| ...Tampa... by destiny "I have a headache." The words rang through the large, empty press room, echoing in time with the headache's pounds. Lance cradled his head in his hands, wishing to God he hadn't gone to that damn MTV party the night before, or had chosen not to do fifty million body shots. Okay, fifty million was a stretch, but it was a lot, in fact, so many, he didn't remember leaving the party, nor did he have a clue how he'd gotten back to his hotel until a few hours ago, when a very angry Joey accused him of puking on his new Nikes. "Oh, mother, I have such a fucking headache." He repeated it, listening to the echo. "We know, Lance!" JC snapped, glancing over a clipboard. "You said it twice." Lance lifted his head, ever so slowly, trying to avoid the hammers from hammering any harder near his temples. "I can't rehearse like this. Not with the drums, and the ever-loving guitar playing of Perry. Oh, God, it'll kill me." "Maybe I'll kill you first," Justin smiled, "Then you won't have to worry." He snickered as Lance shot his middle finger up at him, then dropped his weary head back down into his hands. "Where the hell is Chris anyway?" Joey put down the schedule he'd been staring at. Actually, he wasn't really into it, just found it easier to pretend he was busy while ideas flew fast and furious around the room. Several acts had been added since the announcement of N Sync and Aerosmith, and he didn't know how to handle all the activity. JC and Justin were hell bent on making the show better, upset that they had to revamp due to Mary J Blige, Britney, and Nelly. Now instead of two major acts coming together, they had to scramble to add three more without giving up their place of honor. Honestly, Joey could care less. He had nothing to prove. Everyone so far had been very nice, polite, even most of the Backstreet Boys were behaving. Lance made a small, sick groan from the side of the room, and Joey saw him grow pale. "Gonna hurl?" he asked. Lance just groaned more. Chris made his appearance, grinning, his sunglasses perched atop his head. "Hey little boys. Playing nice?" Justin scowled. "Late again? Care to actually help us plan this thing?" He thrust a paper at Chris and frowned. "We got 10-12 minutes. Now, it's going to be Bye Bye Bye because they specifically asked for it but...." "Let's do Digital Get Down. I mean, it fits more with Aerosmith, don't ya think?" Joey asked, fiddling with the paper, now curled up in a tube shape. "Yeah, your right, but It's Gonna Be Me might sound better," JC replied, staring into space, humming both songs. "They're doing Jaded, so...." "Speaking of Aerosmith, did you see them last night at the party? Man! Gotta give em serious props," Chris whistled lowly, refering to the impromtu jam session they had put on. "We gotta start playing instruments, on stage, of our own. Think we could?" Justin scoffed. "You crack my ass up, man. You don't show up to the meeting today, act like some fool at the press conference yesterday, and now you want us to fucking play our own instruments?" "Just an idea. No need to be such a prick, Justin." Chris took a seat next to Lance. "How you holding up? I figured you'd be hiding out after last night." He chuckled, picking at his nails, staring at the ghastly white face that looked up at him. "Hiding out? Why? I look that bad?" Lance questioned. Chris never was an expert at words. "No man, I mean the girl last night, the body shots." He gazed into blank green eyes, eyes that searched to remember. "Lance!" he cried, smiling. "You don't remember do you?" Joey's curiosity was peaked. "What the hell are you sputtering about Chris?" Chris looked at Justin, then at JC. "You guys saw it didn't you?" "What? What the hell are you talking about? I'm in no mood for goddamn riddles, Chris. I have a ton of shit to do and..." Chris blinked hard and shook his head. "That girl, the blonde with the killer body?" Lance bit his lip. Blonde? God, there was a blonde, a redhead, a brunette, and more than one, he was sure. Which blonde? Chris raised his eyebrows. "Nick Carter's girlfriend? Anyone?" He couldn't believe they had no clue. "Christ, Lance had his toungue down the girl's throat." Lance felt the bile rise to his mouth, and he scampered toward the garbage can, dry heaving over it. He'd tossed up most of his stomach's contents the night before, but this news, it shook him, hard. His eyes felt like they were ready to pop out of their sockets, and his entire body swayed under his weight. This was bad, so bad. "Chris, are you sure?" he asked weakly, "cuz they weren't there last night, ya know. They didn't show up, so maybe it wasn't her." He couln't pick his head up, even if he wanted to, and the sound of Justin's laugh sent sharp pangs through him. "Shut up," he grimaced. Chris sighed. "Fraid so, buddy. You and the favorite backstreet boy's lady were pretty hot n heavy." He looked at Joey. "I though sure you'd know who she was." Joey pointed to himself. "Me? Why the hell would I know who she was?" "I dunno, you have that fuck with the wrong girl radar." He laughed at that. "Anyway, I don't think he found out." JC checked on Lance. "It's okay. Chris said he didn't think they found out." He rubbed Lance's back, feeling sorry for him. "You okay? Maybe you should go lie down." Lance wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and nodded. "I think I should. I can't believe I'd be that fucking stupid." His face was red from heaving, and his eyes were red rimmed and glassy. "Joey?" he called out. "Can you come with me?" Joey stood up, yawning. "You scared?" he teased. "No, I'm not scared. I'm just not feeling good." Lance pulled open the large doors and headed out into the hallway, Joey right behind him. Steven Tyler met him with a hand around the neck. "You little mother fucking punk ass," he growled, slamming his head into the wall. Lance cringed at the pain that surged through his head, and the air supply that was quickly being cut off. He yanked at the singer's arm, tugging with all his life. He blinked hard and saw Joey catch the lead singer from behind, wrestling him back. "Let him go," Joey hissed, pulling hard. JC, Justin and Chris hurried into the hallway, shocked to see an idol of theirs attacking their most peaceful member. "What fuck is going on?" JC bellowed, rushing to Lance's side as he slid to the floor. Steven Tyler stood there, ready to kick him. "Little fuck wad. You think you're shit don't stink? It that it? You think you can fuck with my neice? I'll kill you if you touch her again!" He pushed Joey off him and stormed down the hall, leaving the five singers stunned. "Lance!" JC cried. "His neice?" "Which one is his neice?" Lance gasped, wondering just what the hell had gone on. He had never been drunk enough to forget everything. "Joey?" Joey wrapped his arm around Lance's shoulder, feeling the younger singer tremble. "I don't know, man. I saw some of what happened, but I was busy too." He looked up at Chris and JC, and mouthed the words 'tyler's neice?' Lance groaned, feeling sicker by the moment. "Chris, are you sure it was Nick's girlfriend and not Steven Tyler's neice?" He mentally tried to count how many girls bodies he'd licked the night before. There was the red head with the huge chest and the tiny pink mini skirt, then the petite brunette who reminded him of Jennifer Love Hewitt, and the amazon blonde with the tinkly voice and the belly button ring, and the other blonde, with the short hair and the bad attitude when he'd turned down her invite to go back to her room. "What the fuck did I drink?" Justin shook his head, glad Britney was with him last night because the girls in Tampa were vicious, stripping and coming on to all of them like gangbusters. "You need to go crash. We'll run rehearsal without you." "And apologize our asses off to Steven Tyler," JC added, rubbing his hands over his face. He'd expect this from any of them, but Lance took him by surprise. Lance never did crazy out of control things like that. He just didn't. Hopefully, Steven wouldn't hold a grudge, and hopefully if Lance did suck face with Nick's girlfriend, he didn't know. That would be too much to take, and Tampa just wasn't that big. Lance nodded, his gut still twisted and aching, his mind fuzzy. Joey helped him up to his room, passing Nelly on the way. "Yo," Nelly said, chuckling. "Your boy been hitting the bottle?" Joey grunted as Lance weakened. "Yeah, last night." "Lightweight, huh?" Nelly asked, bending over to look at Lance's face. "Man, he's green!" "I know, he's half out of it." "Word is he did Tyler's neice. True?" Lance snapped his head up. "No, not true. I slept alone, and besides kissing a few girls, and doing body shots, I was okay." The words reverberatted violently in his head, and he felt the dry heaves coming on again. "Please," he begged, looking up at Joey. "Hurry." Nelly took the room card and shoved it in the door, swinging the door open for them. "Thanks," Joey muttered. "And if you hear the rumour again, will ya squish it?" Nelly nodded, heading off. Joey dropped Lance on the bed. "What the fuck did I get into?" he moaned. "I gotta head down for rehearsals," Joey sighed, looking around. "You need anything?" "A new head, and some immunity from dumb choices," he replied, laying his head on the pillow. "I'll be back soon as I can. I'm taking your room key." Lance waved his hand, no longer able to speak. He just wanted the pains to stop, the room to cease spinning, and the headache to dissapate. If they'd just go away, he was sure he could piece together just what he'd done. Body shots, girls, hazy smoke hanging in the club, Carson and Tara, the 98 degree guys, he saw parts, pieces of this puzzle. Maybe he could ask around, see what everyone else had seen. Maybe. His eyes shut and he drifted off immediately. He awoke to a loud bang on his door, and an angry voice screaming. His eyes were still glued shut, and while the pain in his head had subsided slightly, his gut still rolled with a vengence. "Bass, you open this fucking door now!" Lance blinked in the darkness. It had to be late, and where was Joey? Hadn't he promised that he'd come back as soon as practice was done? And who was that screaming out there. He listened, fearful it was a lunatic trying to hurt him. His mind was still foggy, and he couldn't seem to coordinate himself. "Get the hell out of here." Joey's voice. He sat up. At least Joey was back. "This is between Lance and me, Fatone. You don't wanna get mixed up in it." God, Nick? Holy Mary, mother of God, he found out. Lance bit his lip. He was safe so long as he didn't open the door, and prayed Joey would get him to calm down and go. "No, it's not. Lance is sick. He wasn't right last night. In fact, he may have been slipped something. He doesn't remember any of it. So just get out of here." "Convenient excuse," Nick spat back. "Get his fucking ass out here and let him tell me like a man. You gotta fight his fights for him?" "Nick, maybe Joe is right. I mean, Lance isn't a bad guy, and we heard all about the fans slipping things into drinks. Maybe it was just a fluke or something." Lance listened with interest. He couldn't make out the other voice, but was pretty sure it was one of Nick's groupmates. "What are you stupid? This is nothing more than petty revenge by N Stink, disfunctional little fucks that they are." "What did you call us, you washed up piece of shit?" Joey was screaming now and Lance jumped up, his head spinning mercilessly, little stars floating through his field of vision, and he stumbled to the door. "Joey?" he called out, struggling with the knob, trying to get his hand around it to open it. "Joe?" The click in the door was louder than he expected, and the door pushed open a bit. "Lance? It's me. I'm here." Lance moved back a little, wobbling against the wall. He didn't feel well, not at all, and suddenly, a hand reached in, attacking him. "Lance, you fake blonde wanna be actor! I'm gonna rip your head off and shit down your neck for making time with my girl." Joey snatched the hand back. "Jesus, Brian, get a grip of him before he kills Lance." "Joey?" he called out again, trying to get a look out into the hall. "Yeah, I'm coming in." Joey shoved the Nick back a bit and slunk in. "Man, you're looking worse. How much did you drink?" "Do you think I was poisoned?" Lance asked, his mouth dry and pasty, his eyes buldging. "God, please. Make it go away." Joey helped him back to the bed. "Do you think you could have really been slipped something? Justin told me to use that excuse if I saw anything. They're on their way up. Lance? Lance?" Lance slumped back onto the bed, a searing pain ripping through his body, his stomach felt on fire, and his limbs shook. Joey was slapping him, and he could see it, feel it, but couldn't speak. He was scared, and aching, and wanted to yell at Joey to make him stop hitting him because it was making it worse. He heard Justin and JC and Chris come into the room, and he kind of saw them, fuzzy, but there. And Justin started shaking him. His heart throbbed hard against his ribs, and he couldn't breath. Maybe he was poisoned, maybe he was. Drinking didn't do this, not this. "Call 911." Lance's eyes closed, on their own, and he didn't feel anymore slaps or shakes, glad for the rest, hoping that if he was poisoned, God would take him away from the awful feelings, and if it was just alcohol, they would pump his stomach, or something. It was all a mistake, he thought, as he drifted off. "I can't get over, alcohol poisoning? Didn't anyone see how much he drank?" "Hell, I thought he was just having a good time. I thought he knew what he was doing." "Chris, if you knew he was hitting on Nick's girlfriend, why didn't you stop him?" Lance's eyes fluttered open. "Ughh," he groaned, rolling over. "You okay?" Justin asked. Lance wiped his hands over his face. "I think so. I guess I'm still alive." "Barely. You, my man, had alcohol poisoning. You had your stomach pumped." "No," he muttered, looking around. He was in his hotel room, just had new clothes on. "Fuck." "You're telling us," JC admonished. "Steven Tyler is still pissed off and Nick threatened to beat the door down to get to you. We told them you were drugged." "I'm sorry, guys." He still didn't think he could have drank that much. "Drugged huh?' Joey was sitting next to him, holding a cool cup of water to his lips. "Here, drink this. You're dehydrated." Lance took baby sips, amazed that he'd let himself go this much. Hiding out in Tampa was not something he wanted to do, not when there was so much press, and he was surrounded by so many friends. He looked out the window, unsure what day it was. "So, what do we do now?" he asked, looking at JC for help. JC would keep him together, he was sure. "Superbowl's tommorrow, man. We gotta rehearse today." Lance groaned, throwing himself back. The idea of facing Steven Tyler was most unappealing, and he cringed at the fact he couldn't even remember the guy's neice. JC was intuitive. "He's not mad anymore. He actually came by to check on you, and apologize to us." Justin grinned, adjusting his baseball hat. "That's some shit, huh? We've come a long way. Aerosmith and us." Chris tilted his head, feeling badly he hadn't stopped Lance that night. "Look, once you're out there, you'll feel better," he said, trying to reassure him. "We won't let anyone get to you." Lance nodded, struggling to his feet. He stumbled to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. No more drinking for him. He slapped cold water on his face, hoping he'd still have a face if he ran into Nick Carter. Damn, but the kid was big, huge, and he knew if alone with him, he'd take him down in a heartbeat. No more drinking, no more body shots. Tampa wasn't big enough for him to piss anyone else off. |