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.

S2/02. 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."

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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 🖤

 

Retrospective: Paris - After the mess was over

5.7 Francesco De la Cruz – Chance 

Spring 1994, a garage somewhere in Paris

It was love at first sight for Francesco. This guitar sat perfectly in his hands. And she made a notably beautiful sound.
"You play her like an acoustic," Alejandro pointed out.
Okay, it had been a while since Francesco had played an electric, but he never thought there was such a big difference anyway.
No one had bothered to teach him how to play guitar, not even the professionals in Suzette's studio.
So when Alejandro showed him some new techniques, Francesco was eager to learn.

When Alejandro had approached Francesco in the Môle and asked him to join his band on their tour, Francesco thought it was a dumb joke. That guy was clearly not very sober. But the man insisted, he seemed to be serious.
Then Francesco was unsure what to say. He was pretty sure it wasn't a trap again, these guys were too American. And he actually had seen their band name on the festival posters.
Deep Rift.
Didn't even sound too terrible.

Francesco was torn.
He didn't want to leave Mae.
But also, this could be that one big chance he'd never get again.
Actually, there wasn't much he should be torn about. At least he could go and give it a try, see how it was to make music with them.
In worst case, it would just be a waste of time and he would continue his life here with Mae, and pursue a music career later.
But in the best case, he might end up exactly where he always wanted – on the biggest stages of the world. Even if it wouldn't work out with this particular band in the long term, he had a better chance to make new connections than on his own.
And so Francesco agreed.

Of course Monsieur Fillipe was more than pissed at Francesco for leaving at the start of his performance. The bar owner hissed something about nurturing a snake on his bosom, but Francesco wouldn't have it. All his boss had done so far was abuse his employees. He paid them only a minimum wage and never the countless overtime hours he forced them to do.
Francesco was tired of arguing on paydays too.
It felt so good to tell that asshole to fuck off, finally, he wondered why he hadn't done it earlier.

So far, Francesco didn't regret it.
For more than an hour he practiced now together with Alejandro, Nico and Raj in a garage that Joanne had organized.
Francesco had never tried to make rock music before, but he liked how his voice sounded against the heavy guitar riffs. The songs were easy to memorize, but nonetheless great, they felt authentic and were full of emotion. He quickly learned how to shout too, seriously it wasn't that hard once you figured out the right technique.
While he learned a lot of new things, the guys still encouraged him to try and find his own style.
"You need to stand by what you're doing," Alejandro said, "or it's never gonna be good. No need to be perfect on first try."
The guitarist was right.
So together Francesco and the band experimented to find something that would work for all of them.
It felt like he could belong here, after all.
All three guys were as passionate about music as he was.

Raj, their drummer, didn't talk very much, but he wasn't half as grumpy as his grim face made you believe.

Nico, who played the keyboard and synthesizer, was the opposite, very friendly.

And Alejandro had something special about him, though Francesco couldn't figure out if it was very charming or very sleazy. Anyway, he had liked the guitarist instantly.
All three men were really good with their instruments, but Alejandro was probably far better than many other professionals that Francesco had met so far. He was exceptionally skilled and Francesco tried to pick up as much as possible from him while he could.

Only Joanne, Deep Rift's agent, had worried Francesco a little when she kept checking him out head to toe.
But to his relief, she seemed more interested in his professional skills and marketing potential than his body. Francesco couldn't do another Suzette agreement anymore.

"Time's up", she said, "We can't risk being too late in Nice."
The guys had been so absorbed in their music, they didn't notice how quickly the time passed. "Francesco," she turned to him, "we'll drop you off at home so you can pack, but hurry. The details of the contract we can discuss on the road."

He made it.

Half an hour later, Francesco was back at the apartment.
It was dark. Mae was not home yet.
She went to a friend after school to learn for their next exam and according to the clock, probably wouldn't be back in the next hour or two.
Now he regretted that he hadn't paid attention when Mae said to who she went this time. He could have called.

He ignored Joanne's request to hurry. Five more minutes he could wait.
Maybe she'd come home earlier than expected.
Not only because he really wanted to see her before he left and tell her in person about his big opportunity, share his excitement.
But he also desperately needed to finish the conversation he had started this morning.
He would leave, much earlier than he wanted, but seriously, he had to take this chance.
However, he didn't want to give up on Mae.
If it went well with the band – and he was sure it would, he would be more away than home for the next foreseeable time, but hell, that was no reason to end what they had.
They could do it despite the distance.
Have a real relationship, stop fooling around and be honest for once.
He wanted to believe it more than ever.
No – he knew they could.
One and a half years, that wasn't so long. And when she was done with school, she could come with him, travel, like she wanted.
If he was lucky enough, she wouldn't even have to do shitty part-time jobs.
He'd take care of her then.

The band van's honk pulled him out of his thoughts.
Fuck.
He would have to call Mae from the next road stop.

He took his bag, switched off the light and left.

Retrospective: Paris - After the mess was over

5.6 Alejandro Gonzales – Fed up
Spring 1994, The Môle

Alejandro was fed up.
He’s had enough of his band mates’ theories on why Drake bailed on them. The fact was that fucker ran away and left them mid-tour without a singer.
To not lose their gigs, Alejandro had stepped in. He didn't like singing, but Raj played the drums which was already very demanding, and Alejandro would only give Nico a mic if they had a deaf audience.
But Alejandro was a guitarist for god's sake, and singing distracted him from giving his best performance. Not to mention he was a miserable screamer, but thanks to Drake - that fucker - a lot of their songs had shouting in it.
Now they toured with an incredibly limited set list and he with an incredibly bad mood.
At this rate, they would never make it off the B-, or rather, Z-list.
Also his throat hurt - again.

He ordered another beer even though it tasted like piss here.
Why didn't they have any decent beer in France?
The food sucked too.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Nico complained once again.
"I don't care what was his problem," Alejandro snapped, "but if we don't find a replacement, I'm done with this shit."
His band and manager looked at him as if it was the first time he threatened to quit.
"I thought you're okay with singing," Raj muttered.
Alejandro wondered if they had ever listened to him.

"We don't have time for a proper audition," Nico stated the obvious, "and it's not as if you can find a good vocalist on every corner." He sighed.
Alejandro rolled his eyes. He had seen street performers sing at least as good as Drake was, if not better.
He could almost hear the kind of voice that would be perfect for their music - dark, velvety, a tad raspy - and it probably could do death growls too.
The chatter stopped and the voice he imagined became clearer.
Except it was real. The owner of that voice was here in this shitty pub.

That guy could hold a tune quite well, though it lacked emotion – okay, but the song sounded incredibly stupid. Alejandro wouldn't hold his lack of enthusiasm against him.

He turned his chair to get a better view on the stage.

The singer wasn't even ugly. On the contrary, he could be considered rather attractive. He looked bored, but he had stage presence.

"We found one right here," Alejandro said and pointed at the stage.
All heads turned there.
"He's good, but... " Nico was hesitant.
"Dude, as if someone would just drop everything and join us," Raj added sceptically.
"You never know if you don't ask," Alejandro pouted. He was disappointed in their lack of enthusiasm.
"He's cute. I'd sign him," Joanne chimed.
Alejandro wasn't sure if her smile was of encouragement or amusement, but he got up and went towards the stage.

"Can you scream?" he asked the singer.
The guy stopped and looked at him as if he spoke Chinese.
Shit.
Alejandro forgot they were in mother-fucking France and he probably didn't understand him.

The next few seconds were awkward.

"I never tried," the singer finally replied, and to Alejandro's relief, in English. "Why?"

He didn't even have an accent.
"Look..." Alejandro searched for the best convincing words. Not an easy task, especially when his mind was blurry from too many shitty beers. He should have probably drunk less.
"We're Deep Rift," he pointed towards their table, "America's next great rock band. We're on tour here, but unfortunately, we don't have a vocalist right now. Wanna join?"

The singer looked even more at him as if Alejandro was an alien.
He wondered if Nico was right after all, and almost felt silly.

"You may have seen our name on the festival posters around town."
Probably not. It was tiny and on the bottom, but Alejandro didn't want to give up yet.

Silence. The guy on the guitar (he was mediocre at best) and the one on the keyboard had stopped playing too.
The whole bar was watching them.
Alejandro definitely felt very silly now.

The guitarist muttered something in French to the singer, but he just waved the guitarist off and kept his attention on Alejandro.
"You... want me to be your vocalist?" the singer finally asked, as if he tried to figure out if Alejandro was serious.

"Yeah..." Alejandro thought he had been clear enough. "Well... we'd first have to see if you can fit in our band, but – that is just a formality," he had to convince him now, while he seemed sort of interested. "I am sure you'll be great."

"Okay. When are you rehearsing?"

It was Alejandro who was somewhat dumbfounded by the singer's sudden agreement now, but at least he didn't feel like an idiot anymore. "Uh... Right now... We have to leave for our next gig in a few hours."
That was the catch, and Alejandro prayed it wouldn't drive the singer off again.

But the singer just returned his mic back on the stand and signaled him to wait while leaving for the backstage.

He came back three seconds later, wearing a jacket.
"Ready," he said.
Perfect.

This went better than expected.

They went back to their table. Nico and Raj looked at them as if they weren't sure what happened, and Alejandro felt even more satisfied about his newest acquisition.
"Give me a minute. I’ll make a call," Joanne said. "You probably want to play."
As usual, she was thinking ahead.

"Joanne is our agent, she's getting us a practice room," Alejandro explained to their potential new band member. "And this is Raj, drums, and Nico, synthies and technics. I'm Alejandro, guitar."
He offered his hand.

But before the new guy could reply, someone screeched from the background.
"François!!"
That someone was a short and round man with a very angry, red face.
He shot towards them, spitting and hissing angry French words and possibly venom.
Judging by the two bears flanking the man, Alejandro assumed it was someone considering himself important.

The singer didn't seem to be intimidated though. He just said a few words in French, very calmly, but they upset the little man even more.
The vein on the old man's forehead pulsed dangerously and he inhaled  sharply. And the bears made angrier faces, puffed up and slowly came closer.
"Hey hey..." Alejandro lift his hand apologetically before they would start a brawl. "No need for drama, we're leaving anyway." With or without the new singer, he really didn't need some crazy scene to mess with his tour in the form of a few broken bones. He made some gestures, hoping they would understand him despite the language barrier.

"Don't worry," the new guy said to Alejandro. "He won't cause a scene in his own shit pub."

Thankfully he was right, the bar owner noticed the staring people and lift his hand to stop his goons.
He hissed once more at the singer, but that one just shrugged. After a few seconds of staring contests, the old man gave up and left.

The conversation was done.

"Woah, uhm - François... ? What was that about?" Nico asked. 

"That was the owner. He's just pissed because I quit," the new guy explained. "And it's Francesco. Not François."

Yeah, Alejandro had thought already that this one wasn't French.

"You're not gonna cause any trouble, are you?" Joanne teased. She had just came back from her phone call.

For the first time, the guy showed the hint of a smile. "Depends on the work conditions."

Alejandro chuckled. He didn't worry that Francesco might cause trouble or bail on them.
Their new vocalist had a temper, but his resolve was admirable, it was clear he wanted to pursue something bigger than that bar singer crap. If he truly was what Alejandro expected, Deep Rift would be featured on the cover of Rolling Stone rather sooner than later.

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Author's note:

Here's another sim donation added to the 'hood, 

thanks to the lovely MercuryFoam ❤

Joanne Lemus by MercuryFoam