. And the ones that say they don't wonder are just repressing something. If Brian's gay, do I have a chance with him? Brian doesn't have to be totally gay. He could be bi. 'Depends how he feels about women. It'd be awfully hard for him to have any kind of social life and keep this secret. Jesus, he's hurting and I'm already fantasizing about hitting on him. How mercenary can I get? I'm just sitting here. He's gonna think I'm disgusted or something. I'd better say something.

That's some of what I thought. But all I said to Brian was a very non-committal "okay."

He seemed confused by my reaction, but he didn't say anything. I switched into my logical, sensible voice -- the one Mom uses when she slowly asks us a series of questions until we realize how supremely stupid something we've done was. "Okay, you said you 'think' you're gay. Why do you think that?"

He still looked confused. I went on. "Brian, I'm not making light of this. But a lot of people wonder about this at some point in their lives. A guy can go along, perfectly straight all his life, then one day in the locker room he catches himself checking out another guy's ass and he agonizes for weeks that he's gonna be gay."

"This isn't like that," Brian said. "I've been..." He paused, hesitant to use a verb. "...checking out guys for a long time. Years. At first, I didn't even admit to myself that that's what I was doing. I didn't want to admit it to myself. I didn't want to be gay."

"I can understand that," I said. "Even if you don't think it's abnormal or evil, it can still be difficult. The world is full of people ready to hate you for it."

"Sometimes, I do think it's evil or abnormal," he said quietly. I didn't say anything, wanting him to explain more and not really liking where this was going. "I'm very religious -- my whole family is -- and we were taught that it's a sin, that it's evil." His voice began by just explaining, but toward the end of the sentence it filled with despair as he realized the real weight of what he was saying. I put my hand on his shoulder again.

"That would make it hard. If you are gay, and if you honestly believe that being gay is evil, then that makes you evil." The look in his eyes made me sorry that I'd been so blunt, but I didn't know how else to say it. I gave up trying to argue against someone's religious beliefs a long time ago. How do you argue against something that's based on faith and not logic?

"Do you feel evil?" I asked him.

His eyes panicked even more for a second; then they calmed down quite a bit. "No," he said, a little confidence returning to his voice. "No, I'm not evil. I'm a good guy. I'm nice and friendly and generous, and I help people. I'm not evil."

Good, I thought. This is better. "And if you are gay, are you still a good guy who just happens to be gay?"

The confused look returned for just a second, then was gone. "I guess so," he said simply. His shoulders visibly relaxed. I squeezed his right shoulder again. When he smiled up at me, I reached around to pat him on the back in my most brotherly fashion, before putting my arm over the back of the couch and leaning to that side.

"How long have you seriously been considering that you might be gay?" I asked him.

"Seriously?"

"Well, you said that you thought about it but wouldn't admit the possibility to yourself. When did you finally admit the possibility?"

Brian's eyes went back to the meaningless spot on the carpet. He sighed slightly and shook his head. "I don't know. I guess the idea's really been building for almost a year. But it seems like all the time, I'm noticing guys more and more. I find myself watching them. Staring at them. And..."

Brian turned to look me straight in the eye. "And sometimes I have these really sexy dreams. At first there were a lot of dreams about playing basketball with guys, but they'd turn me on. Then there was less basketball, and more..." Another pause while he breathed deeply. "...more sex."

His expression was a little worried, like he was again afraid that he'd admitted too much and disgusted me. My eyes looked straight into his. For a second I was distracted, wondering whose eyes were bluer, but I corralled my thoughts. "Do you ever have sexy dreams about women?" I asked him.

"Not really," he said softly. "I mean, I notice good-looking women. I like them. I like going out with them, and holding them, and kissing them. But it's never been really, y'know, lustful, like these dreams about guys. I always thought it was because I was a nice guy who respected women too much to just treat them like sex objects. But I guess I really don't think of them as sex objects. I mean, with the right guy, I can get pretty..." More groping for the right word. "...passionate."

We both smiled at his choice of word. The whole situation between us was a lot more relaxed than just a few minutes ago. I was really lean into the back of the couch by now, and Brian shifted to face forward, sitting with his back shoulders against the back of the couch, his hands resting casually on his widespread knees.

"Brian, look," I said simply. "It sounds like there's a lot going on with you right now. I don't want to sound too much like a therapist here, but you're gonna have to figure out if you are gay. Some people just know; some people take years to realize it; some people are and never figure it out -- it's very different for everyone. Then, if you decide you are, there'll be a lot of decisions to make. And you might want to spend some time trying to figure out why."

"Figuring out why? Whaddya mean?" he asked.

"Well, no one really knows why some people are gay," I told him. "Some people say it's just they way they were born. Some people say it's a choice. Some doctors say it's a chemical imbalance or hormone deficiency that affects the brain. Maybe it comes from things that happened in childhood, or sexual abuse, or lousy parents: I mean, I know lots of gay guys and they almost all had crappy relationships with their father -- maybe there's a connection there."

I knew that was a lot to take in, but I had one more thought to add. "And a lot of people never worry about why they're gay: they just accept it as part of who they are and go on."

Brian was shaking his head in disbelief. "Dude, you've spent a lot of time thinking about this!"

"Yeah!" I nodded. "In college, I did all kinds of reading on the possible causes. Personally, I think they all make sense. Maybe some people are born gay, and some are made gay by various reasons. I'm sure there's no one explanation for everybody."

Brian looked over at me and grinned. "I just thought you'd be easy to talk to. I didn't know you'd researched this."

"Well, when I was trying to come to terms with being gay..."

"You're gay!" He was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah." It was my turn to look surprised. "I thought you knew."

"No." He sat up and turned to face me. At first he had nothing to say, but then he shook his head again and laughed slightly. "Aw, man, if I'd known you were gay, this would've been a lot easier."

"'Sorry, bud. I thought you knew and that why you were talking to me about this."

"I had no idea," Brian said. He sat for a couple of seconds, staring at nothing over the back of the couch and biting his lower lip. Finally, he said, "I don't know if this makes things easier or more complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I wasn't going to tell you, but yesterday I had one of those dreams where I had sex with another guy." His voice trailed off.

"Yeah?"

"It was you."

"Me? You dreamed about having sex with me?"

Brian's face was hard to read. He looked maybe a little scared, like he was afraid again that he'd disgusted me. "Yeah," he said finally.

I looked deep into his eyes, trying to decide what to say next. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I also didn't want to come on too excited: he was confused about a lot of things right now, and I didn't want to take advantage of that. One weak joke coming up, I decided.

"Was I any good?" I asked him shyly. It took a couple of seconds for him to smile back at me. Then we both laughed. We laughed longer than made sense, really, but I guess it was a relief after such an intense conversation.

When I stopped laughing, I asked him, "Have you told the guys about any of this?"

"Just Kevin. He cornered me yesterday and wanted to know what was bothering me. Wouldn't leave me alone until I told him. He seemed okay with it, but I know he worries about me telling my parents."

"Yeah, that is hard. Even the coolest parents don't always take this well."

Unconsciously glancing toward the second floor, Brian asked, "Do your parents know?"

"Yeah, I told them three years ago. Just before my junior year of college." I smiled a bit at the memory of my timing. "I guess it was kind of cowardly. I told them, then went away for four months 'til they could get used to the idea."

"Were they cool about it?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "I mean, they weren't happy about it. I talked, then we talked, then they went upstairs and talked to each other, then they came down and we talked again -- it took hours before we were done."

"What did they say to you?"

"They told me that if I was sure about this they'd support me, but they wanted me to be sure. Mom made me promise to start seeing the university counselor for a semester, to straighten things out. And Dad sent me all kinds of articles and books to read. He read them too. He probably did more research than I did." I laughed a little, remembering how fervently Dad had dug into those books, then I added, "Once a lawyer, always a lawyer."

Brian didn't laugh. He was staring at the carpet again. "I'm really worried about telling my parents," he said, his voice soft and timid again.

I squeezed his right shoulder one more time. "Don't tell them until you're sure about things. I mean, don't make them worry unnecessarily."

"I won't," he said seriously.

"Are you worried about telling the guys?"

"Nah." Brian shook his head. "They were pretty cool when Howie told us he was..." He stopped and looked up at me quickly. The look on his face said, "shit, I've said too much."

I just smiled. "Howie's gay?" When he nodded, my smile widened as I sat back and said, "Well, that will make Robby happy?"

"You mean Robby's gay too?"

I laughed. "No, but he guessed that Howie was. He's been trying to fix me up with him."

Brian's face was serious. "Well," he began slowly, "if you're interested in Howie, I could see what I could..."

I laughed again. "No, don't go to any trouble. Howie's a good guy. If something happens, it happens." I shifted on the couch so that I wasn't sitting on my foot anymore. "And it better happen fast. You guys are probably out of here on Friday, right?"

Brian nodded. "Probably." He didn't sound happy at the idea, and inwardly I was happy that he didn't sound happy. Suddenly, it was really important to me that they stay.

But I didn't want to be too pathetic. After all, we were just becoming friends. "Well, when you guys leave," I said, "can we stay in touch? You're gonna go through a lot, and I wanna be there for you, even if you are thousands of miles away."

"Yeah," he smiled, "I'd like that."

That was when we heard Kevin's voice from the dark dining room. "Brian?"

We both looked over toward the doorway just as Kevin ambled sleepily into it. "Hey, Kev," Brian said. "What are you doing up?"

"Looking for you. Nick called my room to tell me you were missing, so I came down to find you. You okay?"

"Yeah," Brian said. He turned to smile at me. "I'm just talking to Ben here."

Kevin looked at Brian, then at me, then back at Brian. It was pretty obvious he was thinking hard, but I don't know him well enough to begin to guess what. His expression was pretty unreadable. After half a minute, he said, "Well, I'm going back to bed." He turned to step back into the dining room.

"Kev, wait up!" Brian stood up, and I followed suit. "I'm going to bed too." Kevin stopped walking away and turned back toward the game room in time to see Brian grab me in a tight hug. During the hug, he whispered "Thanks, Ben" into my right ear.

His warm breath on my ear did crazy things to the little hairs on the back of my neck, but I was cool. I broke the hug and held Brian by the shoulders at almost arm's length. "Sure, buddy. I'm glad I could be here to listen to you."

Still standing in front of me, Brian looked over at Kevin but said to me, "Do you think we could get breakfast up in our rooms tomorrow? I think we need to have a group meeting in the morning. I have something to tell the guys."

This seemed to surprise both Kevin and me. I put my hand on Brian's shoulder for the umpteenth time that night. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" I asked him quietly.

"Yeah," he said to me. He looked at Kevin and continued. "The guys are already worried about me. I might as well tell them what it's about before they imagine something worse."

"Well, Mike is supposed to make omelets in the morning. When you're ready for them, call down to the kitchen and tell us what you want in them. I'll bring them up to whichever room you want."

"Thanks, bud," Brian said, squeezing my shoulder for a change. He walked around the couch to Kevin, patting him on the back as he went past him. "C'mon, cuz. Let's get some sleep. G'night, Ben," he said before stepping into the dining room.

"G'night, guys," I said to them both.

Then Kevin said "goodnight, Ben" very flatly and walked off.

Well, there it is. It feels like it took forever to write that. It clears up some things, but I hope it didn't answer all your questions: I want you to come back for Part 8.