“Hey, thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” the short girl said as she dropped down in a chair and let out a long breath.
“It’s no problem, girl,” the older woman replied with a wave of her hand. “Anything to get away from the boys once in a while, right?”
“Right,” the short girl replied. “Speaking of, the boys have been driving me nuts lately.”
“Aww, what’d they do this time? Get into your underwear again?’ The older woman asked with a laugh, tossing a long braid over her shoulder.
The short girl smiled. “God no, if they did they’d have trouble dancing for a while.” She laughed bit. “No, they keep talking badly about the Backstreet Boys. I mean, I understand that they’re frustrated with always being compared to them but…God! You’d think they’d be over it by now but nooooo!”
“I know! My guys are the same way with *Nsync!” The older woman replied, throwing her arms into the air. “It’s always *Nsync this and *Nsync that.” She paused. “Actually, they’re referred to such names as *Nsuck, *Nstink, Copycats, Wannabes…. You see where I’m going.”
The short girl laughed. “They call the Backstreet Boys the Backdoor Boys. Well, Joey and Chris do anyway.”
“That’s horrible!” The older woman laughed and the short girl joined in. Their laughter finally subsided as the older woman stirred her tea. A thoughtful look was on her face. “I don’t know about you but I’m getting tired of this war.”
“You’re not the only one,” the short girl agreed, leaning back in her chair. “Even the fans are at war with each other. It’s like a sin to like both groups’ music. I like them both but I can’t tell them that ‘cause they’ll tear me limb from limb if I ever mention Those-who-shall-not-be-named.” She rolled her eyes to emphasize that she thought the feud was ridiculous.
“What if…we made them get along?” The older woman asked, gathering up the dark braids in a ponytail and then let them drop over her shoulder.
The short girl lifted her eyebrow. “How are we going to do that? Lock them in a closet and pray they all come out alive?”
The older woman laughed. “No, nothing that drastic, but what they were stuck on a tour bus together?”
The short girl squinted. “How would we get them on a tour bus together?”
“Simple, get them to go on tour together,” the older woman replied. The short girl gasped. Getting the two warring bands on tour? Together? That’s madness! That wasn’t even madness that was suicide! No one would come out of that tour alive; they’d all be dead within the first few minutes of having to be on tour together. And it wasn’t like they’d go quietly, or even go at all. They’d have to be forced.
“They’d probably barricade the door if we tried to get them out on the road,” the short girl pointed out.
“Not unless we go straight to the top and give Johnny the idea,” the older woman replied. “He’ll go for it because of the promotion. *Nsync will promote No Strings and Backstreet can finish promoting Millennium and start promoting the new CD they’re recording at the same time. And think of the turnout. The fans would go crazy!”
“Yeah, and then they’d rip each other limb from limb while waiting for their favorite bands to play,” the short girl pointed out.
“Think of our paychecks,” the older woman replied. A thoughtful look came to the short girl’s face. “Come on, you’d love to spend the entire summer with me,” the older woman added with an arrogant smile. “I’m not doing this by myself. Are you in or are you out?”
The short girl weighed the pros and cons in her head. The pros were that she got to hang out with *Nsync and the Backstreet Boys the whole summer, separately of course. She got to work on choreography with someone else for once in her life so the stress wasn’t always on her shoulders. The cons were, however, she’d be pulled into the middle of fights, would have to take sides, and would have to hear about the two groups whining about each other all summer. But she got a free trip around the world…
“Well?” The older woman asked.
“All right, I’m in,” the short girl replied with a sigh. “But if this all crashes and burns and I go down I’m taking you with me.”
“Choreographer Code,” the older woman said while flashing peace sign. “And don’t worry, by the end of this tour they’ll be the best of friends.”
“Or they’ll be dead.”
