TRACK EIGHT:
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU

❝ yes i'm stuck in the middle with you
and i'm wondering what it is i should do
it's so hard to keep this smile from my face
losing control, yeah i'm all over the place ❞
— stealers wheel

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: So... we were neighbours. Turns out, they'd also rented a place in Laurel Canyon, about a block away from our house. Actually, it's a miracle we didn't bump into each other sooner. Given the choice, I mean... I might've just avoided him. But the thing is, the rest of the band were also my friends, and of course Cami... I'd missed them all.

INTERVIEWER: And Graham?

FRANCESCA: Well, yeah, but... [Sighs] Not like that.

GRAHAM: Was it awkward? I mean... yeah, a little, I have to admit. I don't think anyone likes to plan living a block away from their ex-girlfriend. Not– not that there were any hard feelings, or anything, but– I mean... it was just that...

[He pauses, scratching his head]

Well, it was complicated.

FRANCESCA: It was difficult to be around most of them in the beginning, because they practically go around like a pack. The only person from Pittsburgh I could get alone, you know, to talk it through with... that was Camila. Saving the day, as usual.

.•° ✿ °•.

"Can I get you any drinks?"

     A waitress stands idly by their table, watching as Camila sets down the menu with a pretty smile. "Could I have the iced tea? No sugar, three lemon slices."

     "And I'll just have an espresso... thanks," Francesca adds.

     With that, the waitress sweeps away. The pair of them are sat opposite one another in a small café-diner in Malibu on the PCH — when Francesca had asked for somewhere to go a little outside Los Angeles, Doug had recommended this spot to them, having grown up in the area himself. The beaches are certainly incentive enough to come here, as they glisten through the windows on the glorious Southern Californian coast. But the truth is that she just needed some time alone with Camila... preferably to discuss a certain elephant in the room.

     Apart from the obvious person, she might be the only one who could understand her situation.

     "Thanks for meeting me here today," Francesca says again, with a tinge of restlessness. She keeps feeling paranoid that, any second now, someone from Solstice or the Dunne Brothers might stroll into the dinner. God forbid that it would be Graham.

     Mid-way through rummaging in her handbag, Camila dismisses her friend's concern with a wave of her hand. "Of course! Even I get sick of the guys sometimes. This spot is really gorgeous, isn't it?"

     "Yeah, it is."

     "Maybe I should take Billy here. I'm not sure he knows about it. We're early risers, so we go out and have breakfast sometimes."

     "You guys are still going really strong, then," Francesca smiles.

     "Yeah," Camila grins back, "we are."

     She certainly knows how much Camila must have sacrificed to follow Billy and the band to California. She had a life, a family back in Pittsburgh. But she dropped everything to help them make their dreams come true. Francesca, for one, is glad that she came along — she really clicked with Camila in the brief time that they knew each other, and being in such close proximity for the foreseeable future is an exciting prospect for their friendship.

     "So, how's the label search going?" Francesca asks, grimacing as if expecting the worst.

     Unfortunately, Camila's frown only exacerbates her fears. "Not good. I've been calling so many labels, telling them when our shows are and asking if they will come. Capitol Records hung up on me the other day. And get this: there was this guy with a parrot, and even he didn't want the band."

     "Have you tried Ellemar Records?"

     "Your label? Uh, no, not yet. I didn't wanna jump straight in there, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it..." Francesca sighs. She cannot help but feel guilty, simply for Solstice already having an album whilst The Dunne Brothers are still scraping by. Is there not a way they could help? Suddenly she wonders if they could arrange for them to be an opening act for a gig, or something of the like... but then again, perhaps Solstice would be getting too big for their boots if they started calling those shots.

The two of them receive their drinks, Camila taking a sip of her very specific order. She hums halfway through the sip, like she's just remembered something, her eyes brightening in realisation. "Hey, are you coming to the gig tonight at McNasty's? You could always bring your bandmates, if you like... the crowds are steadily getting bigger each week, but we could do with all the help we can get. Anything that goes towards our rent..."

"Oh, yeah, sure. We'll be there."

Francesca downs her espresso a little too quickly — while anticipating the caffeine kick in her system, she notices Camila studying her curiously. She feels like an unwillingly open book to her. Nothing gets past Camila, does it?

"What, is something wrong?" Camila asks curiously.

"Not, not– not really, it's just..."

She finds herself struggling for the words. Come on, Francesca tells herself, isn't this what you wanted to talk to Camila about in the first place? But even here, there is hesitation as she treads around the subject. Even when he's not here she is avoiding him. Luckily, Camila seems to sense what is going on quickly enough, and she sighs sympathetically.

"Graham," they both say at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Francesca groans, "I know it sounds pathetic—"

"It's not pathetic! I remember how close you two were, so it's no wonder things are a little awkward to begin with."

To begin with? To her dismay, Francesca is starting to think that will be the defining aspect of her relationship with Graham going forward. Although she has actively tried her best to avoid meeting him, whenever they do, they can easily enough have some small talk... but they both must surely know that they are putting up an act. How long it will take for them to clear the air is anyone's guess.

Instead of trying to vocalise any of this, Camila puts her usual super-empathy (bordering into telepathy) to work. "Do you want to get back together with him?" she tries asking.

"No, of course not," Francesca shoots back. "But... I just have no idea what to say to him."

"Well... I think you've probably gathered that he's here to stay in L.A. longer than is considered temporary," says Camila, with a slight twinkle in her eyes as she smiles. "So, knowing that, you can't just avoid him at every turn and corner. At some point, you two just have to admit that yes, this feels weird, but equally you have both moved on with your lives. No one is asking you to be best friends with him. But I'm sure you'd both like it to at least be less uncomfortable."

Francesca nods, staring down into the bottom of her cup. It isn't a simple question of whether there are still feelings or not — it is the fact that they have even had to face each other again. She thought she had left him behind in Pittsburgh, along with any of the guilt or regret that followed her leaving. What would their relationship look like now?

Because they surely can't be strangers to each other. Not anymore.

.•° ✿ °•.

"Not a bad crowd," Doug says optimistically. A good bit taller than the rest of Solstice, he surveys the more invested bar-goers in Filthy McNasty's — which was exactly that, a bar, as opposed to a club for music. The stage is opposite to the bar, where today's act are already practicing. Even from the back, Francesca can recognise each one of The Dunne Brothers.

She had managed to get the rest of her bandmates to come for support. In fact, they seem to have gelled quite well with her old friends from Pittsburgh. Last time they were all together, she couldn't get a word in edgeways with Camila, Warren and Carlo all talking animatedly in Spanish about bits and pieces she could only recognise from the language. Hank has been impressed by Graham's technical guitar, even asking for a couple of tips, much to his delight. Victoria also seems to have taken quite the interest in Eddie, too...

That doesn't change the fact that, when Graham turns around and catches Francesca's eye, he gives her this look — almost slightly strained but unmoving from her — and how can she react normally to that? Palms already sweating, she sighs and follows the rest of Solstice over to greet the band before their set.

"Hey, thanks for coming, guys," Billy says; his face has tired lines etched into it, but he still tries to smile. "It means a lot."

"No worries, man," Hank shrugs, his thumbs hooked into his jean pockets.

     "We'll cheer nice and loud in the back for ya," Doug adds.

     As Camila laughs, Goldie brushes her bangs away from her eyebrows. "Not too loud, of course," she teases, "'cause we wouldn't wanna drown out the angelic tones of Billy Dunne's voice, now, would we?"

     Somewhere behind them at the bar, Francesca swears she hears someone whisper Goldie's name. She turns around, trying to get a better look, but Goldie nudges her arm and softly shakes her head. They appear to be fans of her work — and clearly not with any interest in Solstice as a group. The singer tries her best to obscure her face, standing with her back to them as she scans the room for anything else to look at. Her piercing eyes fall onto the drum kit at the front, where 'THE SIX' is emblazoned onto the bass drum head.

     "The Six..." Goldie says aloud, playful curiosity in her voice.

     "Oh, we forgot to tell you!" Eddie smirks knowingly.

     Catching onto what he means, Francesca perks up in surprise. "Wait, you guys changed the name of the band?"

     "Yep. We're The Six, now."

     "The Six..." Victoria says slowly, practising the name. "It's definitely catchier than The Dunne Brothers. No offence."

     But Hank isn't quite buying it just yet. "Wait, but aren't there... five of you?" he asks, brows knitted together, as if he cannot believe they overlooked this error.

     "Hey, man, if you don't get the joke..." Warren throws his arms in the air and shrugs with a giggle.

     Meanwhile, Karen steps into clarify, gesturing to Camila. "There's our sixth member."

     At this, Camila gives a sheepish smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Francesca cannot help but smile warmly — she thinks it is a rather nice and thoughtful touch. She has been such a huge support to The Dunne Brothers' band from the beginning, so she might as well be an honorary sixth member. In fact, she seems to have taken on photography duty since coming to L.A., filming all their performances and photographing them onstage at McNasty's so other labels can see The Dunne Brothers in action.

     No, not The Dunne Brothers, Francesca has to remind herself again, The Six.

HANK: [Scoffs] I'm sorry, but I still think the name was fuckin' stupid. Sure as hell got more confusing when Daisy came along — oh yeah, right, I'm jumping ahead, aren't I?

     "Well, we'll let you get to it. Good luck up there!" Goldie reaches forward and gives Billy a reassuring pat on the bicep; he and the other members of The Six still seem occasionally starstruck that the Goldie Rhodes is just casually bandmates with Francesca and, with some certainty, a very good friend of hers.

Graham reaches for his guitar by the neck, seeming like he is just trying to stay quiet. Francesca can't help herself — she reaches forward, gently touching his shoulder. Just like that, his gaze whips around to meet hers in anticipation.

"Hey, um... break a leg," she encourages him.

"Thanks. You too." Graham suddenly seems to realise what he said, and stumbles to correct himself. "I– I mean, uh, just... thanks."

Embarrassed, he gives her a hasty thumbs up and steps onstage; Francesca laughs lightly at his little misstep. At least it seems to unwind the tension between them. Just for a fleeting moment, she swears that Graham smiles back, both self-deprecating and relieved at the genuineness. The rest of The Six are tuning their instruments and preparing to perform whilst Camila whips out her camera. Solstice, meanwhile, have found themselves a secluded corner in the bar to watch from, obscured in shadow or a lack of glaring stage lights.

However, there is one person missing.

"Where did Goldie go?" asks Francesca, sliding into the booth next to Carlo.

"I think she's found someone in her fan club..."

With a curt nod, he turns her attention to the bar, where a woman is animatedly talking to Goldie — or, by the looks of it, talking at her — about how big of a fan she is. Clearly it has nothing to do with Solstice's achievements, but the lead singer's solo career. Hank lets out a loud sigh as he takes a sip of his beer. Francesca guesses that she knows what he is thinking: When will it ever be about us? Their debut album is certainly a great start, but it is clear that it has not taken off in the same way their record label had hoped. No one wants that kind of doubt hanging over them in a cloud.

Although she hardly thinks it is fair to place blame on Goldie, since she does not seem to be enjoying the old recognition, either. The singer seems to be self-conscious about it detracting attention from The Six. Only after politely agreeing to sign someone's bill does she manage to escape the situation. She slinks back to the dark corner, dropping down in the chair next to Hank and pulling a pair of tinted shades from her bag, which she promptly slides over her eyes.

"You'd think people would have noticed that I'm not making my old records anymore," Goldie mutters.

"Oh, sure," Hank scoffs with an incredulous smile, "'cause it sucks to have a successful career and get recognised for it."

"Hank, sweetie, it sucks when you can't just go for a grocery run without being stopped by someone." Then she stops herself, grimacing a little at her own words. Goldie gives a little shake of her head, her hair rustling around her shoulders. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound cranky... what's in that?"

She is pointing to Hank's pint of beer stood on a cork coaster. He blinks at her.

"Uhh—"

"Alcohol?"

"Sure, but—"

Before he can even elaborate, Goldie closes her hand around the glass and quickly steals a sip. Then she returns it to the coaster and lets out a sigh, relaxing into her chair again. "Thanks, Hank, I needed that," she replies with complete nonchalance, patting his knee gratefully.

The set begins, Billy introducing the band members before they launch straight into the all-recognisable 'Look Me In The Eye'. The crowd in McNasty's clearly enjoy it the most, joining in on the choruses and swaying with beer bottles in their hands. Karen's fingers massage the keys, adding her own flair to the new brand of the band she had recently joined. The rest of The Six also seem very in their element; Francesca remembers every mannerism and quirk of theirs, from Warren's timbale sticks to the facial expressions Graham makes while he plays...

None of it has changed.

Soon, they transition into a comparatively breezier song, 'Flip The Switch', which is Francesca's personal preference over 'Look Me In The Eye':

"Come on, you can't be serious
You can't even take a joke
You can promise that the boat won't sink but
Will you ever let it float?"

Francesca looks around her to see what the band makes of it. Hank and Goldie are watching with quiet interest, almost matched in their energy, though the latter seems decidedly more friendly in her expression. Carlo sways along with the melody, while Doug softly hums along under his breath:

"The sun is shinin' down on you
While the moon is gettin' bigger
The man will flip the switch now, baby
Come on and pull the trigger..."

"They're great, aren't they?" Francesca nudges Victoria next to her, who has been focusing carefully on the stage.

Her eyes still fixated, the blonde hums and nods in agreement, lips quirking slightly in a smile. The stare is rather intense — Francesca follows it, and it all points to Eddie, who is too wrapped in playing the bass and looking elsewhere in the crowd to notice. It wouldn't be the first time she has caught Victoria looking at him like that since she met him. That calculating curiosity, like she is watching from afar, waiting for the right moment to act. She simply smiles to herself and then turns to Camila, who across the room is singing along to Billy's voice.

Billy, on the other hand, seems distracted. His sullen gaze keeps shifting to a certain corner of the room. What is he looking at? Francesca leans over and spots what lies in his line of vision — an empty booth with a table card reading 'RESERVED' for Ellemar Records. Her heart drops.

     Teddy.

     The longer Billy waits, the more he is disappointed. While the rest of the band can still carry on with the set, it clearly grates on him the most as he fervently seeks approval.

     "You couldn't say you never loved her, could you?
     But it's somethin' you considered
     You couldn't flip the switch now, baby
     You couldn't pull the trigger..."

     Billy pauses singing, looking jaded as he takes a large swing from a beer bottle dangling in his free hand, while the other grabs the microphone with whitened knuckles. Francesca feels a pit of strange guilt open in her stomach — here she is, with her band's decent debut album under her belt and hopefully another one on the horizon, and yet The Six are still clambering to be heard. She remembers that feeling. It followed her from Waterbury, to New York, to Pittsburgh, and then all the way out here to Los Angeles. She isn't sure that feeling has entirely left her, even after everything... the top is still a long way from her reach.

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: I did try asking Teddy about The Six once. It was after a gig of ours one time, we were outside cooling off. Watching them perform to the crowds they didn't want just... stung a little, I guess. I knew how much potential they had. Anyway, I explained to him that they'd come a really long way, and besides, I knew how much Billy in particular had idolised this man — working with him would have been his dream.

But Teddy pretty much shut me down before I could finish my sentence. He said to me, "Francesca, I don't do favours." And that was it.

To be honest... I've sometimes been confused with how Teddy went about things. He came across us and had his own approach, putting this fire under our asses to make us work, but with The Six he put them through the wringer before even promising an album. Of course, then there's how he took to Daisy Jones so quickly like she was air to breathe, and it all had my head spinning at times...

I'm guessing you wanna save Daisy for later? [Nods] Alright. In that case, I'll back-track.

Point is, I think Teddy Price knew what would and wouldn't work for certain artists or groups. He had an instinct for it. More often than not, he was right. Still... that doesn't change the fact that, at the end of the day, you'd ideally want a pay-check as soon as possible.

I think Solstice got it lucky, all things considered.

.•° ✿ °•.

The Troubadour has played host to many rising and established musical greats — tonight, by some miracle, it is Solstice's turn to debut there.

It was Teddy who'd managed to get a gig for them there. Their reputation had been slowly picking up throughout the city and attracting great interest. The manager had been pretty keen to have some fresh new talent there, so Teddy put their names into the mix as their manager. Francesca, and surely the others had realised how big of a deal this could be.

Even now, as she sits checking her make-up in the dressing room mirror, she can hardly fathom that this is actually happening. She simply hopes to be swept along with the moment, and that her fears will not decide to catch up with her at the most crucial point. Fears like... what if she is not as good as she could be?

The said dressing room is somewhat claustrophobic for the type of nerves Francesca is experiencing. Victoria keeps pacing back and forth, dressed in maroon flares and a matching blazer over a collared blouse. Meanwhile, Goldie is in a long dress doing vocal exercises, completely caught in her own world — she clearly has her own pre-performance mantra after years of practice. It would be fascinating to watch right now if it weren't so loud... soon enough, the other guys file into the dressing room, wanting to discuss some last-minute notes about the performance.

Francesca looks into the mirror and sighs shakily. Deep breaths, now, come on. She knows their set inside and out. They have already done countless gigs up and down the PCH, so why should this one be different? Her silently tortured reflection stares back at her, a frightened grimace in a pair of flared jeans and a peasant blouse hidden beneath a green vest, with her time-honoured guitar cradled in her lap.

     Doug, meanwhile, has an extra 'treat' for them all. "You have to try these cookies, guys," he says through a mouthful of one, "they're really good!"

     He cracks open a small tub in his hands. Immediately, Francesca is hit with a distinctive scent which suddenly reminds her of Tony. The smell that was attached to his shirt back when they were in Pittsburgh together... now she is no stranger to what that substance is.

FRANCESCA: It's... kind of crazy, how easy it was to get your hands on drugs back then, in that kind of scene. It was just, like, people handing stuff to you. "Try this," you know? I ended up staying away from them more often than not. Well, at least compared to a number of others in my line of work.

     "Where did you get these?" Francesca asks, picking up an edible with a slightly off-put curiosity.

     "Dunno," Doug shrugs, "this guy just handed them to me."

     "That's real reassuring, Dougie," says Carlo.

     Victoria picks one up, giving it a quick sniff. "Do they work?"

     "I don't know... I'm feelin' pretty good."

     Screw it, thinks Francesca. At this point, she is desperate for something to quell her anxieties, and so she seizes a couple of the cookies and wolfs them down before she can change her mind. How long does this stuff take? She has no idea, but already a sort of placebo effect seems to be taking place, some of her anxieties dispersing. This seems to spur a couple of others in the band to also take a bite — namely, a restless Hank and an intrigued Victoria. Soon enough, Carlo has also taken one, and now Goldie is the only one left.

     "Well..." Goldie clicks her tongue, "y'all are gonna be a fun crowd in a few hours."

     "Sure you don't want one?" Doug asks innocently.

     "Thanks, but no thanks, Dougie," she scoffs lightly.

There is a gentle knock on the door. It almost gets obscured, especially as it opens and all the thudding background noise of the Troubadour comes flooding in, but then the brick room falls quieter again. "How are you guys feeling?" Teddy asks, glancing around at their blank expressions; he unfortunately notices Doug scrambling to seal the lid on top of the edibles box again.

"Pretty good!" Doug says, elbow propped not-so-casually on top of the box.

"And those of us who aren't as blindly confident as Doug... well, yeah, we're alright I suppose," Victoria adds, bouncing on her heels like she is trying to psych herself up.

"You don't need to worry," says Teddy, not a trace of doubt in his voice. "Just go out there, do what you've done at every single gig so far, and you can't go far wrong."

Francesca swallows thickly and tightens her sweaty palms around the neck of her guitar. It'll be fine, she tells herself. She looks around at the bandmates in the room, these people who she's come to know like brothers and sisters over the last couple of years — Victoria was her flatmate with poor culinary skills once, Carlo is the younger brother she never had, Hank's desires for making great music always fuel her own. There is Doug, who seems practically impossible to hate... and then there is Goldie. Somehow both enigmatic and an open book at the same time.

     She trusts every single one of them. With them, she isn't as scared.

     "Alright, you're up," Teddy steps aside to let them through the doorway. "Break a leg."

     Solstice walk down the narrow hallways backstage, brushing shoulders with other staff or artists at the Troubadour tonight. Francesca certainly thinks her trying an edible was pretty tame compared to some other things she's seen tonight — through an open dressing room door, she glimpses a shaggy-haired bassist snorting something off the table. Her heart gallops steadily in her chest as they approach the stage and wait to be called on. She can hear the crowds, feel the buzz of the room even without seeing it.

     While waiting, the same shaggy-haired musician she saw before walks by in a daze, then back-tracking to look at Solstice. "You goin' on now?" he asks.

     "Any minute now, yeah," Hank nods and bounces on his heels.

     Then the shaggy-haired man chortles sluggishly. "Hey, you're that chick band, aren't you?"

     Something slimy in his tone makes Francesca squirm; like it tickles some twisted sense of humour. It rubs her the wrong way. It clearly does for the other band members too, Hank furrowing his brows at him with a critical expression, while Goldie narrows her eyes at him. But before anyone can think of a more discreet way to reply, Victoria is already jumping in head-first: "At least you've heard of us," she snarls. "I haven't the foggiest idea where I might have heard of you."

"Vix!" Francesca whispers. For a split second, she worries that he might lash out at them, but instead the shaggy-haired man slinks off without another word.

     "Tosser..." Victoria mutters under her breath.

     Even with him gone, the interaction still left Francesca feeling uncomfortable. Instead, she tries to get a view of the crowd, wondering how many of The Six managed to show up tonight. She knows that Camila is definitely coming, and was aiming to drag as many people with her as she could. Warren is also a distinct possibility. Then there is the distinct possibility of a certain someone...

"Hey," Goldie squeezes her shoulder, "feelin' okay?"

Francesca nods. "Yeah. Just nerves, you know."

"Don't worry about it, Ches. You heard what Teddy said. Just don't think too much about what other people think... well, damn."

"What?"

"I should take my own advice sometimes."

Francesca grins at her, Goldie letting go of her shoulder again. Solstice are announced to the crowd and they walk out on-stage, enthusiastic cheers abounding as the fluorescent blue Troubadour sign burns bright behind them. Doug sits down at his keyboard, Victoria standing next to him with her bass. On the other side of the stage, Hank and Francesca cross over with their guitars. Then, with Carlo sat in the back at his drums, Goldie takes centre stage — she transformed the moment she walked out. An instant crowd-pleaser, she surveys the crowd with a charming smile, greeting them all. If she is nervous, Goldie doesn't show it at all.

She adjusts her microphone stand seamlessly with a short rapport with the crowd, thanking them for coming tonight, just as a loud whoop comes from the back of the room. Francesca squints through the flooding spotlights — past all the other intimidating faces, she makes out Camila stood with Warren and Eddie, who all look excited to be there.

No Graham, then. Good... right?

They open their set with 'Where I'm Going', a good energetic song to get the crowd going. Hank's guitar solo during the outro has everyone going wild. Next, they slow things down with 'New Skin', audience members swaying as they hang onto every pitch-perfect word that Goldie sings:

"I'll wear some new skin
I'll change my name
Dust off my footprints
And I won't feel guilty..."

     She has the magnetism. Standing up onstage with her, Francesca can feel it coursing through, and it boosts her confidence as she strums away on her guitar. Towards the end of the song, more layers are built in, Doug's keys another depth to Victoria's bass line that permeates the song. Carlo acts like the heartbeat through all of 'New Skin' until the end, everything building to a crescendo as Goldie holds the last, long note.

     The crowd cheer and clap for them, some wolf-whistles piercing the air. Squinting against the stage lights, Francesca cups her hand over her face, hoping to see Camila and the others in the crowd — instead, her eyes fall on Graham Dunne stood right there. When did he get in here?

GRAHAM: I almost didn't go that night. Not because they weren't good — I bought their debut album the same night Francesca told me about it. Listened to the whole thing in one sitting, and I loved every minute of it. I just didn't know whether I should go because... well... [Sighs] Anyway, I made up my mind, and I arrived about half-way through their set.

She feels herself holding her breath. He also freezes on the spot at first, despite clapping with everyone else. But then, a few moments after maintaining eye contact, he gives her a smile from the back. Letting herself go, she smiles back, and suddenly they can both relax again.

     Is it always going to be like this? Francesca thinks. The on-and-off switch of where they seem to stand on their friendliness is exhausting.

     But that doubt takes a backseat, for a smooth stream of relaxation seems to course through her veins. She starts to feel weightless as they transition into 'Wasn't Born Yesterday' —  a frenetic, up-tempo track which requires a steady gallop on the acoustic guitar from Francesca — and only a couple of other songs down the line, she realises it might have less to do with Graham and more to do with Doug's pre-show 'snacks'. Finally, they round off their set with 'Ashes To Ashes', still up-tempo but more desperate, Francesca and Victoria's backing vocals adding a haunting layer to Goldie's, like echoes off the words she is singing.

They finish, and Francesca feels like she is floating. The crowd cheer wildly as the rest of the band catch their breath, sweat beaded on their faces from the energy of the set and the baking stage lights. Solstice walk up to the front of the stage and wind their arms around each other, Francesca sandwiched between Goldie and Hank. They take a bow as someone wolf-whistles somewhat flirtatiously, seemingly aimed at Goldie. She pretends she did not hear it and waves to the crowd before disappearing backstage with the rest the band...

Teddy Price is waiting for them when they arrive. He gives a slow clap, smiling slightly, and that is all they need to know.

GRAHAM: What can I say? They killed it. I'm sure that I am not the only person who thought the same thing.

EDDIE: They were actually doing something with their music, you know? They grabbed opportunities and they'd ended up at the Troub with their debut album! Meanwhile, we were still stuck struggling to pay rent...

CAMILA: I was so proud to see Francesca like that. She'd come a long way since she sung cover songs in dive bars around Pittsburgh. Also, I never got to see a Goldie Rhodes concert while she was still going solo, so that was a cool bonus! She was a class act.

ALICIA MALHOTRA: That set at the Troubadour on October 15th, 1971 was essential for Solstice. Everyone knows it was one of the most important clubs on the Sunset Strip — Elton John made his American debut there, The Eagles' Don Henley and Glenn Frey met in the front bar, Carly Simon and James Taylor met there... I could go on! It could really raise you up. And in this case, it certainly helped. I think while their first album was a fair success, it was a slower burn. The more time passed, the more people seemed to grow interested.

... Admittedly, Goldie Rhodes had something to do with it. People had questions: Why has she come back now? Why with this band? What else does she want to prove? Maybe not the kind of attention Solstice wanted to begin with, but attention nonetheless, right?

All of this was going to help them, with the recording of their sophomore album imminent.

INTERVIEWER: How did you guys find your first set at the Troubadour?

DOUG: Oh, I think we all had a great time... [Glances at the floor awkwardly]

Okay, fine! I can't actually remember a lot of it. I was stoned as hell. But I don't think the others will disagree with me saying we had a lot of fun.

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: That Thanksgiving, I... well, I decided that it was high time I went back home to see my family. [Smiles]

INTERVIEWER: How long had it been?

FRANCESCA: I left Waterbury in... I wanna say the September of '68? Yeah. It had been a while. I'd never been away from my family for that long, and it was safe to say that things had changed since I was last there.

.•° ✿ °•.

Waterbury suddenly feels a lot smaller from this cab window. Francesca recognises each street, every neighbourhood and building she passes on her way to North End... except some things are different. Some shops she used to know have closed down, or moved elsewhere. Billboards and signs she had memorised when she left in 1968 have changed, now that she is returning in 1971.

Still, home is home. (Even if it is much chillier after having lived in L.A. for two years).

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to come back. She wanted to surprise her folks, either at Thanksgiving or Christmas, but she opted for the first since it was likely that Solstice would be heading into the studio to record a month from now. Francesca had been saving up her money for a while, not wanting to blow her earnings on the back-and-forth between the West and East Coast, but she had waited long enough. She has missed her family. Phone calls, newspaper clippings and copies of her debut album are fine, yet they cannot replicate the noisy atmosphere of a room filled with Vestris.

The cab soon arrives at her house in North End. It almost looks just the same, save for a new car parked in the front. Francesca pays the driver and lugs out her suitcase from the back. For a few moments, she stands under a grey, over-hung sky and takes in the scene before her. Memories flood back in streams of childhood and innocent beginnings. Pulling her coat closer around her torso — she definitely under-dressed for the Connecticut weather — she walks around the back, noticing the kitchen window is lit up...

Sure enough, there is her mother.

Irene Vestri is stood like she almost always has, washing up at the kitchen sink, brow creased in concentration and humming something under her breath (Francesca can't hear it, but she just knows she is). Does she look older? It is hard to tell from here. The bubble of excitement in Francesca's chest bursts and she cannot contain herself. She reaches forward and knocks on the window.

"Jesus Chr—!" Irene jolts, halfway through cursing when her head snaps up; she sees her daughter out of the window. Her jaw drops, almost comically, before she tosses her dishcloth down and runs away. A split second later, she is hopping down the steps, bolting straight towards an open-armed Francesca. "Oh my God, Francesca!"

"Mom!"

Just like that, she in her mother's arms again, and she wants to cry.

But why? She is overjoyed to be back home. Francesca wriggles her arms through the gaps under Irene's arms and squeezes her back as they rock side-to-side in their embrace. Once again, she inhales that familiar scent of home cooking and the soap on her mother's hands, remembers the creases in her skin she can feel through her dress whenever they have hugged. When she pulls back, Irene's eyes look tireder and some more lines have become etched into her face — but she is still her beautiful mother.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here?" Irene asks, practically breathless from the surprise.

"I wanted to surprise you guys for Thanksgiving," Francesca laughs. "And I got a cab from the airport, it just left..."

"Oh my God– GIO! FRANCESCA'S HOME!"

There is no response, just a clatter of work tools, but instead the small silhouette of Nonna waddling out the back door appears. "Perché tutti urlano? Ay, ay, ay..." she is tutting in disapproving Italian; then she spots her granddaughter stood there. The elderly woman does not react anywhere near as vocally as Irene does, simply raising her eyebrows and looking Francesca up and down.

"Nonna! Francesca's home!" Irene emphasises excitedly to her mother-in-law, pushing Francesca forwards.

"Ciao, Nonna," she bends down and kisses Nonna's cheek. Their faces next to each other, she can hear her grandmother softly chuckle as she pats her arm.

After his footsteps thunder down the stairs, her father bursts into the kitchen once she walks inside the house. With a delighted cry of "Piccolina!", Giovanni rushes forward and embraces his daughter. Francesca is hit with his familiar scent of pipe tobacco and lets out a sigh. When they break away, his eyes are twinkling as he talks to her at high speeds about what he's up to. It turns out he has been busy upstairs trying to fix a handle on one of the windows...

Then someone else comes downstairs. Upon seeing him, Francesca freezes.

She hasn't seen Tony since Pittsburgh. And now, with him stood in front of her, she is frozen in time... why does that happen? Maybe because he is the one she was most eager to come home to. Oh, the stories she would tell him!

"Well, hello stranger," Tony smiles broadly at her. "Get in here..."

He walks down a couple of steps and outstretches his arms, Francesca hugging him back. His torso feels slightly skinnier than she remembers it. And now she thinks of it, Tony's face has thinned slightly, too. His skin feels sticky against hers when they hug. There a million things she wishes she could tell him all at once, but her brain is scattered all over the place.

"Your brother is very good with a can of oil now," Giovanni says, slapping his son's back proudly.

"Yep..." Tony clicks his tongue, "and that's about where my skills in DIY end."

The four of them let out a laugh, but it sounds more forced or weak coming from Tony. His face seems cast in shadow so abruptly, and for a moment, Francesca has a quiet concern making a home in her gut. But before she can think about it further, her parents are pressing on.

"I can't believe you are back..." Giovanni takes her hands in his and squeezes them. "So, are you staying? It has been a long time, yes, but your room is all ready. You can find a job, meet your old friends—"

"No, no, Dad, I'm... home for Thanksgiving, just for a few days," Francesca interjects, shocked. "I– I thought that was pretty obvious?"

Her parents' smiles fade for a moment, as they exchange a glance. Now she is really confused. Did they really expect her to just drop everything and leave L.A.? Francesca never thought that was part of the plan. Her skin prickles with uncertainty, her suitcase standing idly by her feet. Suddenly she feels like she did when she was a teenager — scared that she would never leave her hometown.

"I'm living in L.A.," she clarifies further. "Our band is doing really well. I sent you all those clippings and a copy of the album—"

"Of course, honey, and that's wonderful. It's just... well..." Irene trails off, looking strangely worried. She looks over at Tony, whose muscles flare in his clenched jaw as he puts on a happy face. "Never mind. Listen, I need help peeling potatoes for tomorrow, do you think you could help?"

FRANCESCA: I think — for whatever reason, crazy as it sounds — my parents got it into their heads after a while that me going away to pursue music was a temporary thing. At least that was what I thought at first. But looking back... I think they were worried, looking at what happened to Tony when his band broke up, 'cause it really... affected him. I got the impression that they saw that experience and assumed my own plans might fall apart, eventually. They meant well.

Living off the music you create isn't easy. But you have to fight to be able to do it. And make no mistake, I was not giving up yet.

     This is just how she remembers her family — larger and louder than life.

     On Thanksgiving, Francesca and her extended family are crowded around the elongated kitchen table, which is stacked to the brim with food to help themselves to. Among them are slices of meats, blocks of cheeses, and of course bowls of pasta drenched in sauce or olive oil... and that is just the starter, before the main event with the turkey (which, of course, has its own Vestri twist in the stuffing; a family secret that Francesca is still waiting to be told one day).

     'Keeping things simple' is not a phrase found in the Vestris' cookery books.

     The table is loud with chatter, laughter and the clattering of cutlery as dishes are passed around. It isn't just that they eat so much, but they talk so much, extending the meal for hours and hours. Francesca is amazed, as always, that she manages to get a word in edgeways. But her family curiously listen as she tries to explain everything of relevance that has happened during her time in California. While they seem interested, the Vestris seem nowhere near as mind-blown as she does about her growing music career.

     "... And a few weeks ago, we played at the Troubadour," Francesca says with a grin.

     "Huh?" Nonna strains to hear her better.

     "The Troubadour!" she yells this time, because her uncle's foghorn laughter drowned out her first attempt. "It's a really well-established club on the Sunset Strip—"

     "You went to a strip club?!" Irene interjects with horrified eyes, and loud enough so the rest of the table can hear.

     "Mom, no!" Francesca says quickly, almost dropping the plate of mortadella she was passing to Sergio. "The Sunset Strip. You know, Sunset Boulevard?"

     "The Byrds met at the Troubadour... for starters, anyway," Tony pipes up between a sip of wine. "She's right. The Troubadour is pretty important."

     Sighing with relief, Francesca smiles at him as if to say thank you, but he barely reacts. She cannot help but feel her heart sink slightly. Out of everyone at home, she thought he would be the most excited for her and understand what she was talking about. But Tony seems mostly checked out throughout the meal, hearing everyone but not really listening.

     She scratches her brow and tries to remember where she was. "... So anyway, um, it looks like we should be recording our second album soon."

     Irene lets out a delighted hum, reaching over and squeezing her daughter's hand. Even Elia and Sergio seem impressed, for all their constant teasing of their little sister. Tony just swirls the drink in his glass, staring blankly into the bottom of it.

     "Don't forget about your ol' folks in Waterbury, now, will ya?" Elia says with a pout, pouting at her across Sergio's plate.

     But surprisingly, Sergio does not join in on the act, as he turns to Francesca. "We play your album while we work, sometimes. I really love that one... how's it go again? Da-na-na-na-na-na, da-na-na-naaa—"

     "Uh, 'Wasn't Born Yesterday'?" Francesca giggles, but is touched to hear the praise from her usually-mocking brother.

     Soon enough, her adventures in L.A. are enough for one night, and the conversation already shifts like sand in the wind to something else. Francesca's head spins as she tries to keep up with the family. She used to be able to jump in seamlessly, even though she was one of the quieter ones. But she has missed a lot since she left in '68 — she only met her two newest nephews, Daniel and Leonard (or, as Bruno calls them, Danny and Lenny) this evening... and Danny is already a couple of years old. Then there is the news that Sergio has just proposed to his girlfriend, news which would have hopefully been over a phone call if it weren't for her impromptu return home.

     Francesca thinks she has a better understanding of how their in-laws must feel at these Vestri gatherings.

     Rounding off the sumptuous meal with a thin slice of pecan pie, the family start to disperse between the kitchen and the living room. Francesca opts to help her mother and Nonna clear the table... technically, her father is helping as well, but spends so much time giddily telling a long-winded story that he keeps holding onto his plates for a good five minutes. When Irene needs them, she simply plucks them from Giovanni's hands, who hardly notices and continues telling his story.

     Then, left together at the kitchen sink, mother and daughter slip into a quiet routine of putting left-overs into boxes for the fridge. Francesca can hardly believe how quickly things have gone back to normal. As much as she enjoys being home, she also feels a restless sense of panic; an irrational fear gnaws at her that everything she's achieved in L.A. is slipping away like sand through her fingers, and when she returns it will all be gone, like it was some dream. As she washes dishes, she remembers how awful Doug is at remembering to do his, and in contrast how diligent Carlo is with his own. She recalls the time Victoria burnt the frying pan in their downtown flat, and the morning Goldie woke up early to make them all pancakes. And that house in Laurel Canyon... it really does feel like a home now.

Once she is done washing up and putting away, Francesca opts for a moment alone. She steps outside onto the porch and lets out a slight gasp. Geez, it's cold here, she thinks, feeling idiotic for forgetting what Connecticut is like this time of year. Shivering, she folds her arms across her chest and tucks her hands under her armpits. At the other end of the porch, she realises, is Tony. He is blowing out cigarette smoke into the cold air. She sniffs and walks up closer to him, shoving her hands into her pockets instead.

"I have not eaten that much in a long time," she tries to joke. "Think I'll be needing a new pair of pants..."

Tony lets out a weak laugh, hardly anything. So she hones in on the thing he has just retrieved from his pocket. Upon inspection, Francesca realises he is rolling up a blunt for himself. She finds herself staring so openly that he grows suspicious. "You want one, or...?" he asks.

"Oh, uh... no. Thanks."

A beat passes between them. He takes a long drag and lets out a sigh of what sounds like relief.

"So... do you ever hear from the guys? Glenn, Bruce, Marty?" she tries to ask nicely; she hates how distant this conversation feels.

Tony leans back on the wooden banister of the porch, letting out a wry chuckle. "Well, let's see... Glenn just got married and moved to Vermont with his bougie new wife. Bruce's working at the hardware store downtown, so I see more of him everyday than I'd want to. And Marty, well, he went and joined a new band, didn't he? A wedding band, in his spare time..." He lets out an embittered snort, as if he expects Francesca to be amused by this, too.

"I'm assuming the folks are a little more committed in your band, Sunset—"

"Solstice."

"— Sorry, Solstice..." Tony sways a little bit, and Francesca narrows his eyes at him. He is either high, drunk or a questionable cocktail of both. She sure doubts that whatever he is smoking right now will help that situation.

"You seem pretty wasted," she mutters, somewhat lightheartedly.

He shrugs his shoulders, with a sadness that she almost misses. "It gets me through the day."

Francesca leans against one of the banisters by the door, tapping the wood with her numbing fingernails. They sit in silence for a minute or so, just looking out at their street and hearing other noise muffled from their neighbours' houses... sounds that she has not heard in so long. She turns to Tony, wondering if he knows just how she feels.

"So, what's it been like, being back home?" she asks innocently.

There is a long pause. For a moment, she wonders if Tony heard the question.

"... Imagine a box," he says. "You have known this box all your life, but like everything, it's only so long before you outgrow the box. So, you leave, and you think you have stuff figured out for a while. But then suddenly you get thrown a curveball, and you have no choice but to get back inside your old box. Except this time, your legs and arms don't fit. Your head is squashed against the walls and the ceilings at the same time. The air is stuffy and you can't breathe."

Francesca swallows thickly. "... Oh."

It's all she can think of to say. Other than that, she just feels cold. She had hardly expected an answer like that when she asked Tony how he felt. But now that he has revealed all this — perhaps too much, in his view — Francesca cannot help but feel compelled to press on further. However, reading his hunched body language and the way he begins to turn from her, she figures it would be pointless right now. He needs to be alone. Hitting a dead end with her brother, she walks back inside with an awkward goodbye.

The warmth in the back doorway is fleeting. As Francesca hangs up her coat, she catches sight of a black-and-white family photo framed on the wall. It was taken with all of them sat together on the couch. She finds herself, about sixteen years-old and wearing a plaid dress. The twins look as cheeky as ever, whilst Bruno puffs out his chest with an upright posture. Then she finds Tony...

It really hits her, then. How different he looks.

The Tony in this photo looks full of promise, happy and healthy. His face is a little rounder, there is that dream-driven spark in his eye and he seems more confident in himself. But the Tony that Francesca just spoke to on the porch is a shell of who he used to be. Outgrown hair, weary eyes with slight bags underneath them, and not to mention the weight loss; she had noticed that before, yet it is only when making this direct comparison that it sticks out to her. He kept taking drinks throughout the Thanksgiving meal, during which she is almost certain that he was already intoxicated on something.

Is she going crazy for noticing it? Francesca cringes at the idea of trying to bring this up to Tony or someone else: Hey guys, I know I haven't seen you all in a couple of years, and long-distance contact has been pretty slim, but here's my two cents on Tony!

For now, she decides to drop it.

FRANCESCA: A lot of things in my life, I wouldn't go back and change them, no matter how tough they got. But others... they haunt me to this day.

.•° ✿ °•.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

hello again! (kind of) long time, no see. i've had a slight writer's block with this fic since the last update, mainly because this chapter was a little more vague in its premise. wouldn't go as far to say it's a "filler" chapter but it felt like that while writing it. in the end i decided i'd rather just try and write it instead of constantly deliberating, so i'm not 100% sure i love this chapter, but i'm nevertheless happy to get it out there.

me during my multiple attempts writing this chapter:

side note: i really struggle to write scenes where the bands are performing, since i'm not a musician and hardly know any terminology, which is unfortunate since this is a fandom/fic centring around rock and roll bands in the 1970s... whoopsie. the important thing is that solstice are slowly getting better, even with a lot of challenges they will face along the way.

frangraham are struggling to figure out how to act around one another. not exactly easy to move on when your ex lives right around the corner. to be continued...

also i've missed writing the vestris 🥺 it feels like ages ago since i last wrote them in person, in that first chapter. they might make another appearance sooner thank you think. who else is worried about tony?

thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!

Published: February 8th, 2024
Edited: October 26th, 2024