:: chapter five ::

“Hey Jess?”

“Hmm?”

“What were you planning on getting your brothers for their birthday?”

March had seemed to come along far quicker than in earlier years. There were now only ten days left until Mark and Taylor’s birthday, and as usual I’d left my shopping until the last minute. This year, however, I had the added complication of not knowing what the hell I was going to buy for my two newest friends.

“Well…” Jessica leaned back in her seat and looked up at the awning above our heads. The two of us were sitting outside a coffee shop on West 59th, having met up for morning tea. Stephen had given me the morning off work, though I had to be at my desk by one-thirty sharp, and Jessica had no classes scheduled until the late afternoon. “Usually I get them each a $50 iTunes card. If either of them has been eyeing off something in particular in the weeks leading up, then I’ll get them that as well. I’ve bought both of Taylor’s presents” here she nudged a plastic bag at her feet “but I still need to get something else for Mark.” She eyed me. “Looking for inspiration, I take it.”

“You could say that.”

“I see. Well, I’ll give you a few hints – they’re both bookworms. Mark’s into crime and historical fiction. John Grisham, for example. Taylor reads a lot of fantasy and science fiction, or at least he does when he can drag himself away from his ‘classic literature’.” Jessica made air-quotes as she spoke the last two words. “He’s a huge Douglas Adams fan, and I think he’s read a couple of the Artemis Fowl books as well. Aside from that…well, Mark is something of a human clotheshorse” I let out a snort of laughter “and Taylor loves anything to do with photography.”

I sat back in my seat and picked up my coffee mug. Jessica’s words had planted a seed of an idea in my head. “Does Mark like Ian Rankin?” I asked.

“I think he does, yeah.”

“Does he have a copy of The Naming of the Dead?”

“Not so far as I know.” She eyed me. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I know exactly what I’m getting your brothers for their birthday.” I finished my coffee and dug around in my bag for my wallet, taking out a few dollars to leave as a tip. “Come on. We’re going to Borders.”

Jessica laughed. “Of course we are. Where else?”

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves standing in the middle of Borders Columbus Circle, located a few minutes’ walk from where we’d had morning tea. “I’m going to go and have a poke around in the CDs,” Jessica said, nodding toward the media section of the bookstore. “Meet you outside?”

“Yeah, sure. It shouldn’t take me too long to find what I’m after.”

I located Mark’s present and the first half of Taylor’s fairly quickly, tucking my intended purchases under my arm as I headed toward the photography section, whereupon I was met by a veritable wall of books. I let out a small groan – it was going to take me forever to find even just one book that Taylor might have liked. A quick glance at my watch informed me that it was almost eleven-thirty – I had exactly ninety minutes to finish my shopping, get home, have a shower and dress for work. This wasn’t even taking into account travel time from home to the High Fidelity offices. I wanted to stay in Stephen’s good graces, and so to save myself from spending the rest of the day staring at books I caught the attention of a passing sales assistant.

“I was wondering if you had any recommendations,” I said. “A friend of mine is a photographer, and he has a birthday coming up. And, well…” I trailed off, shrugging.

“You have no idea what to get him?” the sales assistant asked. The nametag pinned to her shirt read Eliza.

I nodded. “Yeah. Well, not from this section anyway. I’m going to be here all day at this rate.” I smiled a little sheepishly.

“Well, let’s see now…” Eliza stepped up beside me and studied the rows of books on the shelf before us. “Ah, here we go.” She picked out a rather thick hardcover book from halfway along the shelf. “This is one of our best sellers,” she said as she handed me the book. The book was titled New York: 365 Days. I tried to think of whether or not Taylor already had a copy – a focal point of the twins’ apartment was a massive bookshelf that took up an entire wall of their living room and was absolutely crammed with books and magazines of all descriptions. I had perused it a few times, but not often enough to memorise its contents. Not for the first time, I wished I had an eidetic memory – at least then I would have been able to remember if he already had it.

“I’ll take it,” I decided. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime,” Eliza said with a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

My gifts decided on, I headed up to the sales counter.

Jessica was waiting outside the bookstore when I exited. She looked up from studying the back of a CD case as I sat down next to her. “What’d you get Mark?” I asked.

“Snow Patrol’s newest CD,” she replied. She showed me the front cover of the CD case, the title of which read Eyes Open. “He’s sort of obsessed with them.” She grinned and slipped the CD into her bag. “Anyway, I should head home – I need to shower and do at least part of my essay before class. I’ll see you this weekend, yeah?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Jessica went to stand up, but obviously thought better of it. “Bel, do you know a good recipe for Black Forest cake?” she asked. “It’s sort of a tradition in our family for my mom to make one for Mark and Taylor’s birthday, but I wanted to do it this year. Only problem is my mom won’t share her recipe with me.”

I chuckled. “I do, actually,” I replied. “My mum makes one for my dad’s birthday every year. She gave me the recipe she uses before I moved down here. I’ll email it to you tonight.”

“Thanks, Bel.” Jessica gave me a big smile before standing up and heading off.

One-fifteen saw me entering the foyer of the High Fidelity offices, a quarter of an hour early. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Taylor that working there was the best job in the world – it truly was. The magazine had a small staff when compared to many publications, with just twenty people on the books, but thanks to that we were a very tightly-knit bunch, almost akin to a family. And because of this, things tended to get done far quicker and more efficiently when compared to a lot of the larger magazines.

“Stephen wanted to see you in his office when you got in,” the front desk receptionist, Amaya, informed me as I got within earshot. She looked up from her computer at me. “Seemed to be pretty urgent.”

“Was he pissed?” I asked, now slightly worried. Stephen almost never asked to see me in his office – in fact, it was rare that he asked this of any of the magazine’s staff. Usually he came to see us at our desks.

“He actually seemed pretty happy,” Amaya said with a shrug. “Though with him, pissed and happy can be somewhat the same.”

“Yeah, it means that at least one of us has fucked up severely,” I said. “Oh well. Best not keep him waiting. I like being in his good books.”

I found Stephen’s office quickly and rapped on the frosted glass window set into the upper half of the door. The window had Stephen Schmidt – Editor-In-Chief on it in large black block letters. “Come in!” he called, and I let myself into the office. “Oh, Isobel, there you are,” he said as he looked up from leafing through a thick stack of papers. “Take a seat.”

“Amaya said you wanted to see me?” I asked as I seated myself before Stephen’s desk.

“I did, yes.” He set the papers aside. “Now, I have to say that I was very impressed with your interview and article,” he said. “And so were our readers, as it happens – the issue your article was published in was our best-selling this year to date. So to that end, I would like to offer you a new assignment.”

“Oh?” Now I was intrigued.

Stephen nodded. “I’ve been in contact with Hanson again, and as I understand it they will be touring the US and Canada this summer to promote their newest album. They were very happy with your work, and would like to know if you would be interested in joining them on tour.”

I sat back slightly in my seat. “Me?” I asked. “Why me?”

“You more than proved yourself ready when you took on your most recent assignment, and I believe that you are the best person for the job,” Stephen replied. “Your role would be to document the daily goings-on of the tour, and come the end of the tour to turn your tour journal into a travelogue for publication in the magazine.”

“That’s one hell of an assignment,” I commented. “Though honestly, I’d have thought you’d have picked someone like Hayden for this one – he’s done travelogues before.”

“Hanson didn’t request Hayden for this particular travelogue, however. They specifically asked for you.” Stephen leaned forward slightly. “This would make a fantastic addition to your portfolio,” he said. “Should you choose to work for another publication one day, they would likely look very favourably on your work here.”

“Can I take some time to think about it?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. Oh, and before you head to work, I have a small request to ask of you.” He picked up a white envelope that had Taylor Hanson – 78th Street Productions typed on the front. “Are you by any chance in contact with Hanson’s photographer?”

I nodded. “We’re friends. I’ll probably be seeing him later this week.”

“Excellent. Would you be able to pass this on to him?” He handed me the envelope. “I don’t normally do this, but we will soon be short a photographer.”

“So Cate took the job, then?” I asked. The buzz around the offices lately was that Lonely Planet had offered one of our photographers quite a bit of money to leave High Fidelity and join the world-renowned travel company. It seemed that she had accepted the new position.

“She did,” Stephen confirmed. “I was extremely impressed with his work, and I’d like to offer him the position before I place an advertisement.”

I nodded and rose from my seat. “I’ll see that he gets it,” I said.

The four hours I spent at work that afternoon were nothing short of torture. My attention, which was supposed to be focused on writing a feature article about New York City’s independent music scene, kept drifting toward the envelope that Stephen had given me. I had propped it against a jar of pens that I kept on my desk so that I didn’t forget it when I left for home, and it took all of my self-control not to go ripping it open.

When five-thirty rolled around, I saved my work and shut down my computer, snatching up the envelope containing Taylor’s job offer and slipping it into my bag as I left my desk. My phone rang just as I stepped up to the lift just outside the foyer and punched the down button. Checking the screen just before I answered, I saw that it was Schuyler calling.

“Hey Skya,” I answered, keeping one eye on the floor indicator above the lift doors as I spoke.

“Hey Bel. Where are you?”

“I just finished work,” I replied. The lift doors opened and I stepped into the car, pressing the button for the ground floor. “I need to make a detour to Mark and Taylor’s apartment before I come home, though.”

“Any reason in particular?” Schuyler asked.

“Stephen asked me to give something to Taylor. Figured I might as well do it on my way home.”

“Ah, okay. You feel like Chinese takeout for dinner?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

“Sweet. I’ll grab some on my way home.”

“Okay. See you soon.” We hung up, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

From work it took me about twenty minutes to walk uptown to the Upper West Side, and from there to the street that Mark, Taylor and Jessica called home. The three of them lived about halfway along West 72nd, on the eighth floor of an apartment complex. I had no idea if anyone would even be home or awake – I knew that Mark was currently in Europe and that Jessica was probably still in class, so I had decided during my walk that rather than knocking and potentially waking Taylor up, I would slip the envelope through the gap beneath the front door. This I did just as soon as I had arrived at the apartment and scribbled out a quick note in my notebook.

Hi Taylor,

Didn’t want to wake you if you were sleeping, so I thought it’d be better to just slip this under your front door. :) Stephen asked me to pass it along to you. I’ll see you this weekend.

Isobel

Good Charlotte played at maximum volume assaulted my eardrums as Jessica let Schuyler and I into the apartment on the afternoon of the fourteenth. She had a liberal dusting of what looked like flour from head to toe. “Mark and Taylor got into a flour fight,” she explained when Schuyler raised an eyebrow at her. “And as usual, I got caught in the middle.” She grinned. “I got Mark something good with the whipped cream, though. You should’ve seen his hair – it looked a fright.”

“So they’re home, then?” I asked as I shed my jacket and hung it up on the coathooks next to the front door. Schuyler followed my lead, and we both dropped our bags beneath our jackets.

“Yeah, they got back about five hours ago,” Jessica replied. “Gave Taylor the fright of the century when Mark leapt on top of him. That’s what started the whole flour fight in the first place – Taylor was still asleep. He doesn’t take kindly to being woken up by annoying twin brothers, especially on his birthday.”

“So where’s everyone else?” Schuyler asked.

“Out,” Jessica replied. “Picking up dinner because there’s hardly anything in the kitchen, getting the alcohol for tonight, that sort of thing.” She looked down at herself. “I need to have a shower. Hopefully Taylor didn’t use up the rest of the hot water.” She flicked her gaze to me. “Speaking of, Taylor wanted to talk to you. He didn’t say what about, but I figured you’d have some sort of idea. He’s in his room.”

“Yeah, my editor offered him a job with High Fidelity,” I replied. “I think he went to an interview on Monday for it – he was going to let me know today how things went.”

I went across to what I knew to be Taylor’s bedroom door – a large black-and-white U2 poster had pride of place, one that advertised their album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, and a sign reading WHEELCHAIR PARKING ONLY: ALL OTHER VEHICLES WILL BE TOWED had been tacked up just above the doorhandle. I let out a quiet chuckle before knocking quietly on the door. When I heard no answering voice, I pushed down on the doorhandle and eased the door inwards.

Taylor’s bedroom looked much like the rest of the apartment – light and airy, with a hardwood floor, pale blue walls and a white ceiling. A large window that provided a breathtaking view of Central Park took up most of the opposite wall. The blind on the window had been rolled halfway up, and a set of low shelves painted bright blue sat against the wall beneath. Much like the shelves out in the living room, these ones were crammed with books, magazines and photo albums. The top of the shelves held various objects – his SLR camera, a stack of Artemis Fowl books, and a framed photo of Taylor with an older woman I guessed to be his mother. A guitar with a dark brown woven leather strap was propped against the left side of the shelves.

I looked to my right. Taking up a good half of that wall was a desk that had a laptop computer, a glass jar filled with pens and pencils, a leather-bound book that looked like a journal and another framed photograph, this one of a teenaged Taylor holding a bundle of pink blankets in his arms, set atop it. In a large frame on the wall above the desk were four pages from a magazine, and as I stepped closer I saw that the pages were my article and Taylor’s photographs. I felt my face heat up a little at the sight – I wasn’t used to seeing my work on display. Next to the desk was a wooden chest of drawers that had a lamp and a mini stereo system on top, with what I recognised as Taylor’s wheelchair folded and propped against the wall alongside.

I then looked to my left to see Taylor sprawled out on his front on his unmade bed, clad only in jeans and a pair of socks, face turned toward his left. I could clearly hear him snoring softly, his back rising and falling as he breathed, hair splayed around his head. If this had been anyone else who had fallen asleep halfway through getting dressed I would have pounced on them and shaken them awake, but he had a valid excuse. Instead, I stepped a little closer to his bed and took a look at what was on his night table, which sat to the left of his bed – a small lamp, digital clock radio, a small spiral notepad with a black ballpoint pen sitting on top, his iPod and a set of earphones, a glass half-filled with water, three pill bottles, his cell phone and a hard-shelled glasses case. Next to his night table was a set of shelves. I stepped closer to the shelves and inspected his collection – he had CDs by AC/DC, Muse, U2, Eve 6, 3 Doors Down, Snow Patrol, Gin Blossoms, The Black Crowes, Billy Joel and Rufus Wainwright, along with quite a few artists I had never even heard of before. His messenger bag was hanging by its shoulder strap from the right bedpost of his bed.

I crouched down at the side of Taylor’s bed and ran a finger down his bare back. It was my favourite way to wake up my relatives and friends, providing they weren’t sleeping too deeply. I bit my bottom lip as I felt each of the vertebrae in his spine standing out in sharp relief.

“Issie?” he mumbled.

I froze, my hand hovering just above the waistband of Taylor’s jeans. “What did you call me?” I asked in a low voice.

He opened his eyes and squinted at me. “I called you ‘Issie’,” he said, sounding slightly more awake. He frowned. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” I replied. “It’s just…that’s what my grandmother used to call me when I was little. She died about thirteen years ago now, so I haven’t been called ‘Issie’ in a very long time. You just shocked me, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay.” He pushed himself upright and started running his fingers through his hair, letting out an occasional hiss of what seemed like frustration as he hit a knot or tangle. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said as he worked at untangling a particularly dense snarl. He looked at me through a curtain of hair. “I know I’m a little…” He trailed off and shrugged.

“Skinny?”

“Yeah, that. I blame genetics, personally – I’ve pretty much always been this way.” He let out another hiss as his fingers hit yet another tangle of hair. “It’s also a side-effect of one of my meds. Pain in the ass, but that particular medication works so I just put up with it.”

“So how did the interview go?” I asked, deciding to change the subject.

“I think it went all right. He seemed to be impressed with my portfolio, so I’m taking that as a good sign. He told me he’d call sometime today to let me know if I had the job.”

As he finished speaking, his cell phone rang. I recognised the ringtone as the intro of Thunderstruck by AC/DC. “That’s probably him now.” He reached across to his night table and snatched his phone up. “78th Street Productions, this is Taylor Hanson speaking,” he said to answer the call. “Oh, hi Stephen…uh-huh…y-you what?” His gaze slid across to me, and I held up a hand to show that I had my fingers crossed. “Well, yeah, of course I accept!...yeah, I can definitely be there.” He reached over and grabbed his notepad and pen, flipped the notepad open to an empty page, uncapped the pen and started scribbling fast. “Uh-huh…uh-huh…yep, I got it. I’ll see you then. I look forward to working with you. Bye.”

He hung up and looked at me, his eyes filled with something akin to wonder. “I got the job,” he said, a mile-wide smile on his face. “I have to go in next Thursday to fill in and sign a few forms, but once that’s done I’ll officially be on the books. This is just…” He laughed. “It’s amazing.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Not a bad birthday present, I must say.”

“I know what would be an even better present,” he said.

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

“Well, the thing is…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I like you, Isobel. I like you a lot. You…well, you make me happy, and I haven’t felt like that in a long time. Meeting you was probably the best thing to happen to me in years. And I was wondering if you’d like to make things official.”

I sat down next to Taylor. “You’re asking me to be your girlfriend?” I asked, barely daring to believe what he was saying.

He nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me. Those four little words said so much, possibly more than he meant them to. “Of course I’ll have you,” I told him. By saying that I knew I was accepting him for who he was, all of his flaws, scars and illnesses included, but I didn’t care. I liked him the way he was – in my eyes, they were what made him perfect.

I knew this was the right answer when Taylor pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. I responded in kind, feeling tiny shivers race up and down my back and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as we kissed, my eyes drifting closed as I lost myself in the moment. This is what love feels like, I thought in wonder.

I left the room while Taylor finished getting dressed, stepping right into a maelstrom of noise. Good Charlotte had faded out, replaced by The Rasmus. Over the music I could hear Schuyler and Jessica talking in the kitchen, the sound of racecars drifting out of the speakers of the living room TV set, and loud cursing that sounded as if it came from Zac – evidently his game was frustrating him.

The apartment door opened just as The Rasmus segued straight into Coldplay, and in walked Isaac, Mark and four people that I didn’t know – three women, and a man that looked very much like an older version of Mark and Taylor. I recognised one of them, an older woman with incredibly long blonde hair, from one of the photographs in Taylor’s room. Isaac and Mark each carried a stack of pizza boxes.

“Mom! Dad!” I heard Taylor call out, and I looked back over my shoulder. He had emerged from his room at last, having pulled on a black T-shirt with an intricate silver design on the front. I felt his hand on my back as he guided me through the living room toward the front door. The other two women of the group had gone off into the kitchen to join Jessica and Schuyler, Isaac and Mark following them. “Issie, I want you to meet my parents, Diana and Walker,” Taylor said. “Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend Isobel Reynolds.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said, suddenly shy.

“So you’re the girl that has stolen my son’s heart,” Diana said. I felt a blush creep across my face as she said this.

“I guess I am,” I said quietly. I swallowed hard. “If I can be honest…he’s stolen mine too.”

The party went into high gear not long afterward. After we’d all demolished the pizzas that Isaac and Mark had brought with them, Mark and Taylor set about opening their birthday presents. I was rewarded with grins and simultaneous kisses on the cheek when they unwrapped my gifts to them, and I knew I’d picked well. Taylor in particular seemed to be very pleased – along with the book of New York photographs, I’d given him a copy of the newest instalment in the Artemis Fowl series, The Lost Colony.

Once the reams of wrapping paper had been tidied away the lights were dimmed, heralding the entrance into the living room of Jessica and Schuyler. Between them they carried a Black Forest cake that looked large enough to feed a small army. Twenty-four candles were dotted around the cake, their flickering flames casting fluttering shadows across the living room walls. Mark took the first turn at blowing out the candles, after which Taylor had a shot. After Taylor had blown the candles out, the lights were raised again and the cake was cut, with Schuyler and Jessica distributing the pieces. I let out a small groan of pleasure as I bit into my piece of cake – it tasted divine, possibly on par with my mother’s.

“Mark and I are going to head out,” Schuyler told me as she gathered up her things. The party had wound down at around ten-thirty, with Isaac, Zac and their girlfriends – they had been introduced to me as Alli and Isla – leaving first. Their parents weren’t too far behind. “We thought you and Tay might want some privacy to get to know each other a bit better.” She cocked an eyebrow at me and grinned. “And before you ask, Jess is heading out too. She’s going to stay the night at her boyfriend’s apartment.”

It wasn’t long before Taylor and I were alone. He was lying on the living room couch, his head in my lap and eyes closed, the ghost of a smile on his lips as I played with his hair. Just after March fourteenth became the fifteenth, he broke the comfortable silence that we had fallen into.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” He opened his eyes and looked right up at me. “With this new job, and my freelancing on the side, I’m actually going to have enough money to get my own place.” His hand found mine. “Issie, after this summer, would you like to move in with me?”

I didn’t even have to think about my answer. The fact of the matter was, we practically lived together already. We were both in the habit of leaving various belongings at one another’s apartments – we each kept a toothbrush in the other’s bathroom, a set of pyjamas and a change of clothes in each other’s bedrooms, and recently each of our crockery cupboards had gained a new addition in the form of each other’s coffee mugs. Taylor kept a bright green mug with frogs all over it in my kitchen, and I had left a blue-and-yellow striped mug in his. Getting an apartment together would make it official.

“I’d love to,” I replied.

My answer produced a wide grin, and he sat himself up before kissing me for the second time that night. He tasted of the chocolate, cherries and cream from his and Mark’s birthday cake, and I decided I wanted another piece.

“I’m going to get myself some more cake,” I said, standing up. “You want some?”

“I’d rather have you,” he replied cheekily. I pulled a face at him and headed into the kitchen.