Taylor’s feet carefully traversed the filthy New York streets. It was their last show of the tour and consequently their last walk. He knew he had gained more than his share of calluses on this tour and had talked to more fans than he probably had in all the preceding years of their fame. It had been a good tour, an exhausting tour, and now, thankfully, it was a completed tour. He longed for a familiar bed and time to spend with his family. As he spoke his final words into the megaphone, a wide smile spread across his face as he saw his three children waving at him from the window of the Subway across the street. His wife, Natalie, was looking out the window nervously, obviously trying to make sure their children weren’t seen by the huge crowd outside. Taylor sighed heavily and passed the megaphone to Isaac. He wanted to go tell her that everything was going to be fine and that the last thing the fans cared about was seeing his kids, but he wasn’t stupid enough to believe the words himself. The fans had always cared about his family, their families, more than they wished they would have. They had been trying to tell the fans for years that it was about the music, but for some reason, probably due to the fact that their fame had come at a young age and their fans had been following their lives for so long, they had never been able to make it just about the music.
“I’m going to go meet Natalie when we’re done,” Taylor whispered in Zac’s ear.
“That’s fine,” Zac whispered back, “Just make sure you’re at the venue on time. You were late last week.”
“Yeah yeah, I know,” Taylor sighed, pulling away from his brother and running his hands through his hair. He remembered that particular night perfectly. The fight he and Natalie had had that night was particularly memorable as it had taken place in the women’s bathroom of a Pizza Hut. Some fans had approached them, wanting an autograph from Taylor, and Natalie had whisked the kids away into the bathroom like they were going to get stolen. The consequential discussion afterwards, when he had gone to tell her the fans were gone, had not been pretty.
Once the fans had dispersed, Taylor made his way discreetly back across the street to Subway, knowing that his family would still be inside with a foot long meatball sub, now cold, and a caffeine-free Diet Pepsi, now warm, waiting for him.
“Big crowd today,” Natalie said, wiping mayonnaise off of Penelope’s hands with a napkin.
“Yeah, it was good. Everyone seemed cool,” Taylor shrugged, unwrapping the typical sandwich and consuming the typically lukewarm substance. He wanted to say something to Natalie, anything. Anything that was new or funny or about something other than work or the kids, but she wouldn’t even look at him. Her eyes were going back and forth between their three children, all behaving perfectly and busying themselves with the things Natalie had brought along for them to do while they waited.
“I worked on the apartment some this afternoon, got the kids’ rooms set up,” Natalie told him, looking at him for the first time since he’d walked through the door, “I think it’ll work for the few months we’re here.”
“It might end up being more than a few months if Zac, Isaac, and I keep disagreeing on what should go on the album. They’re being such stubborn asses and-“
“Taylor! Don’t swear in front of them!” she scolded, her gaze gone. He finished his sandwich as quickly as he could and swallowed it down with the equally luke-warm soda before pushing back his chair.
“I have to get back. I’ll see you after the show,” he said, leaning forward to kiss all four of them on the forehead before walking out the door. A string of obscenities threatened to spew under his breath as he made his way back to the venue, but he managed to keep it at bay.
Backstage, he found Zac and Isaac talking to a short blonde with a large date book and an amused look on her face.
“Hey Taylor, come over here!” Isaac beckoned, “This is Kayla Evans, the studio manager for Eastside Sound, where we’ll be recording the new album. She stopped by to see what we need.”
“Any particular requests? Bowl full of brown M&Ms every day? Imported bottled water from Switzerland?” Kayla asked.
“As long as there’s a piano in the studio and a Starbucks nearby, I’ll be fine,” Taylor laughed.
“Sorry, we’re on one of the few blocks in New York that doesn’t have a Starbucks on it, but I’ll make sure you get your coffee, don’t worry,” she said, writing a final note into her book before snapping it shut. “I’ll see you guys on Monday.” As she breezed out the door, Taylor felt something in his stomach tighten. Maybe it was just the fact that it was the only verbal communication he’d had with a woman who wasn’t a fan or his family in months, but he knew after that one brief encounter that he was going to like working at Eastside Sound. A lot.