S2/04. Old habits die hard

4.12 Francesco De la Cruz
Summer 1998, Mountaver Records studio, San Myshuno

"I found a fix for your song," Alejandro said on their way into the studio.

"'Barrage'," he answered Francesco's silent question.

"Are we really gonna record this?" Nico didn't conceal his disregard. If it were after him, they'd probably play only very melodic pieces with endlessly long synth and guitar solos. Literally the opposite of 'Barrage', which was concepted as a live-song; to heat up a crowd, not to lull them.

"What fix?" Francesco asked.

Instead of a reply, Alejandro smirked and indicated him and Nico to follow.

Inside the recording room, Joanne was already there, engaged in conversation with another woman. Francesco thought he recognized her as Toxic Purple's manager, and he wondered if Alejandro wanted to collaborate with them for the song. While Francesco usually had no objection to teaming up with other musicians, but this time he wasn't convinced their guitarist had made the best choice. Lyta had a fine voice, but her clears would kill the sardonic edge envisioned for that track and make it too serious.

"Alexa has a recommendation for you," said Joanne to the group.

"No collab," Francesco declared. 

They could as well stop talking now and wasting their time.

The women raised their eyebrows and turned their attention to him.

"Francesco, I'm offended," said Alexa, half seriously, half jokingly. "Lyta will be heartbroken. And Drake..." the corners of her mouth curled up into a mild smile, though.

"Al said you want to have more stability in your set-up," said Joanne, "and by coincidence, Alexa knows someone she's trying to get back into the music business forever."

"Better said, wake up from the dead," Alexa sighed. "But when Jo told me about your plans, I couldn't think of anyone better fitting for you boys. A rare talent."

Francesco and Nico shot questioning looks towards Alejandro.

"She's right," he smiled with confidence. 

"He better be good," Francesco grumbled. He'd gone himself through a few potential bassists without the others knowledge, but no one had him convinced yet.

"You know already who she's talking about?" Nico asked.

Alejandro nodded. "Just look for yourself."

He put a tape into the VRC and started the video. It was a recording of Averfest, according to the date in the corner, from three years ago.

The sound quality was rather awful, but Francesco was convinced the band wouldn't sound much better life. The music was loud and very fast, very Death Metal. Maybe it wouldn't even be bad, if they had some better skilled musicians.

"My ears," Francesco complained, when the vocalist started his sad excuse of a growling. It sounded more like a throat infection.

"Well, we're not here for him," Alejandro chuckled, "one of your kind is already pain in the ass enough to deal with." He earned himself an elbow in his ribcage.

But Francesco was curious, and so he pricked his ears to filter out the bass line.

"Nope, he's not good," was his verdict. "Sub-par, at best."

Nico shrugged. It was obvious he wasn't too impressed, either.

"It's not the bassist, either," Alejandro said, visibly amused at his bandmate's cluelessness. "Listen. I'm sure you'll figure out who's worth our time here."

Who else? The guitarist was maybe the only decent one in the band, but Francesco was sure Alejandro would never agree to share his own spotlight. 

Just when he wanted to give up and leave, a short solo caught his attention. It sounded more like a quick improvisation than scripted. And damn right, this was – fucking good, at least.

He bent forward, closer to the screen to catch a glimpse of the solo's musician. Unfortunately the camera focused only onto the vocalist and occasionally the guitarist, so he couldn't catch much more than a few glimpses of a shadow in the back. But he could tell that it was one of those that played with their whole body, not only arms and legs as most others Francesco'd seen. 

Wow, that was some energy exuded, even from the shadows in the back.

The instrument that'd been disgracefully neglected by all of them since Raj had left. By a funny coincidence, also three years ago.

After the song ended and the vocalist gave his usual speech of thanks, the spotlights lit up and the camera did a round of the audience and then the whole band who'd come up to the front of the stage. When it reached the band's last member, Alejandro paused the video.

"He looks young," Nico remarked.

"He's twenty-one here," Alexa said. "Not much of a difference to Francesco, isn't it?"

On the screen, the young man stood tall with his arms wide open, sweat-dripping green hair, bare chested and the brightest smile through melting obscure face paint.

Francesco understood immediately what Alejandro saw in him.

He was more than just a talent.

"Drums," Alejandro said. "What do you think?"

"He's not a bass player," Francesco replied.

S2/04. Old habits die hard

4.2 Alejandro Gonzales
Summer 1998, Alejandro's apartment, San Myshuno

"Didn't you have a visitor," Alejandro greeted his neighbor. 

Francesco and his lover, the aforementioned visitor, could've barely kept their pants on the whole way from the studio, and Alejandro couldn't wait to close the door after them once they'd finally made it to the apartment building.

It'd been a few hours since then.

Francesco's messy hair suggested a wild night, but he didn't look like he'd had a good time. More like a stubborn kid that refused to sleep. Instead of a teddy bear, he carried his Stratocaster in tow.

The guy apparently had whatever issues again. 

Though, it'd been a while since the last time he came over in the middle of the night. About a year? Not since he got over his ex-wife's crazy fits, and that was long before he finally ditched her.

"Got beer? I ran out," Francesco grunted instead of an answer and went straight for the couch without waiting for an invitation.

"Hey, I might have a lady over," Alejandro complained. 

"Nah, you'd sent her home by this time."

Alejandro sighed.

"Touché. It's fucking 4am. Why are you here?"

"Listen." Francesco flopped down onto the sofa and started to fiddle on his guitar. Unplugged, it was barely audible, but the short riff sounded slightly familiar. He then switched to repeat a short, choppy chord and quietly growled some similarly choppy lyrics that also sounded slightly familiar. 

He ended his performance by slapping his palm onto the guitar strings.

"It's supposed to be louder, of course."

"No shit. What's with this?" Alejandro racked his brain from where he knew this piece.

"Something's not adding up."

"Well, you're only playin' the rhythm here. I can imagine it'll be decent enough with a full set up." 

It wasn't hard to get the bigger idea. Even at this low volume, Francesco'd pulled off the uncleans almost perfectly and delivered a good impression of how the song could sound once finished. 

Francesco made a face. "I'm not doing 'decent'." He spat the adjective. "And before you say anything else – it's not because it's missing the lead. It doesn't need a lead. It's something else."

"Excuse me!" Deep Rift's lead guitarist protested, but if he was honest, he couldn't deny that Francesco wasn't quite wrong in this case. At second thought, the little piece he'd played worked better without a conspicuous melody.

Francesco waved. "Anyway, get your guitar and we'll see if it's any different."

The last thing Alejandro wanted after a hard day in the studio was a jamming/song writing session in the middle of the night in his living room. Nevertheless, he brought his own Fender and two bottles of Heinecken, and sat down next to Francesco. 

He was curious what his insomniac vocalist was up to; and most importantly, what the hell it was that he'd played there.

"When did you come up with this, anyway? It sounds like 1991." Choppy, rather uncomplex, and somewhat raw. Alejandro'd thought they'd outgrown the rebellious anarchy hymns. Deep Rift had been already on a different, more sophisticated route when they'd picked up Francesco, though their new vocalist never fully let go of his predilection for misanthropic punk and grunge.

"Dude. You must've been tanked," said said vocalist and mustered Alejandro with disbelief; as if he hadn't been drunk as fuck himself. "That road stop motel, before we got to San My."

That was it!

Finally the bell rang. Of course, Francesco'd picked up some of their intoxicated songwriting warm-up mental vomit to fix up. The bigger his agony, the bigger a challenge he took to turn trash into a playable number it seemed; and judging by what he'd dug out this time, it had to be really bad now. Admittedly, he made some pretty good songs then. They were more genuine than their more technical stuff, but also rather precarious. This one, too, would probably turn out too risky for their first major label album which crucially depended on commercial success; but Alejandro didn't want to discard it yet. If Francesco'd picked to work on it, it had potential, either way.

"Play it again," he said.

Francesco did.

Alejandro listened, then jumped in. It was a ridiculously simple tune. 

He played around a bit and adorned the riff a little, but it didn't really work out. Francesco'd been right, keeping the guitars simple sounded better. Even some tiny arpeggios ruined it.

This piece lived by its rhythm. 

"A stronger bass line, probably," Francesco said, and meant adding one; and probably adding a steady bassist to their band, too.

Dann his fucking obsession with the bass.

"No, the bass won't save this," Alejandro said firmly; and he didn't even need to lie. The bass would add more body to the sound, but not bring the song from 'decent' to Francesco's aspired niveau.

"Let's finish this crap first, it might be easier to figure it out later. Bet you won't let me sleep until it's done, anyway."

Francesco didn't object, and luckily didn't insist further on the bass.

Two hours, half a pack of cigarettes for each and a six pack of beer later, they finished the refrain, added two surprisingly long strophes, and one and a half bridges. As Alejandro'd suspected, and Francesco'd probably known already before, it turned out a pretty decent song.

A fun one, actually, and even though it was too risky for their debut, Alejandro'd like to give it a shot. Except they'd still needed to figure out how to up its level to Francesco's standard; and guarantee that Joanne would agree to put it on the record, too.

By now the sun was rising, and Alejandro rose and went to the phone. "Get your ass up here, you're needed," Alejandro told the phone receiver.

And added shortly after: "Ah- yes, coffee."

Five minutes later, the door bell rang.

"That was a joke," Nico barked, but nevertheless, he carried a big steaming jug with him that smelled deliciously, unmistakably like coffee. Then he discovered Francesco.

"Oh, it's you again. Of course," he groaned.

The menace on the couch flashed a wide grin. "I love you too, Nico," he chirped.

S2/02. Bad Blood

2.6 Alejandro Gonzales

Spring 1998, Mountaver Records studio, San Myshuno

Fine, Alejandro couldn't deny that Francesco wasn't completely wrong.
It was kinda hard to keep up consistency when they were dependent on supports for their concerts because there was no way they'd do playback. Adding a new member or two would improve their music's quality, no doubt.

Once they actually were four in the band.
When Raj left, they'd looked for a replacement, but even though there were enough competent drummers around, none had clicked with them.
There was the rub: you couldn't just pick up new band members on the street – Francesco had been a lucky coincidence.

Alejandro would talk to Joanne so she'd look for options. Francesco obsessed over a bass player; likely thanks to his new man, but Alejandro wouldn't limit their search to that.

His ex-wife picked up the phone.

"Rita darling, what can I do for you? Do you miss me already?"

Her calling him had been a surprise. Their divorce was done and dusted, Rita kept the house, the kids and all her money and Alejandro was glad to be rid of it all.

"Cut the crap, Alejandro."
How rude. She could at least pretend a little.
"You know Sofia is getting married," she said.

"Yeah, you told me." He had no idea if Rita had ever talked about it or not. Anyway, he couldn't care less, Sofia wasn't his daughter.

"You'll have to come and walk her down the aisle."

Okay.
Rita always had a crude sense of humor, but this was just plain crude.

"Yeah... Seriously, what do you want?"

"I am serious. Get your sleazy butt here and walk her down the aisle. You're the closest to a father the poor girl has, and you're not gonna ruin her big day."

"I'm pretty sure she'd prefer to walk without me."
The spoiled brat hated his guts since the moment they met. Not that it wasn't mutual, but Alejandro once had tried at least.

Sofia acted all well-behaved whenever her mother was near but she was insufferable every time Rita'd turned her back. And so spiteful! First it was only Alejandro, then her poor baby brother too whom she'd never miss an oportunity to hit or pinch; just because she wanted to be the only one that got her mother's attention.
Needless to say, Alejandro refused to ever stay with the kids alone, if that little demon did something to Fernandez it wouldn't be on his watch!

Sofia was selfish, disrespectful and dumb as a door knob – and she hadn't changed the slightest while she grew up.

"Not at all," Rita said. "How would that look like if she's going all by herself?"

"There's no way I'll come down to play pretend happy family for her show," Alejandro said, then another thought crossed his mind. "Wait, isn't she still too young? Isn't she still in high school?"

"She is almost nineteen!"

"Wow, about time she'd get married."

"Save your wisdom," Rita spat, "you know how she is! I am grateful that she didn't come home pregnant before she finished school. She better get married as soon as possible."

In that regard she did better than her mother. Maybe it was the guy who had some brains, though it couldn't be too much if he chose to marry Sofia.

Rita sighed dramatically. "Oh, Alejandro... seeing my eldest daughter being a happy bride I can't help but think of us... I know we didn't end well, but do you remember our beginnings? We were so young, so hopeful!"

Alejandro did remember, though he'd say Rita may have been the only hopeful one – he'd been just young. Way too young.

Not quite eighteen yet and freshly dropped out of high school, he'd been without a solid future and certainly without hope. She was a few years older, a beautiful widow, lonely and terribly bored.

She'd looked for a thrill and found it by seducing him while he absolutely hadn't minded being seduced to escape his own problems.

Their little affair had taken a blow when she'd been too sloppy with contraception and he too inexperienced. He'd tried to do the right thing and she'd been quite desperate, she'd rather taken his offer than having a baby out of wedlock, those were the times.
And if he were honest, he could've done only worse than marry a filthy rich and pretty widow, and with love he was done anyway.
It'd turned out better than he'd expected. She couldn't stand having a loser husband and she knew people that knew other people that could make use of his only talent – playing the guitar.

He made a band; got his old school band mate Nico on board and two more guys from the label, and his career with Deep Rift took off.

He could've been content, maybe, but then Rita'd started popping out babies. First it had to be a sibling for Fernandez. Alejandro hadn't quite objected, his son could use a buddy to fight off that rotten brat of Rita's, and it was Rita who'd wanted to take care of the kids anyway, so he'd let her.
Then there was another "accident".
At that time Alejandro mostly avoided her for various reasons already, but she was his wife, after all. Occasionally more "accidents" happened. Alejandro wasn't sure if it'd happened twice, three times?

He cursed his lack of determination.

He'd dove deeper into the rock star life where he eventually found his true calling. Hard work, fame and groupies included. All the while, some sort of a bad conscience kept tying him down to stay married to Rita.
It was a relief when she'd ended it all.

"It wasn't all bad," Alejandro said. "But I'm glad it's over now."

Rita was quiet.
"It's rare that you're so soft," she said.
And after another short break: "You coming?"

"Nah. If she's old enough to get married she can walk on her own."
He hung up.

S2/02. Bad Blood

2.5 Francesco De la Cruz
Spring 1998, Mountaver Records studio, San Myshuno

"I can't stand it," Francesco said.

Nico slammed down his head phones.

"How many more times do you want to record it?"

It was kind of an achievement, to get him to lose his temper.

"No more," Francesco said.

"Then what do you want?"

"It doesn't matter how often I replay it. It sounds... different."

"Different to?"

Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Different to Rick, of course. I can't play it like him and neither can Al."

Rick'd been their steady tour support on the bass since he could think, but when Deep Rift switched labels they'd left him and other people behind in Oasis Springs too. The problem wasn't that Francesco or Alejandro weren't capable to play the bass part – it was probably the easiest instrument in existence; it was that playing an instrument always had a personal note which was impossible to copy.

"Get over it," barked Alejandro. "That nitpickery of yours is getting on my nerves."

"This isn't gonna work long term," Francesco went on. "We need steady members. Not supports that come and go as they like."

"Not this shit again..." Nico groaned.

Alejandro snorted.

"You seriously wanna throw away a part of our revenue because of your obsessive perfectionism, don't ya."

"Don't pretend you don't hear it," Francesco snapped. He knew it wasn't only him. They all had to notice it, but apparently the other two were much too comfortable half-assing their songs.

"Listen, all those that made it big are fully lined up. No supports. Not where it matters."

Before he'd punch a hole in the wall, he picked up the bass again and replayed the problematic sequence. Try and get used to the different flavor, as it was unlikely they'd get Rick back.

"He's never gonna shut up, Al... The fuck we gon' do? The record won't be finished for ever."

"Such a pain in the ass..." Alejandro groaned. But something in his tone suggested that Francesco finally might've come through. Money or not, the guitarist had his pride as an artist too.

"Sorry to disturb you boys," Joanne entered and didn't sound sorry at all, "but your cab's waiting, Franco. And Al, your ex asks for a call back."

The next band was already right behind Deep Rift's manager.
"And your time's up for more than half an hour!" Lyta barked. "Fuck off!"

Francesco couldn't care less about Toxic Purple's vocalist. It was the blonde bass player that drew all his attention. On his way out he couldn't resist touching Drake's hand and play with those fingers that were skilled in more than just bass playing.

"Tonight," he whispered and he couldn't wait for it. Drake shot him a conspiratorial smirk.
Francesco would've tried and talk him into joining Deep Rift just so he could spend more time with him already, if Alejandro wouldn't insist on keeping private matters out of business.
Admitted, it'd probably be rather distracting than productive to have Drake around when working.

Ms. Soledad Blum received Francesco in person. Joanne had picked Blum & Blum for having a good reputation with complicated cases in domestic relations and Francesco hoped the lawyer could help him. She looked very professional, at least.

"What can I do for you, Mr. De la Cruz?"

"I wanna divorce my wife. She's nuts."

"I suppose you don't have an agreement."

"Not at all. She doesn't want to divorce." He wasn't as lucky as Alejandro who settled everything with a few signatures at the registry office.

"Are you in a hurry?" Ms. Blum asked.

"What? Why?"

"Divorce applications generally are granted automatically two years after the formal application has been issued, with or without the consent of the objecting party if the applicant doesn't change their mind meanwhile. If you cannot wait that long, we will have to persuade a judge that we have a case of severe circumstances; let's say, domestic violence or major adultery. Then the divorce can be granted with immediate effect, but of course this must be proven. Either way, first we have to send an official divorce application to the other party –"

"No, we can't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"Like I said, my wife's nuts. She's kinda... tied my hands."

"Explain."

"Well, I've tried to talk to her after we broke up, settling the divorce and stuff."

He'd returned home the next morning after he'd left. Rosa looked like crap, she'd probably not slept all night, but she was so... happy when she saw him. Francesco had expected another shit show, but they actually had a normal conversation for once. She was so excited to see him, it was kinda sweet. Especially after she'd kept him at arm's length for so long.
Maybe she'd finally got off her trip.

"She tried to persuade me to go back to her instead, but I've taken too much from her already to fall for her bullshit."

He'd caved in.
Damn.

He knew well enough that he was better off without her. Fuck, the last few months he hadn't even missed her while on tour; he was just glad he didn't have to deal with her fits for as little as going to get cigarettes. He didn't even like her anymore, god knows why he had tried to fix their relationship for so long.

He'd got dressed and looked for a few things he'd need in his new place right now, while racking his brain how he could explain best that this hadn't been reconciliation.

"Where you going?" Rosa's voice'd been shaky. "You're not going back to that whore, are you?"
And here he'd learned that she hadn't come to her senses.

 

 

"You're kidding, right?" He'd really pulled himself together to not yell and wake up Luca. "Mae's married for god's sake" – hopefully happier than he – "I thought you've seen her with that douche face."

For a brief moment she'd got quiet and it seemed that it finally clicked.

"You're both cheaters," she'd hissed.

He'd been wrong again.
Whatever, they were done and he couldn't care less what she believed about him.

Rosa wasn't done, though.
"But I forgive you," she'd purred and put her arms around him. "I'm so happy you're back."

She'd still completely disregarded what he'd said or wanted. It'd just fueled his anger. He'd peeled her arms off him with more force than necessary and went back to his closet.

"I'll sell the house," he'd said, "you might pack as well."

He'd never liked this huge monstrosity in the first place, its only advantage was that it was close to his band mates' and the studio.

Though... he couldn't just throw Rosa on the street. No matter how crazy she was about him, she was still his son's mother.
"I can ask Jo to look for a new place for you and Luca. Maybe closer to your friends –"

"You can't leave me!" Rosa'd been in pieces, bawling. "I need you... and Luca needs you!"

Yeah – he hated that he'd have to leave his son behind. But Rosa would likely step up with her obsession if he'd stay and there was no way he could take it anymore. But what could he do? For Luca it'd be better to be with his mother, he was still just a baby.

"I'll come over to see him and when he's old enough he can visit me," he'd said. "We'll find a way." Francesco'd really hoped that she could be at least reasonable if it was about their kid.

"You can only see him if you come back to me," she'd hissed.

Nevermind. She'd gone completely mad, and he'd been naive to think she'd have one sane brain cell left. Getting an agreement about Luca would be such a pain in the ass.

"You can't keep me from seeing him," he'd said. The whole argument had become so ridiculous he couldn't even be angry anymore. "He's my son too, and you're in my house. If I wanted, I could just get him now and –"

He'd have to stop talking and watch Rosa suddenly run out of the bedroom. He'd heard a key turn. Then she'd come back, breathing hastily.

"When she noticed that her sweet talk won't work, she started to threaten me. That bitch's completely mad, I've never seen her like that."

"If you want to see him, you'll have to get the key from me or break the door," she'd said, her face a mask of stone.

"Did you totally snap now or what?"

"Come, try and get it from me! Then I'll sue you for domestic violence."

"Bullshit and you know it." Francesco'd to laugh. "I don't have to use violence to get him. You have no right to keep my son from me."

"But I can! If you file for divorce or anything else, then I'll sue you for domestic violence. No one can prove it didn't happen! I'll report you for drug abuse. You have a history with drugs already, don't you? Heroin was it, right? You'll have so many lawsuits and I'll make them go on forever... they'll ruin your career and they'll prevent you from seeing Luca. Ha! He won't even want to know about your existence by the time you may finally get out of this mess!

"That's unfortunate," Ms. Blum said, quite unimpressed. "Is there any evidence, if only circumstantial, that could support her claims? Witnesses?"

Francesco snorted. "No way! I was barely at home. My band mates – hell, even the roadies saw me more often than her in the past year."

"Then I doubt you'll have much to fear for. Or is it your son you're worried about? Do you think she'd hurt him if you take legal actions against her?" For the first time during their conversation, Ms. Blum looked very concerned.

Francesco thought a bit. "No... no, I don't think so. She's nuts but she loves the kid. She's not a bad mom."

Neither her baseless threats against him were what he worried about. But if she was about to dig out his past in Paris, there were a few things that very well might become a problem. 

"How likely is it that old... encounters with the police might show up? From another country?"

"Which kind of encounters?"

Francesco hesitated. He didn't forget that thug warning him to never speak of what happened. But on the other hand, there'd been an official investigation so most of it was more or less publicly accessible.

 

"Mr. De la Cruz, if I am to help you I'll need to be able to face all eventualities," Ms. Blum insisted. "Have you been convicted of anything?"

"No, not convicted. The charges were dropped."

"Which kind of charges?"

"Murder."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note:

Yes, we're having again some lovely sim donations 🖤🖤🖤 Franny's (hopefully) competent lawyer Ms Soledad Blum (left) was donated by Froot and Toxic Purple (right, also Mariella's favorite band atm) was lent to me by Maladi.

You can read Froot's story here, and Maladi's story here!
Thank you very much 🖤

 

S2/01. Trash Talk

1.4 Alejandro Gonzales
Spring 1998, Alejandro's apartment, San Myshuno

Alejandro took a deep breath of the cool night air. The scent of freedom.

As much as Rita throwing him out had been a bucket of ice water over his head, in hindsight it was the best thing that’d happened to him since he'd made his love for music a profession. Sure, it was with Rita's help and – you could say, ‘light pressure’, after all, it was Rita who’d arranged the connections to his agent at the time.
"Your reputation is already in the gutter- at least no one will care if you're in that kind of business" she’d said.

Practical woman, that Rita, and business savvy too, but it was Alejandro who had worked his ass off to get where he was now. Alejandro who’d practiced every minute, picked the right people for his band, and built "Deep Rift" brand up from nothing.

San Myshuno was just the next step to more success.

  

Nico had objected at first, as expected, claimed that they'd be forced to give up their integrity if they signed with a major label. 

Blah blah blah. 

Alejandro called it bullshit.

They weren't clueless newbies anymore, they had years of experience ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌business‌ ‌and‌ ‌Joanne‌ ‌was‌ ‌one‌ hell of a ‌smart‌ ‌ass‌ ‌agent; no way they’d be forced into selling out.
Alejandro‌ ‌suspected‌ ‌Nico‌ was just trying to find an excuse not to have to break up with his girlfriend for a long distance move; as‌ ‌if‌ ‌he‌ ‌couldn't‌ ‌find‌ ‌a‌ ‌pretty,‌ ‌dumb,‌ ‌high‌ ‌maintenance‌ ‌chick‌ ‌anywhere‌ ‌in‌ ‌San‌ ‌My.‌

As for Francesco – that fucker was thirsty for the stage like no one else. That‌ ‌man‌ ‌ate, slept, and breathed‌ ‌attention, of course he was in it if it meant a bigger audience and better chances to broadcast their music vids.
Until now, the vocalist only had hesitated to sign because his wife didn't want to move away from Oasis Springs.

But she was history now. 

Francesco had finally dumped Psycho-Barbie – turned out she was a jealous nightmare. God‌ ‌knows‌ ‌how‌ ‌that‌ ‌guy‌ ‌survived‌ ‌her‌ ‌for‌ ‌so‌ ‌long, let alone marrying the crazy chick.‌

Alejandro wondered if Francesco had some masochistic tendencies. 

It would probably take a while for Francesco to get rid of her now, and not without some collateral damage, but the guy seemed fine enough. He was more relaxed and focused on his work than ever, and even‌ ‌got‌ ‌himself‌ ‌a‌ ‌new‌ casual‌ ‌fling. Alejandro hoped ‌Francesco‌ had ‌learned‌ ‌his‌ ‌lesson‌ ‌that‌ ‌caring‌ ‌too‌ ‌much‌ ‌was‌ ‌always‌ ‌a‌ ‌mistake.‌ ‌

Life could only get better.
Nothing would hold them back.
Alejandro couldn't help but smile.

Finally, the door bell rung and he went to tell the cab driver that their customer would come down soon.

"Why don't you let me stay?" the woman on his bed purred. "What if you wake up tonight and you're lonely? You'll‌ ‌have‌ ‌no‌ ‌one‌ ‌here‌ ‌to‌ ‌keep‌ ‌you‌ ‌company, and you'd‌ ‌miss‌ ‌me"
Alejandro would not. In case she hadn't noticed, he had two healthy, functional hands.

"Honey, I have a hard day tomorrow. Can't have my manager yell at me for falling asleep during practice."
That never happened. And Joanne never yelled.

What's-her-name pouted. "So I'm a bother to you..."
Wait – was that his shirt? She'd probably made it all wrinkly. Damn these women, couldn't they just put on their own clothes?

"More like a distraction," he winked.

The chick relaxed and slid out of the bed. "Maybe we can have another five minutes?"

Pressing ‌her‌ ‌half-naked‌ ‌body‌ ‌against‌ ‌his‌, ‌she ‌let‌ ‌her‌ ‌fingers‌ ‌run‌ ‌up‌ ‌and‌ ‌down‌ his arm. 

Greedy girl.‌

Under‌ ‌different‌ ‌circumstances‌ he might’ve been game,‌ ‌but‌ ‌they‌’d already been at it for two hours,‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌tired,‌ ‌and‌ ‌God‌ ‌damnit,‌ ‌he‌ ‌wanted‌ ‌to‌ ‌‌sleep‌.‌

"You're worth more time than that, honey," he tried to muster some patience, "but we can't have the poor driver wait forever, he has to earn his living too."

The woman let out a deep sigh before she gathered her stuff. Wait - she‌ ‌wasn’t ‌even‌ going to ‌change‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌shirt, she‌ ‌just tucked‌ ‌it‌ ‌into‌ ‌her‌ ‌skirt.

"Honey," he interrupted her stuffing her own top in her tiny handbag, "take off my shirt, will ya." No way ‌he'd‌ let her walk out with it – God knows if he'd ever get it back.

And he liked this shirt. Pure silk.
What’s-her-face ‌paused‌, and a ‌lascivious‌ ‌smile‌ ‌spread over ‌her‌ ‌face.‌ Of course she'd misunderstand; Alejandro had to suppress an eye roll. 

"And put on your own clothes," he added. Watching her face fall was almost as satisfying as her thirst for him.

No. Better.

The chick ‌frowned,‌ ‌but‌ ‌at‌ ‌least‌ ‌she‌ ‌did‌ ‌what‌ ‌she was told.

After she'd dressed she wrapped her arms around him again. 

"Will you call me?" She batted her eyelashes once more.

She shouldn't do that. Didn't suit her.

"Sure honey, when I have time."
More like, never. She was pretty, but God, so dull, only had sex and clothes on the brain.
Another frown, a half-hearted goodbye kiss, and out of the door she went.
Finally.
Alejandro went to bed.

S2/01. Trash Talk

1.2 Retrospective: Linda West
Autumn 1994, Newcrest university

The campus was noisier than usual, and it seemed every corner and side alley was occupied with intoxicated students and other young people from the town that took the opportunity to party with cheap alcohol and other substances in abundance. The semester had just started and everyone wanted to enjoy their last days of freedom before homework, projects and practical courses would pile up.

Linda couldn't blame them. Life was so short, after all, why not enjoy the time one had while alive? It could be over faster than expected. She swallowed down the guilt that rose together with the memory of her mother's death six months ago. Her mother's psychotherapist had assured her that she could not have prevented this accident, unless she'd supervised her mother all the time which would have been more harmful than beneficial for her recovery. The doctor was very reasonable, and Linda needed to be reasonable too. Instead of repent and mourn, she wanted to show her gratitude for the life her parents made possible for her with all its opportunities by continuing to live it to the fullest. So she directed her attention back to what she enjoyed most today; the brand new publication she'd ordered had arrived this morning in the university library. She had not stopped reading since her courses were over, elated to finally get her hands on it.

Time flew, afternoon turning to evening, and before she noticed, the campus cafeteria was closing and she had to leave.

Linda navigated between the partying crowd on her way to the bus station, still reading, the subject was just too exciting to put it aside for even a minute.

A sudden obstacle interrupted her steps and forced her nose to make closer physical contact with the magazine than she'd like.

"Woah – watch it!" a voice came out of the source of her abrupt halt, while some more voices broke out in alcohol-drained laughter.

As if he could not have watched himself, Linda thought, and apologized absentmindedly while trying to ignore the pain in her nose.

"You okay?" the man asked with surprisingly more concern Linda would have expected from him. 

Probably on sports scholarships, he and his friends, she assessed after quickly examining their chiseled physiques. Unpleasant memories of encounters with people of their kind during high school sneaked back into her mind. Annihilated was the intriguing effect of his scent – similar to fresh-mowed grass – and she firmly decided against taking a second glance to confirm if his smile was as gentle as her first impression wanted to make her believe. Instead she just nodded and hurried to get away. 

Apparently he did not want to part as quickly, however. "Hey-" he called after her while they continued to walk in opposite directions, "come drink with us!" 

More laughter from his companions arose. Linda rolled her eyes. 

"Stop flirting with the nerd girls, Ben, don't you-" she could make out from the group before their voices drowned in the general party noise and they disappeared out of earshot.

Nope, no way she'd make a fool of herself again by showing interest and give those men more reason to mock her. 

Yeah, stop flirting with the nerd girls, Ben, Linda thought, it's not nice to make fun of people.

She paused her steps, this time without a physical interference.
She could stay one hour or two at the party. After all, she had promised Mae to go out and not "rot like a hermit" before her sister returned to Paris.
With the newest science publications, she'd be perfectly entertained too, she just would have to find a decently lit place.
Linda changed her direction, aiming for the center of the campus.

She found a table close to a make-shift bar, it was also close to a make-shift DJ desk including speakers, but the noise was steady and regular and certainly less distracting than tumbling students.
For a while she was absorbed in the newest scientific discoveries once more, until someone decided to interrupt her indulgence again. 

"What are you reading?" Linda could make out against the loud music, and a hand waved in front of her face.

"A magazine," she said, slightly annoyed.

"I can see that," her uninvited conversation partner said, "but what's it about?"

Linda looked up to an amused smirk and dark eyes and found herself surprisingly appeased by their handsome features.

It's probably just the hormones, she thought, it was highly unlikely there were really so many attractive men on the campus today.
She realized the last time she had any relations was more than a year ago – and they were certainly not worthy remembering.

"Genetics of Powdery Mildew Resistance in Barley," she found herself answering. "The discovery of which genes exactly mediate the resistance or, at least, strengthen the plant's defense mechanism against the fungus will be exceptionally important once we are able to modify genes at will. It would be an easy task to prevent harvest loss and the ensuing famine if these genes could be applied to other grains, and maybe vegetables too-"

Before she finished, she noticed already how the man had trouble following her. Great, she got carried away and he'd probably found her boring. No one wanted to talk to nerds - unless they were nerds themselves. He didn't even look very much like a student.

Not even a sports scholarship one.

"Fascinating, isn't it," she added weakly.

If she was lucky he'd just leave without a mean comment. Then she could finish at least the article.

He didn't leave.
Instead his smile grew wider. "You're studying to end world hunger instead of partying with everyone? That's admirable," he said, and it didn't sound like he pretended to admire her.

His hand rested on the magazine and he slowly traced the edge with his fingers.
Unusually slender for a man's hand.
"Well..." Linda mumbled.
One could say she did, it was not entirely a lie.

"Can I buy you a drink?" the man offered and lifted his hand from the magazine to rest his chin on it. His pleasantly shaped fingers led Linda's eyes back to his slightly lopsided smirk.
Which was also very pleasant.
Bothersome hormones.

"You know, I never got the chance to go to college," he continued, and Linda heard Mae' flippant voice mention something about "the softer the wit, the harder the dick-"

Very bothersome hormones, so distracting.

"...I'd love to learn more about parsley."

And finally Linda was thrown out of her besotted trance. 

"Barley!" she corrected him, indignant about his lack of attention and her naïvety at being caught in such an obvious flirt.

"Okay." He laughed. "You got me," he admitted and completely lacked the decency to look guilty, "I don't give a- I don't care about parsley. Or barley. But I'd seriously like to learn more about you."

There it was again, that slightly lopsided smirk, and he looked genuine, maybe even a little apologetic, but Linda wasn't so oblivious that she couldn't guess his true intentions.

Alas, she'd probably not be able to finish reading tonight anyway. Even if he'd leave, she'd continue to brood over his impertinence. She might as well make the best of the night and maybe solve three problems in one.
Remove a pesky distraction, calm down some pesky hormones and test Mae's assertion.
For science, of course.

"Very well," she said and put on her sweetest smile. "Would you like to accompany me to the library? The study rooms should be rather unoccupied tonight."

She caught him completely off guard. Even if it was only for the fracture of a second, she took it as a small victory.

"Lead the way", the man said, his smirk wider than before.