and yesterday is done
former iterations
This is a Bad Idea, [Frank] suddenly concludes. Jetting off to New York City without telling anybody, with only the clothes on his back, without any place to stay.
When it was still a WIP, I considered a longer version of this fic where Frank had to stay overnight at Charley and Evelyn’s house since he didn't book a hotel and they were all full.
Just more forced proximity, really.
In the end, I didn't pursue this idea any more as I liked how I ended things and didn't feel like it needed a continuation. Also, thinking about it now, would there really not be any other place willing to host the Franklin Shepard?
performance
...[Frank] shifts into an upright position, gives himself in the mirror across the room a dazzling smile, and picks up the phone.
“Oh, so first you were angry that I was too busy, and now you want me to go away because I’m not?” It’s a lie—[Frank's] in the middle of overseeing the casting of the star role in a big movie from a franchise while in post-production of another—but it’s a good lie, so he goes with it.
Frank has a facade that he puts on in front of everyone. It's aloof and almost uncaring, and it's not something he necessarily decides to do. He just does. It's a tactic--fake it 'till you make it. Because, if he acts like he doesn't care enough then, eventually, he won't.
He slides his sunglasses onto his face—he always feels more comfortable with them on—and asks the woman behind the counter for Mary’s room.
I tried to add some symbolism in this fic with Frank's sunglasses. When he's trying to be "That Frank"--facade and all--he has his sunglasses on. When he's being more earnest and genuine, he has them off.
Even though [Frank] hasn’t seen or heard from [Evelyn] in about six years, he recognizes her voice almost immediately. He’s instantly transported back to all those evenings with kids crawling on his lap, over his shoulders, pulling at his hair. He watched them grow up. Do they even remember him?
However, despite Frank's best efforts, he cares. Deeply. When Evelyn phones him, he remembers the kids he used to play with, and he wonders what they think of him--if they think of him. If he truly didn't care, then he wouldn't be thinking these thoughts.
unreliable narrator
And, by then, [Frank] was already in the throes of work. There was no time to think of personal relationships; he needed all his focus to be on the next movie, and then the next.
Was he “already in the throes of work,” or did he let work consume him so he didn’t have to think of his personal relationships?
The reader should be wary of Frank's inner dialogue. In this fic, we don't see the inside of anybody else's thoughts. There are things Frank wants to believe that aren't true, and then there are the things Frank believes to be true and aren't. There's a fine line.
change
My fic is set in 1979. It's been three years since Frank has seen Mary and six since he's seen Charley.
Because of how things ended, Frank still holds resentment and the images of his old friends are frozen in that specific time. They're warped versions of themselves and, in this fic, Frank is confronted by how his friends have changed in the years since.
“Where are your glasses?” Frank blurts out before he can stop himself.
Charley blinks, still unmoving in the doorway. He’s holding a plate of hospital food. Some grey sludge in a bowl and limp fries. “I wear contacts now.” His voice betrays nothing.
This is a more innocuous example of change, however it proves to Frank that these people are not the same. Charley and Mary are people he used to know--and this hurts.
Charley gives him a sidelong glance. “Mary’s been sober for almost a year now.”
“Really?” Frank asks, and there it is again. That sharp pain that reminds him that Charley and Mary’s life continued after they left Frank’s. He wasn’t there to support Mary, to celebrate her. That is time he will never get back. “That’s great.”
Another change that Frank wasn't expecting. Life goes on, and Frank has to come to terms with this.
“Lay off?” Charley responds, his whispered voice rising in a crescendo. “Did you see the way he first looked at me? You should be telling that to him.”
“How could you see how he looked at you, Charley? He’s wearing goddamn sunglasses. Look, I’m not asking you to hug the man, but at least be civil.”
And here we get a little look into Charley's warped perception of Frank. He sees malice in Frank and, while maybe slightly true, isn't the entire story.
“Oh.” It’s clear Charley has more things to say.
Frank’s grateful his old friend has decided to shut his mouth for once in his life.
Here's another change in Charley: the old Charley would have continued talking. Although, Frank doesn't take much notice; he's just glad Charley isn't continuing to discuss Frank's relationship with Frankie.
mary
“Oh! Owwww,” Mary cuts in dramatically, elongating the word and letting it wobble like a flute trill. “My throat just started acting up. Frank, get me some water from the vending machine, would you?”
Frank glances at the cup of water at her bedside but nods anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Alright. I’ll be back in a tick.” Charley finally steps inside the hospital room to let him pass, throwing the pieces of spoon into the garbage in the process.
Frank refuses to look at him on the way out.
Once he’s out in the hallway, he hears Mary. “Lay off a bit, okay?”
Much like in the musical, Mary is usually the peacemaker between Frank and Charley. Even after Frank and Charley's interview, Mary did stay for a few more years until even she had had enough.
I think it's so telling that, even after three years of no contact with Frank, Mary is still playing this role.
the box
Frank glances at Mary, and then at Charley at the other side of the bed. Then, he lifts the top of the box.
Inside are a pile of polaroids and photo strips.
When I was first writing this plotpoint with the box, I had intended for the thing inside the box to be the device during “It’s a Hit!” which had a recording of the applause from the opening night of Musical Husbands.
However, I ran into a couple of issues. One, how did the recording device end up in Mary’s hands? It was Frank and Charley’s musical. However, I definitely could have maneuvered it into her possession if not for the second, larger problem with this idea: this fic is about Frank, Charley, and Mary. The recording of the applause is very much a Frank and Charley object. While Mary was there, and she obviously supported the two of them, it’s not like she was really involved with any aspect of the musical.
The polaroids and photostrips, on the other hand, involve all three of them. The examples I describe are mostly based on the actual photostrips on the Playbill or the photostrips available for purchase.
music metaphors
A diminished chord is ringing through his head.
He finds a loose string in his knot of emotions and yanks one free. It tumbles down like an arpeggio rapidly spiralling out of control.
The beginnings of an idea start to form in his mind. It feels deliciously similar to finding the perfect melody for a song.
A too-long beat of silence passes—a fermata over a rest note.
I really wanted to highlight Frank's connection to music and songwriting. Despite not doing so for a long time, it's still a major (heh) part of him that has shaped who he is.
It also shows that he hasn't forgotten his roots. Maybe, after the events of this fic and re-connecting with Mary and Charley, he'll start composing again.
I haven't included all of them just so there isn't, like, a wall of blockquotes.
allusions to the musical
[Frank] swallows thickly, and the next thing he says comes out startingly. He doesn’t know where it comes from. “I shouldn’t have let it get to that place in the first place. Friendships need to be tended to. Like a garden.” The metaphor feels familiar, and it makes something in the back of his mind twitch in recognition, but he can’t quite place it.
This is similar to the part in the musical where Frank steals Charley’s words (either consciously or unconsciously) by saying “don’t write what you know; write what you know”
Mary, please forgive me. I’ve missed you in my life. I should’ve told you this immediately after the party. I’m so, so, so sorry.
This is a slight allusion to "Old Friends” where Charley says, “No. You are never wrong. Never. The last time you admitted you were wrong was one cold Tuesday back in Chicago in December 1954!”
Much like what he will soon realize about his friends, Frank has also changed.
He’s going to do better. He’s going to cultivate their friendship more, he’s going to connect with his son, he’s going to find a good work-life balance. It feels like the ending of a story, with all the loose ends tied up and a swelling orchestral finale.
Is this a little idealistic of Frank? Yes, definitely. But, this is like the end of a fairy tale, a happily ever after. It ends on an absurdly positively note--much like how “Our Time” is almost a painfully optimistic song at the end of the show.