Tristan Trilogy- Story 3

CHAPTER 4

Just before four o' clock on Saturday afternoon, the announcement of Kevin Richardson's marriage to Tristan Mallory was announced on MTV courtesy of Kurt Loder. The news was sandwiched between reports of Eminem's arrest on weapons charges and Metallica's summer tour dates. The obviously bored Loder delivered the revelation in two short sentences:

"A representative of the management group, The Firm, has announced the marriage of Backstreet Boy, Kevin Richardson, to classical pianist, Tristan Mallory. The ceremony reportedly took place in January of this year.'

That was it. Simple. Direct. Deadly.

The phone started ringing almost immediately. Unlisted numbers offered little protection from determined and ambitious reporters and gossip columnists. Within the hour, television crews were on the street in front of their house and three photographers had crashed the gate. Management had had the foresight to send security to Kevin's house earlier that afternoon but as Kevin began to field calls and close blinds and curtains, he berated himself for not making plans to leave Orlando altogether, before the announcement was made.

Tristan smiled at him weakly from her spot on the sofa, jerking her head towards the door every time a shout was heard and jumping at every ring of the phone. They were stuck now. They wouldn't be going anywhere. Carlos had been with them since noon, trying to act as a buffer from inside of the house. It was doubtful that anyone would try to enter, but you never knew. Reaction to the news had already been underestimated. Carlos also dealt directly with security that had been placed outside the house and communicated with them through walkie-talkies. The whole scene was somewhat surreal and Kevin couldn't help but think of clips he'd seen on the evening news of hostage standoffs. This, at least, should be short lived. Newspaper deadlines were at midnight and television news was over by 11:30. After that, the announcement would be stale and things should let up.

Kevin tried to busy himself between phone calls. He only answered his cell now and doubted he'd be getting many more calls. He'd already spoken to Nick who was going to report back to the other guys. He'd talked to his mother and brother and one of the PR execs from Jive. His lawyer had called, too, saying he wanted to speak to Kevin first thing Monday morning.

While Kevin paced and straightened shelves, Tristan just sat, staring blankly at the muted TV. She watched silent music videos with her arms wrapped around her knees which she had drawn up to her chest. After a while, she pulled an afghan from the back of the sofa and covered herself. Afghans were not typically used on a June day in Florida, but then this was not a typical day. Kevin had watched Tristan cover herself and then went into the kitchen, took the new blood pressure machine from its box and began to read the directions.

************

In Ruskin, Holly sat in bed waiting for the six o' clock news. Nick was in his office. He had told Holly after the announcement that he was going to call Kevin and then report to the other guys. This had been preplanned with the idea that Kevin and Tristan would have fewer calls to deal with. Holly wondered how it was going in Orlando. She didn't wonder long. The local news opened with a live report from the street in front of Kevin's house. The screen was filled with shots of cars, vans and people from newspapers, radio and television stations who wanted details of the first marriage in Backstreet Land. Holly sat up in bed - her eyes wide and glued to the television.

"Sweet Jesus.." Nick murmured, now standing in the doorway behind her. "You'd think he'd just been accused of multiple murders or something…"

The segment was over quickly. There had been nothing new to report other than what had already been seen on MTV. That didn't stop speculation and predictions, however. When Nick picked up the remote and changed channels, they discovered reporters interviewing anyone they could who might help pump up the piece. Saturdays were notoriously slow news days but the stations were creating ways to fill time. Shots of crying girls filled the screen as well as bushwhacked label employees and record store owners. One 'expert' predicted the decline of the Backstreet Boys and a severe slump in future record sales. He also forecast that the group would probably pursue individual interests. Nick shook his head. Break-up rumors were bound to follow and he knew who the likely scapegoat would be. He could foresee a 'Yoko Ono' moment about to unfold.

The overkill was working on his nerves. He aimed the remote at the set, about to turn it off, when he heard Holly whisper.

"Daddy…"

Nick looked up at the screen and saw a reporter sticking a microphone in the faces of Justin Timberlake and an older man who was standing at his side.

"Is that your father?" Nick asked as he moved to the foot of the bed and sat.

Holly didn't answer. The reporter was asking the pair to comment on the 'marriage of pop idols'. To his credit, Justin just smiled and said something about 'love being a wonderful thing' before offering his congratulations to Kevin and Tristan. The reporter had another question before the ambush ended.

"Do you think this event will help 'Nsync overtake the Backstreet Boys in terms of popularity with pop fans?"

Warren Carmichael leaned into the microphone and grinned.

"Couldn't hurt…."

*************

When Kevin returned to the living room, the television had been turned off and Tristan was nowhere in sight. He called for her but got no response.

"In your office…" Carlos mumbled as he watched the crowd from the window.

Kevin walked to his office and found Tristan at the computer. She was just logging on to the internet.

"Oh no you don't…" Kevin leaned over Tristan's shoulder and pressed the button that turned off the monitor.

"Stop, Kevin! I just want to see…"

"No! I know what you want to see. Let's forget about this right now, okay? Things are a little crazy…"

"A little?" Tristan raised her brows and looked into his face.

"This will settle down soon.." he said with confidence. Kevin ripped open the Velcro fastened cuff. "Dr. Malone wants you to do this twice a day, remember? Give me your arm." he ordered.

"I've never heard of anyone having to do this…" Tristan grumbled as Kevin fastened the cuff around the bend of her arm. "I don't even know what a good or bad reading is." Kevin didn't comment. He pressed the start button and Tristan began to feel the cuff tighten around her arm. "Do you know what you're doing, Dr. Richardson?" she asked with a smirk.

Tristan was teasing but she knew in her gut that Kevin was worried. They performed a dance of denial - Kevin putting on a laid back and calm act while Tristan seemed disinterested and blasé. Kevin didn't want her upset by all the media attention and attacks he knew were coming. He just hoped they wouldn't be cruel and personal. He vividly recalled past criticisms - comments, innuendo and slurs about everything from her motives and moral standards to her figure. All this because he had committed the crime of falling head over heels for a quiet and innocent young woman who wanted and expected nothing from him but love.

Kevin watched the digits on the face of the machine rise above the high-normal range and tried to keep smiling. Tristan wasn't watching the numbers. She was watching Kevin. Her reading was 130/95. Kevin unfastened the cuff and wrote the numbers, date and time on a sheet of paper.

"Is the patient going to live, doctor?" Tristan asked with a small smile.

Kevin picked up the machine and paper. "I think she has an excellent chance…" he responded. His smile was tight. "Come on - you need to eat.." he said, changing the subject.

"Did the machine tell you that?" Tristan laughed. "I'm really not hungry, Kevin…"

"Tough. You have to eat…"

"Please. Later, okay?" she sighed. "I'm a little tired.."

Kevin walked Tristan up the stairs to their bedroom. As she slid her jeans off, he fumbled around in a drawer and then joined her on the bed pulling the covers up over her shoulders. They lay facing each other, Kevin on top of the covers and Tristan underneath. She does look tired… Kevin brushed a wayward curl off of her face and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I think it's time we start wearing these, don't you?" Kevin asked quietly, raising his hand to her face. Two plain gold bands shined from their resting place around the end of his index finger. "Give me your hand, Tris."

Tristan's hand crept up slowly from under the covers to the space between their faces. Kevin lifted it gently and slid the band onto the ring finger of her left hand, kissing it softly after it was in place. Then Tristan took Kevin's band and did the same. It was a wordless little ceremony without witnesses - one of those tender and private moments shared by lovers. Their heads had never left the pillow they shared and now they lay looking at each other, neither bothering to blink away the wetness in their eyes.

"I love you, Kevin.." Tristan whispered.

"Don't ever stop." He murmured in reply.

"Never…never…" Tristan's eyes closed slowly forcing a solitary tear down her cheek.

Kevin lay with Tristan for a while just watching her sleep and for a brief time he felt normal and anonymous. Just a regular guy lying in bed with his wife and dreaming of their future and their children. Kevin Backstreet had left the building. His hand moved to Tristan's belly and pressed there gently. He couldn't wait for her to get big. He couldn't wait to feel his babies move inside her.

His fantasies were disrupted when a car horn blared outside. Kevin sighed and got out of bed. He peeked out of the window and could see a couple of the cars and a van pulling away. Although there were still people milling around, the crowd had lessened. He glanced towards Tristan one more time before leaving the room.

Kevin sat in front of the computer and clicked the monitor back on. Tristan was just beginning a search when Kevin had stopped her. Now he would do a little surfing and see if the shit had hit the fan too badly. After an hour, Kevin rose from the chair, closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. When his eyes opened, he found himself looking down at a cabinet door. Phrases from the various posts he had just read washed over him like iced water - 'rot in hell, end of the group, golddigger, whore, liar'… Kevin dropped to his knees and opened the cabinet door.

"Hello, J.D. Long time. No see…"

*****************

"What the fuck did he say?" Nick's eyes bore into Holly as if she had some sort of control over the words her father had spoken. "Doesn't he know about us?" he yelled, poking himself in the chest with his finger.

"Don't yell at me, Nick! I can't help what he said!" Holly protested. "Besides, he didn't mean it the way it sounded, I'm sure…"

"How the hell did he mean it, Holly? He only said two words! He thinks that Kevin getting married is gonna screw up the group!" Nick threw the remote down on the mattress. "I asked you a question. Does he know about us or not?"

"He…he knows that we see each other…"

Nick was momentarily speechless. "See each other? Jesus, Holly…"

"Nobody knows about our engagement, Nick. Remember?"

"Yeah…" Nick hissed under his breath. "Well, I think that's about to change…"

"Nick, please.." Holly begged. "Not now! I'll talk to Daddy! Please…"

Nick sneered and shook his head. He'd already developed some uneasy feelings about Warren Carmichael. It pissed him off that the man seemed happy at the prospect of Backstreet being harmed, especially because one of their members announced his marriage, for God's sake. This should be a happy time for Kevin and Tristan. Lord knows, they had earned it. Instead they were prisoners in their own home and being held responsible for everything from the moral decay of America's youth to the projected financial downfall of BSB merchandisers and venue owners.

"No, Hol. We'll talk to 'Daddy'….."

**************

By Sunday afternoon, Kevin had released all of the security, including Carlos. Things had quieted down considerably - or so he thought. Although reporters had finally let up on them, they were still bugging the hell out of Kevin's family and friends. He knew that the tabloids would be carrying articles about the announcement. Tristan understood this, too.

Kevin had planned to go to the studio on Monday afternoon. It had been agreed that his hiding out would only prolong any misery and, besides, the group did have work to do. He and Tristan both wanted things to normalize as quickly as possible. There had already been a lot of speculation on what effect a marriage would have on the group. In Kevin's mind, it would have no effect, but the fact was that Tristan's pregnancy would, especially of Kevin made himself unavailable for much of the roadwork that came along with an album promotion.

Amanda dropped by on Monday morning loaded down with bagels, McDonald's and supermarket tabloids and the three of them sat down and began to work their way through breakfast and newsprint. Most of them weren't too bad, but one particularly sleazy rag had reprinted the photos that had been originally published last fall in 'Reputations'. Tristan had opened the paper, glanced briefly at the page and then left the table without a word. That was when Kevin had picked up the papers and taken them out to the trash can. He didn't know quite what to do or say, so he went into his studio and closed the door hoping that Amanda's creative brain would help give Tristan a new outlook on this situation. He had expected to see some mud thrown at Tristan and he did. What he hadn’t expected was to see himself portrayed as a selfish, pussy-whipped idiot who was being taken for a ride by woman who wanted to use him to further her own ambitions, the result of which would be the eventual death of a group that fans had fought long and hard to elevate to the pinnacle of success. The media was going to kill them.

He was sitting, contemplating all of this, when he heard a gentle rapping on the door.

"Come on in, baby…" he called, thinking it was Tristan. He was surprised to see Amanda's head peep in.

"Sorry, Kev…" she said seriously, "but there's something on TV I think you should see."

Kevin followed Amanda out to the living room. The first thing he saw was the pained look on Tristan's face as she sat facing the television. When he sat down beside her and looked at the screen, he was still puzzled. Some cable entertainment news show was on and an interview was in progress. Four men were sitting across a table from the commentator. He didn't know who they were, but Tristan was transfixed. When a commercial break came on, she rose from the sofa and went silently up the stairs. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

"What the hell's going on, Amanda?" Kevin asked, baffled by Tristan's reaction to the show.

"It's them…" Amanda said, wide-eyed.

"Them, who?" Kevin frowned.

"Look…" Amanda was pointing back to the screen.

The commentator smiled into the camera and began to reintroduce his guests for the benefit of those who had just joined the program. The camera panned to the four guests, one of whom seemed agitated.

"We have with us this morning Edward Mallory, father of Tristan Mallory and now father-in-law of Backstreet Boy Kevin Richardson."

Kevin's eyes narrowed as his gazed on the image before him. He had never seen or met Edward Mallory. Tristan had rarely mentioned him and Kevin had never pushed her. He suddenly wished he had. Here was an attractive man in his fifties, well dressed, articulate and hard as nails.

"…and her brothers, Patrick, Stephan and David Mallory."

Again - nice looking guys but solemn and humorless.

In the twenty minutes left in the broadcast, Kevin learned, to his surprise, that Edward Mallory was a medical doctor who specialized in gastrointestinal medicine and was associated with a large teaching hospital in Richmond. His oldest son, Patrick, was an assistant professor at the University of Virginia and taught mechanical engineering. Stephan was a computer expert who worked for the State Department and David, the agitated one and closest to Tristan in age was a portrait artist. Kevin sensed a cruel streak in all of the men with the exception of David who said virtually nothing. Artificial smiles punctuated their implied criticism of Tristan both as a child and an adult. As a child, she was described as defiant and unappreciative. As an adult, she was accused of deliberately distancing herself from her family and failing to inform them of her marriage.

"We weren't invited…" Patrick frowned, "…although I've heard that his family was present." Even more surprising had been the revelation that Tristan's mother had also been a concert pianist. It was obviously a subject that none of the family wished to discuss. Tristan had told Kevin that her mother had committed suicide but had said little else about it, claiming that she didn't remember much about those times.

When the host asked if anyone had any closing comments or if they had anything to say to Tristan, in case she were watching, only Edward Mallory spoke. "Yes.." he said calmly as the camera came in for a close up. "Tristan, sweetheart, please let me hear from you. I miss you very much. Don't forget that, married or not, you'll always be Daddy's girl…"

Kevin felt a shiver run up his spine to the raised hairs on his neck. He went up the stairs to check on his wife.

***************

"Jesus, Tristan!… What's the matter, baby?"

Kevin fell down to his knees on the tiled floor in the bathroom. Tristan was sitting up against the tub, holding a damp washcloth to her face. The toilet was still running. She had obviously been sick.

"Are you all right?" Kevin was wound up. "I’m gonna call the doctor!"

Tristan grabbed his arm and pulled him back down before he could get away.

"No, Kevin! I'm okay…just morning sickness, you know…"

"No, I don't know, Tris. I know that it’s been one hell of a day so far and I know that seeing your family on TV has…"

Tristan burst into tears at the mention of the interview. Her reaction to his comment had almost rendered her hysterical. Kevin was frightened and pulled her up to his chest, holding her close and rocking her in his arms.

"Please don't make me see him!" Tristan sobbed into Kevin's shoulder. "Please! I don't want him in my life…"

"Shhh, Tris.. Easy, baby..You don't have to see anybody…" Kevin murmured as he continued to rock.

"Please…."

"Okay, Tris… Okay.."

Kevin held Tristan away from him and looked at her face. She was flushed and breathing heavily. He took the damp cloth she still held in her hands and gently wiped her face. After a few moments, Tristan seemed to compose herself and began to apologize for her outburst.

"God, I'm sorry, Kevin.. I don't know what's wrong with me." She smiled at him feebly. "Is it okay if I blame this on raging hormones?"

"Baby you don't have to blame this on anything. Please don't apologize to me." Kevin hesitated before continuing "I think the TV show is what upset you…"

Tristan's eyes immediately left his face.

"Look at me, Tristan.." Kevin demanded, still holding her by her arms. When she finally summoned up the courage to look back into his eyes he put his face down to hers. "I'm not going to let anybody hurt you…Anybody! Do you understand?"

Tristan nodded as Kevin pulled her up from the floor and led her to the bed. The blood pressure cuff sat on the dresser and Kevin grabbed it as they passed.

"Not again…" she groaned.

"Pacify me.." he replied, trying to tease.

He hooked her up and pressed the button.

"Okay…" he said when he was finished.

He stood and carried the machine back to dresser. Her reading was 175/110.

"You get a little rest now, Tris.."

"Tell Amanda I'll be down in a few minutes."

"I'm gonna tell Amanda that you're taking a nap." Kevin argued.

Kevin closed the bedroom door and went down the stairs. Time to call the doctor.

God I am tired…. Tristan slowly began to drift despite the upsetting morning. Seeing her family had been a shock and she remembered Kevin's words. I'm not going to let anybody hurt you…Anybody…

Too late….

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