I took some final shots of the audience, and then followed Hanson off stage. As soon as they walked off, they met Gareth who, not expecting to see them closer than a few hundred feet away, was now close enough to notice the slight chip on Tay's right front tooth from when he decided to have an argument with a microphone in Germany...

Zac took a shine to him immediately and within moments were chatting as if they were old friends. I took the opportunity to give Tay a big hug, kiss him and congratulate him on the performance, as did Andy to Ike. A couple of minutes later as we broke from our respective embraces, Gareth had his seemingly ever-present look of utter disbelief on his face, although this time I knew exactly what he was thinking. There was, however, one important addition this time: the rapidly growing tent in the front of his jeans. Zac, who'd been looking him over constantly since he'd seen him skulking in the wings, spotted it immediately and took it as a green light.

He literally jumped onto him, sending them both crashing to the ground, Zac on top. Without pausing, he attached his lips to Gareth's and began to kiss him passionately. Gareth, again completely shocked (how much more he could take I wasn't sure - he never was very good with surprises), didn't quite know what had hit him, but was soon returning Zac's show of emotion with all the energy they could muster. It has to be said that they were an excellent match - although Gareth was about a year Zac's senior, they were of a similar height, same hair and eye colour and from the looks of things, similar interests. Occasionally it was difficult to see where Zac finished and Gareth started, and it was all we could do not to give a big "Awwwww...".

We didn't even try separating them, just suggested that we go somewhere a little more private. They agreed and all six of us walked round the back of the stage down towards the dressing room.

"I hate this part," said Tay as we walked in.

"What part?" I asked, thinking he was refering to us.

"The bit where Ten adoring fans get to meet Hanson in person" said Ike, managing to do a very unconvincing British accent. The phrase rang a bell in my mind and traced it back to a Radio One competition that was run about a month previously. It ran something along the lines of every hundredth caller got a back stage pass to meet them in their dressing room after the performance. Oh great.

"Come on then, guys," I said, addressing Andy and Gareth. "We'd better leave this lot to be slobbered over in peace..."

"And where in the hell d'you think you're goin'?" Asked Tay, slamming the door infront of me. "We need moral support here! D'you know how depressing it is watching ten sweaty, fat, adolescent teenage girls mentally undress you whilst they huddle together in the corner and do nothing but giggle? It's not normal!"

"You're not normal,"

"Oh, thanks a bunch, man," laughed Tay.

"You know what I mean. Meeting a celebrity isn't exactly a common-or-garden experience for them."

"Yeah, but is it too much to ask to get them to stop drooling? And they fucking steal things! Some bitch has got my favourite soccer ball pendant pinned to her wall with a notice saying 'Taylor Hanson gave me this'!" I was beginning to see his point. It must get quite appaling when you're promoted to being a deity at fourteen...

"Brace yourselves," warned Zac. Sure enough, high pitch, excited voices could be heard coming down the corridor, but quickly tailed off as they approached the dressing room door.

"I can't do it - you knock..."

"You wanted to,"

"Yeah but now I don't, OK?"

"Fine, I'll knock."

"I wanted to knock as well..."

"Jesus! Just knock on the damn door, will ya?"

"We'll all knock together."

"They'll think we're all mad if we do that..."

"They'll think we're mad if we just walk in! Are you going to knock or what?"

"OK, OK, I'll knock. Does my hair look OK?"

"It looks fine - just knock on the bloody door!"

I didn't think it could possibly take that long to give three almost inaudible taps on the door. Zac decided to milk the situation a bit and signalled for us all to be quiet.

"Perhaps they didn't hear you..."

"Perhaps they've died WAITING!"

"You knock then."

"I'm not gonna knock - you're the knocker..."

"Would someone please just KNOCK ON THE DOOR!"

"SHHHHHHHHH! You'll upset them..."

I couldn't stand any more of this. I walked over and opened the door. A sudden silence descended on the once very talkative gaggle of girls before me. Tay was quite right - they were all sweaty from leaping about for the last two hours and the majority of them were fat. Although I'm gay I can tell a fit looking bird when I see one (all part of the cherade of pretending to be straight, I suppose) and, believe me, on a scale of one to a hundred in the fitness stakes, they were all struggling to obtain double figures...

"Evenin' ladies," I said, trying my best to stop my digestive system going into reverse. "What can I do you for?"

Silence.

"Can I help?" I said, re-phrasing the question into words of one syllable and fewer in quantity so that someone with even the most basic knowledge of the English language could understand what I'd asked.

After another deplorable period of time that I was forced to endure the sight of them, one of them eventually replied.

"Uh, hi... Um, we're here to see Hanson?"

"Are you asking me or tellng me?" I heard a stifeled laugh from Tay. That'd confuse them for sure. They felt sure it was a trick question, and not just a case of punctuation. They conferred with each other for a moment and the girl who'd answered me the first time replied:

"Ermm, telling?"

"So you're telling me that you're here to see Hanson?"

"Y.. Yeah..."

"Come in, then!" I couldn't believe such deadbeats were allowed out of the house without the supervision of an adult. Then I saw a couple of sets of parents lingering a bit further down the hall. Geez...

I stood back, allowing Tinky Winky, Dipsy, LaLa, Po and the rest of the TeleTubbies into the dressing room. They filtered into a relatively organised two-tier lineup and just stood there, feasting their eyes on our boyfriends. The cheek...

"Hi there! I'm..."

"Zac!" said one of the girls. Well, duh...

"So, is there anything you'd like to talk to us about?" asked Ike after another laboured thirty seconds of silence. This threw them again. They were supposed to talk to them? This was a bit much to ask and one of them feinted. Great... I stuck my camera headset on again and asked someone to send one of the St. John's ambulance guys round to the Hansons' dressing room. The worrying thing was not one of them paid a blind bit of notice, their eyes just remained fixed on Ike, Tay and Zac.

"Ermm, I've always wondered, um Mr. Hanson..." Mr. Hanson! Now that was a good one! "...what size shoes do you wear?"

"Which Mr. Hanson?" asked Ike.

"Huh?"

"There are three of us, ya know..." pointed out Zac.

"Oh, sorry, Taylor."

"U.S. 13s"

More silence.

"Do you like singing?"

"We're pretty sure we do, yeah,"

Yet another silence.

"Do you have any other nicknames apart from 'Tay', Tay?"

"Erm, Tayles, I suppose,"

"Do you, Zac?"

"PROZAC!" yelled Zac, scaring the shit out of them.

"Hey listen, girls," said Tay, with his award-winning smile on his face. "We're a little tired after the performance, ya know? We might hit the sack now. Sorry if it's cut your visit a bit short - we'll send you backstage passes for the first couple of venues on our next tour, though!"

They all looked slightly dejected but, being the Zombies they were, took it at face value and slowly started to filter out of the door, one of them dragging their feinted friend behnd her.

Once the door had closed, I asked the question. "Will you really send them more backstage passes?"

"Sure! We've got their addresses from the competition!"

"I thought you didn't like it..."

"I don't. The next tour starts in New Zealand!"


On to Chapter Fifteen

Back to Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Index

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Email the Author - dean@meta4.org

Touring with Hanson is © 1998 by Dean Lidster. This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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