:: chapter eight ::

“Wallet?”

“Check.”

“Keys?”

I held up my key ring, laden with keys to the apartment, my car, the garage back in Tulsa, and my two old sets of house keys, and shook it. “Check.”

“Meds?”

I dropped my keys into my backpack and hunted around for the ziplock bag that held all of my medication and my various prescriptions. “Check,” I replied as I unearthed it and held it up in Isobel’s line of sight.

Isobel looked back down at the list she held. “iPod?”

“Stupid question.” I held up my iPod, my brand-new set of noise-cancelling earphones, and my iPod’s USB cord and charger. I’d had my iPod for less than six months, it having been a Christmas present from my parents the year before, and it was already beginning to look very battered. The lower corners were scratched and dented, thanks to my unfortunate habit of dropping it on hard and rough surfaces, the aluminium back was marred with fingerprints, scratches and smudges, and the Apple symbol on the back had all but disappeared. Isobel frowned at its condition.

“You need to take better care of that,” she said as she made a mark on her list. “People will think you don’t give a shit about it.”

“It’s well-loved,” I replied as I stowed my iPod away in a Velcroed section of the very front pocket of my backpack. My earphones, the USB cord and the charger went into the middle pocket. “But I do need to clean it up before we hit my parents’ place. They’ll think I haven’t taken very good care of it.”

“Getting back to the task at hand…got your phone?”

I took my phone out of its designated pocket, next to that which held my iPod. “Got it.”

The rest of Isobel’s list was fairly routine – notebooks, guitar tuner, sketchbooks, pens and pencils, journal, books to read, my summer-weight hoodie, my laptop and its power cord, my travel surge protector, the charger for my phone, and any number of other bits and pieces that were necessary when it came to spending an entire summer on the road.

I glanced at my desk calendar as I zipped my backpack up. Today was the sixteenth of May – the first concert of the tour was to be held tonight, and I had already submitted my cover songs to Mark so that he had a basis for the set list. One of the covers I’d picked called for a female lead, something that had only happened a few times before, so it was going to be interesting to see not only how performing that particular song worked out, but also how the audience reacted. I had a reasonably good idea of who would be asked to fill that role, but one thing I’d learned in my twenty-four years as a Hanson was that my brothers could be very unpredictable.

“So what are we supposed to be doing this morning?” Isobel asked as I carried my backpack and camera case out into the living room. My suitcase, wheelchair and guitar case had been put with everyone else’s gear the night before, in preparation for getting the buses loaded this afternoon.

“I think they wanted us both over at the venue for a few hours during sound check,” I replied. “Just to do a bit of filming and photography. And Mark said something about getting our opinion on the set list as they build it, I think.”

“How many songs are they aiming for?”

I frowned and quickly counted off in my head. “Mark said four songs from each studio album they’ve released so far, four non-album tracks, and five covers. So twenty-five all up. Which makes for a very long show.”

“I’ll say,” Isobel commented.

At around eleven, we headed downtown to the concert venue. The Beacon Theatre was two blocks away from where Mark, Jessica and I lived, so there really was no point in driving. I had Ratchet on her leash and wearing her jacket, as I usually did when I went out into Manhattan for anything other than work – this would be the last chance I had to walk her before we hit the road, so I wanted to make it count.

“Sorry, no dogs allowed,” the woman in the box office said as Isobel and I entered the theatre lobby. The badge she wore on her shirt gave her name as Linda.

“I have a permit,” I informed her, and started digging around in my messenger bag for my wallet. Once I’d located it I showed her my ID card, which stated that I was legally entitled to take Ratchet wherever I went. From a pocket of my jeans I took my Access All Areas pass and handed it over so that Linda could see that I wasn’t there to look around. Isobel handed hers over as well to show that we were both here for the same purpose.

“My apologies,” Linda said as she handed our passes back. “Go straight on through.”

“Thank you,” I said as I pocketed my pass and stowed my wallet back in my bag.

As we neared the doors of the theatre itself, I could hear Mark singing One Headlight by The Wallflowers as he played the melody of the song on his piano. It was one of the songs I’d taken from The Impossible Playlist to build the list of covers that would be played over the course of the tour. Isaac’s guitar and Zac’s drums filled in the other two parts of the song. I closed my eyes briefly and allowed the song to wash over me.

“I take it that you like that song,” Isobel said as we opened the theatre doors and walked inside. I picked Ratchet up as the doors closed behind us and followed Isobel through the rows of seats.

“Of course I like it,” I replied. “Happens with most of the songs on the Playlist – I listen to them enough, so I sort of have to like them.” We’d reached the stage by this point – Isobel climbed up first, and I passed Ratchet and my bag up to her before climbing up myself. Right as I planted my knees on the stage my phone rang, Thunderstruck blaring out from its speaker. I waved at my brothers to indicate that I needed quiet, and started to dig around in my messenger bag for my notebook and pen, pulling my phone from my pocket as I worked. I didn’t recognise the number when I glanced at the screen, meaning it was a work call. My first instinct was to let it go to voicemail, but I still hadn’t recorded my summer voicemail message so that would have been a monumentally bad idea.

“78th Street Productions, this is Taylor Hanson speaking,” I said in answer.

“Hi, my name is Helen Cartwright – I saw your advertisement in the Village Voice,” the caller said. “I was wondering if I would be able to engage your services for a two-week assignment in July.”

I let out a mental groan. It was just my luck – it was a week after I had cleared my calendar for the summer, and I already had someone offering me work.

“Helen, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t be in New York for the next four months,” I said, truly regretting it. Every little cent helped, especially seeing as my move-out date was drawing ever nearer. Isobel and I had decided that our moving-out day would be October fifteenth, and therefore we were going to be spending quite a bit of time over the summer trawling through property listings. “I resume work on September twenty-fifth – I can pencil you in any day after that.”

“Oh no, that’s all right,” Helen said, in a tone I recognised all too well. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“No trouble at all,” I assured her.

Once I’d hung up and slid my notebook and pen back into my messenger bag, I dialled the number that would connect me to my voicemail and quickly recorded a new message, informing anyone who called that I was unavailable between today and September twenty-fourth, and would be reopening my schedule on the twenty-fifth.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering for a little while,” Isobel said as I slid my phone back into my pocket.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you call your freelancing business ‘78th Street Productions’? Last time I checked, you lived on West 72nd.”

I’d been expecting this particular question for a while, so I was prepared with an answer. “You remember how I told you that I was born in Tulsa?” When she nodded, I continued, “When we came back to the States from Trinidad in ‘88, we moved to a house on 78th Street. We lived there until the beginning of 1999. I grew up there, so most of my memories are attached to that house. When I decided to start freelancing and needed a name to publish my work under, ‘78th Street Productions’ seemed like the perfect name.” I scratched Ratchet behind her ears. “Whenever I’m back home I like going for walks around my old neighbourhood – I talk to my old neighbours, poke around my old haunts and hiding places, see how much things have changed.”

“You’ll have to give me the grand tour when we get there.”

“Oh, I can definitely do that. I still have my old house keys and everything.”

Late that afternoon, Isobel and I returned to the apartment for dinner and to do some last minute tidying up. We also needed to make sure that everything that was to be taken on tour was ready to be loaded onto the buses, so that we could leave straight after the concert. Not only that, because neither of us had any intention of seeing the tour’s opening act, Serendipity, perform (like The Mockingbirds, they were passable, but that didn’t necessarily mean I enjoyed their music) it was our responsibility to lock the apartment and hand the keys over to Jessica – she wouldn’t be joining us on tour straight away, as Juilliard was still in session for a few more days. When she finished school for the year she had agreed to pass the keys onto Mark’s friend James, who would be keeping an eye on the place for us over the summer, after which she would be joining us on the road and bringing Ratchet along with her.

“I think we need to talk about where things are going,” Isobel said as we sat on the living room couch with our dinner. I had cooked up a small batch of lemon chicken and rice the night before, with the full knowledge that I wouldn’t have time to cook on the day of the show, and had reheated it while Isobel did a quick inspection of the apartment. “I don’t think it’s fair on either of us if we have completely different viewpoints on…” She trailed off and toyed with her chicken. “Certain subjects.”

“Like what?” I asked, seconds before I skewered a carrot with the tines of my fork.

“Well, let’s see.” She put her plate down on the coffee table and counted off on her fingers. “Religion, kids, sex before marriage. Those are the major ones, I think.”

“Religion,” I decided.

“Nothing like getting the really sticky subject out of the way first,” Isobel said. “I’ve never been religious – Mum and Dad apparently decided very early on that, even though they’re both nominally Christian, they wanted us kids to make our own decisions about religion and what path we wanted to take. They saw no point in bringing us into it until we were old enough to know what we were getting ourselves in for. All my brothers and sisters chose to join our parents, but I ultimately decided it just wasn’t my thing. To be honest, I’ve never trusted it.”

I ate for a little while before I answered. “I was raised an Evangelical Christian,” I said. “I ended up leaving when I was sixteen, shortly after I started college. It just never made sense to me. I think the only reason I stayed with it so long was because I didn’t know anything else. That changed when we went to Bali in 1997 – we visited a Hindu temple while we were there. I thought it was fascinating, and it just started an avalanche. I spent most of the next couple of years questioning everything I had ever been taught, and eventually came to the conclusion that it was, well, a load of bullshit.” Isobel laughed at this. “Managed to work up the nerve to tell my parents that I no longer believed not long after I turned eighteen. I was all prepared for them to lecture me, maybe even disown me, but I think they were actually relieved that I’d chosen to strike out on my own, so to speak. I was a lot more open with them after that.”

Isobel gave me a smile. “Right, next topic – kids.”

“I like them,” I said, shrugging. “But I definitely don’t want any of my own. I put up with my younger brothers and sisters for long enough that I eventually realised that it wasn’t for me. By the time Zoë came along, I knew for sure.”

“So it took you, what…” She frowned slightly. “Fourteen years to figure it out?”

“Well, almost fifteen – her birthday is two months before mine and Mark’s – but close enough.”

“Interesting. I knew when I was seven.”

“That you didn’t want kids?”

“Mmm-hmm. I had my first inklings when I was five-and-a-half, which is when Jack was born, but by the time he was eighteen months old I knew for sure.” She ate a few bites of rice. “And unlike you, I intensely dislike the little shits.”

I snickered at this. Trust Isobel to come up with something like that. “This one’s probably a bit of a sensitive subject,” I said, trying not to sound too hesitant, “but…” I swallowed hard. “Sex before marriage.”

“If I love the other person enough, then I’m definitely open to it,” Isobel replied without even a bit of hesitation. “Doesn’t mean I’ve actually gone and done it, because I haven’t yet. I’m waiting for the right person to come along.”

“And would I be that right person?” I asked.

She seemed to study me for a little while. “There’s a high possibility of it,” she allowed, before cocking an eyebrow. “And what about you?”

“I’d be a complete and utter hypocrite if I said I didn’t believe in it,” I replied. I finished off the last few bites of chicken and put my plate aside. “Before we started dating, I was in two relationships, one after the other. I had my first girlfriend when I was thirteen – it lasted about a year and a half. Second was when I was fifteen – that one lasted a year, it ended when I started college. I’ve never been able to make long-distance relationships work for very long. And, um…”  I shifted slightly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “My last relationship, it was with a guy.”

Isobel was silent for a little while. Even without looking at her, I could tell she was shocked. “So you’re bi?” she asked.

I nodded. “I am,” I replied. “I’m still friends with my ex-boyfriend – he’s a good guy.”

“So when you say that you would be a hypocrite…” Isobel said, to prompt me to finish the sentence.

“I lost my virginity when I was fourteen,” I admitted.

“Damn.”

“You said it.”

We returned to the concert venue at around eight-thirty – Hanson were scheduled to take the stage at around nine, so we had a little bit of time to kill before we had to take our seats. And as with the last Hanson concert we had attended in New York, we spent that half-hour backstage, listening to the opening act going through their paces. Isobel spent most of the time writing in her notebook and testing out her camcorder, while I checked over my cameras (both my film SLR and my digital), inspected my rolls of film and formatted my media cards. All too soon it was time for us to take our seats – I felt a curious sense of anticipation as Isobel and I picked our way through the crowd, muttering apologies to anyone whose feet we stepped on. Moments before the house lights went down I realised why.

This was officially the first Hanson concert since 2005. The show back in February had only been a showcase of the new music, so in terms of touring it didn’t really count. Not only that, but at nearly two hours in length it would be one of the longest Hanson concerts on record. I didn’t envy my brothers in the slightest – I knew there was no way in the world that I would be able to do it. In another life, maybe, where I’d never fallen ill, but not in this one.

“So who’s singing on Candy?” Isobel asked in almost a whisper, directly in my ear, as the crowd volume dropped to almost nothing. She indicated her copy of the set list, which in Mark’s handwriting beneath Candy was written Isaac + special guest.

“It’s a surprise,” I replied. “Even I don’t know who it is.” That was a half-truth – I knew that either Isla or Alli would be performing tonight, but that was all I knew.

Silence blanketed the darkened auditorium for maybe a minute, before the drums and bass guitar of the first song sounded, followed in short order by Isaac’s vocals. I knew they were modifying the song slightly, having decided to omit the spoken-word portions of the lyrics. The stage lit up right as my brother started singing.

“Beautiful, beautiful girl from the north…you burned my heart with a flickering torch…I had a dream that no one else could see…you gave me love for free…

“Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…all my life you’re haunting me, I loved you so…Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…life is crazy, Candy baby…”

The next voice we heard belonged to Isaac’s long-time girlfriend, Alli. I couldn’t help grinning as I heard her sing for the first time – were I asked to choose between Isla and Alli as to who I got along best with, I would always pick Alli. We hadn’t got along so well in the beginning – she was five years my senior and had at first had tended to treat me like a little brother, but over the last few years I had earned her respect. As she sang she walked out of the wings and across the stage to where Isaac stood behind his microphone.

“I’ve had a hole in my heart for so long…I’ve learned to fake it and just smile along…down on the street, those men are all the same…I need love, not games, not games…”

The rest of the song was basically nothing more than a duet between Isaac and Alli.

“Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…all my life you’re haunting me, I loved you so…Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…life is crazy, I know baby…Candy baby…

“Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…all my life you’re haunting me, I loved you so…Candy, Candy, Candy…life is crazy…Candy baby, Candy baby…Candy, Candy…

“Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…all my life I’m waiting for you…Candy, Candy, Candy I can’t let you go…”

The cheering and applause that followed the song was absolutely thunderous. “Alli Delacroix, everyone!” Isaac said as Alli sketched a bow. The two of them kissed briefly before Alli left the stage, waving to the crowd as she melted into the shadows.

The concert progressed in much the same fashion as many of the previous concerts, except for the fact that the set list was longer than ever before. At least it did, right up until I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as In The City ended. I pulled it out into the open, unlocked the keypad and opened the message, which was from Jessica.

“Oh hell no,” I mumbled as I scanned the lines of text. Tay, Mark wants you backstage – they want you to perform ‘Pride’ w/them tonight as the encore. You can kill him later if you want.

Oh, I would definitely kill him later. That much was a given. I felt Isobel’s eyes on me as I switched my digital camera off and packed both cameras away in their case, and I passed my phone across to her in response.

“Are they mad?” Isobel mouthed as she handed my phone back to me. I shrugged and closed the message, and shoved my phone back into my pocket. Before I headed backstage I pointed to her camcorder, indicating without words that I wanted this on film, and she nodded in response.

“You three are fucking crazy,” I said to my brothers as soon as they came offstage after performing Blue Sky, the ‘official’ last song on the set list. I had been fitted with a set of ear monitors and a receiver during the last few songs, and was waiting to be dragged out onstage for the first time in years. And if I had my way, it would be the last time it ever happened. “I’m supposed to be working tonight.”

“Jord, you need to live a little,” Mark informed me. “All you ever do is work.”

“It’s better than sitting around the house all day, Matt,” I shot back. Two could play at that game – if he wanted to use the shortened version of my first name, then so would I.

We both fell silent, listening to the audience chanting “Hanson” over and over again. I could feel the excitement and anticipation radiating off of my twin in waves, but at the same time I felt a growing unease deep inside. For all the ways that Mark and I were similar, in many we were completely different – and this was just one of those ways. Mark was a born performer – he lived for the stage. I, on the other hand, loved nothing more than to be behind the viewfinder of my camera. I had been onstage just once before, back when Hanson was just a local indie group playing Mayfest every year, and that had been more than enough. And now, thirteen years later, here I was again.

“We’d better get back out there,” Zac said suddenly, and I looked over at him. He was twirling his drumsticks around in his fingers. “The natives are getting restless – they’ll start a riot any second now.”

“They’re Hanson fans,” I reminded him. “What d’you expect?”

The four of us headed toward the side of the stage, and I had a microphone pressed into my left hand as I stopped just behind Mark. “You owe me,” I informed my brother.

“Oh, I’m scared,” Mark shot back. I opened my mouth to retort, only to find myself being pushed out onto the stage. A hand on my back guided me through the darkness to stand next to Mark – I knew it was my twin who I stood next to, because I could feel the cool, smooth keys of Mark’s piano beneath my fingers when I put my left hand out.

Before I even realised what had happened, the familiar guitar-and-drums introduction of Pride (In The Name Of Love) kicked off and the lights went up again, accompanied by a wall of noise from the gathered crowd. Mark was the first to sing, which meant that I would be next. The two of us would share vocals for the third verse and the final chorus, just to even things up.

“One man come in the name of love…one man come and go…one come here to justify…one man to overthrow…

“In the name of love…one more in the name of love…in the name of love…what more in the name of love…”

At my cue I stepped forward slightly, closed my eyes and sang like I never had before, my voice soaring to the heavens.

“One man caught on a barbed wire fence…one man he resist…one man washed on an empty beach…one man betrayed with a kiss…

“In the name of love…one more in the name of love…in the name of love…what more in the name of love…”

An instrumental section followed my chorus, after which Mark and I sang together for the first time in over a decade.

“Early morning, April four…shot rings out in the Memphis sky…free at last, they took your life… they could not take your pride…

“In the name of love…one more in the name of love…in the name of love…what more in the name of love…in the name of love…one more in the name of love…in the name of love…what more in the name of love…”

As we finished the song, I felt a surge of something unfamiliar – it felt almost like adrenaline, but I knew better. It felt nothing like that. Bare minutes after I followed my brothers offstage once more, and caught Isobel up in a tight embrace, I realised exactly what it was.