Fake Smiles
After a few days, when Carrick and Austin have finished moving in and getting situated in their rental house, its time to bring them into the office and get them officially started. We flew out to LA to do all the contract signing and boring stuff like that, so they haven’t actually seen our new office and studio yet. It’s better than the original ones combined, so I’m really proud to show it off. I almost feel like a real businessman, giving someone a fancy official tour, except for the part where I’m wearing ripped jeans and a thrift store t-shirt.
It’s a good day for them to come in, too, because we actually have most of the staff in. Things are pretty relaxed around 3CG and most of the employees were friends or family first, so people just sort of come and go as they please unless there’s some specific project that needs to be worked on. This is a big year for us in a lot of ways, especially the past few weeks. The office is still somewhat messy from the members event, but I choose to believe it gives the impression that we’re actually getting shit done.
Carrick and Austin cruise into the office just a few minutes past the time I was expecting them – practically early by Hanson standards. They both look ridiculously Californian with their long hair, tank tops and sunglasses. I usher them through the various rooms of our maze-like office, introducing them to the staff, even though I know Carrick has met most of them before.
“So, here’s our office,” I say, motioning toward the small room we’ve somehow managed to cram three desks into. You can clearly see which desk belongs to which brother – Ike’s is a mess of papers and god knows what else, Taylor’s is covered in empty bottles and Starbucks cups, vinyl dolls and action figures litter mine. Carrick picks up a tiny Han Solo and balances it precariously on his shoulder for the rest of the tour.
At last we come to the most interesting part of the tour: the actual studio. It took us months to find the perfect office space that could also house our studio. The studio has a huge open recording booth so we can record off the floor. It’s also handy as a storage space for the ridiculous amount of instruments we’ve accumulated. Right now, the floor is littered with drums, guitar cases and more than a few paintings. In the middle of it all stands Taylor, coffee cup in one hand and the other hand tapping out a melody on the keyboard.
I don’t feel like I’m up to talking to Taylor today, so I quietly walk Carrick and Austin through to the control booth instead and show them the setup there. Carrick immediately begins geeking out over the equipment. I’m actually worried he may start drooling on the mixing board. Taylor’s just goofing around, not actually recording anything, so Carrick starts pressing buttons and really checking things out. That gets Taylor’s attention so quickly he sloshes coffee all around as he turns to see who has interrupted his private keyboard time.
He shoots the three of us a confused look at first, and then slowly I can see realization dawn on him. He’s forgotten all about Carrick and Austin visiting the studio today, of course. Why would he bother to remember something that really doesn’t affect his life? It’s not like this is his business too or anything.
With a smile that’s too forced to look as casual as he’s obviously aiming for, Taylor rushes into the control booth to greet us all. He flings an arm around Carrick, then Austin, like they’re all old buddies. And okay, he did meet them first, but it only took one night at Fools Banquet to cement mine and Carrick’s friendship. They never hang out unless it’s something to do with business, and I can see the way that Carrick’s demeanor around Taylor has changed since he learned the truth – which isn’t really Taylor’s fault, but then again, it kind of is.
With one arm still slung awkwardly around Carrick, he begins walking him around the room, pointing out things I’m sure Carrick has already noticed on his own. But Taylor just has to take control and be the center of attention; I can remember a time when I loved that about him, but now it makes my blood boil.
I seem to be the only person in the room who’s bothered at all, though. Austin leans against the organ, soaking up the grand tour from a safe distance. He can be quiet at times, but when he talks, he makes it count. From the smile forming on his face, I have a feeling he’s about to prove my point.
When Taylor finally runs out of steam and circles back around to where Austin and I are standing, he finds his opportunity to break in. “So, Tay, man. Heard you were retying the knot.”
Taylor’s eyes roll ever so slightly before he nods. “Yeah, yeah. In just a few weeks. Ten year anniversary, you know.”
“Crazy stuff,” Austin replies, shaking his head. He’s the perpetual bachelor, and proud of it. “Bet you didn’t have an epic bachelor party the first time around.”
“Well, I was only nineteen…” Taylor’s voice sobers a little when he says that and I can see the way he struggles to keep from frowning. The cracks are starting to show, even if he doesn’t realize it. I think Natalie does, and I think that’s exactly why she wants this second wedding.
Austin isn’t phased at all by Taylor’s weirdness, or maybe he’s just oblivious to it. Either way, he isn’t deterred and he continues right on speaking like he hadn’t even been interrupted. “We should totally throw you one at our new house. Wouldn’t that be great, C?”
Carrick shoots me an apologetic look, so brief that no one else would even notice, but I know what it means. With a smile only slightly more believable than Taylor’s, he says, “Sure, we should totally do that. Might as well break the house in with a good party, right?”
Taylor’s grin slides a little more to the believable side at that. He’s never one to turn down an opportunity to party, and I can imagine he’s liking the idea of a party that Natalie will explicitly not be invited to. To say I’m a little cynical about his devotion to their marriage is obviously an understatement. He nods a little, turning the idea around in his mind and no doubt contemplating all the debauchery he could get into before finally replying, “Yeah, let’s do it. Next weekend?”
Austin claps an arm around Taylor’s shoulder. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. I promise you won’t regret it. Actually – I promise you will regret it. But that’s how you know it was a good party, right?”
Taylor and Austin walk off together, their heads close. They’re co-conspirators now, planning the blowout of the year. It doesn’t even matter that Austin knows next to no one in Tulsa or that everyone Taylor knows either is related to him, works for him, or will rat him out to Natalie for whatever trouble he gets himself into. And he will get into trouble. It’s just what he does.
Once they’re out of earshot, Carrick turns back to me and gives me a sympathetic pout. I’d have to laugh at how he looks if I didn’t feel like strangling Taylor. He’s not doing anything that horrible, I know. He’s just being so… Taylor.
I try to smile at him, and even without seeing it I know it’s just as fake as his and Taylor’s. Carrick would see right through me anyway, even if I was a perfect actor. Most people can’t. In fact, I can lie surprisingly well – so well I sometimes scare myself. But not to Carrick. So I let the smile fall.
“You know you have to come to the party,” he says, but it’s not an order. Just an observation.
I nod. “Yeah, I know. It’ll be a fucking ball, I’m sure.”
“Our parties usually are,” Carrick says with a genuine smile, which passes quickly. “I’ll make sure you have a good time, okay? Get you so stoned you don’t even remember Taylor’s name.”
“If only that were possible,” I reply under my breath. I don’t look up to see if he heard it.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate Carrick’s concern. It can just be a little overbearing sometimes. Most of the time, I can function just fine without feeling like I’m suffocating under the weight of what I feel for Taylor. It’s just been a little worse lately, but I’ll deal with it like I always do. I don’t need Carrick breathing down my neck, constantly giving me these knowing, concerned looks. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have him so close.
I’m being a brat about it, I know. Carrick is my friend and he cares. I shouldn’t take that for granted. It’s just strange to have someone so devoted to me and so worried about my feelings – someone who actually knows all of my feelings, that is. Of course there are other people who care about me, in their own ways. But it’s different with Carrick. He doesn’t have to, but he does and he does a damn good job of it. So I can’t stay frustrated with him for long.
When I look back up at him, he’s already turned his back to me and begun fiddling with the recording equipment again, probably to give himself an outlet for all that nervous energy again so that he doesn’t keep talking. We’re usually on the same wavelength, so I’m sure he’s sensed that I would much prefer to drop the subject, at least for now.
He turns on the playback for one of our newest demos and starts bopping his head. With the music on, we don’t need to talk at all; it perfectly takes the place of words. I settle into a chair and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me. It’s even better than a drug, I think, though Carrick might argue the point if I said that out loud.
This perfect, quiet moment doesn’t last long, though. Before the first song is finished, the door bursts open and in walk Taylor and Austin, still grinning madly.
“…and Carrick can make the brownies,” Austin says, obviously finishing a longer thought, the rest of which I think I can guess.
Carrick gives me yet another look, and I don’t even have the energy to return it. He already knows what I’m thinking anyway, I’m sure. Maybe the party won’t be so bad with him there, but I’m not holding my breath.