Alex came into the live room and threw himself down onto the couch. “All right, Jules: talk.”
“About what?” I looked up from my phone and flicked the half-inch of ash off the end of my cigarette.
“You know what the fuck I mean,” Alex said. “Talk about it.” I rolled my eyes.
“The thing with Fran?” Alex nodded, fumbling with his pack of smokes before shaking one lose to light up.
“It’s a thing,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe was a thing.”
“Was?” Alex leaned forward and pulled the ashtray closer to him. “Fuck, man. Did you screw that shit up already?”
“It’s my business,” I told Alex.
“Fuck that noise,” Alex said, shaking his head. “You fucked her while we were on tour. You brought the band into it when you stuck your dick into the supporting act.”
“Get the fuck out of here with that shit,” I said. “We had sex a bunch of times, we talked about shit. It’s what the fuck happens on tour. Nick fucked a journalist and you didn’t give him shit over it.”
“He started up with her before the tour,” Alex pointed out. “It’s not like he screwed anything up in the process.”
“I didn’t screw anything up! Besides, it’s fucking personal, man.” I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another one. My lungs were going to be wrecked at the rate I was going, but I didn’t care.
“We’re a week into recording and you and Fran haven’t been in the same room alone in all that time,” Alex said. “You don’t even look at each other when you’re in the same room.”
“We worked on one of her songs the first night,” I admitted. “She wanted to work on something I’d written, and I told her I didn’t want to make the rest of the guys think that I’m trying to go my own way.”
“Fuck. Jules—you’ve been writing your own shit for years.” I rolled my eyes.
“Not that you’d notice,” I muttered.
“I noticed,” Alex told me sharply. “If you want to work on it with Fran, why the fuck should I care about that? Or Nick, or Dan, or Mark?”
“You guys have certainly made it the fuck clear that you’ve got issues with me doing anything at all with Fran,” I told Alex. “So forgive me if I thought you’d get pissed if I did more than just fuck her and play the occasional game of fucking Scrabble.”
“You’re being such a fucking baby, Jules,” Alex said, shaking his head. “What the hell do you even want with her? Do you know?” I closed my eyes and took a long drag from the cigarette in my fingers.
“Fuck, man.” I shook my head, opening my eyes to look up at the ceiling of the live room. We were almost certainly not supposed to be smoking in there, but nobody gave enough of a fuck to enforce the rule; they’d just clean it after we left anyway. “I just want shit to stop being so complicated. If you’ve got an issue with me doing something with Fran, then fucking tell me. If Fran wants to be my girlfriend or just a steady lay, she should fucking tell me, too.”
“You want her to be your girlfriend, don’t you?” I opened my eyes and looked at Alex. He was staring at me steadily, his lips twitching just a little bit with the start of a smile. “You always fuck shit up in your relationships. It’s no fucking wonder you ended up banging Fran; I think you actually want your relationships to crash and burn.”
“Man, ever since you started dating Mary, you psychoanalyze fucking everything,” I told Alex, shaking my head again. “It’s not even important.”
“She didn’t land a decent take all day today,” Alex told me matter-of-factly. “I want to get this EP done so we can move onto real shit. If she can’t pull out a performance, then we’re going to be here for another week. Which means it’s going to be another week before we can get to work on our own fucking album. It’s sure as shit important to me that we get this done.”
“Fine,” I said, scratching at my face with my free hand. “What do you want me to do? Apologize?”
“Apologize, or take her into the lounge and fuck her brains out and make it all okay, or do—something. Jesus, Jules.” Alex sighed. “Just fucking fix the situation, okay? Get your shit together and fix it.” He stubbed his cigarette out and looked at me for a long minute. “We’re on a break. Talk to her, do something to fix it. Everyone’s coming back around two.” He stood. “Fran’s in the lounge.” He turned and left and I watched him go.
Shit. I closed my eyes and finished off my cigarette, barely caring if I stubbed the butt out on the ashtray or the arm of the chair I was sitting in. I knew Alex was right, but I didn’t want to do anything about it. I’d fucked things up with Fran—and it wasn’t just the situation with recording my stuff. It was about everything we’d been talking around but not about.
I pulled my phone out again and found the files for some of the songs I’d recorded. If the band was on a break until two, that’d be enough time to at least lay down some basic stuff on a track. I stood up and left the live room for the control room, hoping that Les was still hanging out. He was. “Yo. Feel like laying a couple of parts down in a few?”
“On one of your things? Sure.” Les nodded. “Shoot me the track and I’ll pull it up on the system.”
“I’ll be right back.” I left the control room and headed down the hall to the lounge. I could only hope that Fran was still there, that she would hear me out. I shook my head, thinking to myself that I’d been an idiot more than once before—but I was definitely being an even bigger idiot now.
“What do you want?” Fran had spotted me from the corner of the lounge where she sat as soon as I came in.
“We’re up to record something,” I told her. Fran rolled her eyes; as usual—off stage, at least—she was in normal clothes, but her hair was brighter than usual.
“Alex just came through to tell me you guys were on a break,” she said skeptically. “What are we up to record?”
“One of my tracks,” I told her, smirking.
“Seriously? You think that’s going to fix shit between us?” I took a deep breath and sighed.
“I thought it would help,” I admitted. I came into the lounge further and sat down a few feet away from Fran. “I thought it might help more if I told you I’m an ass and should have made it clear that I actually want to date you.” Fran’s eyes widened and she stared at me for a long moment.
“You’re serious about that?” I nodded.
“I fuck things up in relationships,” I told her. “I guess I figured the longer we weren’t in an actual relationship, the longer it would be before I fucked it up—and as a result I fucked it up anyway.” I laughed. “I’m an advanced student of fucking up.”
“I do the same thing,” Fran said, smiling wryly. “Okay so what are we going to do about this? And about the tabloids and all that other shit?” I shrugged.
“We’re going to ride it out, as far as I’m concerned. People will get bored of it soon enough, right?”
“What are you going to do when Molly Riot and Juniper Woolf are recording separate albums?”
“Record an album with my band, and see you in my off hours, if you’ll let me,” I replied, smiling a bit again. “This doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“It already is,” Fran told me. “You’ve made it complicated and so have I and so has the fucking industry—everyone’s goddamn guilty of it.” She sighed. “So, what are we going to do?” I pressed my lips together.
“Right now, if you’re willing to do it,” I said slowly, “we’re going to work on a song together. If that goes well, we’ll work on more.” I held my hands up, to try and keep Fran from saying anything else for a minute. “Alex…” I shrugged. “He doesn’t care if I work on my own material. Maybe the label will want to release it; maybe they won’t. But we can work on it, and see where that goes.”
“And we’re going to work on your stuff as well as my stuff?” Fran raised an eyebrow.
“Until we run out of each other’s stuff to work on and start working on stuff together,” I suggested. Fran smiled slowly.
“Are you going to leave Palmela for me?” I snorted, rolling my eyes.
“Sorry, babe, but Palmela is with me always. I won’t ask you to leave Angelo in the dust, if it makes you feel any better. Besides, we both have tours in the future.”
“We’re really going to do this, then?” I thought about it for a second and then nodded.
“I sure as hell at least want to try. Now come on and get into the fucking studio with me.”
“I’ve been doing shit takes all day,” Fran said, standing. “Don’t be shocked if I suck on this one, too.”
“I will be shocked,” I told her playfully. “Just play along with the fucking song and we’ll record it and work it out, okay?” I stopped her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “And if you want something from me—to talk, or to like, be committed or something—just fucking tell me. Don’t keep putting it off.”
“Take your own advice, asshole,” Fran said, before leaning up onto the balls of her feet to kiss me on the lips for just a second. “Let’s go.”