:: chapter three ::

Immediately upon leaving the apartment building that Schuyler and I called home, Taylor headed straight for a silver BMW. I let out a low whistle of awe when I realised that the car was his.

“Nice,” I commented as Taylor unlocked the car.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “Had my eye on it all the way through college – my parents gave it to me as a graduation present.” He got into the driver’s seat, and after a few seconds I hopped into the front passenger seat and closed the door behind me.

About twenty-five minutes after leaving my place, Taylor parked the car outside a cheerful-looking storefront on the corner of East 42nd Street and 6th Avenue. What I assumed to be the name of the restaurant was written in what looked like Thai script on the window.

“What does that say?” I asked as we got out of the car. I pointed to the writing on the window.

“Sà-nòok-sà-naan,” Taylor replied. “Basically translates as ‘delicious’.” He popped the boot of the car open and lifted out a folded-up wheelchair.

“You speak Thai?”

“A little bit, yeah. Enough to order my dinner whenever I eat here. My friend Tam, he owns this place – he’s been teaching me to speak it.” He’d unfolded his wheelchair and set it down on the footpath while he’d been speaking, and now settled himself into it. “Can you grab the bag that’s on the backseat? It’s got my photography gear in it, and I don’t really want to leave it in the car in case my brothers want me to take a few shots during their set. I’d have to come back for it if that’s the case.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Plus I’d really rather not risk someone stealing it.”

“Yeah, sure.” I climbed into the backseat and picked up a somewhat battered leather messenger bag by its shoulder strap. “This it?” I called, and held it up to the back windscreen. I saw him give me a thumbs-up when I peeked over the backseat, and I climbed back out of the car.

It was close to freezing outside, so when we entered the restaurant I welcomed the warmth that settled over me like a blanket. I shed my coat and draped it over my arm as I followed Taylor up to the counter. “Hey Tam!” Taylor yelled out, and a tall, lanky guy wearing chef’s whites came out of the kitchen. This, I supposed, was the friend Taylor had been talking about.

“Evening,” Taylor’s friend greeted us. “That’ll be the usual, then?”

“Not quite. I have a friend with me tonight.” Taylor nodded to me. “Tam, this is my friend Isobel Reynolds – Isobel, meet Tam Srisai.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook the hand that Tam extended over the counter.

“Likewise. Why don’t you two take a seat, and I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Taylor raised a hand in acknowledgement, and we headed for a table right in the back of the restaurant. “I will warn you,” Taylor said as we settled ourselves at our chosen table, opposite one another. “Thai food has a lot of heat to it. It could be a bit of a shock if you aren’t used to it.”

I studied the menu that had been set on our table. “I might have some pineapple fried rice,” I decided. “Hey, what’s Massaman curry like?”

“It’s really good. I usually get that and some pàt kêe mao.” At my raised eyebrow, he translated, “Drunken noodles – it’s got brandy in it, hence the name, but I usually ask Tam to leave the brandy out. Don’t like it much.”

Tam came by just at that moment and took our orders. As soon as he had disappeared back into the kitchen, Taylor reached back to his bag and pulled out a notebook, a pen and a black iPod. He switched the iPod on and clicked through to his playlists, scrolling halfway down the list. “‘The Impossible Playlist’,” I read upside down. “What’s that?”

“It’s a very, very long list of songs that my brothers’ fans most want to hear as covers during shows, but for one reason or another they don’t think will ever be played,” he explained. “It got started back in 2000. I suggested to my brothers that they cover a couple of the songs from the list in the first concert of that year’s tour, which they did, and it’s been a tradition ever since. The best part of it is that I’m the one that gets to choose the covers for each show.” He was scrolling down the playlist as he spoke. “What bands do you like?”

“Anything, really,” I replied with a shrug. “But I listen to Fall Out Boy, Pearl Jam and Scissor Sisters the most.”

He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Interesting.” He wrote these band names down in his notebook.

“What, so you’re letting me pick the songs they cover?” I asked.

“I am.”

“And they won’t complain?”

“Not if they want me to keep updating the list.”

I grinned. This was going to be fun.

“Put Semisonic and Hawthorne Heights down as well,” I told him. These two names joined the first three Taylor had written down. “They’re on the list, right?”

“I think so.” He quickly scrolled through the list. “I’ve got Singing In My Sleep and The Transition on here.” He jotted the two song titles down. “Right, I need three more.”

“Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy,” I decided. “Alive by Pearl Jam, and I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’ by Scissor Sisters.” After he had checked that my chosen songs were in his playlist, Taylor quickly jotted down their titles.

“Excellent,” Taylor said. He had an almost evil grin on his face. “I’d better call Mark before I forget and tell him what they’re going to have to play tonight.”

“They do know how to play them, right?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“Yeah, of course. They’ll have to practice them a few times, but they shouldn’t have any trouble playing them live.” He took his phone from his pocket, flipped it open and dialled what I assumed was his brother’s number. “Mark? It’s Tay. I’ve got the list if you want it…Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy, Alive by Pearl Jam, The Transition by Hawthorne Heights, Singing In My Sleep by Semisonic, and I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’ by Scissor Sisters. Got that?...great. Isobel and I are having dinner at Tam’s restaurant before we come out to the show, so I’ll probably see you in about an hour or so. Do you guys want me to do some shooting during the set?...okay, sweet. I’ll see you when we get there. Bye.” He hung up and closed his phone, before sliding it back into his pocket. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said. “I don’t have to work tonight.”

Taylor had just packed his notebook, pen and iPod away when our meals arrived. A large plate of fried rice that had pineapple, fried egg, onion, tomato and shallots stirred through it was placed before me, and before Taylor was set a bowl of noodles, chicken and bean sprouts. Right in the centre of the table was a round tray that had two plates of curry and rice set on it. It all looked almost too good to eat.

“I don’t know much about you,” Taylor said as he inspected his dinner, “so I want to know everything you can think of to tell me. Schuyler’s only told me the bare minimum. All I know is that you’re a workaholic and that you never let yourself have any fun.”

I sent a mock glare his way for that last remark. “There isn’t a lot to tell, really,” I said as I picked all the fried egg and shallots out of my rice. “I’m nearly twenty-three – my birthday’s in the middle of April. I’m originally from a fairly large town in Kent, England called Maidstone – I lived there until I was four years old. I’ve got one older and one younger brother, and three older sisters. Their names are Martin, Penelope, Samantha, Katherine and Jack. All of us except Jack were born in England – my parents uprooted us and brought us all the way out here not long after my fourth birthday, and we moved to upstate Maine. I lived there until I started college.”

“Where did you and Schuyler meet?”

“At high school. She was my history tutor during my freshman and sophomore years. We hit it off straight away, even though she was two grades ahead of me. When she graduated she moved here to go to Columbia University. Two years later I was accepted to New York University, and I followed her here.”

“You did journalism at college, right?”

I nodded. “Right.” I ate a few forkfuls of rice before continuing. “I graduated from NYU in 2006, and started working at High Fidelity full-time almost right away. I was working there part-time during college after I finished my internship, mostly as a runner but occasionally getting the chance to write small articles or album reviews. I love it there – I get to indulge one of my greatest passions, my co-workers are some of the most amazing people in the world, and my editor gives me free rein to do almost as I please. It’s the best job ever.”

“There has to be more than that.”

I shook my head. “Nope. What you see is basically what you get.” I ate some more of my dinner. “So what about you?”

“Well, I’m the third of eight kids. I have two older brothers, two younger brothers, and three younger sisters. Isaac and Mark come before me, and and Zac, Jess, Avery, Mackenzie and Zoë come after.”

“So Mark’s the older twin?”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah. He’s older by seven minutes.” He ate some of his noodles before continuing. “I was born in Tulsa, in Oklahoma, though when Mark and I were six months old we moved to Virginia. We lived there until my dad got sent to South America for work in late 1987. A year or so later we came back to the US and moved back to Tulsa, didn’t leave again until until my brothers landed their record deal in 1996. After that we went to LA for six months, and pretty much just kept on going.” He was quiet for a little while as he ate. “I hated it sometimes, because we were away from home so often and for so long, but to be honest I’d never trade it for anything.”

“What did you do about school?”

“My mom’s mostly homeschooled us all. Isaac, Mark, Zac and I went to private school for a few years when we were younger, but aside from that she’s always taught us herself. It worked in my favour, actually, because I finished high school two years early. I started college a few months after that.”

“So you started college when you were sixteen?” I asked, impressed.

“Yep.” He grinned. “I went to the School of Visual Arts here in New York for six years. I’d have done it over the usual four, but I got sick right in the middle of my first year. Had to switch to doing my degree part-time.”

“What did you study?”

“Photography. Graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Arts under my belt in 2005, and I moved out here permanently that summer.” He finished his noodles, shifted his bowl aside, and moved one of the plates of curry before him. “I’ve also taken a few courses in music production. Figured that if I wasn’t going to be a musician, I might as well do something that was related to music in some way. Production ended up being it. And to be honest, I think the production side of things is a whole lot more interesting than being a musician.”

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, we had both finished eating. And as I stood up from the table and picked my handbag up off the floor, I realised something.

I liked Taylor – a lot.

He was intelligent, creative, down to earth, and he had a wicked sense of humour – everything I’d ever wanted in a partner. It didn’t much hurt that he was quite good looking.

As we left the restaurant, I pulled my coat back on and buttoned it up. Taylor, meanwhile, was rummaging around in his bag. “Here,” he said as he handed me a plastic card on a black lanyard. “You’ll need this so you can get backstage. You won’t get past security without it.”

I studied the card closely. On the front it had the symbol I had seen on the drum kit during the interview, with the words The Walk – New York Showcase 2007 – Access All Areas printed below in black. Flipping it over, I saw that my name had been written on the back in black marker. Taylor had slipped his over his head while I was looking mine over.

“Come on,” he said, and started to roll down the street. I slipped my pass over my head and followed him.

We arrived at the venue about twenty minutes later. The security team waved us backstage after checking our passes, and Taylor immediately headed for one of the couches that had been set up around the main area. He got out of his wheelchair and stretched before sitting down on the couch.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” a voice called out, and I looked back over my shoulder to see Taylor’s double coming up behind me. Well, not quite his double. Where his twin’s hair was somewhere between dark blonde and dark brown, Mark’s was closer to ash blonde. He also wore his hair much shorter than Taylor did his. Aside from those two small cosmetic differences, though, the fact that they were identical twins was undeniable. They were both tall, both had blue eyes, and they sounded more or less alike, though Mark’s voice was slightly lower in pitch. “Hey Isobel,” he said easily, giving me a smile.

“Hi Mark,” I replied, returning his smile.

“Why shouldn’t I get comfortable?” Taylor asked. “It’s not like I’m going to be up onstage.”

“No, but if you do get comfortable you’ll fall asleep.” Mark raised an eyebrow at his twin. “And don’t even think about denying it because we both know it’s true.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s not like you’re any different,” Taylor retorted.

“Touché,” Mark replied. He raised an eyebrow before grinning. “Anyway, I gotta find Zac and Ike so we can do a bit of practicing and some warm-ups before we hit the stage. I’ll see you both after.”

“Break a leg,” Taylor called out as Mark left the way he’d come in. Mark’s reply was a wave over his shoulder. “We should probably go too,” he said as he got to his feet, walked across to his wheelchair and found our tickets in a side pocket of his bag. “Find our seats before it gets too crazy out there.” He eyed me. “Unless you want to wait until the real show begins?”

“Why?”

“Because the opening act isn’t all that memorable. I mean, they can play, but…” He trailed off and started rummaging around for his iPod. “Here, you can listen for yourself if you like.”

I took the iPod from him and clicked through to the list of artists. “What’re they called?”

“The Mockingbirds.” He found a set of earphones and handed them to me. I plugged the jack into its slot, shoved the earphones into my ears and started scrolling again. Having found what I was after, I clicked through to a random song and hit the play button. Soft, mellow music filled my ears, and I allowed my eyes to fall closed as I listened. As the song ended I sensed eyes on me, and I opened my eyes to find Taylor studying me.

“What?” I asked once I’d hit pause.

“You looked like you were really getting into that,” he commented as he took his iPod back. He switched it off and wound the earphone cord around it before stowing it back in his bag. “So what’s the verdict?”

“I think I’d rather wait,” I replied. “It’s okay music, but it’s not really my thing.”

“I’d have thought that was obvious,” Taylor replied dryly. “Considering that my brothers are going to be playing a Fall Out Boy song tonight.” He placed particular emphasis on the name of the band.

I pointed at him. “Watch it, mister.”

We ended up spending the entire half-hour of The Mockingbirds’ set backstage, getting to know one another a little better. I ended up discovering that Taylor was not only addicted to Thai food (which I had already guessed), but he was a sucker for classic literature, the TV show Doctor Who, and rock music. One of his aunts had sparked his interest in photography when he was a kid, giving him his first camera for his eighth birthday, and he had been a shutterbug ever since. From me, he learned that I was absolutely addicted to the TV show Supernatural, obsessed with the musical Rent, and that I loved punk music, Green Day being my favourite punk band.

All too soon, it was time to head through to the concert hall to find our seats. According to our tickets, we were to be seated right in the middle of Row LL in the orchestra, in seats A407 and A408, giving us a perfect view of the stage. As we took our seats Taylor unearthed a digital camera from the depths of his bag. “These are just for my personal collection,” he said when he saw me eyeing it.

“Won’t you get in trouble from security?” I asked. I’d read quite a few horror stories about Hanson’s fans having their cameras confiscated during shows, and I would have hated it if that happened to Taylor – he was a fantastic photographer.

“Nah. They usually don’t bug me about it – any of them do, I flash this at them.” He indicated his access pass. “Makes them back off quick smart.”

“Well, make sure you share them with me,” I said as I settled back into my seat. “I’ll want a reminder of this night – not that I’ll probably forget, but it’ll be nice to have something to jog my memory.”

At precisely a quarter past eight the house lights went down, and I sat up straighter. And then I heard it – the familiar bass guitar, drums and tambourine that kicked off the first song of Hanson’s set, followed by Mark’s vocals.

“She says she’s no good with words but I’m worse…what started out ‘A joke of a romantic’ got stuck to my tongue…weighed down with words too over-dramatic…tonight it’s ‘It can’t get much worse’ vs. ‘No one should ever feel like’…I’m two quarters and a heart down…and I don’t want to forget how your voice sounds…these words are all I have so I’ll write them…so you need them just to get by…”

As the chorus kicked off, the audience exploded in cheers and yells of excitement.

“Dance, dance…we’re falling apart to half time…dance, dance…and these are the lives you’d love to lead…dance…this is the way they’d love if they knew…how misery loved me…

“You always fold just before you’re found out…drink up it’s last call, last resort…but only the first mistake…I’m two quarters and a heart down…and I don’t want to forget how your voice sounds…these words are all I have so I’ll write them…so you need them just to get by…why don’t you show me the little bit of spine…you’ve been saving for his mattress, love…

“Dance, dance…we’re falling apart to half time…dance, dance…and these are the lives you’d love to lead…dance…this is the way they’d love if they knew…how misery loved me…

“Why don’t you show me the little bit of spine…you’ve been saving for his mattress…I only want sympathy in the form of you…crawling into bed with me…

“Dance, dance…we’re falling apart to half time…dance, dance…and these are the lives you’d love to lead…dance…this is the way they’d love…way they’d love…dance…this is the way they’d love…way they’d love…dance…this is the way they’d love if they knew…how misery loved me…dance, dance…dance, dance…dance, dance…dance, dance…”

As Dance, Dance ended, the music segued straight into what I recognised as the second track from The Walk, Great Divide. And as soon as Mark began singing the first verse, I was instantly converted.

They were good. No, good wasn’t the word for it – they were phenomenal. I had always maintained that the indicator of a truly good musician was not only how they sounded on a studio recording, but how they sounded live in comparison to how they sounded in the studio. The truly excellent musicians sounded just as good in either setting. And Hanson, I had now discovered, not only sounded incredible on record, but they sounded absolutely fantastic live. I was very glad that I had discovered them now, in 2007, rather than a decade earlier – I had thankfully escaped the hype of 1997 and 1998, which according to Schuyler had been utterly insane, and could appreciate the music in my own time and at my own pace.

And as the show progressed, I found myself joining in with the other audience members in cheering and singing along. I didn’t really know most of the words, but that had never stopped me before and it certainly didn’t stop me now.

“This next song, like the first one of the show, comes from what some have christened The Impossible Playlist,” Mark said as the final notes of One More faded away. “It was released in 1991 on the album Ten, and was the debut single by Seattle rock band Pearl Jam. It’s called Alive.”

As the opening notes of Alive played, I glanced across at Taylor. He had slid halfway down in his seat and was watching the action onstage through half-closed eyes. I was certain he looked much worse than he had when he’d come to pick me up earlier that evening. I poked him gently, and he turned his head to look at me. “Are you okay?” I mouthed, and he nodded slowly before returning his attention to the stage. After a few more seconds I chose to follow his lead. Zac had the lead on this particular song, and so I was curious to see if he could pull it off.

“Son, she said…have I got a little story for you…what you thought was your daddy…was nothin’ but a…while you were sittin’…home alone at age thirteen…your real daddy was dyin’…sorry you didn’t see him…but I’m glad we talked…

“Oh I, oh, I’m still alive…hey I, oh, I’m still alive…hey I, oh, I’m still alive…hey, oh…

“Oh, she walks slowly…across a young man’s room…she said I’m ready for you…I can’t remember anything to this very day…’cept the look, the look…oh, you know where…now I can’t see, I just stare…

“I, I’m still alive…hey I, but I’m still alive…hey I, boy I’m still alive…hey I, I’m still alive, yeah…ooh yeah…yeah, yeah, yeah…oh, oh…

“Is something wrong, she said…well of course there is…you’re still alive, she said…oh, and do I deserve to be…is that the question…and if so, if so…who answers…who answers…

“I, oh, I’m still alive…hey I, oh I’m still alive…hey I, but I’m still alive…yeah I, ooh, I’m still alive…yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

I grinned happily as the song ended. Alive was my favourite Pearl Jam song, and I was pleased with what I heard – it sounded different, of course, but it didn’t make it any less fantastic.

I was snapped back to reality by movement to my right, and I looked to see Taylor slowly easing himself to his feet. Through the dark I could see him wincing with each movement he made. He looked truly exhausted, and I found myself wondering not for the first time just how sick he really was.

“I need to go lie down,” he mouthed when I tugged on his shirtsleeve. “You can stay if you want – I’ve seen them perform hundreds of times. I’m not going to be missing anything.” His gaze met mine, and I swallowed hard before nodding uncertainly. He bent down to pick his bag up off the floor, and set off slowly down through the rows of seats, tensing with each step he took.

I didn’t manage to last out the rest of the show – I was much too worried about Taylor to really enjoy it. I ended up getting up from my seat halfway through Singing In My Sleep, and took the stairs down to the floor of the arena two at a time. Once I had stepped off the stairs I broke into a run, dashing to the side of the stage. I slowed down just enough to show my pass to the security team, and slipped through the stage door. What I saw as the door closed behind me made me stop short.

Taylor was lying on his back on one of the couches, the same one that the two of us had been sitting on earlier that evening, his eyes closed. Beside him was Jessica, and as I got closer I could see that she was carefully stroking her brother’s hair and shoulder.

“Hey Jessica,” I said quietly as I knelt on the floor beside her, not wanting to disturb Taylor.

“Hi Isobel,” Jessica replied. Her voice was as quiet as mine, but at the same time I could hear a little sadness in her tone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She didn’t answer me for a little while. “I wish things were different,” she said at last.

“What do you mean?”

“Taylor…” Her voice faltered for just a second. “He hasn’t told you much, has he?”

“Nothing past the basics, no.”

“I suppose it’s not my place to tell you, then, if he hasn’t. It’s just…I worry about him, you know? He’s been sick for a long time, and I don’t know if he’ll ever get better. And today…” She closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s been running himself ragged the last few days, even though he knows what it does to him in the end, and now he’s just crashed.”

I ended up spending the rest of the show at the side of the stage, having used the excuse that I wanted to see the rest of the concert to let Jessica look after her brother. Just as the concert ended I ducked backstage again, and hung back as people began streaming in.

“Bel?” I turned to see Schuyler standing a couple of feet away. “What happened? You just bolted off right in the middle of the set…”

“I was worried about Taylor,” I explained. “He had to go and lie down, and I couldn’t enjoy the show if I had my mind on him. Jessica said he isn’t well right now.”

“He hasn’t been for the last seven years,” Schuyler said softly. She eyed me. “You like him, don’t you?”

“No?”

She chuckled softly. “Yes, you do. I can tell. And I’m pretty sure he feels the same about you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She grinned at me.

It was almost ten-thirty by the time the crowd backstage dispersed. Soon, only Jessica, Taylor, Mark, Schuyler, Isaac, Zac and I remained.

“We should probably figure out how the girls are going to get home,” Mark said. He had perched on an armrest of the couch his twin slept on. “I drove Schuyler, and I know Tay drove Isobel. Only problem is that he’s going to be somewhat indisposed for at least the next few days, so he won’t be able to do any driving.” Mark looked at me. “Where did Taylor park his car?”

“Outside that Thai restaurant his friend owns,” I replied.

“Okay. That makes things a little easier.” Mark hopped down from his perch. “Zac, can you and Isaac take Taylor home?”

Zac nodded. “We can do that.”

“Thanks.” Mark turned to his sister. “Jess, are you in any way opposed to driving Taylor’s car?”

“I don’t know,” Jessica said unsurely. “He doesn’t usually let me anywhere near it.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And really, right now he’s not in any sort of condition to protest. If he finds out and doesn’t like it, tell him to take it up with me.” Lastly, Mark turned to Schuyler and I. “Come on you two. I’ll drive you home.”

And so the process of getting everyone home started. Isaac and Zac left first, taking with them a very sleepy, stiff and sore Taylor. Jessica followed them not long afterward – she carried Taylor’s bag and his folded-up wheelchair. Finally, Mark, Schuyler and I left the arena, heading out through a back entrance.

“So did you enjoy the show?” Mark asked me as he led us to his car, a dark green Nissan Pathfinder.

I nodded. “I loved it. You guys are absolutely fantastic.”

Mark grinned. “Thank you.” He unlocked his car so that we could all get in. “What song was your favourite? If you have one, that is.”

“Well…” I thought for a little while. “Blue Sky,” I decided. “It just made me smile, you know?”

“It has that effect on a lot of people, I’ve found.” Mark tapped the steering wheel. “I actually wrote that one for Taylor. It’s mostly about him, anyway.” He broke into song briefly. “I’m blind with eyes wide open…my body’s tired and broken…I want a taste of something…that doesn’t leave me dry…”

“You have a really good voice,” I told him.

“Thanks, Isobel.” He started the car up. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.”