THE STUDIO IN THE COUNTRY, Part 6

NOTE: Part 6 is not as long as some of the others, and I'm afraid that Part 7 will be delayed a few days by things beyond my control. I'm sorry about this, but a lot of key things will happen in Part 7 and I don't want to rush it. Quality is as important as speed here.

SHAMELESS PLUG: A couple of people have complained about how complex the descriptions of the building have been. So I have drawn a floor plan for you, proof once more that some of us don't have enough to do. You can see the floor plan at michaelwashere.homepage.com by clicking on the smiling Brian.

DISCLAIMER: The story that follows is a work of fiction. Many characters are completely fictional. Though some characters are based on actual persons, they should not be considered accurate or truthful representations of those persons. This story is not intended to reflect the behavior, work habits, personal hygiene, sexual proclivities, or preferred laundry methods of any real person, living or dead.

WARNING: This story deals with homosexual themes. If this offends you, read no further. If you are under 18 years of age, read no further. If accessing this story causes you break any laws applicable to your location, read no further. If you don't enjoy amusing short stories, read no Ferber.

FEEDBACK: If you want to contact me and make any comments, please send them to michaelwashere@netzero.com. But please don't write to mention that I've changed the spelling of Robby's name. It occurred to me that, in America, men usually spell their names with Y and women with IE, so I just changed the spelling to reflect that.

 

THE STUDIO IN THE COUNTRY

Part 6 - Wednesday

I had planned to sleep late and wander downstairs in time to eat the breakfast that Robby had to get up early to fix. That was the plan anyway. But for some reason, I woke up at 6am and couldn't get back to sleep.

For a minute or two after I got up, I thought about hitting the story I'd been working on yesterday, but it was too nice a morning to sit behind a computer, so I decided to go running instead. After throwing on a pair of shorts and my usual white T-shirt, I tied on my shoes and headed downstairs.

I used to go running three or four mornings a week, but I had seriously slacked off during the summertime. The heat was oppressive, even early in the morning. And I was always kinda wimpy when it came to the heat. I guess that comes from living in Chicago for twelve years.

The house was still quiet when I got downstairs. I stepped into the entry, punched the 60-second pause code into the keypad, and slipped outside. On the front porch, I stretched a bit, just enough to get me going. Usually I'd run for 5 or 10 minutes before I did my real stretching. Cold muscles don't stretch out really well.

Because I knew the gates in the south pasture were open, I headed that way. The sky was already light and was just beginning to turn china blue in the east. The sky in the west was still dark. I smiled to think about a running argument between Mom and Dad: Mom's family had lived in Chicago for generations, and she still made jokes about living in barbarian Texas. Whenever she'd say something about how proud Dallas was for so little reason, Dad would say, "Well, the sun does set over Dallas everyday."

The grass was still wet with dew, and short blades left from its cutting stuck to my shoes as I ran across the lawn. I stayed on the grass until I came to the fork in the driveway, then I crossed the drive, gravel crunching underfoot, to head toward the horse trail that led to the south pasture. When I hit the trees, the cool of the shade was a bit of a shock. Among the oak leaves, the birds were going crazy, singing to wake each other up.

I passed through the gate Kevin and I had found open yesterday and emerged from the trees into the pasture itself. A warm wind found me, and it felt comfortable after the coolness of the woods. After another five minutes, I was at the corner of the fence. I stopped here to really stretch out my legs.

I continued along the path Kevin and I had taken, around the south and east pastures. But when I got back to the tractor barn, I turned left and went into the trees. I jumped across the shallow creek and headed back to the house using the path Brian and I had walked two days earlier.

When I got back to the house, I saw Mike on his way to the stables to turn out the horses for Robby.

"Hey," he laughed. "Who you runnin' from?"

"Aunt Jessie!" I yelled back, trotting past him toward the patio. Every family seems to have one pushy, overbearing relative, and my mom's sister-in-law was ours.

"Tell her I want a moustache just like hers!" he yelled back.

It was good sign that Mike was up and about. I'd been worried that if no one had deactivated the alarm system, I might not be able to get into the house without waking up everyone. My plan had been to stretch out by the pool and nap in the sunshine until I heard breakfast, but that wasn't necessary. I slipped in through the French doors into the gym, and headed to my rooms.

I showered and changed. By the time I sat down at breakfast, it was 8:15.

 

Robby and Mike were at the table eating, but the only one of the Boys at the table was Brian. He looked up as I entered and gave me a small smile before re-joining the conversation he was having with Robby and Ed. He still looked tired, but at least he smiled. Dad was talking to Ms. Shaw. I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation a little, but Mike yelled at me as soon as I entered the room.

"Ben, look! There's a scary message in my Alpha-Bits!" He held his cereal bowl at an angle. "It says, 'ooooooo'!"

I looked at the cereal in his bowl, then at him. "Mike," I said flatly, "those are Cheerios." Robby grinned up at me. I nodded toward Mike and said, "Has he been like that for long?"

"He thought up that joke this morning," Robby explained. "Every time someone comes in, he has to tell them."

Still shaking my head, I got a plate from the buffet table and covered it with French toast. Not seeing any honey, I got it myself from the kitchen. When I returned, I took my plate and sat down next to Brian.

"Hey, bud! D'you get enough sleep last night?"

"Yeah," Brian smiled shyly at me. "I went to bed right after you went in." He watched me pour honey onto my French toast. "Honey?" he asked.

I looked at him for a second before saying, "Yes, dear?" He smiled and pointed at my plate. "Yeah, I always eat honey. I can't stand the taste of maple syrup."

"Then you probably haven't tasted the real thing," Ms. Shaw said, smiling at me. "My grandparents made syrup on their farm in Vermont. It was incredible."

"Oh, I've had real maple syrup," I told her. "Mom used to bring home maple syrup from a little place near Toronto, but I didn't like it either." I smiled back at her. Remembering how unpleasant she'd seemed two days earlier at the airport, I was glad to find out she was really kinda okay.

"So, you're from Vermont?" Dad asked her.

They went back to talking to each other. Brian leaned over to me and said, "Thanks for being so friendly last night. I hope I wasn't rude or anything."

I smiled at him. "You weren't rude. And 'friendly' is my middle name."

From somewhere to my left, I could hear Mike mutter, "Your middle name is 'Russell'." I ignored him, and Brian didn't show any signs of having heard anything.

"Good," Brian continued. "I appreciate you being willing to listen to me. And I really appreciate that you didn't try to nag me into talking about it. The guys always care when one of us is upset, but they always try to harass you into talking about it. Thanks for not doing that."

"No problem," I told him. "Are you feeling better this morning?"

"Yeah, a little." His voice was quiet and a little withdrawn again. "I just have a few things on my mind."

"Well, my offer still stands: find me if you need to, bud."

Brian smiled at me again. God, what a smile! It must run in their family or something. "Thanks," he said.

I noticed that Ed had stood up and refilled his coffee mug. "Whaddya say, Brian? Ready to get to work?"

Brian looked at him and nodded. "Sure. I'll start warming up, and we can get this done." With a small grin at me, Brian stood up, and he and Dave headed out the door. A few steps beyond the doorway, they met AJ and Howie, coming in to breakfast. Dave went on, but I could barely see the two guys speaking quietly to Brian. After maybe a minute, Brian went on down the hall and the other guys came in to the dining room.

"AJ, look!" Mike said. "There's a scary message in my Alpha-Bits!"

 

By noon, I had done a lot of work. After updating Ms. Shaw's daily statement, I left it with Stacey then set to work on the four suites. The first floor went fast: Dave, Ed and Ms. Shaw were occupying two suites, but three of the six bedrooms weren't being used so there was little work. As I pushed the cart toward the elevator, Robby came by with a carafe of coffee for the studio.

"You skipped the coffee break," he said.

"Too much to do," I answered. "Besides, I had breakfast kinda late."

"So did everyone else. The only person who showed up to eat was Nick, and he just wanted ice cream."

I laughed. "Did he share with Mike again?"

"Mike's gone to the store. He tried to get Nick to go with him, but the guys have work to do."

"Too bad you have kitchen duty," I said. "I know you'd rather be in the studio."

"I'll be in there this afternoon," Robby replied. "Right now, I gotta deliver this coffee."

 

He walked on down the corridor, and I pushed the button for the elevator. When it arrived, Kevin stepped out.

"Hey, Kev," I said. "I thought you'd be at work already."

He smiled—yeah, it definitely runs in the family. "I was. I'm on my way back." Noticing the cart, he added, "You get to clean the rooms today?"

"Yeah, Mike's gone shopping."

"Can you put a couple of extra cans of grape soda in the fridge? There was one in there yesterday, but I guess AJ drank it."

I was proud of my poker face. "Sure," I said. "No problem."

I got the two suites done pretty quickly. It seems like all the guys had left laundry in the nylon mesh bags that we leave in the bedrooms, so I made sure the bags had names on them and put them on the cart. I also checked on the common rooms. They looked untouched on 3 and 2, but the common room on the first floor was a mess. There were maybe half a dozen empty beer bottles on the bar, and the billiard balls were all over the table. I cleaned the room, including setting the pool table up for another game and vacuuming some pretzels out of the couch. I wondered if it had been the producers or the singers who'd been drinking beer and playing pool.

While I was unloading the cart in the laundry room, I heard people passing by on the other side of the door. I checked my watch and saw that it was lunch time. Looking at the dirty sheets and bags of laundry told me what my plans for the afternoon were. I left the laundry and headed to lunch.

 

Almost everyone was in the dining room when I got there. I'd heard Mike drive up a little over an hour earlier, so Robby must have been busy to get everything put away and get lunch on the table in time. I suppose I could have helped him, but I hadn't wanted to so I'd rationalized that it might have seemed to him like I didn't have faith in his abilities.

The guys were talking very excitedly. It seems that they'd got a lot done in the studio that morning. Dave was telling them that—depending on how much they got done during the next two or three hours—they might be basically done for the week. Ms. Shaw even suggested that they might be able to leave on Friday and spend the weekend with their families.

About then, Robby and Mike set two large platters on the table and everyone started eating in earnest. This stopped most of the conversation for a few minutes, but I could hear Howie, Kevin and Nick talking about the possibility of going home for the weekend. AJ was spending all his attention on Stacey, sitting next to him and showing only a slight sunburn.

I turned to Brian to ask if he were excited about going home, but the look on his face stopped me. He looked pretty miserable, just picking at his food. I didn't speak to him, but without my thinking about it my right hand reached out to rest on his shoulder. When he looked over at me, I smiled. "You okay?" I whispered.

He tried to return the smile, but it looked pretty laboured. "Yeah, I'm okay," he said.

"I don't believe you," I said, repeating what I'd said to him last night, "but I'm not gonna nag."

"C'mon, Brian, eat!" Robby said cheerfully as he sat on Brian's right. "Just 'cause I cooked it doesn't mean it's dangerous."

"That's not what I heard," Brian said to him.

Robby leaned forward to look past Brian straight at me. "What did you tell him?" he asked with mock seriousness.

Taking my hand off Brian's shoulder and picking up my fork, I said very nonchalantly, "Oh, I just told him about the chicken pot pie."

"You didn't!" Robby looked almost serious now, but I saw his eyes twinkling. He was gonna milk this for all the attention he could get.

"What happened?" AJ was listening too now, grinning across the table at Robby.

"Nothing!" Robby yelled. "Nothing happened!"

"Food should not explode," Mike said simply. "That's all I'm gonna say."

Now Nick and Howie joined AJ in wanting a full explanation. For the next ten minutes, Robby entertained everyone with a detailed account of how he made tiny chicken pot pies that burst open when stuck with a fork. The family had heard the story before, of course, but we could enjoy watching Robby telling it, even if the facts got stretched a bit further every time he did.

By the end, Robby had all the guys laughing when he described having to get the ladder to clean the chicken off of the ceiling while Mike and I went to wash it out of our hair. Personally, I don't remember that happening, but, hey, it's Robby's story.

After lunch, the producers and all the guys but Howie headed to their rooms to rest a bit before going back to the studio at 1:30. Dad and Stacey went back to the offices, saying something about expecting an important call. I was surprised. Usually I know everything that goes on in the office, but I had been busy with other things for a couple of days. Dad would fill me in later, I was sure.

Mike and Robby started to clean the dishes into the kitchen. Howie and I were going to help, but as soon as the little brothers were both out of the dining room, I pinched Howie's sleeve and lead him to the laundry room, holding a finger over my lips to tell him to be quiet. He caught on, and we made good our escape.

In the laundry room, Howie whispered to me, "Have I been kidnapped?"

 

"No," I told him, "but Mike goofed off all morning while I cleaned the rooms, and Robby's gonna goof off all afternoon while burgers cook on the grill. I think we can let them clean up from lunch by themselves."

Still grinning, Howie looked around the laundry room. It's a good-sized room, about twenty-feet square, with five washing machines on the left wall and five dryers on the outside wall. The right wall was covered with cabinets for sheets and cleaning supplies.

Seeing all the mesh bags of laundry, Howie recognized his clothes. "You do our laundry, too!"

I was amused at how surprised he sounded. "Did you think it washed itself?" I said with a grin.

"'Guess I didn't think about it," he said. "I'm not sure I like having a friend of mine doing my laundry."

"Oh, I'm very discrete," I told him, noticing that he'd called me a "friend" but not mentioning it. "I never tell anyone's laundry secrets," I added with exaggerated seriousness. "My biggest worry is to get the right clothes back to the right people."

"Hey, is there an ironing board in here?" he asked.

"Sure," I said pointing the board hanging on the back of the door.

"Could I use it while I'm here?"

"Got some formal dinners planned?" I asked him. I jumped up to sit on top of one of the washing machines.

"No, I like to iron my pajamas," he said a little shyly, like he was almost expecting to be made fun of for it.

"Y'know, I read that on some Web site, but I'd forgotten all about it." I said. "But sure, the board is on the door and the iron is in that cabinet," I went on as I pointed to one of the cabinet doors. "Use 'em whenever. This room's never locked."

 

Howie came across the room to sit on one of the dryers. I turned to face him and leaned back against the washing machines control panel. "So, you guys really researched us on the Internet?" Howie asked me.

"A little bit," I said. "Stacey did most of the 'research,' if you wanna call it that, but Robby and I looked around a bit too."

"Did you find any of the I-hate-the-Backstreet-Boys sites?"

I laughed. "Of course, they're all over the place. But we didn't spend any time looking at them." I paused as I remembered something. "Wait! That's not true. Stacey and I didn't look at them. Robby thought they were pretty funny."

"Some of them are," Howie said. After a second or two, he added with a grin, "But the I-Hate-'NSYNC sites are funnier."

I laughed, then I got quiet because I didn't want the little brothers to hear me from the next room. "Are you personally responsible for any of the I-Hate-'NSYNC sites?"

"Not anymore," he said with mock seriousness. "I don't really have time for it anymore." A big smile crossed his face. When he realized that I knew he was kidding, he added, "Personally, I think Ricky Martin is behind them all."

We both laughed at this. My backside was starting to hurt from sitting awkwardly on unbending metal, so I jumped down to the floor. For a second, I considered stepping into the dining room long enough to steal two soft drinks for us, but before I could decide, Howie started talking again.

"While you were on the Internet," he began, "did you see any of the fan fiction about us?"

 

"You mean the sites where people write stories with you guys as characters? Yeah, I saw some of those."

Actually, I'd seen a lot of those. At first, they'd been a surprise, but once I knew they existed, I'd gone looking specifically for them. I'd even found one huge database full of stories, a large portion of which was just stories about the various boy bands, most of which involved homosexual fantasies about the band members. For over a week, I'd spent all my free time just reading these stories. But Howie didn't need to know all this, I decided.

Howie continued talking, but his voice was quieter. "Did you find any of the stories where the fans write out their sexual fantasies about us?"

"Yeah, a few," I lied. "I can't imagine that kind of attention. How does it make you feel?"

"I don't know," he said. "Sometimes they're flattering, but sometimes they're kinda creepy. At first we got mad because these stories were just out there, on the Internet, for anyone to read, and no one asked us for any kind of permission. But we figured out that there wasn't much we could do about it, so the guys just pretend they're not there."

"Do you really spend time reading them?" I asked him.

"Well, the production company has someone who watches them for us. Y'know, just to see if they're too creepy, or if a writer sounds too crazy." He leaned over just a bit, and his voice sounded a little conspiratorial. "But I read 'em too, sometimes. Just to see what they're like."

I smiled at him. "We're alone in here, but you're still whispering. I take it the guys don't know you read these stories."

"Well, Kevin and AJ know I used to, because they saw me a couple of times. But they don't know I still look at them." He paused just a second, staring at me with his huge, dark brown eyes. "And they don't know which stories I look at."

Now it was my turn to pause as I considered what he'd said and how he'd said it. Finally, I said, "Let me guess: are these stories written by women fans or men fans?"

He stared at me for a full five seconds before quietly saying, "Men." The look on his face after he said it was a little scared and very vulnerable. It was like he'd taken a huge chance in telling me that, and he didn't know now whether he'd made a mistake or not.

I knew that look, and I knew that feeling, so I tried to be as friendly as possible when I said, "Yeah, I read some of those too. They can be very...." I groped for an appropriate word. Finally, the best I could come up with was "...interesting," said with a sly grin on my face.

I was rewarded with a smile from Howie. His shoulders relaxed. "Interesting. Yeah."

"I noticed," I went on, "that the stories I read spent most of their time on Brian and Nick."

Howie pretended to roll his eyes in disgust. "Everyone spends most of their time on Brian and Nick. I get mentioned too, but usually I'm the asshole in the story. But I'm really a nice guy."

"Yeah, you are," I said. "If the writers knew what you're like in real life, maybe you'd be in more stories."

"Well, if they knew what we were like in real life, those stories would be very different."

I was really tempted to ask him to explain that remark, but just then we heard AJ's voice in the hall outside. "Where's Howie D?" he was asking someone, probably Mike or Robby. "It's time to get back to work."

 

I didn't hear if there was an answer because of the sound of Howie jumping down to the floor from the dryer. "Gotta go," he said with a smile.

"No problem. After all, I have all this lovely laundry to do." He smiled and opened the door, just in time to see AJ standing there with the knuckles of his right hand poised to knock.

"C'mon, AJ!" Howie said. "It's time to get back to work." Howie turned right and went down the hallway, leaving AJ standing there.

AJ looked the room and me over. "You guys having fun in there?" he said with a grin.

I laughed, then pointed at the laundry bags. "Howie was just telling me that you like extra starch in your underwear."

A frown creased AJ's forehead. "I hope you're kidding," he said.

"Usually," I answered. He grinned and followed Howie down the hall.

I took the opportunity to step into the dining room. The soft drinks were still in a tray of ice on the sidebar, so I grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper.

As I stood by the sidebar, I could hear Robby's voice through the kitchen door. "Yeah, I know they're in the laundry room. But you didn't need to tell AJ. They're getting to know each other better." His voice stressed the words "know each other" in a very unflattering way, but I knew Robby well enough to not be offended.

"But they need Howie in the studio," Mike's voice said.

"If we heard AJ, so did Howie and Ben," Robby answered. "Let them worry about it."

I didn't like eavesdropping on my brothers through the door, so I just walked into the kitchen. They didn't notice my entrance, and Mike said, "Why is he talking to Howie? I thought he liked Brian."

"Robby's playing matchmaker," I interrupted. At the sound of my voice behind them, they both turned to look at me. "He's trying to fix me up with Howie. And Mom's trying to fix me up with Kevin."

Mike shook his head. "I still think you should go after Brian."

"Maybe he'll surprise us all," Robby said with a big grin, "and go after AJ."

"If I really wanted to surprise you," I said as I popped the ring on my drink can, "I'd go after Ms. Shaw." I turned to leave the room, but Mike got in the last remark as I was going out the door.

"Just leave Nick alone," Mike said with a laugh. "He's mine."

I could hear them both laughing at that as I walked across the dining room. I laughed a little too, until it occurred to me what an odd thing that was for Mike to say. He didn't mind my being gay, but never made jokes about it himself, even though most guys did at one time or another.

 

The laundry wasn't that bad. I started one load in each of the five washing machines, being careful not to mix the various loads. While they were washing, I ran up to my room to get the book I'd been reading. For the next couple of hours I did nothing but load the washers, unload the washers into the dryers, fold clothes and read.

At three o'clock, I gave myself a break. Leaving all the machines working, I wandered into the game room to watch Jeopardy! on the big screen TV. I made it through the two rounds without interruption, but I skipped the last question to return to the laundry room.

Because the room was getting warm, I had left the door open, so when Nick, Brian and Howie came by about 3:40 they saw me inside. "Still having fun?" Howie asked, loudly enough to be heard over the ten machines.

"Loads," I said, "pun intended." At that second I was folding some clothes still warm from the dryer.

"I don't think I like the idea of some guy folding my underwear," Nick said.

"I'm just folding them, Nick," I said. "It's not like I'm fondling them and drooling."

"Thank you!" Nick said. "There's a mental picture I want to carry with me."

"At least, if your underwear's still damp," Brian said quietly, "you'll know why."

The guys laughed, but I felt the need to change the subject. "So, I guess you guys are done for the day."

"For the week," Nick said. He did a weird little celebratory dance.

Brian looked at me and explained, "We have to be available for a couple of days to do retakes or changes, but it looks like we're pretty much done."

"Does this mean you'll be leaving on Friday?" I asked, mentally adding up how much their early departure would cost the studio.

"We haven't decided yet," Brian said. "A lot depends on how many retakes we have to do, or when Dave finishes the mixing, or what the company wants to spend on us. If staying 'til Monday is cheaper for them than changing our flight arrangements, then we'll probably stay."

"We could pay the difference ourselves," Nick added.

"Well, I'd like you to stay," I said to them. "We like having you here. But I can see where you'd want a chance to go home for two or three days."

"We'll probably have to decide by tomorrow night," Howie added, "after we see how many changes Dave needs."

"Right now, I want food," Nick said. "How long before this cookout of Robby's?"

 

Well, there's part 6.

Again, I'm sorry that part 7 will be delayed, but hopefully I've dropped plenty of hints for you to speculate upon. I'm curious to hear theories of what's gonna happen next, so if you have ideas, please send them to michaelwashere@netzero.net.