Circling

Tristan Trilogy- Story 3

CHAPTER 11

Jive was keeping a close eye on its anchor group. There was a time when they had been compliant and easy to deal with. Now, most of them had become a little too independent. Oh, Dorough was still okay. Good old Howie - easy going, quick with a smile, eager to please - the perfect employee. McLean wasn’t too bad. He had been given space to explore his personal musical tastes and that seemed to appease him, for the most part. He and Howie both did the ‘benefit thing’ very well and that helped the PR department immensely. AJ, though, was a suspicious sort and his loyalties were to his ‘brothers’, not to the corporation.

Littrell was holding back. He was becoming fairly reclusive as far as fans and promotions went. The fame didn’t seem to interest him much anymore. He’d made his money and his thirst for accolades had lessened considerably. Carter used to be quite malleable. He would pretty much do as he was told, but lately, execs had noticed an independent streak emerging in Nick. He was getting mouthy and a little cocky.

Then, of course, there was Richardson. For the past couple of years, they could count on him being a pain in their ass. His influence on the others was way too strong. The powers that be suspected that a good part of Nick’s rebellion had been influenced by Kevin’s perceived egocentric attitude and his stubbornness about Tristan Mallory had come to encourage previously unseen possibilities for Brian and his own personal life.

Jack, their manager, didn’t play ball with the big boys all that well, either. In the past, the boy’s management had encouraged them to roll with Transcon mandates. Jack didn’t do that well at all. The group seemed to trust and like Jack. It was a perfect set-up except for the fact that Jack seemed fond of the boys, too. This was further complicated by the fact that Jack spent an awful lot of his down time with Tristan Mallory’s assistant. The label had much preferred Mike’s management style. Overall, the label and Transcon had lost a great deal of its control over the Backstreet Boys, a fact, which they didn’t like and wanted desperately to correct.

When Brian discovered a few years ago that he needed heart surgery, he had become anxious, worried and scared. His family had raised hell every time he had delayed the procedure in order to accommodate the demands of the group. This had made him even more upset. The conflict had made him nervous and hyper, which was manifested in silly and manic behavior. Hell, they could remember when Brian would peel off his shirt at the drop of a hat or at least raise it - to the delight of female fans. Although fans loved the public B-rok, the label was concerned about the private Brian. He needed to calm down and mellow out a little. Things were really starting to roll for the group then and open-heart surgery did not fit well into their overall plans for the Backstreet Boys. Not only would it delay much needed promotional activities but also there was the fear that it would frighten young, money spending fans who considered the Backstreet Boys invincible.

A doctor was always available to the group 24/7 and the group underwent physical examinations on a regular basis. This doctor took care of most of the artists under contract to Jive and was, in fact, employed by Transcon. Dr. Didgeman soon came to be known as Dr. Digit by male artists who groaned about his inclusion of prostate exams during their check-ups. He was a well-respected physician in Orlando and gave up a lucrative private practice in order to attain a more lucrative position working for the label. It had only cost him his soul.

Dr. Digit took care of Brian Littrell and soon many fans began to notice changes in Brian. For one thing, he all but stopped showing skin. He goofed around less and seemed a little more serious. He had started to shy away from fans. His apparent calm was thought to be the result of significant spiritual growth. His mildness and blossoming serenity had comforted his family. Things were under control. The reality was that this new found peace had been the result of Alprazolam, provided to ‘take the edge off’ during the pre-surgery days. He had been using it for four years now - not everyday but often enough. Brian really didn’t need the tranquilizers any more. His surgery had been successful and his health was good but he had come to fear his natural ebullience, mistaking it for nervousness and sometimes even for stage fright. On rare occasions, Brian was too chilled, like before a show. At those times, the good doctor would see to it that he was energized with a small white pill. All in all, it had worked out well. Brian seemed to be doing pretty well and his physicals had shown no problems. Now the handlers had become concerned with Kevin.

He seemed tired a lot of the time, which caused him to be overly sensitive and easily stressed. They knew that this stress was based in legitimate concerns but that was beside the point. Shit happens - get on with it. The only thing that seemed to perk up his previously blind ambition was the competitive nature of the relationship between the BSB and ‘Nsync. The label encouraged the competition. It increased interest and sales. Unfortunately, Kevin’s fans had picked up on his weariness and internet posts had expressed worries about the future of the Backstreet Boys. The label knew that this type of speculation often became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Jive decided it was time to call on Dr. Digit. Physicals had been arranged for that Friday before some schedules promos. It was time, anyway.

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

"I think I can manage to go to the doctor by myself, Kevin!" Tristan groaned. “If anybody was following me, they would have seen us going to the OB by now and it would be all over the internet!"

Kevin stepped into his sandals, already late for a meeting.

"It's not just that. It's Mason. He's got his bikinis twisted in a knot because he's feeling pushed away. I think it made him feel good that I asked him to go with you. Now be nice!"

Be nice? Tristan had to laugh. "Are you developing a soft spot for Mason, Kevin? You'd better watch out. You might decide you like him."

"I don't dislike him!" Kevin snapped impatiently. "Sorry. What I mean is, I don't understand him but I don't dislike him."

Tristan watched as Kevin bent his head forward and pressed his hand against the back of his neck.

"Are you achy, sweetie?" She asked. She placed her hands on Kevin's shoulders and began to massage his muscles.

"Just a little tired, I guess…" he sighed, enjoying her attention.

"You're not sleeping…"

"Maybe we need a new mattress.."

"Maybe you need to tell me what's wrong. Are you worried about something?"

Just everything… "Everything's fine, Tris. Just got a lot to do right now. I'm okay."

"I'm not so sure.." Tristan frowned. His neck muscles felt tight.

"We're getting checked out today by Dr. D. You know, insurance and stuff. There's nothing wrong with me that a few days sleep won't cure." Kevin muttered.

"Yeah… Okay." Tristan backed away from Kevin and started straightening the bed covers. She had become quiet.

"What's wrong, Tris?" He was a little surprised when she moved away from him, especially given her recently enlarged libido.

"Nothing.." she smiled as she fluffed a pillow and patted it into place. "Any special requests for dinner tonight?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Noooo…" Kevin answered as he walked over to Tristan and reached out for her. His embrace was thwarted as she stepped away and scurried to the other side of the bed.

"Gotta get this done before Mason gets here!" she chirped, avoiding Kevin's stare.

Kevin frowned. "What's wrong with you, Tris? Mason won't be here for a while. I can't get a little sugar this morning?" "Maybe you're getting too much sugar…" Tristan mumbled.

"What did you say?"

Tristan looked at Kevin across the half-made bed. He was standing with his hands on his hips as if he were daring her to repeat what he'd thought he heard her say. She laid the pillow on the bed and looked at him directly.

"Look, Kevin…" she began, unsure of how to broach the subject. "You're tense and exhausted. Maybe…. Maybe we should just go to sleep at night.." She couldn't look at him anymore. "You know what I mean?"

"I sure as shit hope that I don't!" Kevin spat. "You want to stop making love? Do you feel bad or something? Have I hurt you?"

"No!" Tristan shouted. "You're wonderful! I love you! I can't seem to get enough of you…." Tristan looked away. "I want you all the time…. Maybe too much.."

"Do you hear me complaining?" Kevin scowled. "Are you complaining?"

"No, no, no!" she cried. "I just don't want you to be stressed out because you're tired because you're not sleeping because you're…well… you know…"

Kevin started laughing. "Jesus, baby! You think I'm stressed now? Do you have any idea how wound up I'd be if it weren't for that 'well… you know'?"

Kevin walked back around the bed, shaking his head, and caught Tristan up in his arms. To his utter dismay, she threw her arms up around his neck and started crying into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kevin! I don't know what's wrong with me! I just seem to be so horny all the time!" She was inconsolable. "I don't want to make you sick!"

Kevin had to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing out loud as he held her close and rubbed her back. He suspected that this was one of those hormonal episodes that Dr. Malone had warned him about. He tried to remember what he’s read in the book. Pregnant women go nuts about everything. Don’t try to fight it. You’ll never win. Everything is your fault. After a few minutes, Tristan seemed to calm down.

“You okay now, baby?” Kevin whispered.

“Yes…” she whimpered.

“You’re not making me sick, okay?” He said, resting his forehead against hers. “You make me feel good.”

The sound of the doorbell ended the crisis and Tristan hurried into the bathroom to wash her face as Kevin went downstairs and answered the door. It was Mason. Kevin stared at him from the doorway. He looked like he was going to meet the queen.

“What are you staring at Kevin? Is my fly open or something?”

“How the hell would I know, Mason? You think every man in Florida is looking at your fly? I was just wondering if you brought Tris a corsage. You look like you’re getting ready to go to the fuckin’ prom!”

“Yeah? Well you like you’re getting ready to go to a hobo convention! What I’m wearing is called a suit, Kevin! You might want to try one sometime. People might think you have a little class.”

“Or they might think I have something stuck up my ass!” Kevin growled.

“Is that a jab? Is this ‘Pick on Queers Day’? God, you’re pathetic..”

“Jesus Christ, Mason! I’m not picking on anything! I was just surprised to see you all dressed up, that’s all!” Kevin paused and gave Mason another once over. “You look….nice.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Kevin rolled his eyes.

“You don’t think it’s too…”

“It’s a great suit, Mason!” Kevin shouted. “You look very suave and sophisticated! You should be in a magazine! You have exquisite taste! It’s the best looking suit I’ve ever seen! It was made for you alone! Okay?”

“Jeez… okay. You don’t have to be sarcastic…”

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

While Tristan was at Dr. Malone’s for her check-up, Kevin was sitting on Dr. D’s examination table. The good doctor had already been given an informal evaluation of Kevin via a ‘For Your Eyes Only’ memo that had been sent from Jive management to Transcon and then back to him. The memo had been brief and to the point: Fix Richardson. According to some witnesses, Kevin had exhibited signs of fatigue for some time. Physically, he was thinner than they thought he should be and often ‘looked tired’. Emotionally, he was uncooperative, surly, edgy, snappish and impatient. Observable postures had included holding his head in his hands and deep sighs punctuated with closed eyes. He was often late to meetings and studio sessions usually ended early because he ‘just had to get out’. When the doctor interviewed Kevin directly, he admitted to interrupted sleep and as their discussion progressed, he came to learn about some of his worries concerning his wife, especially in relation to the album in progress and any future tours and promotions connected with it. The label and its owners were willing to offer small compromises but they feared that Richardson’s attitude might influence the others and a small mutiny might ensue. The mandate was to get him energized and ready for work. Nervous energy would do. He could rest on his down time next year.

Dr. Didgeman was on the horns of a small dilemma. He was no fool and the suggestion he read between the lines of the memo was: ‘Try amphetamines.’ Speed would work. He could get Kevin so wired that he’d be able to do a forty city tour in twenty days. He’d be out promoting his ass off and interviews would be no problem because nobody would be able to shut him up. Dr. D had two major problems with the thinly disguised proposal. For one thing, the group’s sympathetic personal management was bound to notice something was wrong, not to mention his wife and the rest of the group. Label management would be screwed if word got out that they were pumping their artists full of speed. The second problem was that Dr. D. was not yet completely amoral. He knew which side his bread was buttered on but he also knew that the long-term effects of amphetamines could be very dangerous - even deadly. He decided to take what he considered a more conservative approach and prescribed Chlordiazepoxide. Librium. What he hoped for was a simpler solution to Kevin’s weariness. While Brian had been given tranquilizers to give him a sense of calm, Kevin’s prescription would, hopefully, bring him physical rest. If he could sleep well at night, he would be naturally energized during the day. He should also be more patient and rational - more like his old self. Speed would probably result in greater weight loss and eventually a breakdown of some sort. A good, old-fashioned sleeping pill would be best. He would just take them at night that’s all. They weren’t intended to fight anxiety, just to induce a restful sleep. The doctor felt almost noble.

Kevin, of course, didn’t know that label management had any input into his medical care. He balked at the notion of ‘sleeping pills’ at first, but was soothed by Dr. D. who gave him a small sample of the blue and black capsules, just to try for a few nights if he had trouble sleeping. He was told that not only was it bad for him, personally, to wake up tired everyday, but it was bad for his wife and for his expected children who would need for him to be alert and reliable. It was also bad for the Backstreet Boys. “Fatigue affects your judgement.” The doctor said, simply. Kevin finally relented and agreed to give them a try. The doctor would see to it that he had a supply of the pills. No need for Kevin to bother with a pharmacy.

“The guys will probably give me shit.” Kevin groaned. “Not to mention Tristan. This will worry her to death.”

The solution was simple. “Don’t tell her… You don’t have to tell anybody.”

Saturday found Kevin in high spirits. He felt good. He felt rested and ready to take on whatever the world had to throw at him. He was even looking forward to the party Sunday night. Tristan was glad to see that Kevin had finally slept so well. She had even had some trouble waking him that morning and had decided to let him sleep until he woke up on his own. He needed the rest. He woke up at 1:30 PM, starving. Tristan was pleased. After last night, he should have been worn out.

They had been in bed by eleven o’ clock the night before. Not for sleep, of course. Tristan’s hormonal surges combined with Kevin’s built up tension had made for some heavy-duty playtime under the sheets. They had both collapsed amid shouts and screams, thoroughly sated. Tristan had laughed when Kevin complained that he would never be able to cum again, that he was so completely used up that his balls had shrunk to the size of peas. It had been happy and playful lovemaking. Tristan had drifted off to sleep in Kevin’s arms, and never stirred when he slipped out of their bed later in the night. Physically tired but unable to sleep, Kevin had gone into their closet and reached into the pocket of a seldom worn warm-up jacket. He pulled out the bottle, untwisted the cap and slid a capsule into his hand. Within twenty minutes, he was sound asleep.

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Tristan Trilogy - Story III

"Circling" is a work of fiction.
The characters and events portrayed are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

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