Carson is just smart enough to know that no matter how many signs down there on Broadway have his name outlined in pink glitter paint, he'll never be the one they sing along to.
Justin wanders within ten feet of the window and a roar erupts from below. In Carson's ear, the director says, "We are not going to have the fucking cops telling us how to run our show again," and so Carson doesn't tug him back from the glass.
The girls scream and Marcie counts him in. On four, three, two, he hears Chris call Justin a fucking cocktease under his breath. Justin smirks and winks at Lance. Lance just wipes his forehead and smiles and that answers that.
*
"How you been," Bob said backstage, and Carson kind of wanted to ask if maybe Bob's cell phone had been on the fritz again. But with Pam's tongue down Bob's ear like that, Carson wasn't sure anyone would hear.
*
"Fuckin' MTV and their fucking sense of irony," Chris says, his stupid hat bobbing like a wool ponytail. "This is, like, someone's plot to make us look even gayer than we are, right?"
Carson shrugs. "He's got a new album," he says.
JC steps over, edging away from this girl in a pink fuzzy sweater. She looks normal, in comparison to some of the chicks decked out in NSYNC gear, but Carson knows those are the ones you have to watch out for. Then again, JC probably figured that out a long time ago.
"I was thinking," JC says, like they'd been talking to him at all, "that, what would be really cool is to cover something that was in Spanish first, you know? Like, originally."
Chris says, "You wanna remake 'La Bamba' now?"
JC smirks and tugs Chris' hat farther down on his forehead. "Nah," he says. "Like, I don't know, 'Vuelve,' maybe."
He sings a line in Spanish and Chris says, "Oh," and translates, nodding. "'Come back, I can't breathe without you,' like that." JC beams and Chris touches JC's wrist lightly, smiling a little at Carson. "Ricky sent tapes with, like, pronunciations and shit, when we did the b-side for 'Promise.'" He wrinkles his nose at JC. "JC takes favors verrrry seriously."
"I bet," Carson says, because really Chris is a total fucking freak and that answers that about him and JC. Not to mention that JC's kind of a space case on his most lucid days. "Good luck with that," he says, listening to Marcie run down the rest of the show in his right ear. They have a lot to get through still.
Chris kind of sneers as Carson stares over his shoulder and says, suddenly, "So how is Bob, dude? Aren't you two all tight and shit? Or is he too occupied with the blonde bombshell?"
Chris is a fucking freak and kind of an asshole, Carson decides, but Marcie's in his ear and all he says is "yeah, we gotta get you guys over here for this next set-up."
*
Rudy's is this total dive over on Tenth Avenue, with duct tape on the vinyl-covered booths and, just like Joey promised, "man, a free hot dog with every beer, come on, I got an hour and this, like, desperate fucking need to talk to someone who won't blow me for a chance to meet Justin Timberlake."
Three beers, three hot dogs each and Carson thinks if Joey slaps his shoulder one more time he might puke all over the table. The table's pretty gross already. He might not even feel bad about it.
The jukebox wouldn't know a pop song if the 45 got shoved through the coin slot, but of course somehow there between "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Bad to the Bone" is "American Bad Ass." Carson runs his thumbnail around an old wad of gum stuck in a crack of the wooden table. He used to paint his nails black, or let Love do it, back before he let the fucks at CBS talk him into manicures while they trimmed his hair.
He says, "Baywatch was really a very stupid show."
Joey nods very, very seriously and Carson waves toward the bartender for another round. The bartender flips him the bird and throws a hot dog bun at some guy by the door. Joey says, "Does, do you think silicone floats? Like, if your tits were big enough, would you just, like, float on the surface even if you were knocked unconscious or something?"
"Maybe," Carson says.
*
Last time Bob was on the show, they'd spent the whole night in a back VIP room at Scores, shit-faced and happy. Carson is smart enough to know it takes more than some high-priced strippers and a few fifths to be a rock star. He's always going to be introducing the next big thing and it doesn't matter how many times he does that, the next big thing will always end up bigger than him. Doesn't really matter which network he's on.
*
"Another?" Carson asks, half out of the booth to take a leak.
Joey checks his watch. "Nah, I promised," he says. "Lance wants us all to go to this restaurant he might buy. I've gotta get back to the hotel soon or he'll be sending out search parties to see what kind of trouble I got myself into."
Carson swallows and follows Joey out the front door. "Nice that you all, you know."
Joey nods. "We bitch and moan," he says, "but really we'd never last a week out on our own."
Joey claps Carson on the back and hails a cab all in one move. "Beats having a real job," Carson says.
Joey stops with one foot up in the open door. "Tell me about it," he says.
END.
Credits: The bonus birthday present for Jess, because she couldn't believe I'd made her like Carson.