:: chapter nine ::

It didn’t take long for me to settle into my new routine. By the time we arrived in Atlanta, about two weeks after the tour kicked off, I was accustomed to life on tour. It helped that I had always been very adaptable, something I’d inherited from my mother – my maternal grandfather had been a missionary in Asia, and so Mum had spent a good deal of her childhood and teens living out of a suitcase.

The tour routine was straightforward and completely idiot-proof. Concert days started at around six-thirty in the morning, with Mark playing at being a human alarm clock – he was in the habit of bashing on the door of each of our hotel rooms with Zac’s drumsticks to ensure that nobody overslept. The next few hours were given over to preparing for each new day – showering, brushing teeth, dressing, having breakfast, and packing away anything that had escaped from our suitcases and backpacks the night before. Interviews often took up a great deal of each morning, followed by sound check and rehearsal just after lunch. While the band was out doing press and the tour manager checked everyone out from the hotel, all of our gear would be loaded onto the buses in preparation for heading out to the concert venue. Sound check usually ended at around five-thirty, at which point everyone would head out for dinner for about an hour. Once everyone returned from dinner the rate of activity would ratchet up a few notches – the support act would typically take the stage at seven-thirty and play for 40 minutes, which gave Taylor’s brothers one hour to hold the evening’s meet-and-greet session and to get themselves ready to perform. Eight-thirty heralded Hanson’s arrival onstage, whereupon they would play for just over an hour and a half. At the concert’s conclusion the stage would be stripped and loaded into the truck that followed the tour buses, everyone would hop onto their respective buses, and the journey to the next city would begin.

Of course, it was idiot-proof in theory only. In practice it tended to be a very different story.

For the sixteenth morning in a row I was jolted out of a very sound sleep, during which I had dreamed about Taylor, a bottle of chocolate body paint, lots of whipped cream and my sister Penelope’s handcuffs, by a loud hammering on the door of my hotel room. Our stay in Atlanta, just as our stay in Washington, D.C. had been, was two days long – we had arrived just after midnight on the fifth of June, and today was the sixth. To the crew these occasional extended stays were given over to sightseeing and restocking the alcohol and junk food supplies, but the inner circle (in other words Taylor’s brothers, Taylor himself, Jessica, Alli, Isla and I) knew better. Apparently their parents had put their foot down very early on after Taylor had been officially diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, and now every month at the very least a two-day break was worked into the itinerary so that he could rest if he needed it. I had spent the night in my boyfriend’s arms once again, one of my favourite places in the world.

“Fucking hell,” I mumbled as I slowly opened my eyes, squinting them against the bright summer sunlight that streamed into the room through a gap in the curtains. How in the world could Taylor sleep through that? “I’m up, I’m up…”

I eased my way out of Taylor’s embrace and slipped out of our bed, fumbling around for my dressing gown as I tried to wake up a little. Once I had pulled it over my pyjamas I wandered over to the door of the room and peered through the peephole to see who had dragged me out of bed.

“Mark, what the fuck is your problem?” I asked once I had the door open. Taylor’s twin stood there in the corridor, fully dressed and twirling a set of Zac’s drumsticks around in his fingers. “It’s not even six o’clock yet.” This last part was said once my vision had cleared enough for me to be able to check my watch. Its display read 5:49. “You’re not supposed to do wake-up calls until six-thirty.” I yawned, not even bothering to cover my mouth. “And I was having such a wonderful dream too.”

“What about?” Mark asked, sounding very curious – a little too curious I thought, considering what my dream had been about.

“I’ll give you four clues.” I held up my right hand, and folded each finger down as I spoke. “Handcuffs, chocolate body paint, whipped cream, and your dear twin brother.” I smirked at him. “I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

“I’d rather not.” He sounded vaguely disgusted. “I have enough trouble ignoring the fact that I could hear what was going on in both Zac and Isaac’s hotel rooms last night without wondering what you two were getting up to in yours.”

“Aww, feeling lonely are we?”

He scowled at me. “Shut up.”

I gave him a very sweet, sleepy smile. “So what was it that you wanted?”

He shrugged. “I figured that seeing as it takes Taylor ages to get going in the mornings, I should wake you guys up a bit earlier than usual.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Give you a bit of extra time to get it all out of your systems.”

Now it was my turn to scowl. “For your information, unlike some people we’re managing to control ourselves,” I told him. Taylor and I had decided to wait until we had been dating for at least six months before we even considered the possibility of going further than third base. I did know that I wanted him to be my first, though I hadn’t told him that yet. “Now, if you’re quite finished…”

“I’ll see you both at breakfast, then.” He looked past me into the hotel room. “Make sure you don’t tire him out too much, yeah?”

He received a slap for this little comment. “Fuck off, Mark,” I said, only half-joking. “Go ring your girlfriend and bother her.”

Once Mark had wandered back down the corridor, I closed the door and headed back to bed. I didn’t go back to sleep, though – I was far too awake now for that. Instead I took my dressing gown off, draped it over the room’s desk chair, and climbed onto the bed. From there I crawled across to Taylor’s side of the bed and straddled him, settling myself on his hips.

One of my favourite activities was watching him sleep. During his waking hours he looked every inch his twenty-four years, which I put down to the guard he kept up around anyone he didn’t know very well. Around those he did know well – a very short list of people that included his family, Alli, Isla, Schuyler and I – but also while he slept, he looked at least five years younger. I knew that he dropped his guard around me because he trusted me implicitly – and that outside of the immediate Hanson family, I was one of the only people alive who was able to command that level of trust.

He drifted awake about five minutes after I’d told Mark to piss off, right as I started to study the scar on the right side of his stomach. “What’re you doin’?” he asked, sounding hazy.

I touched a fingertip to his scar, which was about two-and-a-half inches long. “Just looking at this scar you’ve got,” I replied. “What’s it from?”

“Had my appendix out when I was sixteen.” He raised himself up on his elbows. “You want to see the rest?”

“You mean you’ve got more?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I felt him raise his right knee. “You see the one on that ankle?” he asked, and I twisted around slightly. Running from just above the sole of his right foot up to where his shin met his ankle was a long scar. I reached back and traced it with a finger. “I pretty much shattered it about three years ago. Had to have a bunch of screws and plates put in there.”

I returned my focus to his face as he lowered his foot back down. Next he balanced himself on his right elbow as he pointed to his left eye, where I could see a small, hairline scar just below his lower eyelid. “I was chasing Mark through the house when we were ten, and he’d slammed the back door closed right as I came up to it. I went straight through the glass.” I sucked in a sharp breath, and he nodded. “Doctor said if the glass had cut me even a hair higher, I’d have lost that eye.”

Next he ran a finger along his hairline, from above his right eyebrow down to the tip of his right ear. “And this one’s from when I was riding my bike and went over the handlebars, when I was eleven. I broke my left arm pretty badly, and because I wasn’t wearing my helmet I damn near split my head open. Spent the weekend in hospital, and when I came home my parents grounded me for a month because I’d gone out riding without my helmet on.”

“Jeez, you’ve been through the wars.”

He granted me a small, tight smile. “I still have one more.” With these words he raised his chin and pointed to his throat, where he had a vertical scar that was about half the length of my thumb. “Last summer, I found out the hard way that I’m severely allergic to wasp stings. Got stung by one and went into anaphylactic shock. I would have died if my dad hadn’t called an ambulance in time. I had to have a cricothyrotomy done so that I could breathe until they got me to the hospital – the paramedics cut a hole in my throat and stuck a tube down into my airway.” He rubbed his scar a little. “It…it was fucking terrifying. I never want to go through that again. I have to keep an EpiPen with me now in case it happens again.”

“Fucking hell,” I whispered. “You haven’t had it easy, have you?”

“I think that’s the understatement of the year,” he replied dryly. He eyed me. “So are you going to get off of me anytime soon? Only I need to take my medication if I’m going to have any hope of functioning properly today.”

“You know, I kind of like it where I am,” I replied. I reached down and tweaked his nose.

“So do I, but unless you want me to feel like a zombie all day I’d suggest that you get up.” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a lopsided grin, one that reached all the way up to his eyes. I leaned down and kissed him quickly before getting off of him, and in turn off the bed.

While Taylor took his medication and fed Ratchet, who typically slept in her basket under the writing desk of whatever hotel room it was that we stayed in, I went through my suitcase in search of something to wear. According to the weather report on Good Morning America, which I’d changed the channel to immediately after turning the TV on, it was set to be rather warm today, peaking at eighty-six degrees. Taking this into account, I decided on my three-quarter pants, a bright red sleeveless top, and my sandals. A rummage around in my lingerie bag produced a bra and knickers, and I headed off to take a shower.

I’d just drenched my hair when the bathroom door opened. A quick peek around the edge of the shower curtain revealed Taylor to be the interloper, and I smiled. “Hey, feel like washing my hair for me?” I asked, and held my bottle of shampoo out to him.

“Jesus, what did your last slave die of?” he asked, but he took the bottle from me and opened it. “Oh, that’s nice,” he commented after he’d quickly sniffed it. “Cucumber and green tea,” he read off of the label. “Didn’t know this was yours.”

“You did so, you liar.” I pulled the shower curtain across and splashed him. “You’re the one who used up my last bottle.”

“You want me to wash your hair or not?” He waved the bottle at me. I stuck my tongue out at him and took the bottle back, and pulled the shower curtain back into place so I didn’t get water on the bathroom floor.

Moments later the curtain opened again, and he stepped into the shower behind me. I passed my shampoo bottle back to him, and soon I felt his fingers combing shampoo through my hair. I usually hated it when other people touched my hair, but Taylor was the one and only exception. He knew what I liked and what I didn’t, and acted accordingly – and this included playing with my hair. A shiver raced down my back as I felt his fingernails scratch my scalp a little, and I closed my eyes.

I decided to skip the conditioner this morning, reasoning that because I’d already done that the last time I’d washed my hair it didn’t need it, and stepped out of the shower so Taylor could wash his own hair. I was slightly too short to return the favour unless he felt like having his hair washed in the bathroom sink. Once I’d dressed myself and had dried my hair, finger-combing my curls out as I did so, I took my pyjamas back into the room and started my packing. My pyjamas, dressing gown, and the clothes and shoes I had worn yesterday went into my suitcase, followed by my toiletries kit once I’d put my shampoo bottle back inside. I opted not to lock my suitcase just yet, as I knew I would need to get back into it when we came back upstairs after breakfast. Into my backpack went my laptop and power cord, surge protector, my notebook and pen, my DS Lite and the case of game cartridges I always carried with me. My iPod and earphones were returned to my handbag, my BlackBerry went into one of my pockets, and I buckled my watch securely around my left wrist.

Taylor exited the bathroom, Ratchet at his heels, just as I set my backpack and suitcase on the floor next to my side of the bed. He had one bath towel around his waist, and was rubbing his hair dry with another as he walked. I sat down on the bed and watched as he went through his own suitcase, drawing out a pair of cargo pants and one of the shirts I’d seen for sale in the Hanson.net online store, the red Great Divide T-shirt. He dressed quickly and took the towels he had used back into the bathroom, and soon I heard the hotel bathroom’s hairdryer switch on. Over the roar of the hairdryer I could hear him singing, though I didn’t recognise the lyrics.

“Pick up your shoulders, you are not a child…don’t need no natural born soldiers, it’s not that kind of fight…there is no water that can wash off this disease…if you’ll just stand up, then I’ll follow your lead…so get up and make it known…you’ll never take a chance alone…I’ll be there whatever your crossroads, oh…I know it will take some time…I know it’s gonna take its toll…but all you gotta do is show me…and I’ll follow your lead, oh…I follow your lead, oh…I follow your lead, you know…I follow through the crossroads…”

Just as I really started to enjoy hearing him sing, a phone started ringing. I instantly recognised the ringtone as Taylor’s, and I set about locating his phone. After searching through his backpack, guitar case and the pockets of the jeans he had worn the day before, I found it sitting on the writing desk, hooked up to its charger.

“You idiot,” I scolded myself, before picking it up and checking the screen. The caller ID read Zac – Cell, so I decided it was in my best interests to answer. “Hey Zac.”

“Why are you answering my brother’s phone?” Zac asked.

“He’s a little, um…” I glanced over at the bathroom. “Indisposed right now.”

“Oh, please tell me I didn’t interrupt you guys.” He sounded very apologetic as he said this.

“Relax, it’s not what you think. He’s in the bathroom drying his hair.” I paused, hesitating to mention what else he was doing. “He’s also singing.”

I couldn’t see Zac’s face, but I would have bet anything that he’d just raised an eyebrow. “He must be in a good mood, then.”

“Meaning?”

“Taylor only ever sings when he’s in a good mood. That doesn’t happen very often. At least, it never used to.” After a pause, he asked. “What’s he singing?”

“No idea. I thought it might’ve been one of yours, but I don’t recognise the lyrics.” Taylor’s phone was fully charged, so I unplugged it from its charger and walked across to the bathroom. The hairdryer had been switched off by now, but Taylor was still singing. I took the phone away from my ear and held it up to the doorway so Zac could hear his brother, just outside of Taylor’s field of vision. Half a minute later I backed away and returned my focus to the phone call. “So what’s the verdict?”

“It’s definitely not one of ours. I’d know if it was. He must have written that one himself.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised – he’s never written a song before, at least not that I know of. Something’s definitely inspired him.”

“Who’re you talking to?”

I looked back over my shoulder. Taylor stood there behind me, arms crossed over his chest and both eyebrows raised. He’d pulled his hair back into a ponytail.

“Zac’s on the phone,” I replied. “You wanna talk to him?”

“No shit,” Taylor replied, and I handed him his phone. He quickly glanced at the screen before speaking to his brother. “What’s up?…uh-huh…oh, you have to be kidding me.” He shifted his focus to me for the barest of seconds. “Look, I’m gonna put you on speaker, okay? Isobel needs to hear this too.” He lowered his phone from his ear and pressed a couple of buttons. “Okay, what was it that you said?”

“The opening act’s pulled out of the tour,” Zac replied. “Something about a family emergency. Their lead singer rang Mark about fifteen minutes ago to let him know. They’re making preparations to head back to Albany as of this moment.”

“So now there’s no opening act at all?” Taylor asked.

“Nope. We have The Veronicas booked for the Australian tour and Goodnight Nurse to open for us in New Zealand, but we’re not comfortable with asking either band to fly out here for the US tour and still open Down Under. It wouldn’t be fair on them.”

“Good point,” Taylor agreed. “So what options do you have?”

“We really only have one, to be honest. We didn’t exactly plan for this.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Taylor said.

Zac sounded very hesitant as he spoke. “We were wondering if you and Isobel would be able to open for us. Not right away, of course,” he tacked on, somewhat hurriedly I thought. “We can probably manage for a few shows without an opening act, it just means fiddling around with the daily schedule a bit. But we will need someone to open for us by the time we hit Dallas.”

“Jesus, Zac…” Taylor scrubbed a hand over his face. “There’s nobody else you could ask to see if they could open?” he asked. He actually sounded somewhat desperate. I knew he didn’t want to be onstage unless there really was no other option. To him, it was akin to having teeth pulled.

“Not at the moment, no. Serendipity was the only band during the planning stage who was free for the full summer. Everyone else was either making plans to record, looking to go on break, or preparing to tour themselves. We’re going to keep our eyes and ears open for anyone who might be available to tour with us, but until we do find someone this is the only choice we have.” He was quiet for a little while. “Tay, really, I wouldn’t be asking if we had any other option. I am well aware of how much you hate being onstage. We all are. I swear to you that if you do this for us, I won’t ask you for a thing ever again. You’ll be off the hook for the rest of your life.”

“You swear it as a Hanson?”

“On my name, I do so swear,” Zac replied.

Taylor looked at me again. “Let me talk to Isobel.” With those words he crossed to the desk and set his phone down on it. “So what do you think?” he asked as he sat down on the bed.

“He sounded genuine enough,” I said with a shrug. “They must be pretty desperate if they’re asking us to open.” I sat down next to him. “But I think we should give it a shot anyway. You have a killer voice, and at the New York concert the audience loved you. I heard a few of the stragglers who were leaving afterwards say how much they liked hearing you sing, when they weren’t wondering who the hell you were, of course.” He smiled a little at this. “And I’ve heard them wondering if you were ever going to show your face again. They love you Tay, and they want to see and hear more of you.”

“So we feed their enthusiasm?” he asked, sounding dubious.

“We feed it,” I replied. “We can do covers, and we can ask your brothers if they have any songs that they’re not planning to use for anything. It can’t hurt to try.”

He seemed to think this over for a little while, before picking his phone back up. “We’ll do it, Zac. But I hope you realise that you owe me.”

“Definitely,” Zac said in relief. “Thanks, man. See you downstairs, yeah?”

“See you down there,” Taylor said, and hung up. He looked at me. “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves in for?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But it had better be fucking worth it.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go get some breakfast. I could eat a horse right now.”

I cast a look back at him as we left our hotel room, heading down to grab some breakfast while we still could. “It won’t be so bad, Tay,” I tried to assure him. “I promise. And anyway, it’ll only be until they find someone more permanent. It probably won’t be for very long.” I stopped walking, turned around and gathered him into a tight embrace. “It’ll be better tomorrow,” I told him. “You’ll see.”

“This is fucking hell on earth,” he mumbled as I rubbed his back slowly. “I swear I didn’t sign up for this shit…”