CHAPTER 139

Kevin sat alone at a back table in a small neighborhood bar and pulled out his cell. He had just finished one glass of bourbon and waved for another as he fished a scrap of paper from his wallet. The paper contained Hannah’s address and phone number. He had arrived in New York yesterday afternoon and headed straight for offices of Plymouth Publishing trying to find out if Stephen Sullivan had been located. He hadn’t – and apparently, neither had Connie O’ Rourke. The secretary that Kevin had spoken to from California, Susan, had fallen all over herself trying to be helpful but the sad fact was that she had no real help to offer. The young girl at the reception desk had stared at him when he left, looking as if she were afraid to speak. It didn’t occur to him until later that she was probably the girl who had help Nick out with his ‘discovery’. He made it a point to have flowers sent to her at the office the next day.

It was about ten PM before Kevin summoned up the nerve to phone Hannah. He had spent a large part of the day psyching himself up for this meeting, sure that, if Hannah had spoken to Connie, she would want to skin him alive. Kevin had decided that even Hannah’s admonitions would be better than than what he had now, which was nothing. The worst outcome would be if Hannah hadn’t spoken to Connie at all.

He had purposely chosen this bar because it was close to Hannah’s house. He had chosen this time, hoping she would be home at this hour. Unfortunately, there was no answer when he called, so he left a message saying where he was and that he would wait there for a while – that he needed to talk to her. Then he left her his number.

Eleven o’ clock and three bourbon’s later, Kevin decided to call it a night.

“Looks like I won’t be talking to hard-ass Hannah tonight,” he mumbled under his breath as he laid a twenty on the table.

Kevin had mumbled too soon. As he tilted his glass to retrieve a lonely cube of ice, the bar door flew open and Hannah, clad in her button-down and khakis’s barreled towards the back of the room, yelling at the bartender as she passed.

“Bottle of whatever he’s drinking!” she shouted, pointing to the table in the back.

“So much for trying to be unobtrusive…” Kevin complained as Hannah pulled out a chair.

“Hell, Kevin. Nobody in this dump knows who you are or cares..”

Kevin smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Well, then, I’m in good company, Hannah. I don’t know who I am and don’t care either…”

Hannah studied Kevin carefully. It had been a long time since she had seen him in person but she had seen pictures and had caught him on TV once or twice. He didn’t even look like the same man. He had cut his hair and shaved his goatee but it was more than that. He looked tired and older – maybe even a little thinner.

“Awww… poor baby,” Hannah pouted sarcastically. “You know Kevin, this pity party feels a little familiar.”

The bartender arrived and slammed a bottle of house bourbon down on the table along with two glasses, giving Hannah a chance to read Kevin’s reaction to her remark. She was a little surprised to find that neither his expression, nor his body language had shifted with her caustic remark. It was if he had expected it.

“I take it you’ve talked to Connie…”

Hannah filled their glasses and pondered the question. The fact was that she wanted to know what was going on. She had a guess but she didn’t know for sure. She and Kevin had been painfully blunt in the past. It was tit for tat. They were circling each other like sumo wrestlers preparing for attack. The underlying irony to this was that Hannah was really quite fond of Kevin. He had started the information dance. She would join in.

“Not really,” she said pushing a glass across the table. “I’ve emailed her a couple of times. She asked me to take care of some business for her.”

“Then you know where she is..”

Hannah shook her head as she took a swallow of bourbon. “Nope. She refuses to tell me. Hell, she wouldn’t even give me your number..”

“You were gonna call me?”

“Damn straight. I tired to get it from Nick but numb-nuts doesn’t seem to know how to empty his voice mail.”

“Well, I’m touched.” Kevin held up his glass in a mock salute.

“Don’t be,” Hannah snarled. “When I touch you, you’ll know it and it won’t be warm and fuzzy. I’m pretty pissed with you right now, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“So Connie told you what happened…”

“Wrong again, genius. She won’t say anything about anything but, like I said, I have an idea or two of my own.”

“Well, I’m fascinated, Hannah. Tell me your…uh..ideas…”

“Let me ask you a question Kevin.”

“Shoot.”

“I may just do that, sweetheart. Will you tell me the truth?”

“Yes,” Kevin nodded. “I will.”

Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette, held it to her lips and lit it, taking a slow drag before she continued.

“Are you gay?”

Kevin’s glass froze in mid air as he was bringing it to his mouth. “What? Did Connie tell you that?”

Hannah couldn’t tell if Kevin was hurt or shocked. “I told you, Connie didn’t tell me anything…” She tapped her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. “This is something I heard fairly recently. It surprised me because I’m pretty good at nailing people’s sexual preferences – if you’ll excuse the expression - and you weren’t really setting my gaydar off.”

Kevin was trying hard to control his temper but could only manage a sarcastic reply. “Well, do I get some kind of award for that? I take it that’s a good thing…”

“Don’t you pull that homophobe shit with me, Mr. Backstreet!” Hannah spat, slamming her glass down on the table. “You forget that you’re talking to a veteran lesbian-warrior! I don’t give a flying fuck whether you screw women, men or sheep but I do give a flying fuck about my friends and I don’t like to see them hurt!”

“Lemme guess, Hannah,” Kevin shot back. “Did you happen to hear that I was gay from the missing Mr. Sullivan? Stephen Sullivan, Connie’s boss? The one who’s in love with her? The one who sent her anonymous letters, telling her what a shit I was? Telling her that she was a diversion for me – that I really preferred a dick up my ass? The Stephen Sullivan who had an album full of pictures of her that he jacked off on?”

Kevin’s voice had grown increasingly loud as his tirade had continued, leaving Hannah in a rare state of shock. She stared at him, speechless, until the long untapped ash dropped from her smoke onto her pants leg, carrying a bit of burning tobacco along with it.

“Ouch! Motherfucker!” Hannah jumped up slapping her leg.

Once again Kevin fought for control but he was tired… so tired. Tired of his hurt, tired of defending his past, tired of Stephen and all of his poison, tired of feeling helpless. He ran his fingers through his hair and instinctively rubbed at facial hair that no longer existed. He only had enough energy for one more speech. His voice was eerily calm.

“Listen to me Hannah. I don’t know that I expect you to believe me but I’m telling you the truth. These things about Stephen are true and you can ask Nick all about it if you want. I really can’t stand to go over it again. As far as Connie’s and my sexual relationship, I will tell you – and not because I enjoy discussing it or because it’s any of your damn business – that there was nothing lacking there. Nothing. We were good together. Real good. I’m not gay but I have experimented and Stephen had evidence of that. I don’t think of myself as bi but maybe some part of me is – or was – or something. I don’t know. Stephen used that to try and split Connie and I apart, but we got past that. We had moved on. I was honest with her because I love her and she accepted that. I have never been unfaithful to her. She left because of other issues that involved her deafness. It was during a bit of a crisis and I said things that hurt her badly and caused her to question our relationship and our hope for a future together. I don’t want to go into that, either. I’ve already rehashed it a thousand times. If you’re curious, ask Nick. He was there.

I was wrong. I want her back. I love her. It’s that simple.” Kevin slid his chair away from the table. “Now, goodnight…”

Kevin stepped into the aisle. There was nothing more to say.

“Wait…” Hannah called, catching Kevin by the arm as he started to walk away. “I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much. Far as I know, Connie has cut off almost everyone she knows. I feel positive that she’s alone. I don’t know where she is. She sold her apartment and the money was deposited directly into her account here. The bank won’t give out her address and I’m not even sure they have it. Connie does everything electronically. She said for me not to worry and that she would keep in touch but she doesn’t always answer my emails. When she does, she’s light and vague. She doesn’t want to be found right now, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded wearily and turned to walk away.

“Good seein’ you again, Hannah…” Then, with a small smile, he added, “I think…”

“Is there anything you want me to tell her, Kevin? She hasn’t blocked me. Not yet, anyway…”

Kevin paused for a moment to consider and then shook his head.

“I can’t think of anything eloquent or original, Hannah. Just tell her what I said – that I was wrong, that I want her back and that I love her…”

With those parting words, Kevin disappeared through the door.

Chapter 140

Days became weeks and weeks became months – four months, twelve days, to be exact.

Kevin had kept a fairly low profile. With the exception of a few public appearances, The Backstreet Boys were nowhere to be found. The group had spent some time together in the studio but sessions were often more frustrating than productive. Oddly enough, one of the reasons for this was Kevin’s lack of attitude. His perfectionism and control had been replaced by what seemed to be a door mat mentality. He was letting the others take over his role in the group. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was that he didn’t seem to care enough. If Brian, AJ, Howie and Nick had wanted to record Itsy Bitsy Spider, Kevin wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow. Howie had even taken to deliberately trying to upset Kevin by making absurd suggestions and comments, in the hopes of provoking some sort of strong reaction but his attempts failed. If disagreements broke out, Kevin never participated. He’d either wait them out or leave the room saying ‘Let me know what y’all decide’. It was downright creepy.

No one spoke of Connie – at least not any more - but everyone still felt her presence. Kevin still carried his laptop with him as if it was a third arm and checked for messages several times a day. During breaks, he wrote furiously and when he was asked, he would say that he was working on a song or jotting down some lyric. No one doubted his word but no one ever saw the music, either. When pushed, he would just smile and shake his head mumbling, ‘Nah…too sappy…’ Translation: Too personal. The closest he came to opening up was when, during down time, one of them might phone and casually ask what he was doing or what he had been up to. Most people answered that question by either reciting a list of recent activities or by simply saying ‘nothing’ or ‘not much’. Kevin’s answer was always, ‘Waiting…’. They never asked what he was waiting for. They knew.

It had been almost a month since he had heard from Hannah. There wasn’t much to report. Hannah still didn’t know where Connie was. The only hint she had been given was when Connie mentioned that it had gotten very cold and that snow was expected. Kevin had spent the next hour on the internet, searching out weather reports and predictions. He even managed to find some satisfaction in that exercise, narrowing down his imaginary search to ten states and Canada and never considering that she might be on another continent altogether.

Although, at times, his complacency caused suspicions of drug use, he was clean. Even alcohol had been kept to a minimum. Physical tensions were eased by daily work-outs. Sexual tensions were also eased by daily work-outs of a different type. Kevin, like the other Boys, had no lack of sexual offers. Willing women were a dime a dozen but Kevin had no response to their lewd suggestions or seductive touches, preferring his own company. Connie’s tender manipulations, moist tightness and warm throat were replaced by his own hand.

*****

Connie spent most mornings in a small meadow near the log house she ad rented three months ago. She had grown used to a sense of isolation long ago but loneliness had proven itself to be a persistent enemy.

The house was nothing fancy but it was warm and cozy with plenty of room to meet her meager needs. The owners had left most of the furnishings, along with most of the dirt, which had proven to be a blessing in disguise because cleaning and setting up house had provided her with a diversion. Her nearest neighbors were a quarter of a mile away – a young couple with a three year old daughter who was fascinated with Connie’s thick curls. The couple, Jim and Jana, along with their daughter Glory had proven to be Connie’s angels.

They had come to call on Connie soon after she moved in and Connie, as was her custom, did not mention her disability. She didn’t have to. Jim brought it up within twenty minutes of their meeting. She had watched him laugh at her shocked expression that followed his discovery and then he had explained that his own mother had been born with a severe hearing loss and he recognized little signs that others might never notice. As she became closer to the couple, she found comfort in Jim’s childhood stories and the adventures of being raised by a deaf parent. The couple didn’t seem to have any reservations about Connie’s disability and even asked Connie to watch Glory for them from time to time. Soon, Connie was asking them if she could watch their child, an arrangement that proved to be beneficial to all involved. Connie’s confidence began to heal but the memory of Kevin’s words still burned a little hole in her heart.

Glory’s visits were happy times for Connie. They made up stories together and illustrated them with crayons on printer paper. They planted morning glory seeds, in Glory’s honor, and pressed fall leaves between sheets of waxed paper. But when Glory went home, Connie was still alone with no mission or job.

Her physical release was effected with a shovel, digging up small patches of earth in the hopes of planting a small garden next spring and placing a few bulbs now. Sexual release was attained through the use of a hand held shower-head or a pillow between her legs. Unfortunately, the emotional release that she had previously enjoyed as a by-product of orgasm, eluded her. She had Kevin Richardson to thank for that. Sexual release was still possible but sexual fulfillment had disappeared.

Connie O’ Rourke had disappeared but not only in the obvious way. She had hidden her body but soon after coming to Wyoming, she decided to hide her name as well. Legally, she was still Constance Kendall O’ Rourke but locals came to know her as Rory. Rory Kendall.

After a couple of months, Connie decided that she needed a project – a project that would take her through the winter. She had no idea what she would do until the afternoon she decided to relieve some boredom by cleaning out her computer. That’s where she rediscovered her classroom writing assignments. Connie reread the pages that she had agonized over months ago, mentally correcting and editing them as she went along. A fanciful consideration washed over her. Could she write a book? A real book? So far, she had just done some articles and a few short stories but they had been well received. She opened another file under ‘My Documents’. This one was labeled ‘Journal’. She was not a fastidious diary keeper but when she was confused, she often tried to work through her mangled thoughts by putting them in writing. There she found a veritable treasure trove of questions and experiences. Most entries were made long before she met Kevin and contained anecdotes and problems she had faced when she left home and began to pursue an independent life.

Taking a breath, she considered her options. She really had none. Maybe writing would help her come to grips with her life as it was, as it is now and how it could be. The task would be a daunting one but it would occupy her time for a while.

She wrote all winter, filling page after page with her failures and triumphs. The book was semi-autobiographical and cathartic but it still did not fill the hole in her heart left by Kevin. She knew that she would never get over him and spent many dark evenings trying to imagine where he was and what he was doing. Had he moved on? Had she become a distant memory? Did she really want to know? She would have to face that knowledge soon or later but she wasn’t ready yet. Connie had convinced herself that her leaving would be the best thing for both of them. Maybe the decision had ultimately been a good one as far as Kevin was concerned but she retained grave doubts about its merits and how it had affected her.

She wrote every day and by mid-winter, she began to feel that she had said all there was to say but she had a problem. There was no ending to her story. She wasn’t sure how to wrap this up and her writing suddenly struck her as self-indulgent. For six days, she agonized over her outline, desperate for closure. She had come close to tossing the entire project when closure came in the form of an email from Hannah.

An associate of the doctor, who had tried without success to treat her deafness, was trying to locate her. He had developed a new surgical procedure that he referred to unofficially as a ‘demi-implant’. From discussions this surgeon, a Dr. Adair, had had with her doctor, he thought she might be a candidate for this experimental surgery.

He re-emphasized the ‘experimental’ description and said that the procedure used a great deal of ‘Cochlear technology’ in that sound vibrations were converted to electrical impulses that were relayed to the brain. The major differences were that that these impulses had been fine-tuned and were hoped to be more effective, even on someone with Connie’s degree of nerve injury. Damaged or destroyed hairs, which normally transmit sound vibrations, would be bypassed altogether and replaced by micro fibers planted directly into the fluid of the cochlea. A transmitter would be implanted behind the ear and another one, even tinier, would be placed in the labyrinth. The device would be powered by a tiny battery, also surgically implanted that would require replacement every year or so. The replacement would consist of an out-patient procedure, minimally invasive.

The bottom line was that Dr. Adair was looking for a guinea-pig. He had no guarantees that the procedure would be successful but he did have high hopes based on previous experimentation and advances in micro-technology.

Now Connie had another life-altering decision to face. She could easily argue either side of the issue. She couldn’t allow Kevin to be a factor in this. She wouldn’t do it for him. There was no point, anyway. He was no longer a part of her life. She would have to want this for herself and she would have to be willing to face another disappointment.

Connie dropped Hannah a note, thanking her for forwarding Dr. Adair’s message and agreeing to let her know what her decision would be – after she made it. But she also emphasized that no one else was to know anything about this.

For now, she had to think.