From this moment Taryn and Gregor caught up on things as the photo session progressed. “So you haven’t seen him since the whole aborted wedding fiasco?” Gregor asked incredulously. “Nope, not a word,” Taryn said, remembering all too well that fateful July day when she had expected to end up Mrs. Riley Carrington, but instead was still Taryn Mathews when the night found her in a bar with Cam and Gregor, completely hammered on tequila shooters. Not only had she been abjectly humiliated, she had also never been so sick in her life. “I don’t expect to hear from him, either. Any guy who would jilt a woman at the altar via a note is obviously a chickenshit of monumental proportions.” The three Hanson boys were tilting their heads in positions that, in Taryn’s opinion, looked less than natural. But they quietly did their duty for the just-as-gay as Gregor photographer, who was trying to be a little too artistic. “Doesn’t he realize that you can’t make teenage boys look like a damn Renoir?” Taryn quipped. “Hmmm,” Gregor said. “Maybe he thinks this gig is below him.” Taryn gave Gregor a steely stare. “I doubt very much that he spent hundreds of thousands of dollars of his parents’ money to go to Yale,” she said defensively. Before their argument could escalate, the photographer declared the session wrapped, and the contorted Hansons broke formation. As they did so, Taryn moved toward them, and at the same time a tall, goateed man toting a hand-held video camera stepped from the background. “Walker Hanson,” he said, extending his hand to Taryn. Great, she thought. I’ll get to sit with three teenage boys who are going to use their father as a mouthpiece. She forced a smile and took Walker’s hand. “Taryn Mathews. I’m a reporter for Idol Talk. I’m here to do a piece on your boys.” Walker smiled back. “I’m sure you’ll do a fine job,” he said. “Hey guys, the reporter from the magazine is here. Let’s get it together and not waste her time,” he called to his sons. “Nice meeting you,” he said, and as the boys scrambled for chairs at the interview table, Walker Hanson made himself scarce. Taryn was suitably impressed. She took a seat across from the Hansons, and sized them up quickly. They were seated in ascending age order: Zac on her left, Taylor in the middle and Isaac on the right. She decided to start asking questions with the middle one, as he seemed the most attentive at the moment. “Taylor,” she said. Taylor sat upright. “Who are your musical influences?” Taylor grinned a crooked little grin, a detail that Taryn quickly jotted in her notebook. “Well, we were sort of raised on 50s and 60s classic stuff,” Taylor said. “We lived in South America for a year when we were younger, and that was all we had … Time Life collections.” Taryn decided she’d better bring Zac, who was busy doodling on the bottom of his sneaker, into the loop before she lost him completely. “Zac, how are you handling all the fan adoration?” “Okay, I think,” Zac said. “I mean, it’s nothing you ever get used to, I don’t think. I kind of like to wear roller blades if I think I’m going to be chased.” “Sure,” Zac said. “I don’t get it. It’s not like I wouldn’t talk to someone or give them an autograph if they just walked up to me and asked for it.” Taryn was all of a sudden sympathetic. Here was this 13-year-old kid, completely taken aback by his fame and not sure what all the fuss was about. “Do your parents encourage you?” she asked. Isaac fixed her with a stare. “You mean have they forced us to do this?” he challenged. Taryn started. That was indeed what she had meant, but she hadn’t expected Isaac to pick up on it. “Well, no,” she said. “I just meant …” “We have always wanted this,” Isaac said firmly. “We’re not puppets. We write our own stuff, we record albums, and we tour when it’s necessary. We do what we have to. These are our careers. Our parents help us out, and we’re together all the time. But we’ve never been made to do anything we don’t want to. People accuse our mom and dad of stuff like that all the time, and I’ll go on record saying that that really upsets me.” Isaac took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, red-faced. Taylor and Zac were both looking at the floor, and Taryn knew it was her job to now ease the tension Isaac’s minor outburst had created. “I’m sorry if I implied anything you found offensive,” she said soothingly to Isaac. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Isaac’s light brown eyes met Taryn’s. She hoped she was right in thinking that she saw a “No, I’m sorry,” Isaac said with a heavy sigh. “We’re tired. It’s been a long day.” Taylor and Zac looked at each other with relief. Everything was all right. The rest of the interview went fairly well. Aside from Zac’s non-existent attention span, Taryn found the boys quite easy to work with, and in less than an hour she thought she had enough material for a good, well-balanced story. But then she remembered something Gregor had told her, and asked Isaac a final question. “Is it true that you name your guitars after girls you like?” she asked. “Sometimes,” Isaac admitted. “Um, by the way, what’s your name?” Taryn was incredulous. Was this kid flirting with her? She didn’t know how to flirt anymore. Where were the snappy comebacks? She had rebuffed the advances of men twice and three times Isaac Hanson’s age, and never once had to think of a retort. She couldn’t believe it herself, but she found herself lost in Isaac’s eyes and unable to think of a smart comment. “Taryn,” she finally stammered. Taylor and Zac had already fled from the table and were with their father. Isaac got up slowly from his chair, preparing to follow suit. “See you around, Taryn,” he said. And then he was gone.
Life has begun
From this moment
You are the one
-Shania Twain, "From This Moment"
Taryn wondered how much of this maelstrom was the idea of the boys. She turned to Isaac.
softening there.
