CHAPTER 1

Constance poured over the sample galleys strewn across her desk at Plymouth Publishing.  This was not really her area of expertise and she was not happy with her new assignment.  Her clients wouldn't be happy either.  Although her client list was a short one, they were all top-notch writers and used to her being available to them at a moment's notice.  Now she would be tied up for several weeks at best; and at worst, several months. 

She had come to work for the publishing house straight out of college having already gained some experience in the business of writing, but not the art.  Her flare for language and innate editing skills had enabled her to have several non-fiction articles published in various magazines and periodicals but when she came to Plymouth's doorstep, it wasn't with a manuscript in hand - it was with a blue pencil.  She wanted to edit.  Connie was a voracious reader and it broke her heart to see a worthwhile concept ruined by sloppiness or unclear text.  She could have easily landed a newspaper job, but it would have been years before she would have been moved to an editor's position and even if she was good, newspapers were notorious for their glass ceilings.  After ten years she would be lucky to get a job editing recipes. 

Besides, she loved a good novel and that's where her interests lay.  Upon her arrival at Plymouth, she was issued a challenge.  One of their top clients, an older man who wrote crime novels, had complained about every editor sent his way.  He was threatening to change houses if the situation didn't improve.  Stephen Sullivan, who had eventually inherited the house from his father, had been charmed by Connie's manners, her coolness under pressure, her feistiness and her abilities.  If she could charm Matthew Dylan, the infamous crime- writing pain in the ass, then she would have a job.  She did.  That had been almost four years ago and now Constance Kendall O'Rourke had a client list numbering six, five of whom never failed to reach the best-sellers list and one up and coming young author. 

The publishing house had recently taken a step towards the publication of non-fiction and had made quite a coup by securing the rights to a large volume, coffee-table type book about the phenomenally popular Backstreet Boys.   Stephen wanted her to help write and edit the book.  He had a number of reasons for wanting Connie to handle this assignment.  For one, she could write non-fiction.  He'd seen her work.  Even now, she was often asked to submit reviews or articles to the local papers and even some national magazines.  The second reason was that Stephen knew that she could get along with almost anyone and managed to prove that almost daily.  Third, Connie was single and had no commitments that would keep her tied to New York City.  This book was to chronicle the daily lives of the world's favorite 'boy band' and she would, essentially be living with them for a long time.  The final reason Stephen Sullivan wanted her on this assignment was that she was unbiased.  He'd had lots of 'volunteers' for this job - all big fans of the group.  Even his secretary, a thirty-four year old, happily married, mother of two had pleaded with him to send her to Florida.  Connie was aware of the Backstreet Boys, but that was all.  She had never been to a concert, watched them on television or listened to a CD.  Connie O' Rourke was deaf. 

Not everyone knew about Connie's hearing loss.  She had chosen not to dwell on it.  Stephen himself wasn't aware of it until he read her completed job application and saw that she had listed her condition under the heading of 'disabilities'.  She didn't really consider herself disabled - maybe a little disenfranchised sometimes but that category wasn't listed on applications.  Her speech patterns were flawless and tinted with a Southern accent.  Over time, Stephen learned that Connie's deafness was the result of head injuries and subsequent nerve damage suffered in an automobile accident when she was seventeen years old.  She wasn't born deaf. 

She had learned to sign but only did so when she found herself in the company of other hearing impaired people.  She relied on reading lips for the most part, and she was good at it.  Even when watching the side of a speaker's face, she could usually make out what they were saying. 

Telephones were generally useless to her so she relied on e-mail and 'instant messenger' for outside communications.  Flashing lights had been installed on her computers at work and home that indicated messages had been received and she kept a vibrating pager with her at all times so that if she wasn't near one of the larger PC's, she could respond to a page from her laptop.  She could reach out and touch the world.  It was too bad that the world couldn't always touch her back. 

Stephen often commented on her 'spunk' but Connie had learned early on that bravado, however false, is what had opened doors for her professionally.  When it came to her personal life or lack thereof, she was quiet and somewhat withdrawn.  She was never overly gregarious, even before the accident, but now she had learned the hard way that she was often judged more on her disabilities than her abilities.  This is why she dreaded this assignment.  She had become comfortable working with the same people day in and day out.  She didn't have to be bold or defensive.  The idea of virtually living with five strange men and whatever entourage they surrounded themselves with really spooked her.  Connie could already feel herself retreating emotionally.  Deafness begot isolation, which, after time, became desirable and safe. 

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

Stephen had told her that this would be a type of 'Real World' experience without the ever-present camera.  MTV would be filming them all from time to time but not constantly.  She wondered why MTV had anything to do with this but learned that they had sponsored part of the groups tour and it was now payback time.  Whenever the network promised footage of the Backstreet Boys, viewership rose dramatically.  They wanted footage. 

Connie's one small beam of hope lay in the fact that Hannah Turner had been hired to do the photographs that would accompany Connie's text.  Hannah was in her mid fifties and could best be described as a 'broad' although that term had to be used loosely since Hannah was also a lesbian.  She was tough as nails and made it a practice to shoot from the hip.  She had been romantically involved with the same woman for twenty years but her softer side was reserved only for those whom she knew and felt some affection for.  Hannah had a tough start career wise as a gay, female photographer in 1967.  She had dealt with sexism and bigotry and was familiar with the baggage that came with 'being different'.  Connie found a great deal of relief in knowing that Hannah would be close by. 

"Do they know you can't hear a damn thing?" Hannah asked her before the strategy meeting.  Hannah was not known for her subtlety. 

"No…" Connie answered.  She was tapping her foot and now avoided looking at Hannah's face.  She didn't want any advice on this matter. 

But Hannah would not be cut off.  She reached over and slapped Connie on the forearm, demanding her attention. 

"Ow!…"

"You gonna tell 'em or are you gonna play the 'I've Got Something to Prove' game?" She had raised her eyebrows and looked at Connie over the top of her glasses.  Hannah would have made a great mother. 

"No!" Connie said defiantly.  "They'll figure it out soon enough.  I just don't want that to affect their attitudes about me or the book - especially right at first." She paused and then countercharged.  "You gonna tell them you're gay?"

Connie watched Hanna break into laughter.  "Oh, I think they'll know that as soon as I walk in the door.  Don't you?"

Connie supposed that they probably would.  Hannah was basically a kind woman but she would never be called sweet.  She would never be called feminine, either.  No one ever recalled seeing Hannah in a dress.  She preferred button down collared shirts and jeans.  She wore a man's watch and had her short hair trimmed at a barbershop - never a salon.  Yet Connie had never been told of a bad word uttered against Hannah.  She was well respected among her peers and recognized artistically by the public who had been seeing her work for years in such publications as Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair. 

"What about my clients?" Connie asked Stephen who sat at the head of the conference table.  "They're not going to like this…"

"You can work with them in Florida as well as New York, Connie." Stephen argued.  "Only one of them lives here in the city, anyway.  We've set you up with everything you'll need to work down there and if some emergency arises, we'll deal with it at that time." He gave Connie a smile.  "You'll be able to keep up with your work - just from a different location.  Try to relax and enjoy this a little.  Get some sun…"

Connie rolled her eyes.  "Sure…..I do real well in the sun - burn, peel, burn, peel…..  Maybe if I really work at it, I'll get a few freckles." She said sarcastically. 

Connie was a redhead and had the coloring and skin to prove it.  Her brick colored hair complimented her fair skin.  Her brows were a little light but she had been blessed with dark lashes that protected watery blue eyes.  Perhaps her most enticing facial feature was her mouth.  Her lips were sensuously full, berry colored and provided the perfect frame for a dazzling smile. 

The strategy meeting continued for another hour.  A representative of the group's management was also present.  He didn't want any misunderstandings as to the focus of the book.  It was made clear to Connie and Hannah that this was not to be an expose that would demean the group.  Reporting was to be accurate but non-threatening.  Photo-graphs were to be unstaged but not unflattering.  The descriptive phrase used was 'controlled honesty'. 

Three days later, the two women left Kennedy airport for Tampa, Florida. From there they would rent a car and drive to Clearwater. 

Chapter 2

"Yeah, I know… Don't make this a big deal, baby - please! You're busy with work now, anyway.  Right?"

Kevin sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed speaking into a phone to his girlfriend, Brandi.  He rolled his eyes as she went on…and on…and on. 

"No.  I don't know how long.  I already told you that." He answered her.  "Just like you don't know how long you'll be working on this movie!"

Kevin was getting a little irritated now.  He didn't really want to be here but he was tired of Brandi's relentless whining, too.  He should have known better than to expect time off after the tour but he had expected to be living in his own home.  Instead, he and the other guys found themselves in Clearwater, Florida across the causway from Tampa. They would be staying in the restored main house of an extensive citrus grove on theGulf of Mexico.  Most of the citrus was gone now, but the house, built around the turn of the century, remained and boasted wrap-around porches, eight bedrooms, lush gardens and beautiful views from almost every window.  The property even held five guest cottages and four apartments.  It was now owned by BMG and served as a kind of retreat for its employees and those employed by its subsidiaries. 

Still, it wasn't home - home was two hours away.  The guys had agreed to spend at least five days a week in Clearwater and use the house as a base of BSB operations.  They had every amenity there, including a recording studio that had been built two years ago.  They could invite friends and family to come there and were instructed to treat the house as their own during their stay. 

A horn sounded outside and Kevin found himself relieved that he had an excuse to get off the phone.  He peeked out of the window.  Brandi had yet to take a breath. 

“Yeah, babe….  What? Oh yeah - miss you, too….  Listen, I gotta go.  AJ’s here with D.” There was a pause while Brandi asked if the ‘book people’ were there yet.  “On their way, I guess..” Kevin shrugged.  “Gotta go, Brandi! Yeah, I’ll give you call….Bye….  Me, too…” Click.  Finally…

Kevin and Brandi had what some might call a comfortable relationship.  They seemed to compliment each other in a rather uninspiring way.  Some thought that they were too comfortable, too complimentary - almost flat - like stale beer.  Brandi talked incessantly, usually about herself.  Kevin tended to be quiet.  They both liked clubs.  Kevin liked to dance and watch people.  Brandi liked to dance and have people watch her.  They both liked to shop and both made out well during long separations.  The perfect couple - if you liked boring.  There was no spark, no disagreements, no jealousy, no discernable passion of any kind. 

Brandi had hinted at the possibility of marriage and while Kevin didn’t exactly go wild with anticipation, he didn’t exactly balk at the notion, either.  He became almost resigned to the fact that he and Brandi would probably marry someday.  After all, they’d been going out for a couple of years and there wasn’t really anybody else.  She would be okay.  There were no more surprises.  A permanent commitment seemed almost inevitable but it felt almost business-like.  He would agree to provide for her financially and socially.  She would provide a sense of family as well as creative space.  Fidelity was not an issue.  He had slept with others on occasion and guessed that she had, too.  They never discussed it.  As long as they were discreet, it caused no problem.  They were both very good at avoidance and denial. 

In his heart, Kevin knew that his relationship with Brandi was not what he had hoped for when he was younger but the years had made him crusty and cynical.  Real life wasn’t the way movies and books portrayed it to be.  He rationalized that his life with Brandi was easy and uncomplicated, comfortable and safe.  He chose to ignore the fact that it was also unchallenging, predictable, dull, unemotional and boring.  There may be no major bumps in their road but there weren’t any fireworks either. 

Kevin shook his head, trying to hop another train of thought.  Fortunately, AJ called to him from downstairs and his mind refocused. 

"Up here, J.!" Kevin shouted down to the foyer.  He soon heard two pairs of feet bounding up the stairs. 

"Oh man…." AJ grinned as he stood in Kevin's doorway.  A second head appeared over his shoulder.  Howie was taking it all in, too. 

Kevin's chosen room was beautiful, restful and awash in monochromatic tones of linen and ivory.  The only color in the room lay on the floor in the form of a hand-knotted silk carpet which depicted lush foliage. 

"Nice, huh?" Kevin smiled slightly. 

"Damn! I'll say! Do we just pick out any room we want?" AJ's head had already turned down the hallway.  He looked ready to pounce as soon as Kevin said the word. 

"I figure it's 'first come, first…'"

"Be right back." AJ interrupted.  He and Howie suddenly vanished and Kevin heard the sounds of footsteps running down the hallway that served the remaining seven bedrooms and private baths. 

The scene was replayed twenty minutes later when Brian arrived with Leighanne and Nick.  Kevin sighed when he saw Leighanne with his cousin.  He didn't dislike Leigh, but since she and Brian had hooked up he had changed.  'B-Roc' was all but gone and what was left seemed to be more like 'B-Whipped'.  Leigh liked to run the show and that seemed fine with Brian.  She demanded his unwavering attention and got it. 

Nick seemed happy to be in Clearwater. Although he had become more reclusive over the years, he seemed to crave the camaraderie of the group from time to time.  They had been the most constant people in his life for many years now - the closest thing to real family he had.  Nick needed a real dose of that family connection from time to time.  The guys were probably the only people in his life who didn't want something from him.  Kevin believed that little strumpet he had been attached to drained the blood and personality right out of him.  He was a different person when she wasn't around.  Thankfully, she was out of the picture at the moment and Kevin found himself hoping that this breakup would be permanent for Nick's sake. 

It wasn't long before three more cars pulled up to the house, all within fifteen minutes of each other.  A cameraman from MTV named Pete was first, followed by their manager, Jeffrey.  Finally, the last of the expected guests arrived.  Hannah blew into the door first and followed the sound of voices into the common room where earlier arrivals waited.  The talking stopped as the appraisals began.  Hannah zeroed in on Leighanne right away.  Leigh was looking her up and down and then she looked over to Brian and rolled her eyes.  Hannah knew that look and she smiled to herself remembering when she had felt that it was her job to meet the expectations of others.  Those days were long gone.  She wouldn't be taking one ounce of shit from this surgically inflated ditz. 

"Hannah Turner." She stepped forward and shook everyone's hand, taking special care to give Leighanne's manicured fingers a particularly forceful squeeze. 

"I'll get the rest of your luggage." Howie offered as Hannah dropped her bag onto the floor. 

"This is it, but thanks anyway." she smiled, always appreciative of good manners. 

Leighanne's jaw dropped.  "That's all?" she asked incredulously.  "I have a bag that size just for my make-up!" She almost seemed proud of this fact. 

Hannah didn't have time for a caustic retort.  The front door had opened and closed and all eyes moved to the entryway as Connie stepped into the room.  She smiled tenatively and then introduced herself. 

"Hi," she said, glancing around the room.  "I'm Contance O'Rourke.  Connie…" And this is one shitload of lips to try and read all at one time. 

Another appraisal began.  Kevin was captivated by her head full of long, loose and very red curls.  Those red lips seemed too natural to be painted on and when she removed her sunglasses and he saw those eyes - well…… His fascination was short-lived, however as Connie formed her next question. 

"Uh…who belongs to the black SUV?" Connie's eyes darted from face to face. 

"That would be me.." Kevin's brows had already begun to furrow. 

"Oh…well, I may have bumped it a little when I opened the door….."

Chapter 3

Kevin closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin.  I just bought that truck ten days ago….  Connie noticed that everyone else in the room was quiet.  The other four group members and Leighanne just stood looking at Kevin, wide eyed, as if they were anxious or even a little afraid.  Her eyes fell back to Kevin as his hand dropped from his mouth revealing a tight smile that could almost be described as a grimace. 

"Well, let's go check the damage…" he said trying hard to keep his glance from turning into a glare. 

Connie couldn't hear the tone of his voice but she suspected that it was tense by the way his lips had almost disappeared into the line of his mouth.  She nodded, dropped her bag and stepped in line behind him when he passed her to go outside.  She hesitated briefly when he opened the door and held his arm out, inviting her to exit first. 

"Thank you." She said softly.  He nodded, looking up at the ceiling. 

She stood back as Kevin walked over to his new truck.  Connie glanced behind her to find Nick, Brian, Leighanne and Hannah watching from the porch, still wide eyed.  When she returned her gaze to Kevin, his back was to her.  His hands were on his hips but every few seconds one arm or the other would rise and wave in the air or point to the truck body.  His head was moving, his body was tense.  He looked angry.  She glanced back at Hannah once more. 

'Is he mad?' Connie mouthed to her.  Hannah nodded. 

Nick watched this brief exchange between the two women.  Is he mad? What is she - nuts? He's totally pissed!…. 

Connie slowly made her way over to Kevin and reached out to touch his arm.  He stiffened even more, if that was possible.  Her hand dropped.  She had grown used to people touching her to get her attention and sometimes forgot that hearing people often considered it an invasion.  Her eyes momentarily fell to the pavement before examining the ding on Kevin's truck.  She saw that a small line of paint had been removed as well.  It honestly looked inconsequential to Connie.  Had the damage been on her car, it would have probably taken her two weeks to notice it.  Her finger reached out to feel the scratch but before she could make contact, Kevin's hand batted it away.  Startled, she looked into his face. 

"Don't do that!" he snarled.  "You're gonna flake more paint away! Jesus…"

Connie's attitude since opening her car door upon arrival at the grove had already gone through several changes.  It had gone from 'Ooops - a little dent.  I'll have to fix that….' to 'Gee, I hate to start off this way…' to 'I can see you're upset.  I'm really sorry….  And was now shifting to 'Damn! What an anal asshole!'.  She was losing patience. 

"How much do you think it will cost to fix it?" she asked him evenly.  "About fifty bucks?"

Kevin looked at her in disbelief.  "Fifty bucks? Are you kidding? $250.00 to $300.00 - at least!" he shouted, gesturing to the truck. 

Connie nodded.  "Okay.  I'll take care of it."

It unnerved Kevin the way she looked at him so directly. 

"That's not necessary.  Insurance will take care of it." He frowned. 

"No.  I insist…"

Connie turned abruptly and walked back to the house, seeming to ignore Kevin's loud refusal to accept her payment.  When she passed through the front door, still paying no attention to him despite his calling to her, he turned and kicked the tire in frustration while hurling curses. 

Nick grinned and shook his head.  That girl's got pluck…

The talented and well-prepared cameraman from MTV had managed to catch the entire incident on film. 

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

Connie took her bags up the wide staircase and went through the first open door that she came to.  The room was nice and decorated in shades of teal and olive.  She couldn't help but replay her encounter with Kevin over in her mind.  She had deliberately resisted researching the Backstreet Boys.  She hadn't wanted to come here with any preconceived notions but now she wondered if that had been a good idea.  Kevin Richardson's unexpected temper had made a small dent in her protective armor.  He scared her a little.  She wouldn't be rude or unfriendly towards him but she would be cautious.  Maybe he was just having a bad day.  Connie shuddered a little.  That's what she used to think about Trevor….  She began to unpack and get organized before going down to help out with dinner.  Plans had already been made to cook out tonight. 

Kevin marched into his room, pulled off his baseball cap and threw it on the bed.  Great start… He flopped down on his back and lay there, spread eagle, managing to cover most of the mattress.  She's not going to make me feel bad about this.  She should have watched what she was doing.  It's a brand new truck, for shit's sake!… He thought about how Hannah had looked at him from the porch and wondered if any photographs she took of him would be enhanced with blacked out teeth, black eyes or devil horns.  Shit… Well, he'd better get a grip.  A cookout had been planned for tonight.  That had been Nick's brilliant idea. 

Kevin forced himself to calm down.  He had kind of lost it, but it was over - or at least he thought it was until Miss Constance O'Rourke had turned her back on him and walked away without a glance - even when he had called after her.  Christ… He sighed and pulled himself up when he heard Leigh call up the stairs to announce that dinner preparations had begun. 

Their rooms were directly across the hall from each other as they discovered when they opened their doors to leave at the same time.  Connie, of course, was not answering Leigh's call.  Whether it was coincidence or fate that drew her out of her room at that particular time, she didn't know but now she and Kevin suddenly stood facing each other.  They stared at each other for a full five seconds before Connie broke and mumbled that she's 'forgotten something' and went back into her room, closing the door.  When she peeked out a few minutes later, Kevin had gone downstairs.  She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped across the hall to his room.  Connie reached into her pocket, pulled out six fifty dollar bills and placed them on his dresser.