:: chapter seven ::

The next four weeks passed by almost in a blur. By the time I could slow down long enough to look at a calendar, it was the middle of May. The beginning of the month had seen Taylor and I travelling down to Oklahoma so that we could be present at the recording of Middle Of Nowhere Acoustic – taking into account the popularity of the February 2 issue of High Fidelity, Stephen had seen it as the perfect opportunity to get a retrospective written about the ten-year journey Hanson had taken from 1997 to get to where they were now, in 2007. So it hadn’t all been fun and games – we’d had to work as well. The retrospective was due to be published in the May 18 issue of the magazine.

And now, it was late in the morning of the fifteenth of May. If it were a normal Tuesday, I would have been at my desk at work – but to be honest, the day before the tour was due to kick off was anything but normal. So rather than tapping away at the keyboard of my work computer and sneaking onto Facebook when I was sure Stephen wasn’t looking, I was staring at my wide open and near-to-overflowing suitcase.

The tour was to last slightly more than four months, from the sixteenth of May until the twenty-first of September. In those four months we would be visiting every state in the United States except for Alaska and Hawaii, before traversing the lower Canadian provinces. While most of us would be returning to New York City after the North American tour concluded, Taylor’s brothers would be continuing directly on to Australia and New Zealand for a month-long tour. The Walk was due for simultaneous release in both countries on October first, with Blue Sky set to be released three weeks beforehand as the first single. They were due to return to the States five days before the planned Halloween concert, their last for the year.

My BlackBerry rang just as I started to make an attempt at zipping up my suitcase. I sighed and reached back to my night table, picked it up and glanced at the screen, which revealed the caller to be Sami – my oldest sister, Samantha.

“Hey Sami,” I said to answer the call.

“Hey Bel!” Samantha said. I could practically hear her smiling. “How’s life in the Big Apple?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” I replied, affecting a tone of complete nonchalance. And Samantha being Samantha, she saw straight through it.

“Uh-huh. Right. You found yourself a boyfriend, didn’t you?”

I snorted and started to sort one-handed through my suitcase. “That’s old news, Sami. I found myself a boyfriend two months ago.”

“Not to me it’s not! Come on, spill. What’s his name?”

I abandoned my packing and went across to my desk, sitting down in my desk chair. “Taylor,” I replied. I couldn’t help the smile that broke out on my face as I said his name. “You know that band Hanson?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, don’t tell me he’s one of them.” The scorn in Samantha’s tone was unmistakable – unlike my parents and the rest of my siblings, who had never heard even a bar of MMMBop, Samantha knew exactly who Hanson were, owing to her college roommate being an unrepentant Hanson fan. And according to Samantha’s regular missives home, said roommate had played Hanson’s music at window-rattling volume during every waking hour. As a direct result, Samantha now possessed an utterly unbridled hatred for all things even remotely connected to the brotherly trio.

“Well, no, not exactly,” I replied with an evil smirk, even though Samantha couldn’t see it.

“Thank the Lord for that.”

My evil smirk turned into a positively maniacal grin. “Taylor’s the lead singer’s twin brother.”

There was what seemed to be a shocked silence on Samantha’s end of the line for approximately thirty seconds. “You are fucking kidding me!” she exploded.

“Sami, come on, they’re not that bad-”

“But he’s one of them!” Samantha said, interrupting me. “You’ve gone and contaminated yourself now…”

“Sami, really, Hanson aren’t all that bad. I’m serious. They’re good musicians. Their music just…” I paused, trying to put what I wanted to say diplomatically. “It just takes some getting used to.”

She snorted. “Keeping in mind that for four fucking years I was subjected to their shit every hour of practically every day.”

“Okay, good point.” I brought up the tour itinerary in Adobe Reader on my laptop and scrolled almost to the end. “Look, I’m going to be in Portland at the beginning of September for a few days. Why don’t we meet up for lunch while I’m there?”

When next Samantha spoke, her tone was slightly suspicious. “Why are you coming to Portland? And why in September?”

“Because I have an extremely important assignment for work over the next four months,” I replied. “I’m joining Hanson on their tour this summer and keeping a tour diary, so that I can write it up for the magazine when I get home. And with the route we’re taking, we won’t get to Maine until then.” I decided it was time to lay it on as thick as possible, and I adopted a wheedling tone. “C’mon Sami, I haven’t seen you since Christmas. And I really want you to meet Taylor and the guys. I think you’ll be surprised. They’re not little kids anymore.”

Samantha was quiet a little while. “I’ll pencil it in,” she said at last, sounding strangely reluctant. “And just so you know, when Martin hears about this he’s going to kill you.”

“Sami, he already knows.”

“What, that you’re dating a Hanson?”

“Well, no. I left that bit out. And stop exaggerating. I very much doubt Martin would do something as drastic as offing his baby sister.”

“You never know. I hear he’s been in a homicidal frame of mind lately.” A muffled shriek sounded in my ear. “Shit, there goes Amy again. I’d better go before she tears the house apart.”

“Okay.” I glanced back at my suitcase. “I need to finish packing, anyway.”

“You have fun with that. And send me a couple of postcards along the way, yeah?”

“I will,” I promised. “Say hi to everyone for me.”

“Will do. Look after yourself, all right? And for God’s sake, be careful this summer. I don’t want to get a phone call from Seattle or wherever telling me that you’ve broken your neck.”

“I’ll be careful, Sami. I swear.” And with that we both said our farewells and hung up.

I set my BlackBerry down on my desk and turned back to my suitcase. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, and began the process of dumping my suitcase’s contents onto my bedroom floor. Schuyler came in just as I hurled a pair of boots at my open closet.

“Whoa Bel, what the fuck did those boots ever do to you?” she asked as the boots hit the back wall of my closet with a loud thump.

“They exist,” I snapped.

“I know what this is about,” Schuyler said. She crossed over to my bed and cleared away some of my shirts. “The tour, right?”

“Want a medal, do you?” I said sarcastically.

“Isobel, really, you need to calm the hell down. How long do you need to pack for?”

“Three months. We’re coming back here on the way to Bridgeport so we can pick up our passports and anything else we need before we hit Canada. I’ll pick up extra clothes and stuff then.”

“Okay then. How much are you allowed to take with you?”

“One suitcase, a backpack and my handbag.”

“Did you make up a packing list?” Schuyler asked, and I very slowly shook my head. She reached out and smacked me. “Bel, what the hell has gotten into you? You used to be so organised that you put me to shame.”

“Taylor did,” I replied, a split second before realising that those two words could be taken in a number of different ways, only one of which would have been my intention.

A wicked grin appeared on Schuyler’s face as soon as I spoke. “You little minx,” she laughed. “Is he any good?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” I protested.

“Sure you didn’t. Now give me your notebook and a pen – I’ll make you up a packing list, and I want you to follow it exactly. You’ll be able to buy anything else you need while you’re away. It’s not as if you’re going to Antarctica for the summer.”

And for the next hour and a half, that’s exactly what Schuyler did. She parked herself in my beanbag, propped my hardcover notebook on her knees and scribbled furiously, looking up occasionally to glance around my room before dropping her gaze back to her self-appointed task.

“I’m done,” Schuyler announced at around twelve-thirty, and she got to her feet. “Now get packing. I’m pretty sure the guys wanted you over at Mark and Taylor’s place this afternoon for a meeting, so I’d get cracking sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Mother,” I shot at her before taking back my notebook. I quickly flipped through the list, which ran to four numbered pages, before moving to get everything packed. While I did so, Schuyler sat herself on my bed and watched me almost like a hawk, shaking her head whenever I tried to deviate from the list.

I was finished with my packing by three-thirty, with some of my new toys the last items to be stowed away – my camcorder in my backpack, and my BlackBerry and iPod in separate pockets of my handbag. I’d received the camcorder and BlackBerry from my parents for my birthday, both gifts having come at the perfect time – the camcorder would let me document the tour without having to resort to digging through my memories, and the BlackBerry would not only let me make calls and send text messages, but I would be able to check my email, go online and organise my life without having to drag out my laptop.

“I still can’t believe you’re passing this up,” I said as I sorted through the remaining clothes in my closet in search of something to wear to the meeting.

“That’s what I get for working where I do,” Schuyler said, shrugging. “Besides, I’ve done the big summer tour before. I’m not missing much.”

“When was that?”

“In 2000, after This Time Around came out. I figured I might as well have some fun before college.”

“You didn’t know the guys then, did you?” I asked. I backed away from my closet, having found my one pair of jeans that hadn’t yet been packed away to make way for my summer clothes, a black singlet and a black lace blouse, and looked at Schuyler.

“Not yet. I didn’t meet them until 2001. It was Miles who got me in with them, actually.”

“What, your brother?”

“I only know one Miles, Bel. He introduced me to Isaac first, but we didn’t really hit it off. I mean, he’s nice and all that, but…” She held her right hand out, fingers spread wide, before rocking it side to side from her wrist. “Not my type, y’know? Of course, when I met Mark, that was it. I knew straight away that he was the one.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” I said, my voice taking on a sugary, sickly-sweet tone.

“Hey, you were the same when you laid eyes on Taylor for the first time,” she retorted.

“Speaking of, how long was it before you got to meet him?” I asked as I shucked my T-shirt.

And here Schuyler laughed. “A whole year,” she replied, chuckling. “One fucking year.”

“What?”

She nodded. “Mark and I were long-distance most of the time because they were all still back in Tulsa. He’d fly up a couple weekends a month to see me, but that was pretty much it. Usually we talked on the phone or on Messenger. I did go down there for a month or so in the summer of 2002 to see him, to make up for lost time as it were, and that was when I met Taylor.” She went quiet. “I remember that he was really sick that summer. I’m talking the evening of the concert back in February multiplied by a hundred percent at the very least. That’s how bad it was.”

“Jesus,” I breathed, and Schuyler nodded. “What caused it?”

“What was it that Mark said?” Schuyler frowned momentarily. “He said that it was put down to ‘a stress-related exacerbation of a pre-existing illness’. Or in other words, college stress making the chronic fatigue far worse. He’d just finished school for the year when it happened, so I don’t think anyone was too surprised by that. It was just one crash after another – he’d manage to get back on his feet only to be slammed again.” She picked at my bedspread. “I didn’t really see much of him, to be honest – for the first couple of weeks I was there he was in hospital, and the rest of the time he was sleeping a lot. But somewhere along the line he got hold of my email address and after I came back to New York, he started to email me. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“And he’s never tried to hit on you?” I asked. While Schuyler had been speaking I’d changed out of my shorts into my jeans, and was beginning to work on my hair.

“Never,” Schuyler replied. “I think he hasn’t tried first and foremost because he knows I’m spoken for, and he doesn’t want Mark to get pissed at him. But also because we’re such good friends that if we did start to date and we ended up breaking things off, it would potentially ruin our friendship.” Here she shrugged. “Of course, there’s also the fact that I’m a fan of his brothers, and he doesn’t date Hanson fans as a general rule.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “You seem to be the exception, of course. But then again you did meet him before you joined the masses, so…”

By now, I had finished with my hair, having decided simple was best – I’d pulled it back into a ponytail. Socks and shoes came next – I found a pair of socks in my underwear drawer and paired them with my Converse sneakers. “So what’re you doing tonight?” I asked as I took my BlackBerry back out of my handbag and punched in the number that would allow me to access my voicemail.

“I’m probably just going to catch a movie. I have to work tomorrow so I can’t stay out too late.”

“You’re coming to the show tomorrow night, right?”

“Of course I am! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

I nodded and hit dial. The electronic voice sounded in my ear almost immediately. “You have one saved message, received yesterday at eight-fourteen pm,” it relayed, before the message played.

“Hey Isobel, it’s Mark. I’m just calling to let you know that we’re having a meeting at mine and Taylor’s place tomorrow afternoon at four-thirty. I told Isaac that you being there wasn’t necessary, but he sort of insisted – apparently you’re part of the road crew this tour, so he’s not about to back down. It shouldn’t take too long – we’ll just be going over the itinerary and the tour rules for the most part. If you want you can bring your gear over as well and just crash here tomorrow night, it’ll save you going back home and then having to come back out here on Wednesday.” There was a short pause, lasting about three seconds. “So yeah, we’ll see you tomorrow.” The recording ended, and I pressed 7 on my BlackBerry’s keypad to keep it.

I arrived at the twins’ apartment just before four o’clock with my gear in tow, having let myself in with the key that Taylor had given to me, to find the living room in utter disarray. Instruments and audio equipment lay everywhere, clothes were piled untidily on the couch, a portable projector that had been hooked up to what I recognised as Zac’s MacBook was set up on the coffee table, a pair of Doc Martens was hanging by their laces from one of the ceiling light fixtures, Taylor’s laptop lay upside down on the floor beneath the coffee table, and a collection of shot glasses sat on one of the end tables. Loud and very off-key singing came from the direction of the bathroom, music was drifting out of the kitchen, and I could hear swearing coming from behind Taylor’s bedroom door. At least one person in this apartment was less than happy, and I had a fairly good idea who it was.

The swearing grew louder as I approached Taylor’s bedroom door, stopping when I knocked. “Mark, I fucking swear to God-” Taylor snapped, stopping short as the door was wrenched open. “Isobel?”

“Trouble in paradise?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

He scowled at me. “Mark’s been pissing me off all day,” he replied. “I’ve been trying to pack for hours and he won’t leave me the fuck alone. I’m not getting a thing done.” He raked a hand through his hair and let out a sigh of what sounded like frustration, before turning around and heading across to his desk. “And what’s making it even harder is that I’m not just packing for the tour. I’m also trying to pack for when I move out.”

“We haven’t even found a place yet,” I reminded him as I settled myself on the end of his bed. Most of it was taken up by a large black suitcase that was currently wide open and half full of clothes. His messenger bag sat on the floor at the foot of his bed.

“I know that. Doesn’t mean I can’t plan for it.” He was quiet for a little while. “I still haven’t told Mark or Jess what I’m planning,” he admitted.

“But you will tell them, won’t you?” I tilted my head to one side and studied him. “This isn’t going to be like you’ve been with Schuyler, is it?”

“Yes, I’ll tell them. Don’t worry. It’s not just me who’s being affected by it, after all. Me moving out means they’ll probably need to find a way to cover my third of the rent, so the earlier I tell them the better.” He shrugged. “They’ll probably do what we do every tour – let out my room to one of Mark’s friends and get them to pay rent.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” I quickly glanced at my watch. “You want some help getting all this packed?” I asked. “It’s just that it’s already five past four, and the meeting’s supposed to start at half-past.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Trust me, if I minded I wouldn’t have offered. And besides, if we split up the work between us it’ll get done twice as fast. I did all of my packing in one hit this afternoon, and it took me almost three hours. And that was with a list.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Three hours?”

“I’m a chick, Tay,” I reminded him. “We always take longer.” I stood up and stretched. “Anyway, if we don’t finish in the next twenty-five minutes, we can always finish off after the meeting.”

By the time the meeting was due to start, we’d finished packing Taylor’s suitcase. It now stood next to the door, a bright red streak of what looked suspiciously like nail polish painted on its handle to distinguish it from Mark’s. His guitar case was propped up against it, its latches secured and a green bungee cord tied around it to keep it shut. The backpack he would be taking with him and the case for his photography equipment still hadn’t been packed, but we had both agreed they could wait until after the meeting.

“First of all, I want to thank you all for taking time out from your undoubtedly busy schedules to come here this afternoon,” Zac said to kick off the meeting. One of the stage technicians snorted  at the word ‘busy’, and everyone else laughed. “All right, settle down you lot. We’ve got a lot to get through this afternoon, and the sooner everyone at least pretends to be serious, the quicker we can get things done and the sooner you can all get lost until tomorrow.” There was more laughter. “I’m going to hand off to Mark so you can find out how the tour will work this year – it’s somewhat different to usual, but I’ll let Mark bore you all with those details.” He sketched a small bow and, once Mark had risen from his spot on the couch, took his brother’s seat.

The first thing Mark did when he was standing before us was bend down to his brother’s computer and tap away at the keyboard. The result of this tapping was that a large map of the United States popped up on the makeshift screen that had been tacked up on one of the apartment walls. This particular map had a route traced on it in four different colours – those colours being red, blue, green and orange – with the route taking the form of an elongated spiral.

“This year’s tour is set to be the most extensive we have ever undertaken within the United States,” Mark said. “We’ll be visiting more than one hundred cities in forty-eight states over the next three-and-a-half months, that is between tomorrow and September third, before continuing on to Canada for a further two weeks.” He took a laser pointer from his pocket, flicked it on, and trained the beam of red light on our starting point, New York City. “The official kick-off of the tour is tomorrow night, at the Beacon Theatre. On Thursday we’ll be hitting the road, and between then and June fifteenth we’ll be travelling down to Florida.” As he spoke, he trailed the beam along the eastern coast of the map and down through Florida, stopping at Tallahassee. “From there we’ll be heading to Montana, and will be arriving in Great Falls on the thirteenth of July.” The beam now moved west to California, north to Washington, and then east to Montana. “And so on around the country” he started moving the laser around the map, following the route that had been drawn out “until August twenty-seventh, which is when we’ll arrive back in New York. When we get back here, you’ll all be able to grab anything you think you might need for the Canadian tour. This includes passports, extra clothes, et cetera.”

With these words he clicked off the pointer and stowed it back in his pocket. “While the tour is different from usual, the way we’re getting around isn’t.”

“Not the fucking buses again!” one of the backup musicians complained. Whether it was in jest or a real complaint, I couldn’t tell. It was evidently the former, because just about everyone cracked up laughing.

“Yes Brent, the fucking buses again,” Mark replied with a grin once the laughter had died down. “There will be three as usual – the band bus, which as we all should know by now has been modified for wheelchair access.” At these words Taylor raised a hand and waved. “Which means that yes, even though he now has an actual job, my esteemed twin brother will be joining us once again, as the official tour photographer. Backup musicians have the second bus, and the stage techs and stagehands have bus number three. We will also be playing host to one of Taylor’s workmates, Isobel Reynolds – Isobel is a journalist, and will be documenting the tour for us.” When Mark introduced me, I too waved. “There will be six drivers in total, two per bus – if you’re nice enough to them, they may be inclined to make a pitstop in the middle of the night for the occasional munchie run. Emphasis on the word ‘occasional’ – we will be on a very tight schedule, and so please try to limit your requests to once every couple of weeks if you possibly can.”

Here Mark looked down at his watch. “Which leads me to what is probably the most important part of this little gathering, so I will now hand over to my oldest brother so that you can all get up to speed on the tour rules.” Muted grumbling started up, and Mark held up a hand. “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a necessary evil. And anyway, the sooner we get the rules out of the way, the sooner you can all get the hell out of here.” The grumbling turned to laughter, and Mark grinned. “Isaac, you have the floor,” he said as he stepped out of the way.

“Dear God, here we go,” I heard Taylor groan, and I elbowed him. “Issie, he’s like the fucking Energizer Bunny – he keeps going and going and going and” I pressed a finger to his lips to hush him “going.” This last word was mumbled, mostly because he couldn’t open his mouth to speak.

“Well I’ve never been on a tour before, so I’d like to hear this,” I informed him.

While Isaac detailed the tour rules, I tapped away in my own specialised form of shorthand at the keypad of my BlackBerry, making sure to get them all down. I could easily type them up properly later, but shorthand was the way to go right now. I quickly scanned my notes as Isaac finished speaking, and from what I could tell the rules were based in common sense – be at the gigs on time, stick to the tour schedule as closely as possible, don’t get too wasted the night before a show, and most importantly be considerate of one another.

“Well, I guess this is it,” I said quietly. The meeting had ended by now – half the crew had left and the other half had migrated into the kitchen, leaving Taylor and I sitting together on the couch.

“‘This is it’?” Taylor echoed, sounding incredulous. “Issie, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

I poked him. “Your grammar is atrocious,” I scolded him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, then. How’s that?”

“Better.”

“Thank you.” He stretched his arms out above his head. “Issie, believe me, this is only the beginning. You, my dear, are going to have the time of your life this summer. We get to spend four uninterrupted months together – we get to plan our future together, we get to go and see Rent when we get to D.C., you get to try my mom’s cooking our first night in Tulsa, and you get to see the inner workings of the Hanson machine. I’m going to do everything in my power to make this summer the best yet.”

“Is that a promise, Mr. Hanson?” I asked.