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chapter twenty-three
" We take all kind of pills
That give us all kind of thrills
But the thrill
we've never known
Is the thrill that'll get ya
When you get your picture
On the cover of
the Rolling Stone."
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NOW PLAYING: "THE COVER OF THE ROLLING STONE" by DR. HOOK & THE MEDICINE SHOW (1972)

___________

INTERVIEWER: And did you know the name of the album yet?

RORY: [Laughs] No, not yet, but I'll never forget the day Daisy and Billy waltzed in and announced it.

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THE SOUND BOOTH IS filled with a discordant cacophony of sounds. While Warren and Eddie practice their "Kill You To Try" instrumentals in one corner, Rory sits on the new sofa on the opposite side, absently strumming her guitar. It doesn't matter that the room isn't silent. For whatever reason, this booth has become a sanctuary for her—a place of solace, where ideas stream onto her like water gushing off a cliff.

She strums a few chords, jots something in her songbook, strums again, this time humming a bit, and repeats. Lately, her mind has been ripe with inspiration. Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night, fumbling for a pencil and paper to write down something that came to her in a dream. Everything sounds like music to her ears—raindrops dripping onto metal, the swishing of a woman's dress as she walks, ceramic dishes clattering against one another. One time, Eddie was frying an egg, and the sizzling sound made Rory leap out of her chair and run for her notebook.

The door bursts open. Daisy and Billy come flying in, chattering and laughing, their hands motioning wildly along with whatever story they'd been sharing before their arrival. It's been like this for two weeks now. They'll go off for hours or days, then return like nothing ever happened, only they're armed with new material. It's wonderful to see them getting along, but at the same time, Rory can tell that the others feel a bit left out.

Warren and Eddie pause their practice session to look at them. Graham and Karen emerge from the production room, where they'd been watching Teddy and Tobias fiddle with the sound settings. Even Rory stops what she's doing to watch. Daisy and Billy's conversation had stopped just as abruptly as it had flooded the room, and Daisy's smothered grin makes it obvious they have something to say.

"We have an announcement," Daisy says. She glances at Billy, who's also trying to hide his grin. They appear to have a conversation with their eyes. Daisy tears her gaze away and clasps her hands together. "We picked an album title!"

"Oh, cool," Eddie says.

"Spit it out, man!" Warren encourages, performing a short drumroll.

Billy is outright smiling when he says, "Aurora."

"What?" Rory asks.

A few seconds of silence. Billy shoots her a quizzical look that she mirrors right back at him. Daisy, confused, bounces her eyes between the other members, who are also puzzled.

"Like... that's the title?" Eddie asks.

"Well... yeah," Billy replies, his grin starting to fade. A crease forms between his brows. "What, you don't like it?"

Graham shakes his head. "It's not that. And I mean, I'm all for it, but what made you want to name the album after Rory?"

Now it's Billy's turn to ask, "What?"

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BILLY: [Laughing] Yeah, I forgot her full name was Aurora.

EDDIE: For twenty years, people have been asking, "Why did you name it after Aurora if she's not in the band?" and the answer I have to that is, well, Billy is just stupid. You know someone for seven years and you forget their name?

BILLY: None of us ever called her that. It was always Rory, or something even shorter than that. And that song... it's about Camila, you know? That was the point. But it didn't even cross my mind that it was also Rory's name.

DAISY: I literally never heard anyone call her Aurora. She introduced herself to me as Rory, everyone else called her Rory...

EDDIE: Billy said he forgot because nobody called her that in so long, but Teddy used her full name. Billy and I were there when we won her damn Grammy. Do you think they called her Rory then? No.

WARREN: A hilarious misunderstanding, if you ask me.

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"I thought your name was Rory," Daisy says.

"It's a nickname," Rory explains. "My full name is Aurora."

"Shit." Billy runs a hand down his face. "I have a song with that title, too."

"It's okay," Rory says. She can't help but laugh a bit at the absurdity of the situation, easing the tension in the room. "It's not like I own the word. You can still use it. I will just forever remember that Billy Dunne forgot my name."

Billy rolls his eyes, but she can see that his cheeks are tinted pink with genuine embarrassment.

"I want to hear the Aurora song," Rory tells him, setting her guitar aside. She pulls her feet up until she's cross-legged on the sofa. "Can you sing me a few lines?"

Again, Daisy and Billy share a glance. Billy nods, pulling a miniature notebook out of his back pocket. He flips through the pages before holding it out in front of them.

"You found me in flames
It's the daylight of change
Baby, all that stuff is done
You're my morning sun
Aurora, you're the one
You're my morning sun."

By the time their voices fade out, Rory's smile brightens up her entire face, causing her cheeks to ache. She bursts into applause first, followed by a polite addition by Karen.

"I love it!" she exclaims. "I'm glad you know that it means 'morning sun'."

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RORY: I was in that recording booth as often as I could be, either on the side of the band or with Teddy and Tobias in production, watching the magic happen. I couldn't stay away. Even when they were just practicing bits and pieces of songs before they were finished, I was completely captivated by the album.

GRAHAM: Yeah, we knew it was good.

BILLY: Teddy was the most confident.

WARREN: Here's how confident Teddy was: before we even finished recording, he calls in a favor at Rolling Stone.

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Rory receives a letter from Mateo that shocks her. They have been occasionally writing back and forth, attempting to mend the gaping hole in their relationship by talking about their lives and interests, but never delving into the harrowing topic of their parents. Normally, they don't contain material that makes her think twice.

This time is different. Rory reads it over to make sure she hadn't been imagining things.

They're sending someone from the magazine to do a piece on the band. I tried to see if I could do it, but they know about my familial ties to you and said it would be a conflict of interest.

"The magazine" in question is the one that Mateo writes for, Rolling Stone. As in... yeah, that Rolling Stone. The one with world-famous music stars on the cover and has millions of copies sold. Mateo isn't very high up at all, but he's established a comfortable place for himself writing about hidden music gems in New York City and covering artists' visits to Madison Square Garden.

She can hardly believe it. This will be amazing for the band. Even though their first single is doing well, this will keep them in people's minds until their album release and tour. It will produce more excitement, which may boost sales, which means their numbers will go up—

Rory's heart is so full of love she feels like she might choke on it. She is so, so proud of this group and what they have become.

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JONAH BERG, journalist/author: I do think the allure of Aurora Marquez being close to the band helped pique the company's interest. They were aware of the stories, you know, of how they were childhood friends and were rising to fame in their own separate ways. But, at the time, Aurora was more famous than The Six. And they wanted to make sure I got a quote or two from her.

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The first few encounters Rory has with Jonah Berg are uneventful. She merely pops into the booth and sees him next to Tobias, watching the beauty of the Aurora album unfold, a smile on his face that's mostly obscured by enormous sunglasses. Or she'll notice him scribbling in his notebook in the lobby of Sound City as she's heading to work with a client. He's kind of just always there, like a shadow, but it puts her on high alert anyway, wondering if an innocuous look will send the wrong message.

She would describe him as elusive. He hangs out in the corners, almost imperceptible if it wasn't for his loud button-down shirts and severely curly hair. His eyes seem to burn holes through his glasses. It makes Rory sweat.

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JONAH: I was so nervous.

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Rory is taking her lunch break in the lobby when she hears the muffled click-clack of heeled boots on the carpet. She looks up mid-bite of her sandwich to see Jonah, notebook in hand, a small grin on his face.

"Is it all right if I sit here?" he asks, pointing to the other side of the sofa.

Rory nods. She covers her mouth, furiously blushing at being caught right after she'd taken an enormous bite, and makes sure to swallow carefully before attempting to speak. "Yeah, of course."

Jonah eases into the spot with a sigh. This time, his outfit is almost entirely brown, but he still has those dark glasses on his face. Why wear them when he's inside? He's not blind—Rory knows that much—so it must be an odd fashion choice. This in combination with his raven hair makes him look pale. Rory has gotten used to the sun-soaked appearances of everyone in Los Angeles, so seeing a city guy who mostly works in an office is a shock.

"I hear your brother and I are colleagues," he says.

"Yeah," Rory nods, unsure of what else to say. "Is this on the record?"

"No, no, don't worry." Jonah shakes his head with a slight laugh. "That was just my attempt at small talk."

"Oh." She sets her sandwich down and dusts the crumbs from her hands. "Well..." Something clogs her throat, causing her to clear it. Why is she so afraid? He's just a reporter. Rory has spoken to them before. Maybe it's because his eyes feel all-knowing from behind those glasses, and she's afraid to let something slip by her expression alone. "Yeah, Mateo is my brother. Do you know him well?"

Jonah shakes his head. "I mostly know of him. Big company, you know."

"Yeah, I get it."

Rory almost sighs in relief. She doesn't have to reveal that she hardly knows anything about her own family.

"So... if I could get something for the record..." He flips his notebook open. "Can you tell me what you think of The Six?"

She blinks. "What I think?"

"Yeah." Jonah gives her another small grin, revealing perfectly straight and surprisingly white teeth. "I wanna hear it from you."

"Well... The Six are everything to me. They're my family. Even Daisy, who I've known for barely a year, is a part of that. She pushes them, they push back, and they balance each other out. I love to watch them. Everything about the band... I don't know... makes me feel something special. Their music, their personalities, it all feels like... like nothing the music scene has had before, you know?"

Jonah nods, jotting notes. "So you're close."

"Yes. Very."

"I can see how much they respect you. They look for your input on the little things, like when Graham asked you if a chord progression sounded right, and you suggested he play the notes in that 'long-short-long-long-short' tempo."

Rory finds herself smiling without even realizing it. "Graham and I have been songwriting together since we were teenagers. I think it comes naturally to us by now."

"And has he written any of the songs for the album so far?"

Oh, no. This is a sticky situation. As far as she knows, only Daisy and Billy have written songs—except for Rory's—but she doesn't know if the others mind. Maybe she should ask Graham.

Choosing her words carefully, she responds, "I think this album is special because it has pieces of each member in it, and you can feel their unique touches throughout."

Jonah nods, seemingly satisfied with her response. Rory tries not to visibly relax.

Though his next question throws her as well.

"Would you say you're the closest with Graham out of the whole band?"

That is genuinely a tough one. Is Graham her best friend? Yes. But are there some things she would rather tell Karen or Camila instead? Yes. Are there moments when she would prefer the company of Eddie or Warren? Yes. Does she have a bond with Billy that is unlike any of the others? Yes.

So, again, she tries to balance things in the middle. "I think I'm that way with everyone. My bond with everyone is strong. I wouldn't trade any of the members for the world."

Again, Jonah nods as he writes. Instead of asking something else, though, he sets his pencil down and smiles. "Thanks for your time, Aurora. Those are all the questions I have right now. It's been a pleasure to speak with you."

He holds out his hand for her to shake. She accepts, hoping her nerves aren't displayed all over her body. When he's gone, she sighs and slumps against the sofa, then crams another bite of her sandwich into her mouth. She survived.

But Rory soon realizes that a quick interview is the least of her worries. What she truly has to watch out for is Jonah when he's not asking her questions. Because she catches him taking notes about his observations. When Karen leans over to Graham to ask him something, he writes it down. When Daisy and Billy laugh about an inside joke, he writes it down. So when Warren continuously shows up in vests with no shirt underneath, Rory forces herself to act normally lest Jonah notices her lingering gaze.

She used to be able to tune everything else out and work in here, but with Jonah present, her entire system has been disrupted. She becomes hyper-aware of his presence. She knows his position in the room at all times, and it causes such a change in her that her friends bring it up outside of the studio.

"What's got you so tense these days?" Graham asks, throwing an arm around her as he squishes into her spot on a chair in their living room. His hip juts into her stomach.

"Jonah and his sunglasses creep me out," she replies, tossing her book aside. She'd been reading a cheap pulp fiction novel in an attempt to relax, but it's not working. "Actually, strike that. It's only his sunglasses. Who wears them inside?"

"People who think they're cool," Graham replies. He wiggles, trying to get more comfortable, until Rory sighs and moves over so he can slide into the small spot next to her. It's still a tight fit that will become unbearable in approximately three minutes. But for now, she leans her head against his shoulder and sighs.

"He's trying to be mysterious," Warren adds.

Rory's heart jumps at the sound of his voice. He's behind the chair, so she can't see him until he plops onto the arm, straddling it between his knees.

"I want to rip them off his face," Rory says.

"Uh oh, Ror's getting violent," Eddie chimes in. A moment later, his hand appears in front of her face, an acid tablet lying in his palm. "Here. It'll help you calm down."

"Give me two."

"Yeesh. So demanding."

Eddie obeys, pulling another tablet from the sheet. Instead of letting her grab them, he places his palm over her mouth and practically shoves the squares inside. Rory squirms as the bitter taste explodes across her tongue, shoving his arm away, elbowing Graham in the neck in the process.

"Ah!" Graham cries.

"Did you just lick me?" Eddie exclaims incredulously, examining his hand.

Warren, of course, is of no help, merely watching while his melodious laughter fills the room.

"The hell's going on in here?" Karen inquires. Her words are slightly slurred, meaning she's not sober either.

"We tried to support Rory and then she resorted to violence," Graham replies, rubbing his throat.

"Ah. Well, you probably deserved it."

"Hey!"

The drug is quick to take effect. Soon, the haunting image of Jonah's ever-present eyes fade into obscurity, replaced by euphoria that makes all of her limbs lighter and looser. Eddie cranks up the stereo to full volume. The house practically shakes from the force of the bass and drums. "One Of These Nights" by Eagles brings out a side of Rory she didn't know existed: one who flails her arms around and moves her hips carelessly, letting the music possess her.

Karen swings her around until they're both dizzy and laughing so hard they can barely stand. Her hair is fiery gold in the low, warm lighting of the string lights placed around the sunroom, leaving streaks of amber behind every time she moves. Imaginary colors pulse in Rory's vision. Her laughter is constant, making her stomach ache, but she can't stop, nor does she want to.

The girls' hips move in sync with the beat of "Lady Marmalade" by LaBelle. Karen practically gropes Rory, which makes them giggle even harder, their inhibitions having flown out the window long ago. The mixture of alcohol doesn't help. It's probably a bad idea, but Graham had shoved a glass into Rory's hand at one point and she was too high to care what was in it.

And so it has led them here: dancing and scream-singing their hearts out. Eddie spins Rory around until all of her surroundings blend in vibrating streaks. When he yanks her back into his side, he tries to press a kiss on her cheek, but his aim is poor, so he winds up catching the side of her mouth.

"Oh, God," Graham groans. "Not again."

Eddie throws an accusatory finger in his direction. "I was not trying to kiss her this time!"

"You wanna touch her boobs this time again, too?"

"What?" Karen asks. "When did Eddie grab Rory's tits? What did I miss?"

"We were sixteen," Eddie replies.

"All I heard about was the kiss," Warren pipes up, his eyebrows raised. "You're tellin' me you groped her too, man?"

"I did not—"

"You kinda did," Rory cuts in.

Eddie turns red, and since he was already flushed from being intoxicated, he's as crimson as a beet. "Whatever. It was yearssssss ago, and you guys are the ones who always bring it up. Can we go back to dancin'?"

"Only if you keep your lips to yourself," Rory teases, giving him a light shove.

"Hey!" Eddie staggers before righting himself. "Bowie is on. We're not allowed to argue when Bowie is on."

"Ain't that the truth?" Warren asks.

He grabs Rory around the middle and digs his fingers into her sides, finding her most ticklish spots in a nanosecond. Rory folds like a lawn chair. She screeches, her dropped weight allowing him to yank her backward.

Their combined momentum makes them topple onto the sofa. Warren continues the attack, letting his fingers graze across her midsection, made bare from her shirt riding up. She flails helplessly with tears leaking from her eyes. He finally stops after a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to Rory's drug-addled mind.

Rory struggles to catch her breath. Her chest heaves, her lungs greedily gulping air down her burning trachea, the air warm and cozy. Or maybe that's the heat of Warren's skin because she's currently sprawled across his lap.

Maybe she should get up. But using Warren like a couch cushion seems like pretty okay revenge for tickling her, she thinks, so Rory stays put, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Pendejo," she mutters, swinging her foot back to kick him in the shin.

"Me amas," he replies with a teasing grin. It makes his mustache do a funny dance. She bursts into a series of giggles again, reaching out a finger to touch it.

Sober Rory would not be doing this. Sober Rory would not have the guts to run the pad of her index finger along the fine, dark hairs above Warren's upper lip, especially not when their faces are so close. She's not sure what song is playing anymore. The once all-consuming bass is a distant memory, every single one of Rory's atoms focusing solely on the boy in front of her.

She's not even sure if Warren is breathing. He watches her, somewhat wide-eyed, frozen like a deer in headlights. One of his hands is on her elbow, the other pinned between his body and the back of the sofa. His bare skin burns her everywhere they touch. And of course, he's not wearing a shirt, so Rory's chest is on fire.

Somewhere, in the back of Rory's mind, she remembers when they were wrapped in each other's arms on the back balcony. How she hadn't wanted to kiss him then because she wanted it to be done sober. But now, it's so hard to resist the urge, especially as her thumb drags across his upper lip.

"¿Qué estás haciendo?" Warren's voice is barely a whisper. And, truthfully, Rory doesn't know what she's doing. But she knows what she wants.

Does Warren want it, too? A streak of fire shoots through Rory's body when his gaze dips down. And there is only one thing he could be looking at. Her mouth, six little inches from his own.

WHACK! Rory almost topples off the couch when something soft hits her in the head. She only doesn't because of Warren, who uses his grip on her arm to haul her back up. Bewildered, she whirls her head around to see Eddie and Graham cackling, so drunk they can barely stand.

"How many drugs've you guys had?" Eddie questions, his words a barely intelligible slur, cheeks bright pink.

"We shouldda cut you off a long time ago," Graham adds. "Little too much liquor."

"Yeah, we're all feeling a little too gropey."

"Eddie, let me touch your tits!" Graham launches himself at the boy, grabbing his chest.

Rory scrambles off the sofa and curls onto a chair. Of course. Drugs. Alcohol. No inhibitions. Rory wouldn't have done those things sober. Would Warren have? Would he still look at her like that without drugs coursing through his veins?

She doesn't risk looking at him. She keeps her eyes trained anywhere else—on Karen as she inhales a line of coke, on Eddie and Graham who are still play-fighting and wind up collapsing to the ground, on the twinkling string lights surrounding them. Because whatever expression is on Warren's face will probably shatter her.

The night winds down after that. Graham and Eddie wind up passed out on the floor where they'd fallen, too discombobulated to bother trying to get up and climb into their respective beds. Karen, responsible even in an altered state of mind, turns off the stereo. The ensuing silence makes Rory's ears ring. She drifts in and out of slumber, still curled up on the chair.

That is, until a hand shakes her. She sluggishly opens her eyes to see a cup of water held up to her face. She looks beyond it to see Warren, the warm glow behind him making him look like an angel sent from above to care for her.

Rory doesn't try to fight him. Instead, she accepts the water and drinks the whole thing, knowing that Warren would pester her if she didn't finish it. The cold liquid feels like a cascade of ice down her throat. When she finishes, Warren sets the empty cup aside. Then he lifts her in his arms.

His scent invades her senses immediately. The same one as always: his cologne mixed with marijuana and alcohol. It comforts her, and she leans into the warmth of his bare chest, too exhausted for embarrassment.

"I can walk on my own," she mumbles.

"Nah, you can't," he replies. "You'd barely make it to the living room before you toppled over."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He carries her into her bedroom before plopping her down on the bed. Rory is reluctant to let him go. She craves his body heat, and even though he can't possibly fit on this mattress with her and Karen, she selfishly yearns to tug him down next to her just so she can soak in his warmth all night.

How many drugs've you guys had? Eddie's voice echoes in her mind. It makes her let Warren go.

Karen walks in a moment later. Her voice is muffled, but soon Warren is gone, and Rory can only watch his retreating figure as she struggles to stay awake.

Rory unbuttons her jeans and shimmies them off. There's no way she could change into pajamas in her current state, nor does she want to leave the comfort of her bed, so she passes out like that, the remnants of Warren's cologne in her nose and her skin tingling where they'd touched.

______

a/n:

r y'all alive

i KNOWWWWW this has been such a slow burn but it will be resolved soon. I PROMISE. so don't raise your pitchforks at me yet.

thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed! this episode gives me time for a lot of flexibility which i enjoy, because the time spent recording the album is, like, at least a month or two, yet they fit it all into one single episode. absolutely mind-boggling if you ask me.

— kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

Pendejo: Asshole

Me amas: You love me

¿Qué está haciendo?: What are you doing?

( word count: 4.3k )