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THIRTY EIGHT: TURN ME ON The
Herald-Sun 15th
November Backstreet Paints
the Town
Newly
single Backstreet Boy, AJ McLean has been seen cozying at the ‘Smash Hits
Winner’s Poll Party’ after-party with former All Saints member, and now solo
artist, Louise. McLean was again spotted leaving a London hotel in the wee hours
of dawn. The
Backstreet Boys are here for two sold out shows, on tonight and the 20th. ‘Amelieh’
was less than thrilled that I couldn’t hand in my Kylie article on the precise
dot of eleven thirty six (ten thirty was ‘morning tea’ and twelve fifteen
was when the office did ‘lunch’), but when elusive Belyndah hobbled into the
office with one leg bandaged, clutching a copy of the ‘Morning Herald’ in
one hand, Amelieh’s initial disgust suddenly melted into gooey, sticky and
throat choking ‘arse’ kissing. “Oh,
it must be positively heart wrenching for you to see your former boy seducing
his way through the English pop scene” she gushed with just a tad too much
sympathy “I mean, I think it’s positively ghastly that he’s canoodling
with that Louise” she sounded as though she had been attacked personally.
“Would you like to have a bit of a chat about it? Tea? Coffee?” Canoodling
with Louise? I’m just thankful they didn’t catch him with me! “No, I
don’t think-“ “I
mean, after all-“ “I’d
just like to get my article done. I need to use one of your computers” She
looked crestfallen and a little irritated when she returned, carrying two
steaming cups of tea, which ‘accidentally’ drenched my shirt. “Well,
I s’pose you can use Marc’s; he’s out this week, got the flu” “Thanks”
I muttered before I grabbed my jacket and headed toward the door. “You
forgot your tea” Turning
around, I grimaced “Don’t drink tea, only coffee” So
I typed my way through ‘morning tea’, the little interlude between that and
lunch, where Belyndah managed to ‘model’ the latest Gucci dress, despite her
ailing limbs. I
finally polished off and stamped my name on the piece at lunch when
‘Amelieh’ bid me farewell and ‘g’luck’. Luck.
Ha. I
walked into another Backstreet concert; it was weird, deja vu with the same sort
of girls, all shrieking as soon as one of the Boys did anything, but without the
security and mad crowds surrounding me. I made it through most of the concert
without flinching and cursing, but when I tried to get backstage- that was a
whole different story. “Can’t
let you through, sweetie, no way” “Quincy,
you know me. I traveled for three months with AJ here” But
he remained adamant “Look, I’m just instructed by their management” he
jerked his finger backstage “That no one gets through tonight, only Leighanne
and Kristen, that’s it” he pushed me abruptly beyond the door, causing
another round of excited chatter amongst a throng of girls. “Scuse
me” A petite girl with tomato red hair in a yellow jumpsuit type ensemble
addressed me as I began to retreat. I scowled, causing her to give her friend
beside her a furtive glance. “Are you and AJ going out?” I
looked toward Quincy who had his arms folded firmly across his chest, looking
steely eyed and more than cold than well, steel “Not n’more ” I assured
her with a tight smile before I turned on my heel. Was
I going nuts again? How stupid was I to believe he would be there for me? Sure,
he bloody ‘felt’ me (up, I might add), but was I stupid enough to believe he
could think past himself and be there? It’s always implied that once someone
‘cares’ so to say, it’s assumed that they might just want to see you. Was
I wrong to be presumptuous about living just a little of a Mills & Boon
reality? I
had just managed to throw my non descript, no brand pair of black pumps across
the ragged green carpet, before a knock was heard at my door. “I
didn’t order room service” But
they knocked again, just as I began to unbutton my shirt. “Go
away” I muttered. I grabbed my pump and hurled it at the door. Still
they knocked. Okay. They asked for it. “Look,
I didn’t order-“ I
looked down to find a curious looking brown cardboard box on the floor. I lifted
it up and peered inside. My
laptop! There
was a post-it stuck on the fine grain plastic top and scrawled in some non
descript hieroglyphics, it read; Turn
me on. Hmm…
I unlocked the door and peered outside; there wasn’t a person in sight, except
for the elderly janitor vacuuming the hall. Should
I? But it’s my own laptop! So
I held it, as far away from myself as possible before I placed it carefully on
the scratched pine table and pushed the power button. The
usual computer jargon loaded onto the screen, then the sky blue Windows intro
and finally, the desktop interface. I
was relieved that nothing had been deleted, but more intrigued by the fact that
there was an extra folder, named appropriately enough ‘open me’. By
this time I was no longer mad, but rather nervous, thinking he had downloaded
some porno onto my hard drive and conned me into viewing it with the full intent
that I was to perform some sort of imitation service for him. But instead, I found a solitary audio file, named simply ‘Minna’. My
heart thumped; why did he name an audio file ‘Minna’? Was it some sort of
blackmail warning? Did he record something I said intending to hold it against
me? I
had no idea, and there was only one way to find out. One.
Two. Three-
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©
sayamaru and 'Bittersweet Rhapsodies' 2001-02 No
part of this website may be reproduced in part or in whole without permission of
the author/webmistress. All ideas, graphics and layouts and backgrounds and stories are copyright of sayamaru and Bittersweet Rhapsodies. I am in no way affiliated with the Backstreet Boys, their management wives/girlfriends or the girls used in these stories. |