Chapter Text
Billy wakes with a pounding head. There’s some disgusting odour coming from really close to his face, and Billy tries to ignore it because he can feel warmth on his cheek from the goddamn sun, and he knows his eyes are going to ache if he opens them to sunlight. But then, whatever it is the smell comes from shifts closer, and Billy’s nose wrinkles and he opens his mouth, trying to breathe that way, but that just makes him nauseous.
So nauseous, in fact, that he has to snap his eyes open and try to orient himself.
The smell comes from Jonathan’s socked foot. He’s sprawled out on the floor, halfway to sitting, and his toes are inches from Billy’s face. Nancy’s resting in his lap, her face pressed into his chest, their hair tangled together.
Billy’s on the pullout, and he’s pretty sure that it’s Robin behind him, because he can feel one of the heels of her boots digging into his curls, and her arms hugging one of his legs.
Steve’s on the other couch, curled tight around a pillow. From what Billy can tell, he’s the only one awake.
This is, sadly, not the first time they’ve woken up like this, although usually they all manage to at least take off their shoes and end up on the actual furniture, instead of the floor. And Nancy isn’t usually there, either.
It’s midday, or maybe early afternoon, based on the way the sun shines into the room, and Billy spends a couple moments just lying there, trying to breathe through the pain in his head. But Jonathan moves again, and Billy gets another whiff of his disgusting feet. His stomach rolls, and seconds later he’s pulling his legs free from Robin and stumbling to his feet. He knocks into Jonathan on the way out and he hears Robin groan.
He falls to his knees in front of the toilet, pushing the seat up just moments before the vomit bursts up his throat.
“Hey.”
Billy spits one last time before turning to face Jonathan in the doorway of the bathroom. His hair’s gotten longer since Billy first met him, reaching his shoulders in brown waves, and he’s dragging a hand through its tangles, rubbing at the back of his head. Must be sporting a headache that could rival Billy’s, if Billy remembers last night correctly.
“You need to start cleaning your fucking feet, man,” Billy tells him.
Jonathan frowns and looks down at his feet. Billy sees his toes wiggle inside his socks.
Billy rolls his eyes, and then groans, because that was a stupid idea, given his headache.
Jonathan steps around him in the cramped little bathroom, takes the cup they keep their toothbrushes in. He removes the toothbrushes, fills and empties the cup with water a couple times, and then fills it one last time and hands it to Billy.
As Billy reaches to take it, however, Jonathan’s gaze shifts. “What’s that on your hand?”
Billy swivels the water around in his mouth and spits it into the toilet, trying to get rid of the acrid taste of vomit still clinging to his gums. “What?”
“There,” Jonathan says, pointing. “You’ve got something written on your hand.”
Billy turns his hand, and Jonathan’s right. “‘Check your pocket’,” he reads aloud.
Jonathan raises his eyebrows. Billy starts patting down his jeans, still sitting there on the floor in front of the toilet. “What the hell did you do last night?” Jonathan asks.
“There was a man,” Billy suddenly remembers. “He had… He had a caterpillar on his face.”
“ What? ”
Billy pushes himself up to standing and takes off down the hallway, back into the living area. Nancy’s thrown the window open, leaning out of it and breathing in the polluted L.A. air. In the kitchen area, Steve and Robin seem to be arguing about food, raised voices that make Billy’s head hurt.
“Where’s my leather jacket?” he calls out to them, but none of them answer. “Useless, all of you,” he groans, and starts pulling off blankets and pillows and looking underneath furniture.
He finally finds it behind the pullout, squeezing his fist in victory.
“Care to tell me what the hell this is about?” Jonathan asks him, arms crossed as he stands before Billy. Billy can’t answer. He’s staring at the card he just pulled out of his pocket in absolute astonishment. “Billy?” Jonathan asks, and now his voice is different. Hesitant.
“Shut up,” Billy says, and then louder, turning around to face the others. “Everyone, shut the fuck up!”
Nancy groans, sinking down onto the floor at the sheer volume of his voice, but at least he gets Steve and Robin’s attention. Jonathan steps around him, so that Billy is facing all his band members.
“What time is it?” he asks them.
“What?” Steve says. “Why?”
“Almost one o’clock in the afternoon,” Nancy mutters.
“Okay,” Billy says, and tries to breathe through the excitement. It’s not really working. He can tell it’s starting to show on his face. “Okay. We better hurry up and get ready, because we’ve got a meeting at four. At the Rainbow.” He holds up the card and grins. “With James Hopper, from Mindflayer Records.”
—
The sign of the Rainbow Bar & Grill can be seen from way down on Sunset, before you even really catch sight of the building. It’s located just past The Roxy Theatre. Billy feels giddy just seeing the colours.
It’s a hot day - every day is hot, in Los Angeles, but this one feels especially so. And ripe with possibility. The sun’s bright and warm, and as soon as they stepped out of the apartment building Robin had turned back around, about to march into the shade if it hadn’t been for the three of them holding her back. Nancy had laughed, kissed Jonathan goodbye with the promise of calling each other that night, and then she’d headed back to her dorm.
The inside of the Rainbow is… red . Rounded booths of red leather, with red table cloths, and red lamps hanging from the ceiling. There’s photos and posters decorating every wall, greenery and fairy lights and music.
At a table in the middle of the room sits a man, linen suit jacket and thick moustache.
James Hopper .
Billy leads the others to him, and does his best to calm the nervousness stirring in the pit of his belly.
“It’s even uglier in daylight!” Billy says, referring to Hopper’s moustache, which might’ve been a really stupid thing to say, considering who this man is, but when Billy’s hungover he doesn’t really have that great control over which words his brain decides to let out.
“Charming,” Hopper says, and nods at them to sit down. They do so, sinking down into those red leather seats and squeezing together so they end up together on one side. Hopper looks on amused, and gestures at their sunglasses. “Is this your everyday look, then, or are you just hungover?”
“Hungover, sir,” Steve states, and Billy does his best to ignore the way his skin crawls at that word.
“Steven Harrington,” Hopper says, shaking his head in a way that seems oddly fond. He nods at Jonathan. “You’ve grown.”
Jonathan recoils, frowning. “Sorry?”
Hopper ignores him, instead breathing in deep before speaking. “I thought you might be, after last night. Hungover, that is. That’s why I scheduled this meeting this late. Thought I’d give you the chance to at least be semi-coherent for what will be the most important meeting of your lives. But let me be clear,” and here his voice gets hard, “I won’t put up with such bullshit later on. You get one chance.”
“Right, but, respectfully, Mr. Hopper, what did you mean by me having grown?” Jonathan asks. “Have we met before?”
Billy leans back, crossing his legs at the ankles, his boots pressing against Hopper’s sleek pants. Testing his boundaries. There’s something about this man that reminds Billy of Neil, and he doesn’t want anything to do with men like his father. “Right, Hop,” he says, and feels the others’ stares at the casual way he refers to the man. “What did you mean by that, huh?”
Hopper gets something calculating in his eyes and tilts his head a little. “You’re not very good with authority, are you?”
Billy grins, licks his teeth. “I’m a rockstar. So, no.”
At that, Hopper laughs, and something tight and painful curls into Billy’s gut. Fear. Anger. “Not yet, you’re not.” He leans forward, presses his calf against Billy’s foot underneath the table. A show of dominance. “But if you join me, you will be.” He turns to Jonathan then, and something more gentle comes over his expression. “I knew your mum back in the day. Went to Hawkins High with her.”
“What?” Jonathan says.
“You’re from Hawkins?” Robin asks.
“Mhm,” Hopper nods. “Went to Vietnam straight out of high school, came back home and joined the police force, met a girl in New York and moved in with her, got married, got divorced, came here.”
And there it is , Billy thinks, swallowing. A veteran, and a cop.
The others don’t seem to share his unease, instead appearing excited at someone from their hometown, already here and successful and willing to help them.
Steve leans forward, pressing his palms against the table. “And you started working at a record label after all that?”
Hopper grins. “A little unexpected, maybe, but I’ve always loved music. And I needed a change of scenery after New York.” It’s the way he says it. Billy knows something must’ve happened there, but no one else picks up on it. Billy’s guesses he’s too used at analysing every minute cue of adult men.
“You’re not just interested in us because you know Jonathan’s mum though, right?” Robin asks, frowning.
Finally . A sensible question.
“No,” Hopper answers, shaking his head. “Joyce called a while back. I’ve been going to your shows, trying to get a feel of what you’re all about, and kids… you’re good. The real deal. And to be frank, there goes too much money into this business for me to give a shit about you if I didn’t think you were worth it.” He turns to Billy. “You’re being very quiet.”
Billy shrugs, tries to act unbothered. “I’m not from Hawkins. Californian born and raised.”
“Right,” Hopper says. “Well, here’s the deal.” He reaches for a briefcase Billy hadn’t even noticed he had, and pulls out a small pile of papers. “This is a copy of the contract I’m offering you. In short, you’ll get a week of recording in the evenings, and then we’ll send those out to the radio stations. After that, I’ll put you on a small tour. You can be in Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Steve says, eyes big and filled with wonder.
Billy crosses his arms over his chest, tries to pretend he isn’t trying to hug himself. “We’ve got to actually read that contract first.”
Hopper nods, and stands up. “You’ve got my number,” he tells Billy, and puts down some bills in the middle of the table. “You kids treat yourself to dinner, now. And then you call me when you’re ready to sign.”
He leaves them with that. Billy bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood and stares after him.
Shit.
—
“Alright, alright, let’s think this through,” Jonathan says, gesturing at the contract laid out on the coffee table. They’re back in the apartment, having immediately sat down to discuss what happened this afternoon. “We need to all read this shit carefully, okay? Like Billy said. We don’t want to sign something that’ll get us fucked over down the line.”
“I mean, usually I’d agree with you, but this is your mum’s close friend getting us this contract,” Robin says.
“I don’t know if I’d call them ‘close friends’. They haven’t seen each other in twenty years.”
“Yeah, but he did come to see her son play after just one call from her. I’d say they were probably... pretty close,” Steve notes, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Jonathan makes a face. “Ew. No, ew.”
“The man works at a major record label, and yet Joyce’s call managed to reach him, even though they can’t have spoken in years. Johnny,” Robin admonishes. “Don’t be in denial.”
“God,” Jonathan groans, putting his head in his hands. “Stop.”
“I do agree with you though. We should read through this closely.”
“Hey, Bills?” Steve says, looking over at Billy. He hasn’t said anything since they got back. Hasn’t known what to say. He feels like a shadow, or a dark cloud, about to rain all over their happiness. “You alright?”
“Yeah... Yeah, I just didn’t think this would happen so soon,” he says, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.
“Well, you know. Dreams do come true!” Robin exclaims.
Steve’s face lights up. “Oh! Let’s call our debut album that! ‘Dreams Come True’.”
Billy chokes on a laugh. “What are we, twelve?” Then he winches, because fuck, Billy might as well be. He’s not eighteen yet. He can’t sign shit. But they don’t know that. They don’t know that Billy’s fucking age is what’s going to keep them from fulfilling their dreams.
The phone rings, and Jonathan’s shoots up. “That must be Nancy. I’ve got to tell her everything!” There’s a spring in his step that Jonathan almost never gets as he goes to answer. Billy hates himself.
“You staying the night?” Robin asks him, knocking her shoulder into his.
“Nah,” Billy says. “I’ve got to get home.” I can’t stay here. Can’t be around you guys right now.
“You should read the contract before you go, then,” Steve says, pushing it towards him. “Then we can meet up tomorrow, and-“
“Can’t,” Billy forces out, past the lump in his throat. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”
He doesn’t. But he needs tomorrow to himself, because he needs to figure out what the hell to do about this. Without losing the band, and hopefully without losing this chance to make an actual record. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Fucking hell.
Billy takes the contract, and reads.
—
His mind feels full of static, his thoughts jumbled and panicked and racing. He barely managed to get to the Camaro, the sidewalk blurring in front of his eyes the further he got from the apartment.
Come on, Billy, pull yourself together. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t mess this up.
But fuck, if he doesn’t mess up everything he touches. He’s used to messing shit up. He is a fucking mess, as Neil used to say, but now it’s actually true.
Because Billy’s got a band, but Billy’s too young to sign a contract, and Billy thought that when he ran away from home he’d finally get to start living , but he’s barely surviving out here. He plays piano for tips and he sucks off men twice his age on dirty LA alleys and he doesn’t even own the car he lives out of. He lies to everyone he cares about, and he only feels alive, really, truly alive, when he’s out on a fucking stage.
He needs to figure this out.
His hands go up and twist in his hair, and he brings his head down against the steering wheel hard, once, twice, and then he keeps it there, not even bothering to try to muffle the frustrated scream he lets out. It’s not like anyone will hear him, out here.
He’s just so fucking stupid. He should’ve thought about something like this happening, he should’ve had a plan figured out long ago, but he’d been honest earlier. He’d never thought something like this would happen, not this soon, this quickly.
He looses time. Moves in a daze, until he ends up down on Santa Monica boulevard.
“Baby-B?” a female voice calls, and next thing Billy knows he’s blinked and Jess has materialised in front of him. “What are you- Hey, you alright?”
“I…” His throat suddenly feels very, very dry, and he sucks in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t feel like any oxygen enters so he does it again. “I- I-“
Jess grabs his arm and drags him away from the streetlights, away from the cars and the girls on the sidewalk, into an alley. Billy knows some of the girls take their clients back here, he knows because he’s got his own alley for that express purpose just a little bit down the road, but it seems to be mercifully empty right now.
“What’s wrong?” Jess asks. Her eyes look big from the makeup, and they glisten in the moonlight. She shakes his arms a little. “What happened? Did somebody drug you? Did they make you do something you didn’t want to?”
“The band’s been offered a contract,” Billy manages to get out.
Jess lets go off him and steps back, staring incredulously at him. “What the fuck are you doing down here then?”
He’s been showing up less and less out here, because as they’ve had more shows and become more popular, Billy’s been scared shitless somebody will recognise him. And since he sleeps at least a few nights at the guys’ apartment, he can usually bum a shower and eat some of their food while he’s there, but he hasn’t really been able to fully stop, either, because he still needs money. He can’t be completely broke. He needs to pay for his letters to Max, if nothing else.
Billy looks away from Jess, staring at the ground. “I’m not eighteen yet.”
He can’t see her face, but he hears it in her voice when comprehension dawns. “Oh, baby,” she whispers. “You have to tell them.”
Jess is older than Billy. She just turned twenty-four in June. She’s been out here turning tricks for longer than Billy has, too. Helped him out a little in the beginning. Told him what to watch out for, what to do when the police came.
“I can’t, I…”
Jess sighs. “Well, you have to tell someone .” He knows what she means. If he’s not telling the band, then at least he has to tell Hopper.
Billy shakes his head, his curls flying and covering his eyes. “He’s a cop, Jess.”
He’s always hated cops, hated them in San Diego and hates them here, and he knows she does, too.
“Who is?” she asks, voice low.
“The man from the record label. He used to be a cop before he moved to California. What if he…” Billy swallows, squeezes his eyes shut. “What if he makes me go back? What if he… What if he calls his old fucking cop buddies, and they force me back home? I can’t go back, I- I’d fucking die if I went back, I-“
Jess grabs his arms and steps up into his face again. “Baby-B. Breathe. Breathe, come on, deep breath. That’s it, there you go. And let’s think about this. Logically. He wasn’t a cop in LA, right?”
Billy shakes his head, doing his best to keep breathing.
“And he wouldn’t gain anything from sending you back, right? He wants you to be here, and perform, because it’ll get him money, right?”
Billy swallows, uttering a quiet, “Right.”
“Do you have his number?”
Billy nods.
“We’re going to go to Marge’s, and you’re going to call him, and set up a meeting for tomorrow, and it’s going to be fine. But just in case it isn’t, you’re going to leave your car in the city, and you’re going to run. And in case they try to stop you from leaving,” she bends down and digs a switchblade out of her high heeled boots, pressing it into Billy’s hand. “Protection.”
—
Billy takes the coach towards the inner city the next morning. LA traffic can be a pain, especially during rush hour, so it takes him almost an hour. He’s pressed up so close to the other passengers that he can smell the cologne of the man next to him, can feel the hair of the girl on his other side tickling his arm.
There’s a weird anonymity in that. Being so close to so many people that you somehow fade into the crowd and disappear.
Mindflayer Records is made up of two buildings, one a high rise, and the other only a few stories tall. The high rise has the main entrance, and the offices of all the execs and producers and lawyers and all the other rich fucks who make money off of people like Billy. The smaller building’s got recording studios and rehearsal rooms.
Billy’s not unused to feeling out of place, not when he’s refused to conform to what Neil wanted, when he’s stuck out like a sore thumb every time he was forced to church or went shopping with Susan. And he knows his hard rock style isn’t exactly strange to any of the people working here, but he’d still chosen his most sensible pair of jeans and a simple tank top beneath his leather jacket. His hair’s tied up into a bun at the top of his head, a couple curls breaking free and sticking to his forehead from sweat.
The building’s air conditioned, and Billy’s hit with a blast of cold air as soon as he steps inside. It turns his sweat cool, makes his skin feel clammy. Everyone here is dressed professionally, but no one looks at him.
He walks up to the receptionist, his hand going down to fidget next to his pocket where Jess’ switchblade lies.
“I’m here to see James Hopper,” Billy says. “We’ve got a meeting?” His voice rises at the end, making it sound like a question, and Billy digs his nails into the palm of his hand.
The receptionist doesn’t even look at him, just clicks away at her computer. “Name?”
“I- The Upside Downs?”
This time she does turn, looking up at him over the rim of her glasses. She looks him up and down, seems to question her own existence, and sighs, turning back to the computer.
“‘Billy’?” he tries.
He sees a smile pull at her lips. “Right.” She turns away from the computer, reaching for a visitor’s pass and handing it to him. “Thirteenth floor. Follow the signs.”
Billy takes the pass and hangs it around his neck, going over to the lifts and stepping in. He’s the only one in it, which is a relief, because it gives him some time to check his reflection in the mirror in there, make sure he still looks acceptable. He’s not used to being nervous. To caring this much, what some man might think of him. But Hopper was right, Billy isn’t good with authority, and on top of that, he’s scared shitless of the outcome of this meeting.
The elevator dings as he reaches the correct floor and steps out. There are signs on the wall immediately in front of him with the names of a bunch of other big-name people in the business, but Billy ignores them, looking for the one pointing him to Hopper’s office. He finds it, turns right and heads down the corridor until he reaches a door with James Hopper written on it in cursive underneath a frosted window.
Billy steps in without knocking, and ends up in a room with a window, a plant, another door, and a desk behind which a young, pretty woman sits. She smiles at him when she sees him, and presses a button.
“James, he’s here now, do you want me to send him in?” Billy recognises her voice. She’s the one who’d answered when he’d called to set up this meeting.
There’s a pause, then Hopper’s voice comes crackling through. “Just one?”
She looks up at Billy. “Is it just you?”
Billy swallows, nods. “Yeah.”
“Just one,” she confirms to Hopper, and Billy’s pretty sure he hears him sigh.
“Let him in.”
She gestures for Billy to pass by her desk towards the door on the other side of the room, and he does so.
This room is bigger. It’s a real office, with bookcases and music awards taking up two walls. Another wall is mostly made up by big, squared widows looking down at the busy streets below. Hopper sits at a desk by the fourth wall, two leather armchairs in front of it. He nods for Billy to sit down in one of them, which he does.
There’s a pitcher of water and a coffee pot on his desk, along with mugs and glasses, and a little bowl of candy. An ashtray. There’s also dozens of photographs, both on the desk as well as the wall behind him. Some of them appear to be of a little blonde girl, but most are of a brown haired one. In the ones that she’s youngest, her hair’s really short and curly, but as she gets older it gets longer and longer. Her smile gets wider, too, and her expression brighter.
“I’d assumed you’d wanted to discuss about the contract, but since the others aren’t here, I take it that’s not the purpose of this meeting, is it?”
Billy decides to just come out and say it. “I can’t sign the contract.”
Hopper frowns, leaning back in his seat. The chair squeaks as he does. “Care to tell me why you can’t sign the contract?”
“I’m not eighteen yet. The others, they don’t know, but they’re all legal,” he’s quick to add.
“Right,” Hopper says. He pulls open a drawer and gets out a cigarette and lighter, stuffing the cigarette in his mouth as he speaks. “You got any parents that can sign for you? Guardians?”
“No,” Billy says, priding himself in how steady his voice is, even as he sits ramrod straight and tense. “I’m a runaway.”
Hopper pauses in his movement just as the flame is about to hit the butt of the cigarette, and Billy sees him close his eyes. Hears him sigh. He resumes lightning it, and moves his arm down to rest his elbow on the desk, massaging his temple. “Of course you are,” he mutters, and presses a button to speak to his assistant outside. “Jenna? Push my next meeting forward, let’s say fifteen minutes, and get me my lunch to eat in the office.”
She replies cheerfully, says “Will do, James!”
Hopper sighs, screws his face up in distaste at his full name, and mutters, “God, I miss Flo.” He straightens up a little, and fills two glasses with water, placing one in front of Billy.
“Sure you haven’t got anything stronger?” Billy says, only half-joking.
Hopper fixes him with a serious look. “I’m five years sober.”
Jesus. What a fucking start.
Billy takes the glass and drinks. Hopper nods in approval, and gestures at him with his cigarette.
“So what happened?”
“I’m not going back there,” Billy says, placing the glass down hard. “You’re a cop, and I’m not-“
Hopper chuckles. “I haven’t been a cop in a long while, Billy.”
Billy sets his lips in a thin line. “My dad used to hit my mum, then he drove her away when I was a little kid, and he started in on me. I’ve got a stepmum and a stepsister, but he doesn’t touch them, and everyone likes him, so nothing would stick and I couldn’t fucking handle it anymore, so the day after graduation I got in my car and I drove here.”
Hopper nods. “Where you from? I know you said you’re Californian, but-“
“San Diego.”
Hopper hums. “Far enough.” He leans forward, looking Billy in the eyes. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to try to figure out how to deal with this on my end. Meanwhile, you need to fucking tell your band mates.”
Billy goes rigid. “I’m not telling them about my dad. About what he did to me. I can’t, I-“
“It’s okay,” Hopper says, sounding more gentle than Billy thought he could. He nods towards the photographs lining his desk. “Jane, my daughter, she’s a foster kid. I adopted her when she was ten, and the people she’d been with before treated her horribly. You don’t have to tell anyone unless you want to. Unless you feel ready. But you have to tell them about your age. When’s your birthday?”
“October.”
“October,” Hopper repeats, sounding pensive. “We can work with that. Tell them tonight, and then on Friday, same time as today, you lot can come here, and if they’re with you, we’ll discuss how to go from there. If it’s just you, I’ll assume the others pulled out. Okay?”
Billy nods. “Yeah. I guess that means I’m dismissed?”
Hopper smiles. “You’re free to go.” But he stops Billy just as he nears the door. “Kid? Thank you for telling me.”
Billy grimaces. “It’s not ‘cause I trust you. It’s just ‘cause I-“
“Because you had to, I know. But I hope that one day I’ll have earned it.”
—
“So what did you want to talk about?” Steve asks him the next day.
He’s got the band assembled, Billy on the couch and the other three on the pullout across from him. Steve and Jonathan are sitting down, with Robin having draped herself over their laps.
“I… can’t sign the contract,” Billy starts.
Jonathan frowns. “Did something about it seem sketchy to you?”
“No,” Billy says. He shakes his head, tries to gather his thoughts. “It’s just… My birthday is in October. The 29th. I’m still seventeen.”
“Oh,” Steve breathes, and Billy sees something shift in his eyes.
“Can’t your parents sign? Or give their consent, or whatever?” Robin asks, staring up into the ceiling and playing with her hair.
“I ran away from home right after graduation, so no, they can’t.”
That makes her sit up quickly, her elbow digging into Steve’s thigh as she does. Steve groans and double over.
“Sorry, Stevie,” she says absentmindedly, her focus entirely on Billy now. “You’re a runaway?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Steve asks, shifting in his seat so Robin isn’t putting all her weight on him anymore.
Billy grimaces. “Let’s just say my dad and I didn’t really agree on much.”
“He didn’t support you pursuing music?”
Billy laughs “Not really, no.”
“Where have you been staying?” Jonathan asks, and Billy hesitates to answer.
“I’ve been… living out of my car, pretty much.”
“What?!” Robin shouts.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Steve joins in.
“We’d have let you stay here, man,” Jonathan adds.
“I mean,” Billy starts, feeling a little defensive. “It would’ve been pretty weird to ask to move in with you during our first meeting, and I didn’t know if we were going to work out, if this was going to be anything long-term, and by the time we’d become friends it just felt… stupid. There was never really a right time.”
Steve looks exasperated, Jonathan uncomfortable, and Robin slumps down between the both of them, sighing, “I guess.”
“You’re moving in here now, though. Get your stuff out of your car and move in, tonight,” Steve tells him.
“What will we do about Hopper?” Robin asks. “The contract?”
“I actually went to talk to him last night. He’s the one who convinced me I had to tell you guys. He wants us to go see him tomorrow morning, so we can discuss how it’ll work. If it’ll work.”
“It’s going to work out,” Jonathan says, sounding determined. “We’ll make it work. Whatever happens.”
—
Billy takes the others with him to Mindflayer Records the next morning. After their talk yesterday, they’d all gone off to work and left Billy alone to move his meagre belongings into the apartment. He’d preferred it that way, less likely for them to want to help him get everything, and less likely for them to look at him with pity in their eyes when they realised how very little he actually has to his name.
He’d dropped his toothbrush into the cup in the bathroom, had put away his clothes next to Robin’s in the closet, his records in the living room and his jewellery into a little bag on the nightstand. The nightstand on Billy’s side of the bed. Because he’s got a bed to sleep in again, to sleep in every night, not just when he’s too tired or too drunk to go back to the Camaro. He’d walked through the empty apartment, had looked at his stuff spread out in it, and everything had suddenly bubbled up to the surface and he’d started crying.
He’s not crying now.
He walks up to the receptionist, the same one as two days ago, and this time he says their band name with confidence. She smiles a little when she hands him their passes, and he leads the others to the elevator and to Hopper’s office. His secretary - Jenna - lets them in, and Hopper actually seems happy to see them. Probably relieved his time didn’t go to waste.
“I take it everything worked out?”
Billy can’t quite stop himself from smiling, relieved as he is.
“He’s moved in with us now,” Robin says.
“It does help having you all in the same place,” Hopper remarks as they sit down, Billy in one armchair with Robin in his lap, Steve in the other with Jonathan perched on the armrest.
“You need more chairs in here,” Steve tells him. Hopper rolls his eyes.
“In my experience, bands like yours are generally pretty close. Never seemed like any have minded cozying up with each other. That, or you’re all so traumatised from shitty childhoods that you can’t help it.”
That hits the nail a little too hard on the head.
“Anyway,” Hopper says. “I’ve had to go out on a limb here, because I can’t exactly tell everyone that Billy’s a runaway. I’m putting my trust in you kids, which is mostly because I know that you,” Here he points at Jonathan. “Were raised by Joyce. But if you, any of you, fuck this up, then know that I’ll screw you over so bad you won’t ever find work in this business. Not as anything good, anyway. That clear?”
They nod in unison.
“Good. Not much has changed, it’s just way more risky. You’ll spend the weekend choosing which songs you want to record, then you’ll get studio time in the evenings from Monday through to Friday. Remember, we’re not making an album, just recording enough songs to get your music circulating. I also want you to have a little photoshoot, because I couldn’t find any photographs of you together so I take it you haven’t gotten around to that yet?”
They shake their heads, all having perked up at the thought of being photographed together as a band.
“Didn’t think so. You need posters, advertisement. Now, when it’s bands like yours, barely famous but up and coming, we’ve got a partnership going with one of the colleges where we offer their photography students some cheap pay and experience in exchange for taking the photos.”
“My girlfriend’s studying journalism,” Jonathan cuts in. “Her best friend from Hawkins studies photography at the same university. We used to take photos together during high school. She’s good.”
“Give me her contact details before you leave and I’ll have Jenna give her a call,” Hopper says, nodding. “We’ll do that on Saturday or Sunday, then come Monday, we’re putting your songs on the radio.” He starts to grin, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’ve got a fun little plan for this. I know a couple people at some of the rock stations, and they’ve already agreed. We’re giving each station one song, and then they’ll play them at the same time on Monday, so no matter which station you tune in to, if you want to listen to rock, you’re getting the Upside Downs.”
Steve turns to shoot Billy and Robin a grin, and Jonathan chuckles. “Whoa.”
“Wicked.”
“Yes, I’m quite proud of myself,” Hopper agrees, smiling. “On Tuesday I’ve booked you for the Troubadour-“
“The Troubadour?!”
“You got us into-“
“Yes, calm down,” Hopper scoffs. “Wednesday, you’re off on a little tour, and you’ll get to borrow two vans to store all the equipment and whatever else you want to take with you. I’ll come down to see you on Billy’s birthday, and you’ll sign with Mindflayer, and then you can spend Thanksgiving in Hawkins, as previously discussed. We’ll see where we go from there. Everyone happy?”
“ More than happy!” Steve says. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Billy almost expects him to shoot up and kiss Hopper on the lips. Hell, Billy almost does. He’s a little nervous about going to their little small town in Indiana, but everything else is more than he dared hope for. For the first time this week, the butterflies in Billy’s stomach are only from excitement.
—
“I can’t believe this is happening!” Robin says on Monday.
They’ve just stepped into Mindflayer Records, looking for Hopper. He’s waiting for them by the elevators, just like he said he would, and he walks up to meet them as soon as he spots them. During daytime there’d been people down here, but now it’s almost empty. It’s not shocking, considering how late it is, just before closing.
“Evening, Hop!” Billy calls out. The man rolls his eyes, but seems a little amused.
He leads them back outside, towards a side door that he unlocks and holds open.
“First time in a recording studio?” he asks them over his shoulder, leading them through the corridors and up a staircase. The walls are close to each other, and it all would’ve been a bit claustrophobic if it weren’t for the warm lighting and the framed posters and album covers on the walls.
Jonathan huffs a laugh. “What do you think?”
Hopper takes them into a control room, where a man already sits at the mixing console. He’s young, in his thirties, Billy would guess. His hair looks dirty blonde in the lightning, curling over his forehead, and he’s got glasses and a moustache, thinner than Hopper’s.
Hopper goes up to him and pats him on the shoulder. “This here is Phil Callahan. He’s going to help out down here, show you the ropes and make sure nothing breaks.”
“You think we’d break your equipment?” Robin asks.
“We’ve already established you’ve never been in a studio before. I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing, no. Besides, we don’t let any band do this stuff alone. Callahan’s worked as an audio engineer for a couple years, he knows what he’s doing.”
Phil grins. “I’m a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades down here. That’s why I’m the one ending up having to spend my nights with a group of kids.”
Hopper frowns, looking down at Phil. “I thought you said you didn’t mind?”
Phil shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “As long as you pay me I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Great,” Hopper says and turns his attention on them, levelling them with a strict look. “Now, remember, radio friendly songs. I’m not taking any goddamn Bohemian Rhapsody risks with you, not yet. You can familiarise yourselves with the equipment tonight, then I’ll be by tomorrow to hear which songs you want to do. I’ll leave you to it.”
The door closes behind him with a muted thud. Phil sighs, and gestures for them to come closer, then begins explaining everything.
—
Steve works them like a drill sergeant for all of the five nights they spend in the studio. Billy can’t quite figure out if Phil is mostly impressed, amused, or terrified.
Accustomed as he is to being awake and working at night, Billy fares the best out of all of them. Steve’s sudden perfectionist side might just be a result of sleep deprivation for all Billy knows, because there are clear bags beneath his eyes as he stands, ordering them around with his drumsticks pointing to where he wants them.
By Monday night they’ve almost finished recording Swallow The Key , one of their most popular songs. One Hopper clearly had to agree to include, considering he’d given them five nights to record four songs when they, in his own words, have no idea what they’re doing, and he didn’t check their song selection until the second night.
Tuesday night they get Bad Thought, Crazy Dance done, and experiment by recording sounds of whatever objects they find lying around the studio. Phil looks at them like he can’t quite decide if they’re the most insane people he’s had to work with or not. Billy blows him a kiss from inside one of the isolation booths in the live room, and sees him groan into his hands.
They record Jonathan’s bass first on Wednesday, and he ends up almost begging Steve to only do one song that night. “Steve, man, I’m tired. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“There’s a perfectly good couch right there!” Steve says, gesturing with his drumstick at the couch in the corner. “Go take a nap.” He nods at Robin. “You too.”
She looks up from where she’d been busy chugging coffee, and Billy snorts a laugh. “I’m not tired.”
“Steve, please, I want my bed,” Jonathan tries.
“You don’t have a bed,” Billy tells him. “You have a couch, with a pillow and duvet.”
“Then I want my couch. And my pillow. And my duvet.”
“I actually think Robin might overdose on caffeine unless we get her away from the coffee pot.”
“Fine!” Steve exclaims. “Fine. We’ll just do Electrocute tonight, and then we’ll go home.”
“Oh thank god,” Phil mutters.
On Thursday they record both Atlantis Drowning and Late Nights At The Boulevard . And Friday night they finish off with Wasted Alcoholic . Hopper nods in approval when he hears the finished products, seems almost impressed.
—
“It feels like I haven’t seen Barb in years,” Robin remarks on Sunday, her arm swinging and rhythmically hitting Billy’s.
They’re on their way to the studio for their photoshoot, Steve and Jonathan walking on ahead, both with duffel bags filled with changes of clothes. Jonathan’s got his bass on his back, Robin and Billy both carrying their guitars.
Robin steps closer and lowers her voice. “You know she was my first kiss?”
“No,” Billy says. “Did you two date? Won’t this be awkward?”
Robin laughs. “No, no. She’s bisexual, I think, but we were just kids and both starting to realise we liked girls. It was really innocent, you know? Just practice for our future girlfriends.”
“That’s kind of adorable,” Billy says. “What’s she like?”
“She’s really nice! Good at photography, and very smart.”
Phil meets them in the lobby, and shows them the way to a big, bright room, walls painted white and lots of light fixtures. In the middle of the room stands a tall girl, wearing high waisted jeans and a loose button up. Her red hair’s short and wavy, and as she turns, Billy sees she’s got light, large-framed glasses.
As soon as she and his band mates lay eyes on one another, the four of them go running in for a group hug. Billy hangs back, a little amused at the way they have to lean over the duffel bags and instruments to reach each other.
Barb laughs and steps back, going up to Billy while the others walk over to a corner and drop their stuff to the floor. “You must be Billy, then?” she asks, holding her hand out for him to shake. Billy nods and takes it. “Barbare Holland,” she introduces herself.
Billy nods towards the white sheet draped over a tall rack in the middle of the room, a tripod placed in front of it. “You got any idea how you want us to pose?”
“Nancy showed me some of your lyrics to help me get a feel of your vibes, but I don’t really have a lot of equipment. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad for the opportunity, most first years don’t-“ She breaks off, looks a little sheepish. “And I’m rambling. Mr. Callahan came by earlier and showed me everything I get to use. So we’ve got lots of sheets in lots of colours to use as background, we’ve got a smoke machine, chairs, tables, and whatever else you brought as props. You got your instruments?”
“Of course,” Billy says. “Well, except for Steve, but he’s got his drumsticks.” Even know Billy can see the sticking out of his back pocket as Steve leans down to open one of the duffle bags.
Barb laughs. “Right, yeah. I’m thinking we’ll take a couple photos of you four with them to start. Did you bring changes of clothes?”
Billy shrugs. “A couple, yeah.”
Barb nods. “We should probably go through and decide on those first.”
And so they spend the better part of an hour trying on clothes in front of Barb, who takes notes on what she wants each of them to wear for each shoot. Billy takes care to keep his back close to the wall as he changes. So far, none of them have seen his back, and he’d rather keep it that way for a while longer. He especially can’t deal with the questions he’d certainly get, not now with Barb here. Robin had been right, she is nice, but Billy doesn’t know her enough to trust her with that.
They agree on a dark grey, almost black, background, and Billy and Jonathan get out ladders to remove the white sheet and exchange it for their chosen one.
Barb has them stand in front of it, sometimes with their instruments, sometimes without. They change clothes, and she gets them to change poses and try different formations. They’re all pretty similar in height, with Jonathan the shortest and Steve the tallest, but Barb has them mix it up. Robin gains a few inches as she changes between her shoes, too. Sometimes Barb wants one or two of them on the floor, sometimes she wants Billy in the middle because he’s the only one with light hair, with the biggest hair, or because he’s the singer, and at times she tells him to pose with his guitar, other times with a microphone.
The cosiest photos they take end up when Barb puts a sheet down on the floor and has them lie down on it, on top of each other in a cuddle puddle. She gets a mic stand and puts it across Billy’s body, has him hold the mic in one hand, the other holding his guitar. She crosses Steve’s drumsticks over his chest, puts down Jonathan’s bass and Robin’s guitar close to their owners.
And then she moves a ladder close to them, and puts a light to shine on them and keep the shadow of the ladder off their bodies. She climbs up on it, and takes a photo from above.
While they change for what feels like the fiftieth time, Barb puts a smokey grey sheet down on the floor. “No skirts, Robin,” she calls over her shoulder while working to get the smoke machine to start.
Once they get back to her, she’s got a bunch of rope curled at her feet, and she’s smiling excitedly. “This is my best idea yet,” she tells them. “You’re called The Upside Downs, right? Well, we’re going to get you to look like you’re upside down!”
It’s the most fun photos Billy’s ever taken. For the first version, she has them lie down, “Steve, Robin, Billy, Jonathan, in that order,” and then she walks down to their feet and ties one rope around each of their ankles, pulling the ropes away so it looks like they’re dangling. She has them cross their arms over their chests, and walks around pulling at their clothing, moving their hair, so it seems like gravity is pulling it all down. She directs the smoke machine to have smoke surround them. Finally, she climbs up on the ladder, and then down again for some minute fixes, before going back up and snapping a few shots.
The last photos they take are of the same idea, with them being upside down, but this time Barb unties their legs, and has them move so Billy and Steve end up in the middle. She fixes their hair and clothes again and tells them all to extend an arm above their heads. Steve gets one of his drumsticks, the other one Barb places above his hand so it looks like he’s lost his grip on it and it’s fallen out of his grasp. She gives Billy a microphone to hold in a similar way, and then gets Robin and Jonathan their guitar and bass. Billy sees her place their hands around he necks of the instruments, before climbing back up on the ladder. The smoke machine’s still on, smoke surrounding them.
“Alright, try to curl your knees a little, maybe shift in your sides towards each other. We want it to look like you’re falling downwards,” Barb directs from above them, until satisfied, she takes some photos.
Afterwards, they help Barb clean up, and Phil comes to find them once they’re almost done. He goes to speak to Barb, takes the borrowed camera from her, and Billy assumes he’s either going to Hopper or straight to someone who will develop the photographs and decide on which to use.
“You want to get dinner with us?” Steve asks her. “Billy’s got a job at this diner, it’s a great place.”
“I’d loved to,” Barb says. “But I’ve got assignments to finish, and you need to start packing if you’re going on tour on Wednesday. I’ll be at the Troubadour with Nancy, though!”
She leaves them with one last hug, and walks away in the opposite direction.
“Well, I’m still hungry,” Robin says, throwing her arms over Billy’s and Jonathan’s shoulders. “Let’s go!” Laughing together, the four of them head down towards the bus stop that will take them to Marge’s.