Remi Osuna's Side

I entered the bar on 52nd street. It was full of fat, tattooed, biker bastards and a jukebox that played oldies. Men were arguing at the pool table and smoke hung heavily in the air. And all I thought of was Kane. About how much I loved him and how much I longed to spit in his face.

I ordered a bloody Mary, which I detest, but it had blood in its name. Blood.

Somehow, I liked the taste of blood. I bit my lip and sucked on the teardrop of blood that had formed around the teeth marks.

"Do you hurt yourself like that often?" another fellow black coat said.

"Yes. It soothes me. Kind of like that lollipop you're trying to pass off as a cigarette."

He laughed, whoever he was.

"You into bondage or are you a cutter?"

I turned to look at him. He had eyes like a cat.

"Why is this any of your business?" I said.

The man studied my face intently. He went over every curve and every dip with his eyes. I felt naked. He had probably waiting for a good excuse to look at my boobs. He couldn't find any I guess.

"Someone's slapped your face, tied your wrists and you just bit your lips hard enough to draw blood. Either you must really be into bondage, you were raped, or you were in self inflicted pain."

I slit my light brown eyes.

"How do you know all this?"

"If you slap a light black girl hard enough, it usually leaves a mark. Your wrists look half severed, and I was at the correct vantage point to see you bite. Just offering an explanation why."

I looked down and tapped my fingers against the table. He was very observant. He could be useful. I was already forming plans in my mind. Kane… you bastard Kane…

"What's your name?" I asked.

He smiled.

"Delmar."
"That's my sister's name."
"Go fig. And yours?"
"Remi."
"That's also a boys name."
"Go fig."

He smiled again and outstretched his hand.

"You willing to be friends?"
"Sure."

I shook his hand. It was rather cold, rather rough, and the tips of his fingers were calloused on his left hand. His grip was firm. I figured he was a guitar player.

"You have a job?" he said suddenly.
"No."
"Do you want one?" he asked, slightly urgently.
"Depends. I can do anything you ask me to though."

I had had plenty of experience with that.

"Music. It's a s**t job, but its putting bread on the table."

I took a long swig of my bloody Mary. Tasted like crap.

"If you're a musician, nothing is a crap job," I said, screwing up my face.
"Even with the Backstreet Boys?"
"I never saw you on one of the posters."

He smiled sarcastically.

"So don't you think it's a s**t job to work for them?"
"Yes, but there's no problem if there's food on the table. But I have a problem with profanity. It's stupid, vulgar, and it makes you look like you have nothing to say."

Delmar raised his eyebrows. He put his elbows on the counter and settled his weight on his arms. He pulled his lollipop from his mouth.

"Well then, with all due respect miss prim, f**k you."

I rolled my eyes and got up to leave, but he grabbed my arm.

"Will you take it?"
"Take what?" I asked, thinking of the lollipop.
"The job."

I thought for a moment. Couldn't hurt to earn some cash. I might need it. No, I definitely needed it. But it was high money I needed. Not some petty cash like a guitar player. Cash like a big shot. But I guess the all-powerful Backstreet Boys could be a start.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it."


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Two days later - Kevin Richardson's Side

I was sick of it. I'm still sick of it. But I'm stuck with it. I'm supposedly a big star, but all because of some 21-year-old blond idiot. I'm 30 years old for crying out loud. What am I still doing here? On this stage, performing for some screaming girls less than half my age, one sixteenth of which actually like me over AJ or Brian or Howie or Nick.

But whatever.

I'm restless but tired. Need a change. Change just walked through the door.

"I need help," a complete stranger told me as she burst through the door of the conference room.

"I knew one of you was in here," she continued, "so I came. Thank God you weren't banging some secretary on the desk."

Ouch. That bit.

"Well what do you want?" I asked.

Smiling, she scoffed with a shake of her beautiful black curly head. Her expression then grew serious.

"There's a lot of things I want, but you could help me with one. I need cash."

I raised an eyebrow. Who was this girl? Where the hell did she come from, and who gave her the right?

"I'm willing to work for it, don't worry. Remi Nayamka Osuna. I can sing."
"Do you know how many people come in and tell me this everyday?"

She began to scat in true jazz style, and as she reached her peak in a few short seconds, I heard power like I never heard before. She had talent. Damn.
"Okay, maybe you can. But what does this have to do with me?"
"Absolutely nothing. But you might consider giving me a job."
"What?" I asked, astounded.

She rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"Look whatever," she said, gathering up her things that she had dumped on the table. "Who hires the band anyway?"

"You want to be in the band?"
"You're really pathetic, you know that? Isn't that what I just said?"

I felt my bruised pride swell up.

"Okay, you need to show a little more respect," I said firmly.

She looked at me with fire in her eyes.

"Sit down," I ordered.

She held her lips in a thin line shut and sat on the cushioned chair.

"Now we can start over," I said. Then, "How did you get in here?"
"I have a friend offered me a job for no reason, I took him up on his offer, he told me to come here since I was in the area, I came in this morning, looked for him, couldn't find him, asked for somebody important, was told to come in here and I wound up finding you. I thought you'd be able to help."

"Who's your friend?"
"Delmar something."

I thought about it for a while. Delmar was a character, but he wouldn't put our lives in danger. Besides, she didn't seem like a really crafty crazed fan. There was something else about her that was a little unsettling though.

"Okay. What exactly is it that you want?"

She drew in a sharp breath.

"I want a job. Any job."
"What's your name again?"
"Remi Nayamka Osuna."
"Interesting. Now what job do you want, and what makes you think that I'm in charge of hiring people into bands?"

She studied my face for a while, a knowing smile creeping across her own.
"Because you, my friend, have no control of your own career, so you might as well be in charge of somebody else's, don't you think?"

I looked at her in slight shock and horror. She started again.

"Before you think I'm stalking you, it's kind of obvious. You're always in the background, you always look like you want to kill the blonde one, and nobody really cares about you. If you were by yourself, you'd suck, and you know it. Need I go further?" She paused. "Now, wouldn't it be nice to be in control for a change?"

My bruised pride swelled even more. Who the hell did she think she was? And I didn't even know her 2 minutes ago. She had hit a nerve though. I knew she was right.

"Point taken."

She smiled.

"Good, what do you want me to do, and when do I start?"
"What's your motive here?" I asked cautiously.
"Cash. Major cash."
"I can get you there."
"I know you can. Or else I wouldn't have come here, would I?"

She swung her bag over her shoulder.

"Now, I have other engagements, so can you please tell me when I start so I can go?"

Her impertinence was getting to me.

"I haven't even offered you a job yet!" I yelled.
"Fine. Goodbye."

And she turned on her heel and walked out. It was probably best. She would make a trying employee with that attitude. All the same, she had talent. A natural flair for the music. She had it raw. That was something I can safely say I had never heard before ten minutes ago. I couldn't risk losing a chance like that. I went out the back door and went up to the corner. She was standing there looking at me.

"How come you're still here?"

She looked expressionless, and her voice was just as dead.

"I was waiting for you."
"What made you think I'd come looking for you?"
"You need me. When do I start?"
"Next Monday, 10 a.m. Here."
"Thank you. Goodbye."

And she was gone again.

Chapter Two