TRACK NINE:
LILAC WINE

❝ when i think more than i wanna think
i do things i never should do
i drink much more that i oughta drink
because it brings me back you ❞
— nina simone

+ content warning: addiction, alcoholism, substance abuse

.•° ✿ °•.

BILLY: It felt like we were pretty aimless until about... well, I think it must've been late in '71 when we met him.

GRAHAM: Billy and I had stopped to buy groceries one night, I was waiting in the van. I looked out of the window and saw this... unmistakable face walking into the store, and thought, "Holy shit. It's Teddy Price." I was waving and yelling for Billy when he came out of the store, and honestly, I was this close to punching the car horn before he finally came out and noticed.

BILLY: I talked to Teddy. Well... bombarded is probably the better word. But I needed him to believe in us, to see I wasn't– that we weren't just naive kids with stars in our eyes. By some miracle he gave us a chance. He gave us the opportunity to perform to him. So we performed 'Silver Nail', and Teddy seemed to like it. People think we played him one song and he gave us a record deal... [Chuckles wryly] Ah, not quite. Teddy went on to put us through the wringer for months before anything was agreed.

GRAHAM: I was so happy. However long it took, we were finally on the right track.

BILLY: I just– [Sighs] Sometimes I couldn't understand why it came so... late. Sometimes it hurt, you know, seeing Solstice and how they already had their foot in the business. They made it look so easy sometimes. I couldn't understand why Teddy gave them a record deal so quickly and not us. I appreciated our chances but I was just impatient, I guess.

Having said that, I'll be damned if I question the genius of Teddy Price.

.•° ✿ °•.

Meanwhile, in January 1972, Solstice had begun writing and recording their sophomore album at Sound City studios.

HANK: We had a lot've ideas, some of which were excess from our debut album. I was gagging to record something by the time we walked into the studio with Teddy.

FRANCESCA: I think we were a lot more open to experimentation on this one. You know, a little more ambitious now that we had our debut to cushion us. We were still trying to find out what our sound was, and this was an important step in doing that. I remember Goldie already had a few lyrics penned down, but so did some of the others, and it became much more of a collaborative process. This time, we knew how to work with each other a little better.

DOUG: We took our time with this one. Thank God for Teddy, man, because he really stood by us and made sure we got the time we needed in the studio.

VICTORIA: One of the earliest songs we recorded, it was 'Skeleton'. It was the first song I'd written, really, and I did it with Goldie. Maybe a bit on-the-nose, but it's about the skeletons we all have in the closet — things from our past that sit and collect dust. I don't mean to sound cocky when I say it felt like a hit... was I wrong, though?

FRANCESCA: I always thought 'Deep End' was beautiful — it was a slower ballad, and Doug's work on the keys there is stunning. It was more of a demo during our first stint in the studio, but it was really special.

Another one I really liked was 'Satisfy Me'. It's a really quiet song. Originally we tried adding Vix and I as backing vocals, or just one of us, but something didn't feel right. Goldie then thought we should try one of the guys instead. I think Doug went first, then Carlo, but we decided on Hank in the end. His voice has always been a little... rougher around the edges? It added something melancholy to the song, which is all about desire and telling someone to give you a sign.

CARLO: 'Satisfy Me' was the only track Hank ever did backing vocals on. He resisted doing it any other time. Which I always found funny, 'cause with Rusted Rose, he was more of a frontman singing with Richie. Maybe he just found his calling focusing on the guitar and the production.

HANK: ... I mean, I don't know how good I was. But it made Marigold happy.

FRANCESCA: I guess the only trouble was that we were all so different. That's the risk you take when you aren't childhood friends or something, like The Six. It was a weird coincidence that all of us were in the same place at the same time. Sure, we got along fine, but I think you can tell on our second album that we were all over the place.

It was easy to feel comfortable with my bandmates. That's about it when it comes to so-called easiness.

.•° ✿ °•.

     Francesca should have known The Six would find their way to Laurel Canyon — if it was a group led by Billy Dunne, they were heading for the stars. Just a block away from Solstice's house tucked into the trees, lower down on the hills, The Six's house squats overlooking the canyon. The window panes crumble slightly and the doors creak. But is it home? It is if they say so.

     She has already visited them a handful of times since knowing they lived here. All she can say is it's very evident that a bunch of young guys make up the majority of its residents, since growing up with four brothers has prepared Francesca for this (she still remembers the adaptation it took for the other girls in Solstice; particularly Victoria, who had spent her adolescence in an all-girls boarding school).

     Knocking on the door, Francesca adjusts her satchel strap on her shoulder. The Californian summer heat is starting to beat down once again, so it's back to clogs, bohemian blouses and denim shorts. She runs a hand through her hair which has been growing quite impressively — it now falls all the way down her back, even if it is in one blunt wave that lacks much volume. Camila jokingly likes to announce that they are now twinning together; Francesca's only counter to that would be that no one could twin with the incomparable Camila Alvarez.

     In fact, Camila is who she is expecting to see this morning for a coffee and catch-up. So her heartbeat lurches in surprise when it is Graham who opens the door.

     "Hi," Francesca says, audibly stunned.

     "Hi..." Graham's knuckles tighten around the doorframe. He is also dressed-down in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his chest in all the right places (stop looking at his chest). A cloth is tossed over his shoulder and he seems slightly out of breath.

     She stares into the house behind him. "Is Camila home?"

     "Yeah, but she's not here yet. She's with Billy."

     "Oh... I'll go, then—"

     "Hey, wait! You don't have to– I mean..." Graham sighs, but his bright blue eyes are sharpened and alert. Jabbing one thumb into the house, he asks: "You wanna come in for a drink or something? They could be a while."

     A fleeting pang of doubt pauses Francesca in her tracks. She cannot pinpoint exactly what it is that makes her so reluctant, she just knows it has everything to do with Graham and the awkwardness that ensues whenever they talk these days. But like with most things, she goes with the flow. "Sure, why not?" Francesca nods, following him into the house.

The floorboards creak loudly under her feet and the windows look like they could do with replacing. These things have never bothered Francesca, though — she grew up in a constant fixer-upper of a house. She can already tell ways in which The Six have begun to call it home. Little traces of the bandmates can be found around the house, whether it is decorative choices that are clearly Camila's aesthetic touch, or the same acoustic guitar she is pleased to see Graham still has from Pittsburgh. But she can't help but notice the house is rather quiet today.

"Where are the others?" Francesca asks.

"They're all out in town," Graham replies. "I thought I'd take the opportunity to fix up the van."

"It broke down again?"

"Yeah. But it's never been completely sound anyways. That's what you get when Warren buys a van from 'some guy' he knows."

Francesca gives a sharp cough of laughter. "That sounds like it adds up."

The kitchen is dimly-lit, green painted tiles underneath the window panes where slithers of natural light flood in. Graham walks over to the fridge and cranes his neck down to survey the options. "We've got Fanta if you want some?" he offers; catching a glimpse of the fridge's insides, Francesca spots the other drinks also stacked up, only realising then that he managed to single out her favourite soft drink by memory. He takes a bottle of Dr. Pepper for himself.

"Thanks," she says.

Graham opens the bottle for her, and she takes a long swig of orange soda. Francesca tries to prolong this moment of silence in which she can procrastinate her next move. He leans against the fridge door while she perches herself on the kitchen countertop. It occurs to her that things used to be so easy between them; and yet, they cannot go back to the way they were... not completely.

Camila, where are you?!

"How's the new album coming along?" he finally asks.

"Good so far, I think," Francesca replies. "It looks like we might be in our experimental phase... either that, or we can't make anything that flows naturally."

"But do you hear yourself? You're working on your second album," Graham reminds her with a smile. "That's great."

Her fingers relax around the neck of the soda bottle, the condensation sinking soothingly into her skin. Francesca returns the smile. "Thanks. I just wish we could do more to help you guys. You know I talked to Teddy, right? About trying to get you to open for us one time?"

Graham shrugs one shoulder, chewing the inside of his mouth. "That was sweet of you to do. Especially asking Teddy fucking Price about our little band from Hazelwood. But we probably need the time to figure things out anyway, right? We'll hit the jackpot in our own time..." He pauses, thoughtfully taking a swig of soda. "Solstice did, eventually."

"I think we're still waiting on the jackpot," Francesca snorts, "but yeah, sure."

"You will. I bet you will."

"... When's your next gig?" she asks him, fondness creeping into her voice.

"Next weekend at McNasty's."

Francesca grimaces. "I can't make it that night, I'm really sorry. I'm flying back home for the weekend."

"What's the occasion?"

"My brother's getting married. Sergio."

Graham's eyes light up with recognition, even brighter than they usually are. "Isn't he one of the twins?"

"Well remembered!" Francesca grins and perks up. "I didn't think that would stick."

"Of course it did," he blurts out, "everything did."

A beat passes, or perhaps more. Something about what Graham said charges the room with something intangible — perhaps because it forces their situation into perspective more than ever. There is only so long they can keep avoiding this. Just to be sure, Francesca waits to see if he is the one to go there first.

Graham stands up straight, clearing his throat. "Um... you know... we, uh, never really talked about how things ended."

Francesca feels her mouth go dry like sandpaper. Her stomach swirls with unresolved feelings, not quite sure how and where to place them. She hadn't realised just how much of a question mark it had felt like when she left Graham behind in Pittsburgh.

     "Well, what is there to say?" she tries to sound pragmatic, fiddling with a doily on the dining table. "We dated and then we broke up. It wasn't like we had some long-term thing. It came and went." As Francesca looks up and stares just past his shoulder, she almost misses the way Graham flinches when she had said it.

     "I just thought it might be nice to know where we stand, if we're gonna be seeing each other more often..." Graham pauses, then adds as an afterthought: "Whether we like it or not."

     Francesca sighs. She sets her soda down on the table and stands up; she feels like she has to be on level ground with him for this conversation.

"I don't want things to be weird between us," she says.

"Neither do I," Graham replies quickly, insistently.

     "And I don't want to get back together or anything."

     "Yeah, no, me neither."

     "So... couldn't we just call a truce and move forwards?" Francesca pleads, throwing her hands in the air. "I think we left things pretty clear-cut when I left for L.A."

     "But then you wrote to us," Graham points out.

     "And what was I supposed to do? Just not tell you where I was?"

     "I don't know!" He places his hands tensely on his hips. "I thought the whole reason you left was you didn't wanna be around us anymore. Around me."

     "But then you didn't reply to me. We've been through this!"

     "We talked about it for about two minutes, I don't think that really counts."

     Francesca rakes her fingers through her hair in frustration. What is so difficult about this for her to spell out? No, she doesn't want to get back together with Graham like that. But she has missed him — it has been nice to see Camila and The Six, sure, but most of her fondest memories in Pittsburgh were created with Graham Dunne. She wishes she could separate the complication of their feelings that got involved, with her genuine belief that he was one of her favourite people she had ever met.

     She wishes this was simple.

     "Graham, we don't have to psychoanalyse this," Francesca says, "we only dated for a few months—"

     "Can you please stop saying that?" Graham cuts her off; his voice is slightly wounded.

     "What?"

     "The 'only a few months' thing. Whenever we try and talk about our relationship, you always brush it aside like it meant nothing to you... and maybe it didn't. But it really meant something to me."

Francesca opens her mouth to speak, but finds her words dying on her lips. His words stop her stumbling in her tracks. She catches Graham's eyes even as he tries to look away, and she knows he is hurt. She hurt him. Immediate regret fills her up inside. Of course it meant something to her. She moves towards him, breath hitched in her throat as she means to express this—

"Morning, you guys!"

Camila's chirpy, oblivious voice shatters the silence and leaves the atmosphere all confused. Not now, any moment but now. "Sorry I'm late, Fran, Billy was playing me a new song," Camila says, happy and flustered. Francesca and Graham are still frozen in place, the former half-heartedly greeting her friend as she kisses her on the cheek. Graham has already turned his eyes down to the kitchen floor, his stare practically burning a hole into the ground. Billy walks in right after, ruffling his brother's hair only to be lightly shoved back.

But of course, Camila being Camila, she notices right away that something must feel off. She laughs casually. "Did I interrupt something?"

Actually, you did. Francesca moves to speak up first — maybe they could take this somewhere else — but Graham beats her to it.

"No, it was nothing. I was just leaving anyway," Graham shrugs. It feels like a slap to the face. "You two have fun."

Francesca glares at him expectantly. Surely that can't be it? But he doesn't stay longer than he has to, setting down his soda and walking out of the kitchen. In his wake he leaves Francesca stood alone, hardly paying attention to Camila kissing Billy goodbye.

If things weren't a question mark between her and Graham before, they surely are now.

"You ready to go?" asks Camila sweetly, but with an air of caution too; like she knows something just transpired.

Francesca stares at the empty doorway one more time. Then she blinks quickly, shaking her head and picking up her bag. "I'm ready," she says, "let's get out of here." They walk out of the door and into the Californian summer heat — what soon follows is the inevitable whisper from Camila, who fully expects Francesca to tell her all the details of whatever just happened when they reach the café...

.•° ✿ °•.

[Francesca looks visibly uncomfortable. They seem to have reached a topic of conversation she had been dreading. She crosses and un-crosses her legs with a frown.]

INTERVIEWER: We can skip this part, if you want. It isn't that necessary.

FRANCESCA: [Sighs] No... it is. I can't really avoid it. Anyway, I asked him if I could discuss it with you, and he said yes.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. If you're sure.

[Francesca nods curtly and clears her throat.]

.•° ✿ °•.

     The day Sergio Vestri got married would be the day that pigs flew. At least, that is what Francesca used to think.

But as it turns out, Nina Wozniak — the woman he met in New Haven — was the one who brought him down onto one knee in the end. And really, when she thinks about it, Sergio was always one of her more tolerable brothers. No amount of distance from coast-to-coast was making Francesca miss a family milestone this time.

     Francesca had flown in the morning before the big day, the only time she could squeeze in, so it looked like she will be meeting the bride as soon as she walks down the aisle... although if she doesn't get in the bathroom soon, she might not make it to the church anyway. Tony has been in there for the last ten minutes and she has been telling him to hurry for at least five. Francesca hasn't even had the chance to say hello to him yet — he was either working or taking a nap when she arrived back in Waterbury, and they haven't spoken until now.

     For the third time, Francesca frantically pounds her fist on the bathroom door. "Tony, open up! Or I swear to God I'll have to piss in your room instead!"

     "I told you, I'll be right out!" he calls back out gruffly.

     "Did you sleep in there or something?"

     "One... minute..."

     Francesca hops up and down on the spot desperately. This isn't an unfamiliar position for her. Making it all the worse is Elia breezing by, as he whispers, "Waterfalls... trickling streams... dripping taps..." before slipping away with a mischievous cackle.

     Finally the door swings open, and Tony re-surfaces — at least she thinks it is him. She has to do a double take at the man who walks out. He has lost weight, more than when she last saw him, and his eyes seem hollow and tired. When she looks closer, his pupils seem unfocused and dazed. Francesca physically retracts from him and furrows her brows. He even smells wrong, too. The kind of smell which shouldn't be attached to someone this early in the morning.

     "What?" Tony sniffs.

"Nothing, I um..."

Screw this.

"You were in there for a while," Francesca says carefully.

"Can't a man piss in peace?"

"I just mean to say... y'know, are you okay?" she asks. "I didn't even see you yesterday when I got here from the airport. I wanted to catch up with you."

Tony sighs heavily, rubbing a subtly trembling hand against his trousers. "Look, today isn't gonna be a walk in the park. I didn't think you would be thrilled at the idea of all our aunts, uncles, cousins or whatever, all in the same room with all their... questions. 'Cause I'm sure not."

     She supposes that's fair. Tony has been embittered ever since The Avons fell apart, and re-explaining to new people never fails to put him in a bad mood. Francesca also feels a volatile sensation in her stomach at the thought of the forthright but well-meaning interrogations from her family about her job and new life in California.

Still, Francesca peers into the bathroom curiously, but Tony shuts the door behind him. "Just nerves," he insists, "I'm fine."

His shoulder bumps hers as he goes to finish getting dressed for the wedding. His reaction — or a lack thereof — stumps her for a moment. No other embrace? No how are yous? More than anything, it is the startling change in his physical appearance that threw her off. Then the urge to relieve herself returns, and Francesca practically sprints into the bathroom and slams the door behind her.

     Afterwards, she is able to get dressed much more calmly. Francesca's hair falls in soft waves down her back after she removes the rollers from them; then there is a secondhand halter neck dress she had bought in L.A. with pink, red and dark purple floral patterns.

     Then she re-joins the chaos of the Vestri home. Her parents have been known to get the twins mixed up. Francesca personally always knew the difference — Elia has always been more menacing and mischievous than Sergio, although the latter certainly isn't averse to it either. But today, everyone can tell who Sergio is from a mile away, for he seems much more nervous and less humorous on the morning of his wedding. Elia jokes that he might be having second thoughts about Nina. Francesca is starting to think this woman might be something really special.

     After they take some 35mm photos of the camera outside the house, the Vestris head on to the church, filing into one side of the aisle whilst the other is filled with the Wozniaks. Francesca cannot help but feel bad that she has never met any of these people yet, especially the bride. When Bruno got married, it was to another Italian-American from their neighbourhood, so she knew the bride's family like the back of her hand.

     As everyone rises at the cue of the bride's entry, she makes a point to turn and steal a look at the future Mrs. Vestri. She spots Nina immediately — tall, elegant, perfectly calm and almost shy, but certainly not unconfident as she processes down the aisle. Then she looks back at her brother, whose chest immediately inflates as he smiles brightly at his bride. What's more, as she is almost at the altar, Nina catches Francesca's eye and smiles at her as if they knew each other already.

She's a keeper, Francesca thinks to herself.

Of course, after the ceremony is when the party really begins. Both families follow the newlyweds to a rented hall space for the reception. Things are already kicking off as soon as they arrive — the reception is a marriage of Italian and Polish traditions, starting with a bread and salt blessing from Nina's parents. Before everyone sits down for a meal, Francesca makes sure to go over and greet the newlyweds herself.

"Ah, Nina, this is my baby sister... Francesca," Sergio grins, knowing how the term bristles Francesca.

Still, she remains all smiles as she takes Nina's hands. "It's so great to meet you at last, and I'm sorry it took me so long!"

"Don't worry about it," Nina dismisses it with a wave of her hand, "Serg's told me all about you being busy in L.A., making music. It sounds like the dream."

"Hopefully..."

Francesca reaches into her handbag, cringing as she pulls out a small envelope. "I would usually have way better gifts, but I ended up being short on time. So, uh, this is the money I made from the last gig our band played," she says, handing it sheepishly to the couple without looking them in the eyes. "I know my family just gave you varying money gifts as a wedding present, but—"

"Thanks, sis. We appreciate it."

She looks up, thinking Sergio must be joking at first. But then he smiles at her so genuinely that it throws her off-course.

Then Nina leans in, somewhat coyly. "Here's an idea... for our first anniversary, why don't you send us a signed copy of your next album?"

Francesca laughs. "I can arrange that," she nods, before mouthing to Sergio: "I like her!"

Everyone takes their seats for an overflowing meal, Francesca sandwiched between her Nonna and Tony at the table. Countless speeches are made by both sides of the family, the room rippling with laughter whilst some tears are shed at more heartfelt moments. There is plenty of toasting, meaning plenty of re-fills of wine — it is just that Francesca can't help but be drawn to Tony's glass, which seems to magically re-fill and re-empty itself at every blink of an eye. She has started to lose count.

Francesca leans in and whispers, "Thanks for pouring me a glass, too."

"Huh?" Tony mumbles, already taking a sip.

"You could leave some wine for the rest of us," she says, half-joking but laced with discomfort.

"It takes me a few more drinks to feel the buzz, that's all. I want to have a good time at this wedding. Don't you?"

"Well yeah, but—"

The clinking of another glass catches everyone's attention, another toast being proposed. Everyone turns to the father of the bride to listen as he tells a story about her first day at school. Francesca, although listening intently, shoots a sideways glance at Tony as he drums his fingers erratically on the glass; a tick-tick-ticking in her ear. Clearly she is not the only one concerned, for in the next seat over, she notices her father looking unusually solemn as he catches sight of his son. The concern is palpable enough that Giovanni gently pulls Tony aside after the speeches and seems to be giving him a stern talk. Francesca peered at them through a window in the door.

More and more, she is getting the sense that everyone else knows something she doesn't.

Soon, it is time for dancing. Both traditional and contemporary, Francesca happily takes to the dance-floor as the night progresses, because would she really be a Vestri if she didn't? After Sergio and Nina share their first dance to 'All I Ever Need Is You' by Sonny & Cher, the rest of the guests join in on the fun. From slow-dancing to 'Everybody Loves Somebody' with her father, to busting her best moves with Elia and Sergio together to 'Layla', Francesca lets herself be carried away with the good party.

     After what feels like an eternity of dancing, Francesca goes to catch her breath at the nearest table; her Nonna and Nina's Babcia have been talking each other's ear off in Italian and Polish respectively, and yet seeming to understand each other perfectly enough. Sergio also approaches and straightens his tie, clearing his throat and extending a hand to his grandmother.

     "Balla con me, Nonna," Sergio winks. "Dance with me."

     Nonna gives an endeared chuckle, following her grandson to the dance-floor as they move gently to 'Brandy (You're A Fine Girl)'. Babcia is soon whisked up by another family member too. Francesca is left at the table with Tony, her mother and her maternal aunt and uncle — Irene's side of the family is one she does not see as often, and she gets the impression her mother usually prefers it that way. It is only at bigger events like weddings or funerals where Francesca manages to catch up with them.

     "So, your mother was telling us you've been pursuing music," her aunt says with vague interest.

     "She already has an album out," Irene adds.

     Francesca smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. And I– I mean we, my band– we're working on the next one right now."

     "And is that a stable career? In music?" her uncle adds.

     "Well, it's not a predictable 9-to-5, I can tell you that. But we make it work."

     Suddenly from across the table, Tony scoffs. He is slumped slightly in his chair and almost sounds embittered; a tone that makes Francesca's heart twist and ache painfully. He's drunk. "She's right. It isn't predictable. I had a band too, you know. But we broke up. You might've heard... or maybe you didn't. Makes no difference to me anyway."

     Irene flinches, put-off by his words. "Our Francesca is very talented," she says, "and so is Tony."

     "But talent only gets you so far, doesn't it?" Tony sneers. "Or drive. Or ambition."

     Then he turns to look at Francesca, his eyes dark whirlpools of hurt, glazed over with confusion. "Give it a few years, Francesca," he adds, "and you'll hit rock bottom just like the rest of us. Run out of money, quit the band, or they quit on you first. All of the above. Whatever. Happens to the best of us, so... I wouldn't get your hopes up..."

     It feels like he just stabbed her.

     Francesca hates the lump that forms in her throat just hearing those words... or more the fact they came out of his mouth. Tony's. The one who encouraged her to believe that music was sacred in the first place. The one who told her to go, make her mark in the world. He inspired her and made her believe she had something worth sharing. And then suddenly she is hearing this, in front of their family no less. Francesca sinks back into her seat as her skin burns with humiliation. Their mother seems to linger in-between trying to mediate, whilst their aunt and uncle are speechless.

     Most of all, she can see so clearly whenever that drink is in his hand, she doesn't like the person he becomes. And it seems the two have become difficult to separate.

     Tony excuses himself without a word, staggering over to the open bar yet again — he can't even walk in a straight line — as he goes to fill himself another drink. "Excuse me..." Francesca whispers, dropping her napkin on the table. She crosses the room to be standing a stone's throw away from her brother, his back to her.

     "Don't you think you've had enough?"

     To Francesca's surprise, the words don't come out of her mouth. It is Elia who has stepped in, arms folded across his chest.

"Just leave me alone, okay?" Tony grumbles, swaying slightly.

"Tony, we had an agreement. You were gonna clean up your act for this wedding. For Serg."

Francesca glares at her brothers like they are strangers. What agreement? Is this such a regular occurrence? Tony tries to push past his younger brother, but he steps right in his way again.

"I'm not kidding around here, Tony," Elia says, jaw clenched. Francesca can't remember the last time, if ever, she saw him so solemn.

"I said leave me alone—"

Tony suddenly loses his balance, staggering back two steps and colliding into Nina. She cries out as the wine in his glass sloshes straight onto her pure white dress, painting a deep-red stain down the bridal skirt that blossoms as time goes on. It is Sergio who reacts more immediately, pulling his wife aside abhorrently. "What the hell?" Sergio snaps. Several tables of guests in the hall are alerted, seeing the scene and gasping.

"Sergio, it's just a dress," Nina tries to justify. "We'll get you some water, Tony..."

"Sorry, I'm sorry—" Tony mumbles, but his brothers are having none of it.

"Me too," Elia vents. "I'm sorry that you can't go anywhere anymore without a drink in your hand."

"Elia—" Francesca tries to pull her brother back but he shakes her off.

As Elia continues, he sounds more pained than angry, the two swimming in and out of dominance in his voice. "You promised you were gonna keep it together for Sergio tonight, and we'd all have a good time."

Something turns cold in Tony's unfocused eyes, before switching to alarmingly hot rage. "Well, I'm sorry I ruined your precious night."

"C'mon man, you know that's not what I meant."

"No, no, I get it... I'm glad you're all having a good time, 'cause I'm not."

Francesca, swallowing thickly, reaches out for his shoulder. "Tony—" she whispers, but Tony shakes it off sharply and snaps:

"I'm fucking MISERABLE!"

The abrupt outcry silences the music and chatter of all the guests. The room is left with a quietness so tight and tense it could snap like a taut rope. Somewhere, her father is frozen and stony-faced, while her mother clasps a hand to her mouth in shock. Francesca can only look at Tony — who, very slowly, melts from aggressiveness to a hiccup that turns into a sob. His shoulders hunch over as he shakes with repressed tears. "I can't... I can't..." she can hear him whisper.

Francesca feels like she is living a nightmare.

Bruno, having been preoccupied with his wife and kids, comes in at just the right moment. "C'mon Tony, I'm taking you home," the eldest brother murmurs quietly. Tony doesn't argue with him, or maybe he doesn't hear him.

"Bruno..." Sergio steps forward, sympathy flooding his eyes.

"Just carry on with the party," says Bruno, "and don't ruin it on our account. This is your night. We'll deal with this tomorrow."

Francesca can only stumble through the next few minutes; she sees Bruno talking to their parents, who each try to have a look at Tony and the state he has wound up in. So many emotions are bubbling away inside her. There is a gaping space where a million questions sit unanswered. Francesca had felt wary about Tony's state of mind when she last saw him, but she had no idea it was this bad... is she a horrible person for not knowing? Should she have asked more? Or more importantly, why has no one filled her in? As she watches Tony leave with his weight supported by Bruno, she knows she cannot leave this open-ended.

She wants answers.

Bounding up to Bruno's truck in the car park, she pants: "Let me come with you. Please."

Bruno doesn't say no, so she lets herself in.

In all honesty, Francesca has found the relationship with her eldest brother to be a strange one. It has always lacked the same playfulness it did with Tony, Elia and Sergio. After all, Bruno was eleven when she was born, and practically a grown-up by the time she was old enough to interact more. He was more of an extra figure of authority in the house — maybe it is why Francesca finds herself seeking answers from him now. The drive home is silent at first, but in a heavy silence. Tony slips in and out of consciousness in the backseat, and Francesca can't help but shoot worried glances back at him.

Finally, she asks: "What's been going on with Tony? And don't say nothing, 'cause I've seen too much."

Bruno sighs. Then, he begins telling her the truth.

It had been hard to determine exactly when Tony became hooked onto the drugs and the drinking. He had seemed sober enough when he started working for their father, after The Avons fell apart. But it was very soon after that things began to escalate — it was becoming clear that Tony had come to rely on these things to get through the day. Somehow a drink always seemed to find its way into his hand, whether in its purest form or poured into his coffee when no one was looking. Then there were the drugs...

Apparently, the Vestris had already been looking into rehabilitation. Tony had retaliated at first, but had been slowly coming around to the idea in the last couple of months. But Tony had insisted he would clean himself up without help. He had it under control, he told them. The Vestris gave him the benefit of the doubt — the regret of that decision sets Bruno's face in stone, something Francesca glimpses in his reflection as he glances at a lulling Tony in the backseat.

At the end of it all, Francesca only has one more question.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"

"Because," says Bruno, "you were in L.A."

"I moved away. It's not like I was disowned by the family," Francesca points out incredulously. "You could have called me, written to me, anything!"

His voicing booming slightly, in the usual way when he wants to make a point, Bruno fires back: "I'm sure Mom and Dad just didn't want to worry you. Not saying I agree with that. Anyway, the point is... Tony needs help. Now. He can't make that push on his own. 'Cause if he goes on for any longer the way he is, he'll end up in an early grave."

Her heart sinks like a stone. "You... you really think he could?"

"At the rate he's going, who knows? I've known good kids, good people who've– who've..."

Bruno clenches his jaw, a muscle flaring in his face. He looks angry at first. Then, Francesca realises, he might be trying not to cry.

     She doesn't probe any further. Francesca sits with the information stewing silently inside her as she follows her brothers inside the house; she helps Bruno get Tony up to his room, hovers hesitantly by his door and wonders whether she should leave him. Then she collapses into her childhood bed, without undressing or curling under the sheets. She tries to travel back in time to a simpler day, sat with Tony on the warm carpet and listening to his records.

.•° ✿ °•.

     "Francesca... wake up..."

The quiet but coarse whispers stirs her from half-sleeping. A harsh beam of sunlight blasts past her brother's shoulder, but she can still sense that it is Sergio crouched over her. She squints at him tiredly, his outline unfocused against the posters in her childhood bedroom. It takes a moment of looking at his grim expression before memories from last night come trickling back to her.

     "Shouldn't you be with Nina?" she asks, her voice a croak.

     Sergio shakes his head. "This is more important. She understands."

"When did you get back?"

"Early this morning," he says. "We, uh... we all need to talk. Meet us downstairs in ten?"

She nods. Sergio walks out, shutting the door behind her. Francesca sits up slowly. The neck of her halter dress has become slightly twisted in her sleep, so she re-adjusts it the best she can when she walks past the mirror. The house is unusually quiet. She knows this because she can hear her own footsteps padding down the stairs. Usually there is too much energy and commotion to hear your own thoughts, let alone your footsteps.

     And yet when Francesca walks into the living room, seeing her family all except for Tony gathered around, she gets a strange feeling she knows exactly what this is about.

FRANCESCA: They had been planning his intervention for a long time. If it hadn't been the morning after the wedding, I think it wouldn't have taken much longer for them to stage it. And that was what was so weird about it to me at the time. Because my family basically took me aside and filled me in on their plan for Tony and the options he had between rehab or... well, whatever the alternative was. Meanwhile here I was, being clued in at the last minute.

     Francesca feels like she is sleepwalking. When Tony comes downstairs, all she can do is stare at him. She tries to watch his face as he sits quietly and seems to listen to everything their family is telling him — Sergio saying how upsetting it had been to see him that way at the wedding, their father calmly explaining that they tried giving him the benefit of the doubt but now it was time to take action. Elia clinically explains that they have booked a taxi to take him to the rehab centre, and when he comes home, they're going to do more to support him. Bruno interjects that if Tony doesn't choose this option, then he cannot keep living under their roof, for it has become too contentious. Their mother quickly smooths this over as she expresses their collective wish for him to get better and that no one is judging him. Everything just like they rehearsed.

     All the while, Francesca cannot muster a single word. She sits next to Nonna, who frowns sympathetically from her armchair at her grandson. Tony goes silent and bows his head for a moment. Finally, he glances up at his sister — something in his expression changes at seeing Francesca. Something shifts.

     "I'm not going," Tony says.

     It is difficult for some of the Vestris to hide the initial despair inflicted on their faces.

     "Not in some taxi, anyway," he adds, fidgeting. "I want one of you to take me. Please."

     That isn't part of the plan. Francesca can tell by the way her family exchange looks with one another. Is he serious? However, tentatively enough, they seem to come around to the idea. Bruno steps forward at first, but Tony shakes his head.

     "Francesca?"

     Tony's voice snaps her attention back to him. The rest of the family pivot to face her in surprise. Her space on the armchair suddenly feels claustrophobic. Then she realises what he is asking of her — he wants Francesca to drive him there.

"Will you?" Tony asks.

Francesca glances at her parents, then back at him, nodding feebly. "O– okay..."

The Vestris struggle to find reason to argue with it. If it means Tony will agree to rehab, then they will let it be, and they are certainly reluctant to add more tension to the situation. But surely they must be thinking the same thing as Francesca — she hadn't prepared herself for this in the way they might have done. Her mother gives her the address, cautions her to take care of him on the journey as he finishes packing his bag upstairs. Tony's acceptance had been a surprise that only brings her slight relief. Perhaps it had been the scene at the wedding that pushed him towards the decision.

"I was worried he'd fight it more," Francesca mumbles.

"He has fought this, many times," Bruno reminds her.

There is something in this tone that adds, You just weren't there to see it. A wave of gut-wrenching guilt makes Francesca flinch. A little under an hour after the agreement was made, Tony arrives downstairs lugging a suitcase behind him. His expression is cold and empty, his skin shining with a sheen of nauseated sweat.

"Let's just go," he mutters.

The address for the rehab clinic Francesca has been given is in Massachusetts. An hour-long drive stretches ahead of them, one that could easily have been longer, but it is merciless in the way it drags out.

They drive in silence.

Every few minutes, Francesca tries saying something to Tony, only to end up falling short. She wishes he would say something too. She loves her brother — she loves him, of course — but she also battles with a storm of confusing feelings towards him. Anger, betrayal, distrust. Then every time Francesca feels one of those emotions, she feels guilty again, only to return back to them in the same torturous loop.

In the end, she realises that maybe silence is the best they can do for now.

They remain silent even as they arrive at the rehab clinic. They continue their unspoken pact of silence as they walk inside, given a clipboard with paperwork to fill in. Tony sits down to fill in the necessary forms, and she keeps a watchful eye on him. Then Francesca is told to leave. A sudden panic rises in her chest.

How is she meant to walk out of that door without him?

When Tony stands up from his chair, she surges forward and hovers in the space-between, torn on whether she should hug him.

"Tony—"

"Thanks for the ride," he says curtly. There is a flicker of humiliation in his eyes; as though he hates for her to see him like this. As though it would be better if she just left.

By his request, it seems, they are to return to their pact of silence. Francesca swallows thickly and nods. She picks up her bag and walks slowly down the corridor, pushing open the door. Each step feels heavier and heavier as she drags them across the tarmac to the car. Collapsing into the front seat, she drops her bag onto the now-empty passenger seat.

     Still silently, Francesca lets herself cry.

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: I didn't tell you that story just to have another anecdote from my life. The details aren't really what you need to take away from this. The thing I had taken away from it was how scary it felt to watch my brother spin out of control like that. Tony had always been like this... pillar to me. And what felt even worse is that I didn't know just how much he'd been suffering with his addiction until that night.

After that, I didn't want to let anything like that fly under my radar again. I'm not saying that I always kept that promise, but I wanted to.

So I guess I'm telling you this now, 'cause... it explains some stuff later down the line. Some things I did and didn't do.

.•° ✿ °•.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

this chapter had given me the biggest writer's block i've suffered in a while — i can't even pinpoint why, i was just struggling to get a single word down without detesting it. but FINALLY i've decided to just tackle it and accepted it might not be perfect. (also today is what would be francesca's 76th birthday, which is kinda neat).

tony is... not doing great. i wanted to treat the topic of his addiction sensitively, and even as he recovers it will be a consistent theme throughout the story. i hope it doesn't feel too sudden, but at the same time that feeling is intentional because francesca has largely been left out of the loop by her family. you'll also see how this affects francesca's perspective when it comes to billy, daisy, etc. later in the story. her attitude and understanding of addiction will evolve over time. i'd like to quickly thank stilestastic for all the help she provided for this chapter, surrounding everything with tony. having her give advice and second opinions on some parts was so helpful!!

frangraham having (bad) tension sucked as well. this chapter really was just full of conflicts, wasn't it? they are just struggling to know where they stand after they broke up, because they obviously weren't expecting to meet again, and they have moved in on some ways and not so much in other ways. they'll figure it out soon enough 🥺

i'll end this chapter on a more positive note — so, monica barbaro is playing joan baez in the upcoming bob dylan biopic (which is a crazy sentence in itself because one of francesca's inspirations is joan and partly who i modelled her fashion/style from when creating fran's character). but a while ago, i snooped around the cast list on imdb and... will harrison is also there?! francesca and graham in a movie together!! *SHRIEKS* apparently he is playing bob neuwirth, no idea if that means will & monica share scenes together, but if they do... my happy little frangraham heart will dance.

thank you so much for reading. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. only three chapters left to go in act one!

Published: July 20th, 2024