He was gone
He was gone from me
When I remember someone
I remember the dream
In those dreams
That no one knows of
My destiny says
That I’m destined to run
-Stevie Nicks, "Enchanted"
Taryn was at the Idol Talk photo studio 
20 minutes before the subjects of her interview were scheduled to show up. She was anxious to look back through some clippings of their past interviews and maybe look at some photos and video of the group. She wanted to prove to Cameron that she was being wasted in this job.
As she pulled her maroon Dodge Stratus into the parking structure, she could already hear the screams coming from all sides of the building. Teen and preteen girls were surrounding the Idol Talk offices.
Taryn gave herself one last look in the mirror, fluffing out her naturally curly, shoulder length hair and applying clear gloss to her pert mouth. She got out of the car and smoothed her black pinstriped suit down over her hourglass figure, which had been made even curvier by her pregnancy ten years ago. She put her “access all areas” pass around he neck, grabbed her attaché case and headed for the employee entrance at the back of the building, where Cam had told her she could get clearance from a security guard and go up to the studio.
She had almost made it to the door when she was nearly overrun by shrieking girls trying to make it in the door ahead of her. Apparently, this was a door none of them had noticed before.
The next few seconds were a blur. Before she knew what was happening, Taryn was practically under the arm of a burly security guard whisking her through the back entrance as five men who looked just like him attempted to hold back the swelling crowd.
As soon as the heavy door shut behind them, the guard dropped Taryn into a heap on the floor.
She sat there stunned, her once perfect blazer and cotton pants now a wrinkled mess, her once flawless tumble of reddish brown curls completely askew.
“Thank you so much,” she said sarcastically to the security guard.
He either missed her humor or had chosen to ignore it.
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Whatever.”
Taryn stood up and tried as best she could to smooth down her clothes and straighten her hair, but she knew it was a lost cause. She was a complete mess. How very professional I must look, she thought to herself.
“Could you please direct me to Studio 3C?” she asked the guard.
He looked skeptically at the laminated card hanging around Taryn’s neck.
“May I check your pass?”
Taryn was incredulous.
“Do I really look like the type who’d be trying to slide in here to meet teenage boys?” she asked.
“Sorry, ma’am, just doing my job.”
Rolling her eyes, Taryn lifted the pass and stuck it under the guard’s nose. He turned it carefully, looking at every inch of it.
Finally, he seemed satisfied.
“Up three flights, take a left, third door on your right,” he said.
“Thanks for all your help,” Taryn spat as she snatched her pass back.
Now there was going to be no time to go down to the archives and do any research. Damn! Taryn hated nothing more than going into an interview unprepared.
Oh, well. They were teenage boys, for Chrissake! How hard could it be to fudge it? She’d interviewed Imelda Marcos and Nelson Mandela. This would be a cakewalk.
Taryn trotted up the three flights of stairs and approached the studio door. She knew once she passed through it, she had taken Cameron’s lousy job offer and there was no turning back. Damn him! He had her, and they both knew it. If only she hadn’t gotten so used to eating.
Swinging the door open, Taryn was greeted with a flurry of activity. People were arranging sets, getting cameras in place, and keeping the food tables stocked.
And there in the middle of all the commotion, seemingly completely oblivious to the melee surrounding them, were three fresh-faced, longhaired blonde boys, sitting obediently in make-up chairs while their perfect golden heads of hair were coifed and their young cheeks were made even rosier.
Taryn smiled to herself. Look at these kids! They made Shaun Cassidy look like Son of Sam.
She sidled up behind Gregor, the head make-up artist. Gregor was one of Taryn and Cameron’s dearest friends from their college days. The three of them had been inseparable. Taryn hadn’t seen him since she had come back to New York. Gregor was the tallest person Taryn knew at 6 feet, nine inches tall. He was a strapping man of French descent, with a full head of jet-black curls and piercing blue eyes. Many a heart had broken when, eight years ago, Gregor had come out of the closet.
“Ooh la la!” She whispered in his ear.
Gregor’s had flew to his mouth.
“Taryn!” he swept her up in a huge hug, scattering jars, brushes and compacts all over the floor. Two of the blonde boys seemed amused, but the youngest one was too busy dodging a bottle of foundation to share their humor.
Gregor gently set Taryn back on the floor and held her at arm’s length.
“Girlfriend, you are looking ever so fine!” he gushed. “Do a turn for me!”
Taryn turned around, and Gregor let out a low whistle.
“Divorce agrees with you, sweet thing.”
Taryn laughed.
“Got to be married to get divorced, hon,” she said. “And I looked a lot hotter before I was manhandled by the Rutner goons at the back employee entrance.”
Gregor furrowed his brow.
“You wasted so much of your life on Riley the asshole, I tend to forget that you weren’t bound legally.”
“Mind if we move on to the next subject?”
Gregor motioned for Taryn to come closer as he picked up where he left off combing smoothing gel in the middle blonde boy’s hair.
“OK, then, how is sweet Iris?” he asked, referring to Taryn’s 9-year-old daughter, a surprise/mistake that had come along her freshman year in college. If she hadn’t had Cam and Gregor to help her, she didn’t know if she could have stayed at Yale and finished her degree.
“She’s a smartass,” Taryn said, laughing.
At that moment, she noticed the oldest brother staring at her. She boldly returned his gaze, and his eyes dropped back to the magazine in his lap. She found herself wondering why 18-year-old boys weren’t so gorgeous when she was in high school, then wondering what the hell she was doing thinking such things. She shook off the thoughts altogether.
“I didn’t tell her about this job, either. If she’d known this was my first assignment, she never would have let me out of the house without her.”
“Ah, yes. Cam told me you’d be interviewing our fine young stars here,” Gregor said, spinning his current project around in his chair.
“How’d I do?”
“Perfect as always.”
“OK boys, make love to the camera!” Gregor said, more or less dismissing the boys from their chairs. The oldest boy caught Taryn’s gaze and smiled shyly. This time, she looked away.
The three of them got up, smiled and nodded at Gregor, and headed for the photo set.
Gregor hopped into one of the chairs and patted the on next to it.
“Come talk to me.”
Taryn slid into the chair beside Gregor. As she did so, she looked up just in time to see the 18-year-old teen heartthrob staring at her again. He immediately looked the other way.
“Looks like someone has a little crush on the hot reporter lady,” Gregor said with an evil giggle.
“Fuck off,” Taryn said.
The two of them watched in silence for a moment as the photographer moved the Hanson brothers into position. Taryn caught herself checking out the oldest brother in spite of herself. She thought she noticed him looking at her a little more than was 
necessary, but she dismissed the thought.
Then she realized to her horror that she had no idea what any of their first names were.
“Gregor!” she whispered fiercely.
Gregor turned to her. “Yes?”
“Gregor, I don’t know their names!” she said, her panic building.
Gregor laughed, almost out loud. “How much is the information worth to you?”
Taryn was not amused. “Gregor, for once in your life don’t be a prick and just tell me!”
Gregor knew when not to fool around.
“OK,” he whispered. “Oldest one is 18. His name is Isaac, and he plays the guitar. He’s kind of the sensitive, brooding one. Names guitars after 
chicks he likes. Stuff like that.
“Middle one is 15. His name is Taylor. He’s the keyboard player. Rumor has it he’s the most popular brother, and a lot of the reviews say he’s the only one with any real talent. He’s a schmoozer.
“Little one is 13. His name is Zac. He’s the drummer, and a complete nutcase. He’s like the A.D.D. poster child. You’ll have a heck of a time holding his attention when you interview him.”
Just as Gregor said that, the photographer shouted, “Zac! Look into the picture! Into the picture!”
Taryn grimaced. “From political uprisings to this,” she deadpanned.
Gregor chuckled. As Taryn looked up, she caught the oldest Hanson brother looking out of the picture … and right at her.
