CHAPTER TWELVE : beached

( fire, part i )

ON THAT EARLY NOVEMBER morning, not a single member of The Six has any idea what to expect. Neither Billy nor Daisy are at the studio yet, leaving the rest of the band to sit around and do whatever they want. Karen and Graham occupy themselves by strumming away on their guitars, while Warren and Eddie discuss some new camera that Warren bought, and Marilyn keeps herself busy by picking the pilled fabric off of her cropped tee, tossing the tiny tangerine-coloured balls onto the studio's carpet.

What everyone can say they didn't expect, though, was Billy and Daisy walking in at the same time. Billy is smoking and carrying his guitar case, sunglasses on even inside, as usual, while Daisy has a bottle of champagne and an entire fruit basket in her arms. She offloads the basket onto a wooden table the second she gets into the room but keeps the alcohol close.

"I made breakfast," she announces.

The room goes silent at the spectacle.

"Again with the legs, man," Warren mumbles, leaning in closer to Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes, his exasperation evident. "Dude, I know." He doesn't quite get that Warren's into the whole Daisy doesn't wear pants thing.

"I'm a leg guy, you know? That's just a fact. And those legs? They just got me a little distracted is all I'm saying"

Marilyn clears her throat, head whipping around to face him, brows raised sky-high. "Excuse me?"

Warren, being Warren, doesn't seem to get the hint. He looks Marilyn, his maybe-kinda-girlfriend ( neither of them really know ), up and down and shrugs defensively. "I mean, you don't show off your legs."

"That's not the is—"

Marilyn cuts herself off as Daisy approaches the trio. She goes in for a hug but Daisy clearly has other plans. Her eyes are trained on Warren. "Warren, right?" she asks, even though she knows the answer.

He freezes in place like a deer in headlights — not sure what to make of the sudden attention. "Yeah," he replies, his eyes darting from Daisy's to Marilyn's and back.

"You know it's not my job not to turn you on, right?"

Caught, Warren and Eddie stare at Daisy with eyes as wide as saucers.

"I do now," Warren stammers.

"Great," Daisy says. She looks over to where Marilyn stands, her arms now crossed over her chest, staring at Warren with a raised brow. "You should apologise to your girlfriend."

"I'm sorry, Mari."

MARILYN: [laughs] There we have it, folks. Assigned boyfriend-and-girlfriend by Miss Daisy Jones.

WARREN: I was scared of [Daisy]. I thought she'd hit me in the head with that bottle, man. And, yeah, I had no idea what was happening with Marilyn and me.

Billy clears his throat to grab everyone's attention. Daisy takes it as an opportunity to walk away from the boys, giving Marilyn's bicep a quick squeeze as she passes, and perches on a stool a few paces away.

"All right, everybody. I just want to say a few things before we get started," Billy begins, rocking back and forth on his feet like he can't bear to be standing here giving a speech. He just wants to get to the music of it all, but this is the polite thing to do. "First off, we have a new member of the band." He gestures to Daisy. "So, let's hear it for Daisy Jones."

The band members applaud and cheer for the young woman, who receives it with a smile.

"Thank you for being here and for doing this with us."

Daisy nods. "Thank you for having me," she says. Billy acknowledges her and turns back to the rest of the band, and the instant that his head is turned, Daisy goes fishing around in her bag for something.

"So, it's been what, four weeks?"

"I wrote a song," Daisy announces, presenting her songbook as she starts flicking through the pages.

Billy's double-take makes Marilyn have to slap her hand over her mouth so that she doesn't laugh out loud. She resigns to snorting into her palm instead, pinching her nose shut to try to stop the laughing fit before it starts.

Nobody interrupts the Billy Dunne like that.

"Well, actually, I've written about twenty songs I'd like to play for you guys." She looks up at the shocked expressions from her new bandmates. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to cut you off or anything. I was just— I'm excited about it, so..." She trails off, unsure of how to proceed. All she can pick up on are Marilyn's stifled snorts, and she imagines that Marilyn is the only one with the right to laugh like that because Billy is her brother. If Daisy laughed like that at him, she'd be dead meat for sure.

Billy looks at the ground if only to stop looking at Daisy. "Okay," he mutters, cutting her off.

Nobody says a word for a good long while, all also choosing to look at the ground, or the walls, or each other, or anywhere that isn't Daisy.

"What?" she eventually asks.

BILLY: The songs were all written and ready to go. We didn't need any new ones.

MARILYN: No, we totally needed new songs. I love her, but I was tired of singing about Camila, playing bass licks and riffs on songs about Camila, pretending that Billy's metaphors about Camila weren't getting repetitive. And, I knew that Daisy would come on board with, like, a hundred, if not a hundred million new songs for us to play with.

Billy exhales. "Well, Daisy, the great news is, we actually have, what, thirteen songs for the album, so..." He goes off to where he'd placed his guitar case, grabbing the end of the zipper. "Yeah, I mean, why don't we play you some, and then you can have a listen, see if you feel strongly about any of them or, you know, want to add anything."

DAISY: I mean, can you imagine?

MARILYN: It doesn't take a genius to know that Daisy would never be happy with an arrangement like that. I mean, she was forced to sing songs that she didn't write for her entire first album and it nearly killed her. I swear. Writing on my EP was probably the happiest I'd ever seen her. So, I mean, I was just about ready to take a seat and break out the popcorn to watch this cage between her and Billy match go down.

BILLY: I could not have been nicer to her.

"We could play the, uh, the new one for Daisy," Billy suggests, even though everyone knows he's not actually suggesting they play it, but telling them, "This is the song we're playing for Daisy." Everyone accepts without hesitation, suiting up with their respective instruments. Warren grabs his drumsticks and heads to the other side of his kit, while Graham, Eddie, and Marilyn slip their guitar straps over their heads, and Karen plops the guitar she'd been playing onto the ground and makes a move for her keyboard across the room. "Yeah, I think you're gonna dig this one," Billy says.

Daisy continues to chew on her gum, swaying back and forth on the stool. "Let me guess, it's about your wife and the rain."

Marilyn can't keep that laugh in.

WARREN: [laughs] Oh, my God.

EDDIE: [laughs] I think it was called She's the Storm. Seriously.

GRAHAM: [laughs] When Mari laughed, I actually thought Billy might kill her.

MARILYN: [laughs] If I remember correctly, the chorus was something like, " She's got those eyes that could take me under. / Turns my calm water into swirling depths. / Her laugh can soothe my roiling thunder. / She's the storm my ship accepts. " Or, close enough, anyway.

Daisy can't help but giggle at her own joke despite the murderous look in Billy's eyes as he stares at her, his fake smile unmoving.

"That funny?" Billy asks. Marilyn takes a deep breath to stop laughing but Billy's tunnelled on Daisy. "Sorry, did you want to say something?"

"No, I'm just... I mean, I'm not here to sing harmony on a bunch of love songs about your wife," Daisy says as she gets to her feet. "Right? You know, I mean, if we're gonna be in a band, then the album has to be just as much mine as it is yours, as it is Mari's and Karen's and Graham's and Warren's and that guy's."

She points at Eddie, who just shrugs in resignation when everybody's eyes fly to him. Marilyn has to turn away to hide her giggle at that one. Poor Eddie. Warren catches Marilyn's eye — he's got that mischievous twinkle going on in his that lets her know that he's doing everything in his power to keep from laughing too.

EDDIE: [Daisy] was saying things I'd been saying since '69.

"I mean, shouldn't we at least talk about a direction? Is there a concept, a big idea you have for the record, or...?"

Karen steps forward, never actually having got to her keyboard before the discussion started. "Actually, I agree," she says. Billy turns his glare on her. "What? I think it's a good conversation."

"The lady makes a point, Willy," Marilyn pipes up, using the nickname that she never uses for Billy because she knows how much he hates it. He stares at her in the exact way she expected him to.

"You know what I think?" Eddie asks rhetorically.

Billy closes his eyes. "Oh, God."

"I think this should be a rock and roll record."

Billy blinks. "Thank you, Eddie. Thank you so much for your input," he says.

"No, I'm serious," Eddie says.

If Billy could blink harder, he would. "Of course, it's gonna be a rock and roll record, man." He turns to the rest of the band, a 'this guy' type of look stuck on his face. "What the fuck?"

Eddie winces. "I mean, is it, though?" he asks. "'Cause, I mean, like, a lot of these songs are sounding like, like, well, well, pop songs, man." Every head in the room whips in Eddie's direction. Graham signals, wide-eyed, at Eddie to cut it out now behind Billy's back but the blond keeps going. "Like Sonny and Cher shit. You know, are we a pop band now, or...?"

Billy. Just. Keeps. Blinking.

"I mean, rock and roll should be passion, pain, anger. Sleeping with some girl you don't know, not making sweet love to your wife, for Chrissakes." He pauses as Billy stops blinking and starts staring like a predator ready to attack his prey. "No offence, Billy," he reluctantly sighs.

Marilyn snorts out another laugh. Of course, Billy's gonna take offence to that.

"Marilyn, can you stop laughing for five fucking seconds?!" Billy snaps.

Marilyn freezes, sneering in her brother's direction. "Yeah, use some of that anger in your songs, Jesus fucking Christ," she mutters.

"How about some African drums?" Warren suggests, breaking the awkward silence following Billy's outburst.

"Great idea!" Daisy says.

Karen straightens up. "We could do a song, just vocals and piano."

"Yeah, I'd like to write some of my own guitar parts for once," Eddie adds.

Billy scoffs. "I knew this was a fucking terrible idea," he complains, taking his guitar and placing it back into its case.

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Daisy looks in Billy's direction. "What's the bad idea? Wait, I mean, you invited me here."

If looks could kill, Daisy and Billy would both be dead. "Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake, Daisy," Billy retorts.

Marilyn huffs out a breath, fiddling with her fraying guitar strap. "Don't worry, he gets like this when he doesn't get his way," she mumbles.

Her brother rears around like he's ready to actually murder her right here, right now. "Stop talking about me like I'm some kind of fucking toddler!" he demands.

"Stop acting like one!" Marilyn shrieks back.

The door to the control room opens and Teddy walks in, his own murderous look plastered onto his face. "Are you done?" he asks, eyes fixed on Billy. He turns to look at Daisy. "Are you?" Daisy just shrugs. "Jesus Christ. You're all acting like a bunch of toddlers. Just maybe the two of you can go someplace and work on something together, how about that? Either way, the door is right there, so go on and get the fuck out of here, 'cause I got shit to do."

For a long moment, nobody moves. Too upset at being told off by Dad.

"Go, goddamn it!"

Reluctantly, Billy picks up his guitar case and heads for the door. "Come on," he mumbles.

Daisy isn't far behind, slinging her brown tote over her shoulder. She turns to wave at Marilyn before heading through the door. Marilyn barely has time to wave back before the door swings shut.

"Hey, so what about us?" Eddie asks as Teddy heads back for the control room.

Teddy opens his arms out wide. "I could care less," he says. He turns back, one hand on the door handle.

"It's "couldn't care less," by the way!" Marilyn calls. He freezes in place, head turning slowly to face the girl. "Love you, Bear!" she says, plastering on a big grin to avoid his wrath. Teddy shakes his head and leaves the room.

MARILYN: There was a certain point where I knew that I could just pull the 'Bear' card and he wouldn't get mad at me.

GRAHAM: So, we all went home. There was nothing else for us to do at the studio, and Teddy was probably going to strangle all of us, except Mari, if we didn't get out of his sight soon.

The drive back home has the group split on going to the beach or to the movie theatre, or in Karen's case, sitting at home on the lawn with a canvas and some paints. She'd taken up painting in her free time, and she wasn't great but nobody would say that to her face.

Graham and Marilyn become set on their beach expedition, and when they get home, Graham runs for the phone to invite his new lady friend along, then to the shed for his board. Meanwhile, Eddie and Warren are far too desperate to see Rollerball again to even consider riding out the unseasonably warm early-November heat by the ocean.

Marilyn doesn't get why. The movie wasn't that good.

She lounges on a chair on their deck, a cigarette perched between her lips. She's kicked off her shoes but hasn't bothered to change into her swimwear yet, not until Graham's done waxing his board, so her jeans stick to her legs with a thin layer of sweat. The front door flies open and the peaceful quiet is interrupted by Eddie and Warren's chattering. The boys flop down in the seats next to Marilyn.

Warren takes a hit of a cigarette and passes it to Eddie. "Hey, guys, are you sure you don't want to come?" he asks, blowing out a cloud of grey smoke.

Graham looks up from his board. "Well, I've already seen it," he responds, his brows furrowed.

The curly-haired boy scoffs. "Yeah. You've seen it once."

Once again, Graham pauses his work. "That's probably the appropriate number of times to watch Rollerball," he says, squinting into the sunlight.

Warren hops back up to his feet and slides on his sunglasses. He reaches for the back of his wicker chair, where an old sun-bleached button-up has been lying for the past week or so. "Not if you appreciate art, brother," he hums as he slides the shirt on.

"That movie raises more questions than it answers," Marilyn says around a mouthful of her own grey smoke.

Eddie scrunches up his face. "Like what?" he asks.

Marilyn leans forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. "At what point in the game do they introduce a new ball? What are the motorcycles for? Is there truly no 'I' in 'team'?"

The boys ignore her senseless questions. She reclines once again, head tilted up to the sky.

"It's a true cinematic masterpiece," Warren argues.

Graham snickers. "All right, well, enjoy round two, gentlemen."

"Oh, I will," says Warren definitively.

"What are you guys up to?" Karen asks. Marilyn hadn't noticed her slip onto the porch, eyes too full of blue sky and ears occupied with the boys' yapping.

"Movies," Eddie answers.

Marilyn shuffles back down to look at the group. Karen raises her eyebrows at the boys. "Rollerball again?" she asks.

"It's a fucking masterpiece," Warren, once again, argues. He shuffles his way toward Marilyn, squeezing between the coffee table and the deck chairs, and bends down to lightly kiss her lips. It's one of those chaste kisses that makes Marilyn's neck prickle uncomfortably. When he pulls away, Marilyn catches the look in Karen's eye before she averts her gaze.

Raising an arm to scratch the back of her neck, Marilyn turns her eyes to Warren's alone — avoiding looking at anyone else lest they share Karen's expression. "You guys could come to the beach after if you wanted," she suggests.

Warren nods. "Yeah, maybe!" he replies before he and Eddie disappear back into the house to collect their wallets.

It's quiet outside for a few fleeting moments. Then Graham looks up from his surfboard. "Ouch," he says, a visible grimace etched onto his face.

"What?" Marilyn asks. There's no concern in her voice because there was no pain in Graham's.

Graham looks between her and Karen. "That was like watching a tooth get pulled."

Honestly a little offended, Marilyn turns to look at her brother. "A. That's not a saying." He's taken the phrase, like pulling teeth, and completely bastardised it. "And, B. It was not that bad."

Rocking back on her heels, Karen hesitates a little. "It kind of was. When was the last time you had a boyfriend?" she asks.

Marilyn throws her hands up in exasperation. "Look, it's been a while."

Graham clears his throat. "It was eleventh grade and you were dating fucking Robbie Dawson, who was so anti-premarital-sex he wouldn't even kiss you."

"Why do you remember that?" Marilyn asks, but her question is drowned out by Karen's snicker.

"No wonder you're so weird with intimacy," she comments.

Marilyn stares at her blankly. "That is not why I'm weird with intimacy. I'm weird with intimacy because I had no positive representations of healthy relationships growing up." She'd never even seen her mother kiss a man in the entire sixteen years she'd lived with her. So, no wonder she'd shy away when any of her past boyfriends tried to make a move on her. Hell, Robbie Dawson was probably the best guy she'd dated because at least he didn't expect a kiss from her at the start and end of every date.

"Not an excuse. Billy's married," Graham points out.

"Billy's insane," Marilyn says.

Graham nods once. "Point taken."

Karen waves a hand to interrupt the siblings. "Anyway, I was thinking, um, I'll come to the beach with you guys today. Y'know, I got nothing else to do."

For a second, Graham says nothing. He goes back to waxing his board, head down. There's no way his board still needs waxing, Marilyn can't help but think. "Okay," is all Graham says in response.

There's an odd amount of tension between the two, so much so that Marilyn forces herself to her feet to escape from it. "I'm gonna grab my things," she announces to absolutely nobody in particular before escaping inside.

The house is quiet, so Eddie and Warren must have already left through the other door. Marilyn stands in the living room for a moment, breathing in the cool air-conditioned air, and relishes in the quiet for a beat before she goes in search of her beach day necessities. Most of her stuff will be in the back house now, where she moved to approximately a day and a half after Billy and Cami moved out, but she'll still have a few things strewn around the main house.

Her straw tote bag, for instance, is on the coat rack for whatever reason — probably Eddie put it there in one of his attempts to be helpful ( and she appreciates all of his help, truly ). The beach towels still live in the linen closet and the sunscreen stays in the medicine cabinet in the main bathroom, both of which she stuffs straight into the bag. She stops by the kitchen to pull some fresh fruit out of the fridge, transfers the fruit from their boxes into a green Tupperware container, and transfers that into a cooler bag with an ice pack to keep the food nice and cold.

Her next trip is to the back house to change. She leaves the protection of the aircon and is hit with a blast of hot air the moment she steps outside, and the back house isn't much better. The air conditioner hasn't been on in there, and the windows have been shut to keep out bugs, so it's like walking into a very mild sauna.

Marilyn beelines to her bedroom, leaving her bag by the door. She leaves the bedroom door open as she strips off her crop top and jeans, leaving the clothing in a heap on the floor and herself in only a pair of underwear. Some of the orange fuzz from her top has stuck to her skin from the sweat and Marilyn brushes it off as she rummages through the drawers of her dresser for her swimsuit.

She lands on a cerulean blue bikini with a hook at the back and not strings, she can't stand trying to tie bikini strings, and after stripping off her underwear, changes into the set. A car horn honks twice outside and Marilyn hustles to throw a white coverup over the top, hurrying out to the door. She slips on a pair of brown sandals and grabs her bag from the doorway.

Her orange-and-purple patterned boogie board sits by the door on the outside, not all the way in the shed where it should be living, so she picks it up and slings it under her arm on her way to the driveway.

A cream Volkswagen Beetle idles on the gravel, a pretty blonde sitting in the driver's seat. She's got a big grin plastered on her face, gazing googly-eyed at Graham as he loads his surfboard into the backseat. Karen emerges from the main house in her bathing suit, her hair tied in two plaits, and her own bag slung over her shoulder, her stroll slowing as she watches Graham climb into the passenger seat and lean across the centre console to kiss the driver.

"You better not do any of that shit while I'm in the car," Marilyn calls out, setting off to jump into the backseat — literally jump over the side of the convertible. She nestles her boogie board between her knees and the seat in front of her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Graham mumbles, waving his hand to wipe away her words. He leans over the door, elbow hanging over the side, head turned to Karen. "Hey, you coming?" he asks.

Karen hesitates in the doorway, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Why don't you guys just go ahead?" she suggests, eyes flitting between Graham and the other blonde girl.

Graham furrows his brows. "Why, you all right?" he questions.

"Yeah," Karen says. "I just didn't realise that it was..." She looks at the obvious couple in the front seat and gestures at the pair of them, despite Marilyn sitting just behind them with an awkward little smile.

The blonde girl sits up abruptly. "Oh, no, no, no! It's totally fine!" she exclaims. "Yeah, hop in!"

Marilyn nods along. "I'm already third-wheeling, so, y'know, let's make it a double date!" She chokes a little on her words, eyes widening. "Not— Not a date. A—"

As she attempts to stammer out another, more accurate, and less you-know-sounding term, Karen reluctantly walks toward the car. She gets in the traditional way, by actually opening the car door and sliding in beside Graham's surfboard, nudging it out of her way with her shoulder.

Graham wriggles his body between the two front seats to look back at the two girls. "See? Don't be weird," he says to Karen. He then turns back to the driver. "Let's go," he tells her.

The blonde puts the car into reverse and backs out of the long driveway, the wheels tossing pieces of gravel and dust up into the air. Once she hits the main road, Graham clears his throat. "Oh, Caroline, this is my sister Marilyn and my bandmate Karen. Marilyn and Karen, this is Caroline."

The girls exchange greetings, then Marilyn plasters on one of her I'm thinking frowns. "She's got a mashup of our names, that's fun."

Karen. Marilyn. Kar-ilyn. Caroline.

Karen exhales out a small laugh, though Graham doesn't find it as amusing. Caroline cracks a smile. "Funny that," she comments.

"So, Marilyn's boyfriend-slash-our-bandmate and our other bandmate might be joining us later," Graham says. Marilyn thinks that he could've just introduced them both as their bandmates and let that be that, but she makes no outward remark.

Caroline nods along. "Oh, cool! Can't wait to meet them."

When the group gets to the beach, it's quickly evident that the Dunne siblings are the only people actually planning on getting into the water. Graham takes his board out, lays on it stomach-first and paddles out into the depths to wait on a wave, and Marilyn drags her boogie board behind her into the shallows. While Graham surfs every wave he can catch, Marilyn lays leisurely on her board, fingers skimming the water as the waves take them wherever Mother Nature decides.

Once her fingers grow pruney, Marilyn drops off the side of her board and heads for shore, each step slowed by the water's resistance. One hand holds the black tether attached to the board, and the other runs through her wet hair, getting the strands to all clump together over one shoulder.

She makes for Karen and Caroline, both sitting on their towels on the sand and reading. Karen has her newest novel for the week, while Caroline has some magazine — which is probably a whole lot easier to focus on while in the great outdoors.

Once she's close enough, she tosses her board to the side, near the pile of bags, and reaches up to wring the salty water from her quickly curling hair. "Hey, can you throw me that—" she begins, gesturing to her blue patterned towel sticking out of the bag closest to Karen. Karen throws it over before Marilyn gets the full sentence out. "Thanks."

Marilyn pats her body down with the towel, squinting into the late afternoon sun. Caroline lowers her magazine. "Hey, I think it's really cool you're in a rock band. You know, being women and all. You almost never see that."

Karen nods along thoughtfully. "It's sad but true," she mutters. She turns to look at the girl, also squinting a little in the sunlight. "What kind of music are you into?" she asks.

Caroline hums. "A little bit of everything, I guess," she begins, wracking her brain for a proper answer. "That Barry Manilow is really something."

For a moment, Karen just looks at Caroline. In the brief silence, only the waves lapping against the shore and the birds chirping, Marilyn lays her towel on the sand and kneels down on it.

"You're really pretty," Karen comments.

Caroline laughs and looks away, the breeze whipping her hair over her face. "I was Miss Teen Arizona in '73," she replies, wearing a winning smile.

"Congratulations," Karen says.

"Yeah, wow!" Marilyn adds on, tucking her legs to the side so she's sitting on the towel itself.

Caroline looks down at the sand. "Thanks," she says, still smiling.

"What is it you do now?" Karen asks.

"Oh, I'm a student up at UC Santa Barbara." She pauses for a second. "Premed," she adds.

Marilyn was already impressed by the Miss Teen Arizona thing, but now she's utterly intrigued.

"You're gonna be a doctor?" Karen continues.

Caroline holds up a finger. "Psychiatrist."

"Oh!" Marilyn snaps her fingers like she's just piecing things together. "You're using Graham as a case study, duh!" she exclaims, slapping her thigh to really emphasise the joke. The girls break into fits of laughter.

Once they come down from their fit, Karen swipes a hand over her face. She looks at Caroline once again, still not done with her line of questioning. "Level with me," she says. "Is it the whole rock star fantasy thing? Guys with guitars and all that?"

Caroline purses her lips as she thinks. "I don't think so," she replies after a moment.

"What is it?" Karen presses.

Caroline shrugs. "He's just a really good guy. Plus... you know," she trails off. Off Karen's raised eyebrows and Marilyn's blank stare, Caroline elaborates, "I mean, he's sexy as hell."

"Oh, ew," Marilyn says between fake gags, pretending to retch at the thought of someone finding her brother attractive.

A shadow falls over Marilyn as Graham approaches from the sea, dripping water all over the sand. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, eyeing Marilyn as she flops onto her back dramatically, clutching at her throat and stomach like she's just been poisoned.

Caroline and Karen both deny having been talking about anything, but Marilyn weakly reaches up to her brother. "I think they killed me," she wheezes before she drops her arm back to the sand beside her.

Graham ignores her antics completely. "Who wants to learn how to surf?" he asks instead, aiming the question at the other girls. Marilyn already knows how to surf, and besides, he doesn't want to teach his sister.

"Are you crazy?" Caroline asks. "There's no way I'm going in that dirty piss water."

Marilyn turns her head toward Caroline, blinking the sand that her playing dead routine had stirred up out of her eyes. "Aw, man, I already went into the dirty piss water," she complains. Caroline cracks a small smile.

When she's sure that Caroline isn't going to crack, Karen raises a hand. "I'll go," she announces. She stands up to shed her army green jacket, denim shorts, and cowboy boots.

"All right. Don't drown on me, Sirko. We need a keyboardist," Graham says as he leads her to the ocean.

Caroline and Marilyn watch the pair as they go. Once they're both waist-deep in the water, Caroline turns to the other girl. "Can I ask you a question?"

Marilyn resists the urge to respond with, "You just did," and nods. "Yeah, go ahead," she says, reaching toward her bag to take out the fruit. She unzips the cooler bag and opens the lid of the Tupperware, offering the container to Caroline first. Caroline takes a strawberry, and Marilyn nestles the tub on top of her thighs. She takes a strawberry of her own and pops it into her mouth.

"Do you actually like your boyfriend?" Caroline blurts out.

The strawberry goes down the wrong pipe as Marilyn coughs in surprise.

"I just mean, in the car, you didn't seem all that, like, excited when Graham said he might come down."

There are about a million different thoughts swirling around Marilyn's head — starting with "Who are you and why are you asking me that?" and ending with "Is she a mind-reader?". She settles on, what she hopes is, a nonchalant answer. "Well, I did invite him down here myself, so..."

Caroline nods, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Marilyn can still feel her eyes on her, though, and they feel like they're probing through her brain. Stupid psychiatrist training, she probably is some kind of mind-reader, analysing her down to the minutest of facial expressions.

"If I say something, you have to swear it doesn't leave this beach."

Caroline goes above and beyond. She jumps to her feet and makes a circle in the sand around the two of them before plopping back down. "It will not leave this circle," she affirms.

Marilyn nods hesitantly. "I mean it, if I see tabloid headlines about me, I will personally hunt you down."

"I'll just pretend that you're my patient and I'm practising doctor-patient confidentiality," Caroline says, also throwing up a scout's honour sign for good measure.

Another long stretch of silence. Marilyn turns, gazing out at the sea, at the sun reflecting on the waves, at Karen and Graham's tiny figures in the distance, bobbing up and down with the pull of the current. She shuts her eyes. I'm only saying this because it's highly likely I'll never have to see her again.

She takes a breath. Then another. "I don't think I like boys the way I'm supposed to like boys."

And she squeezes her eyes shut harder than they already were, bracing herself for the reaction.

And nothing comes.

One at a time, she reopens her eyes. Caroline is still there, still looking at her. It's like the world hasn't just shifted under them.

"So, you like your boyfriend, just as a person but not as a partner?" she asks. Marilyn shrugs stiffly, muscles still tensed up. She gives a delicate smile. "Look, it's totally normal to be gay—"

Marilyn jerks back, spilling a few grapes over the rim of the Tupperware container. She shifts the tub off her leg and places the lid on top of it.

If it's even possible, Caroline's gaze softens more. "Look, I don't know what you're going through, obviously. But, my brother's gay. I've seen this before, kinda."

Marilyn shakes her head. "I don't know if I'm... gay gay, though. Warren's a really good guy, but I just feel nothing, but I want to feel something. And, there's a girl and I do feel the way I want to feel about Warren about her." Her mind flashes to Daisy, what she's doing now. Is Billy being okay to her? She hopes Billy's being okay to her. She'll wring Billy's neck if he isn't.

"So, what, you want to know if you can be into Warren like that?" Caroline asks.

With another small shrug, Marilyn says, "I guess, yeah."

Caroline opens her mouth to talk again but a deeper, more distant voice interrupts her. She glances over her shoulder at the same time that Marilyn's eye is caught by two figures descending the wooden steps to the sand. "Well, here's your chance," Caroline says. Eddie and Warren make good time coming over to the girls, chasing each other to their final destination, complete with some pushing and shoving. Caroline gets to her feet to greet them properly but makes sure to lean in close to Marilyn as she rises. "You could always sleep with him," she says. Then she turns to the boys. "Hi, nice to meet you!"

CAROLINE HARKER, PhD (psychiatrist, friend of Marilyn Rojas-Dunne): It was really nice that she trusted me like that, literally the first time we met. Maybe it's because I was a total stranger, and I mean, I didn't exactly come around the house again after that day.

A hand touches Marilyn's shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Hey, you good?" Warren asks. His calloused palm scratches against her lightly burnt skin.

"Yeah," Marilyn replies, reaching up to scratch the back of her neck. The skin there is sensitive too, but not as much as her shoulders are. "What happened to Rollerball? Doesn't that go for, like, two hours?"

"Aircon was broken. The theatre was boiling," Eddie explains, snapping out of his conversation with Caroline to answer the question.

Marilyn nods along. "Then you should definitely go for a swim," she says.

The boys have no objections. Eddie strips off immediately and bolts for the ocean without a second thought. Even Marilyn, in her thrown state, can't help but laugh at him.

"You going back in?" Warren asks her.

Marilyn thinks about it, weighing the merits of the saltwater on her sensitive skin versus staying out in the sun's direct rays. "Yeah," she decides. "Caroline, you going in?"

Caroline shakes her head, settling back down onto her towel. "Absolutely not. I'll just read and sunbake."

By the time Marilyn's turned back around to head to the water, Warren's already stripped off his clothes. He grabs Marilyn's hand and all but drags her to the water. His legs are longer, so she has to run double time to match his speed as he barrels to the sea.

MARILYN: So, we had two cars by the time we were leaving the beach — Caroline's and the kind of communal Six car. So, Caroline, Graham, and Karen call it earlier than Warren, Eddie, and I. They leave first.

CAROLINE: I drove Karen back home, and Graham was supposed to come back to my place with me, but...

GRAHAM: Am I allowed to say "no comment?"

ME: Nope.

GRAHAM: Karen and I got a little... sidetracked.

KAREN: No comment.

MARILYN: It's, like, an hour later when the rest of us decide to leave.

WARREN: So, I'm driving and Eddie decides he wants to go to the corner store, so we drop him off. He says he'll walk back.

EDDIE: I did not say that I'd walk back. That's a half-hour fucking walk. I'm not insane.

WARREN: And, I drive Mari and me back home, and right when I park, completely out of the blue, Mari leans over the centre console and starts kissing me.

MARILYN: Are you sure you want to hear this whole story?

ME: Just cut past the X-rated stuff.

MARILYN: Good idea, yeah. Uh, long story short, I left that car pregnant. Which is how everyone wants to end their, uh, virginity-losing experience.

When Marilyn and Warren exit the car, all messy-haired and crumpled-clothed, Eddie rounds the corner, muttering under his breath with an armful of groceries. He looks up at the pair, ready to let them have it when he notices their appearance.

His eyes flick between the pair of them and the car, and back and forth a few times. His face screws up. "Did you two—?" he begins, trails off, clearly decides he doesn't actually need to ask that question. "Ew."

Warren claps the blond on the back as he passes. "Grow up, man," he says, leading the charge to the front door. He throws the door open and loudly announces to anyone who may be inside, "Honeys, I'm home!"

"We're home," Eddie corrects him, unwrapping a candy bar from his grocery bag and taking a bite.

The phone in the living room starts to ring and the trio follows the noise, only to find Graham and Karen sitting on the couch in a very inconspicuously conspicuous way. Marilyn narrows her eyes at them. Caroline was so nice, too.

"Hey. You guys heard from Billy yet?" Warren asks, snatching Eddie's candy bar away from him to take a bite.

"Dude, I bought you one, you didn't have to take mine," Eddie whines. With one hand now free, he picks up the still-ringing phone. "Hello?" he says. There's a long pause as the person on the other end speaks. Then: "Okay." And another pause. "Yeah, sure, no problem." And, finally, a, "be right there," before he hangs up the phone. He turns to address the group. "That was Teddy."

The remaining members of The Six exchange glances.

"What'd he say?" asks Warren.

a/n:
and to thank u for being so patient with this fic, here is an unnecessarily long chapter for ur troubles <3

this show is a fucking comedy i swear to god, i was WHEEZING while writing the argument in the studio. also, i'm gonna be so honest, i have not seen rollerball, the criticisms i listed are entirely from letterboxd reviews, so if the movie DOES answer those questions, don't look at me it isn't my fault

ALSO, writing those scenes about the warm weather and the beach made me genuinely angry because it's still cold here in australia and i REALLY want the weather to hurry up and get warmer. i want to walk outside and get hit with a blast of hot air goddammit (i don't really it's a nightmare but i want to not have to wear a massive puffer jacket when i leave the house)

published : september 8, 2024
word count : 6.8k