Blonde hair just screams youth, he thought with a grim look—even while the grin remained. They all saw the way this blonde paraded around like he was the one. Like he was the star. And then on that show from MTV, the kid had to say it. No one was going to say it, even while they all knew who would be the first to go solo. But that damned blonde had to ruin his moment. Had to stumble along every single word to escape his whiny voice had to give all of America the idea that he was the one. The brown orbs narrowed upon watching the kid just as the faint blue, ironically innocent looking stare fell upon him.

A vicious smile replaced the grim features on his face. This is what the kid wanted to do. No, I get to do it first, he congratulated himself with an invisible pat on his back. I get to go first.

The father of the Boys reached a hand out to catch the younger man’s view. A drawl echoed in the room. "What’d you want to tell us?"

His dark eyes perked up with his lips still curved upward. As always, Kevin took direction and command of the room. Well, forget that, he laughed inside, I get command with my words this time. Another flash at that lil’ blonde. Silly Nicky, solo tricks aren’t for kids.

"Yeah, I’ve been in touch with a few outlets on my options…"

"Options?" the other country boy spoke out.

What did these Kentucky boys have a problem with? They couldn’t just wait for him to talk? He’d get the words out sooner or later. But with the way things were going, not to mention their slow speech, nothing would be said before midnight. He presently had half an hour to go…

"A charity thing actually. I’m gonna do a tiny," using his fingers to measure out a gap of about a quarter inch, "solo junket."

He watched the other’s reactions. That blonde kid looked confused as all hell. Then again, that was a familiar look. The others seemed a bit interested—yet a bit confused as well. Kevin’s low voice then questioned just as everyone else was wondering, "How tiny?"

"Just a few shows. I’ve got one lined up for the Hard Rock after we get home. It’s all for charity." Yeah, say that again. Charity was always a nice word to flash around these guys. "Then a tiny," repeating his past example of finger space, "tour."

"Charity?" his fine friend spoke up. Leave it to Howard to pick up on that word. He knew it would win at least one of them over in a heartbeat.

With a nod, "VH-1’s Save the Music."

Howie’s smile grew as he, too, nodded with ease. He seemed almost impressed with his friend’s decision to dedicate his time to a cause. "Very nice."

AJ grinned in response to the approval of the long-haired man. "Thank you very much." It couldn’t have seemed easier to get his friend on his side. Howie and charity were hand-in-hand. One down, three to go…

The short Kentucky cousin scratched at his dark blonde hair, as if trying to add up the sum of an intense mathematical equation. Probably five minus one. "You doin’ this on yer own time?"

Another nod, "You betcha!" That’s it, enthusiasm will win over Brian.

The friend didn’t return quite as much energy but acknowledged the idea as worth-while. "Sounds good ta me."

"Thank ya," he nodded in return. Two down…

The authoritative figure, he’d probably be the hardest. Maybe leave him for later. Nick, he just plain ol’ looked scared shitless. As if someone had swooped in on him while he was sleeping and had stolen the basket of eggs from right under him. That or he was just pissed as hell that AJ was getting on with the solo ideas that everyone threw around from time to time.

"What’re you gonna do as a solo artist?"

He glanced to Kevin. That man seemed genuinely interested in the possibilities. An amused smile crossed the older man’s lips. Ideas were always being thrown around by AJ; it was impossible to keep all of them in check. There was the idea of a 1970’s funk revival band. AJ equipped in a purple—maybe crimson—velvet three-piece jacket…

The response broke Kevin from his wandering. "That thing about that bloke who moves to Nashville and then gets arrested—"

"You were serious about ‘dat?!"

Every head in the room faced the young Nick, wondering where the outburst came from.

AJ crooked a smile and chuckled. "VH-1 thought it was hilarious."

In a grumble, Nick crossed his arms across his chest. "I bet they did."

To say that Kevin wasn’t entertained by the thought would be a lie. The grin on his thin lips was stretching from ear to ear. "No one’s gonna buy into this."

He decided at best he had to continue with the leader. If he won Kevin—as it seemed he was close to doing—he had them all. Nick wouldn’t matter once Kevin was on board. Kevin would simply batter everyone else into submission. "And why wouldn’t they?" he chuckled, admiring how he already had two down, one half way and only the kid left to face.

"They’re not gonna care about whoever you decide to create. You’re still McLean…what’s the name, anyway?"

A proud smile graced his seedy features. "Johnny Suede."

"Suede?" Brian laughed easily. "Why not something tha’s a bit ‘Ole Opry’ style? Granted Johnny Cash is taken…How about Johnny Black?" AJ’s lips crept up on his left side with confusion on how much Brian was really into this idea. Too little, he could handle. But too much…that guy was heading for a sugary, energy boost. "You could wear all black and parade about with a guitar in hand—"

"No, we’ve got it all planned out," spreading his hands out, palms down, to reflect how smoothed out all the options were. "I got a few different outfits, mostly things representing swing, pin-stripe ideals. Ya, know a zoot suit thing. The band will be most everybody from ours and then the handcuffs."

Howie coughed a bit then leaned towards the conversation. "Handcuffs?"

"Yeah, cuz I was arrested for mistaken identity. That’s why I have a name like Johnny Suede…Marcus mentioned maybe changing it to No Name to reflect the idea of protecting my name—"

"Y’all are nuts about this! I can’t believe any one of you is agreeing to this!" Nick suddenly shot out from his chair and turned to them each with a face of rage. "A British guy moving to Alabama, how silly is that?"

With a smirk, AJ corrected, "Nashville is in Tennessee, Nick."

The young blonde’s face crept with scarlet flashes before the anger returned. "Whatever. Tennessee…That’s just stupid! And then the handcuffs, and the mistaken identity. Who in the hell came up with ‘dat?"

He raised his hand, pointing a finger in the air. "Uh, I did," then towards his friend Howard who was watching everything with wide eyes. "And How there."

"Hey, don’t include me!"

"D, you said yourself how funny it’d be if I showed up every night with handcuffs. Only to have Marcus remove them each time..."

"I was kidding."

AJ looked disappointed and glanced towards the ground. "Oh…Well either way, Marcus is soon gonna be known as Uncle Marshmellow."

"You were serious about that night? You were so tanked it was beyond comprehension with you!"

A laugh broke through his lips. "Yeah, well, that night Marcus thought it was hilarious."

"I bet," came the grumbled input from Nick, who was back to sulking in his seat.

Pointing a hand to the kid’s direction, "What’s your problem? A little bit pissed that I’m doing it first?"

Just a roll of Nick’s eyes. That was enough to signal to everyone in the room that AJ was dead on for his excuse of what was ticking Nick off. "Real mature, Nick," AJ mumbled. Three in the bag and the kid was silent…it was as good as golden.

***

Sleek as a black cat, he made his way through the throngs of people. Too many, his mind screamed. Claustrophobia was not on his list, but it soon very well may be added. It was a Monday night. The place should have been barely crowded. Instead, it was packed to the walls, ready to break at the seams. At least he could attempt to perfect his craft. He rationed, you’re going out there as a Limey turned ‘Grand Ole Opry’ musical genius with his two-stringed guitar. His brain stopped—What a joke…and all in the name of charity.

Well, if anything, he’d get in a few laughs.

Sitting atop of the Hard Rock Café’s VIP section, looking down on everyone else, he smiled a grin rivaling that of a Chesire cat. Which in his mind made perfect sense. Chesire was in England…somewhere. And Johnny was from England…kind of.

A server presented him with a napkin she placed on the table where she then proceeded to tap lightly with a long fingernail. "What can I getcha?"

He figured it’d be just fine and dandy to work out his act right there. Even if the show wasn’t scheduled for another month. To hone his skills meant to try it in every place possible. And this lady would be his first subject.

Tugging at the brim of his hat, he lifted it enough for her catch a pair of sunglasses and a wide smirk. He cleared his throat gently, ready to portray the gravely voice of the Bird he would become. Johnny Suede was on the prowl… "How ‘bout yar best ale?"

She blinked quickly then leaned closer to her customer. "Excuse me?"

"Ya got Poddington’s, r’aught?"

Her brown hair of gentle waves swayed a bit when she shook her head in confusion. "Poddington’s? That an international ale?"

"Yah…English."

She leaned back, tapping her pen to the pad in her hand. With an odd curl of her lips, "Right, just like that accent…I’ll check it out at the bar."

He watched as she shifted through the crowd and wondered how he was going to get through the night. The waitress already slighted his attempt at the accent. He glanced down at his outfit, a slight—even a bit toned down—variation of a zoot suit. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he first planned.

The waitress returned, dropping down a glass of frothy, amber colored beverage, as he watched her intently. "There ya go," she offered as well as she could without making another remark on his attempts to amuse himself, pretending to be this Englishman.

As she turned away, his fingers wound around her wrist, pulling her back. "’Scuse me. Wha’s that?"

Her brown eyes rolled upward at the cheap imitation that his voice attempted once again. "A pint of Guiness…"

"Tha’s not wha I assed for."

A smile made its way onto her full lips as she moved closer. Resting her round tray at her knees, she leaned onto the surface. "I’m sorry sir, but we don’t serve Poddingson’s."

"It was PoddingTON’s…Do you at least have Newcastle?"

Moving her head to one side, she bit her bottom lip before breaking with the question she wondered from the moment his mouth opened that night. "Where you from?"

"Nashville," he smirked.

With a nod and a quirked eyebrow, "Interesting accent."

"Well, I’m frum England, originally."

The sarcasm was light. "Hmm, I would have never guessed—"

"Guiness," signalling the glass he was given, "is frum Scotland."

"Nearest damned thing from the UK we serve."

"Ohh," his voice dropped with aggravation. This wasn’t going the way he planned.

The young girl placed her tray at the table then crouched down beside him, resting her bent elbows at the table. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing wha’?"

"That stupid accent. It doesn’t work for you. At least stop trying so hard—"

"I’m note tryin’ anything. I’m jost being me."

Rolling her eyes with a slight smile, "I hardly believe that. I heard about the performance. I think it’s great and all. Charity is a wonderful cause. But really, you don’t have to parade around town as this, this," pushing her hand towards his outfit, "this silly act."

"It’s note silly!" he shrilled in his regular, ragged AJ McLean voice. Looking around quickly, he tugged back onto his hat, lowering it an inch or so. The tone tried to return to that of his façade. "It’s note sillay."

"Of course it is! You’re not this Johnny Whoever Name. You’re AJ McLean!" He pursed his lips at the raise of her voice as she admonished him for this ‘silly idea.’ "Backstreet doesn’t need to pretend to be someone else."

His fingers crept around her upper arm, drawing her closer. In a low voice, he continued with the inflection. "Could ya please keep your voice down just a bit, Missy? I don’t need to be flanked in this place."

Her tone sent off a bit of an amused warning to his mistake. "I do believe that flanked is a bit north of England’s territory. Besides, with that getup you’re asking for a flanking," she smirked in return. "Look, all I’m saying is that AJ McLean doesn’t need to be going around—"

"I am note this charactar you are calling me as. I am Johnny Suede."

"Yeah, right. Just get over the act."

His voice began to rise with the exchange as his frustration was building. "I AM NOTE…" The face then settled, as well as his tone. "I am note acting an’thing. I am just doing what I should be doing."

"This is definitely not what you should be doing," she laughed as she rose from her position and walked away. "Johnny Suede," he heard from her giggle.

***

As he entered the large foyer area of his costly home, he lifted his hat off its perch. Turning it over in his hands, he smiled sourly then flipped it across the hallway as if it were a frisbee, watching where it landed. He then shrugged out of his jacket on the way to the kitchen. After pouring himself a drink, he listened to his messages.

Howie seemed more than entertained… "Hey, Bone, it’s me…or should I say Hey Johnny?" A high giggle sounded through the lines prompting AJ to silently flip the answering machine the finger. "Anyway, I hear you’re going out tonight as your alter-ego," and another laugh filled the tense room. "Call me, I wanna come along for the trip…"

In a grumble, AJ grabbed onto his cordless before plopping down into his leather couch. "Fuckin’ D." Punching a few numbers, he waited for the answer. A cheery hello didn’t make a dent in AJ’s wounded ego. The voice was deflated and distressed, "I hate you."

His friend’s voice popped through the lines, "Did it work?"

In a sour grumble, "No."

"Where’d you go?"

"Hard Rock. Damn waitress gave me the hardest time. She knew from the moment she came over that it was me. How in the hell am I gonna do this, D?"

Another laugh. I hate you, AJ’s mind seethed.

"Hey, you tried, right?"

A gripe was the response, "Yeah, whatever."

He tried his best to sound empathetic, but the truth was that he found it hilarious how the night wore down for AJ. "Hey at least people already bought tickets for the event…so you don’t have to worry about no making any sales on this."

"Yeah, I just can’t wait to hear all those girls laughing at me…"

"What a change from the crying and shrieking, eh?" Howie laughed once again which got nothing in return but another groan. "So not only did the waitress uncover your image, but she shot ya down, too?"

A small chuckle rumbled through the lines before AJ’s ragged voice broke. "Nah, I got a number."

The shock was loud and clear. "The waitress?!"

Another tiny laugh, "Yeah, the waitress. She told me when I decided to change my act to something a bit more believable I should call her. Or else she’ll go around telling people that I actually believe that I’m Johnny."

"Hey, nothing wasted then, right?"

"I guess not. Ego just a bit bruised."

Howie laughed, "Well, you got another one just waiting to come out!"

AJ broke into the slight accent, "Yah, raught,"

"How could she not believe that? You sound straight from a Bond movie…Just not quite as dangerous as the spy world. Maybe something more like Austin Powers…"

He continued with the changed intonation as he tried to keep in his laugh, "I, too, like to live dangerously. I’m one groovy cat…do I make you horny, baby?"

"Um, Aje," the voice came as uncomfortable as possible at the comments his friend had just delivered. "Maybe you shouldn’t try to do this Johnny thing in public if you’re not actually performing yet."

AJ coughed to clear his throat and spoke lowly, "Oh, right."