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Title: A Day in the Life, April 14, Francine
Author: [ profile] morrobay1990
Genre: post canon / 1991
Word count: 700
Disclaimer: Jack & Ennis are AP's.
♥ Jack

Gia Carangi as Francine...

Francine opened her eyes as her roommate banged on the door of her bedroom.

“Phone, it’s your sister.”

Great. Just what she needed this morning, to talk to Miss Perfect. What the hell did she want, anyway?

“Okay, okay, tell her not to get her panties in a wad, I’ll be right there.”


She rolled over and pushed at the man in her bed, although man was slightly overstating.

Frank Dillon was the latest, and it must be said, the best, in a line of losers she had, for some reason, allowed into her bed, and to a less degree, her life...he had earned the rank of best because he didn’t hit her or steal from her, and was sort of a pushover, which is what she needed right now.

Frank obediently sat up, “I’ll get coffee...I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Francine propelled herself out of bed and dragged on jeans and a sweatshirt, neither item of clothing having seen the inside of a washing machine in far too long.

“Lot you don’t know.”

She made her way to the kitchen, picked up the receiver from the counter, and put on a tough, guttural voice.


“Francine? It’s Junior. Can you talk?”

Junior was always on edge when she talked to her younger sister. They had grown apart years ago, after the divorce, after Ennis had, in Francine’s mind, abandoned them for no reason she could fathom. No amount of persuading on Junior’s part could change her mind on the matter.

The final stake had been driven though the heart of the sisters’ relationship when Francine had moved to New York City and effectively cut all communication with her family. Junior saw it as her responsibility to keep those lines open between them, for the sake of her mother and father…she regarded it as a cross she had to bear.

“I can talk – whatd’ya want?”

“Well. Daddy’s birthday was last didn’t send him a card...he was...”

“He was what?”

“Well, he was disappointed.”

“Tell him to join the club, we had jackets made.”


“Don’t call me Francie and I won’t call you Alma, okay?”

The distance, both emotional and now physical, between the sisters, was, in Francine’s mind, pure jealousy on Junior’s part. Francine had inherited Ennis’s height, at six feet she was the tallest girl in the family, and in Riverton...something she had considered a curse until she was about seventeen and the rest of her body caught up with her size.

Her height came from Ennis, but no one knew where the stunning good looks came from, although if anyone, even Francine herself, looked closely at the few pictures of her paternal grandmother, and could see past the grim lines and unsmiling lips, they would see the fine bone structure, widely spaced eyes, straight nose, thick hair pulled back from a broad forehead.

Francine felt a small stab of remorse for snapping at Junior.

“Look.” She sighed into the phone and tried to gather her thoughts. She didn’t want a fight.

“You were always closer to Dad than I was...I’m sure it didn’t bother him that I wasn’t there. He has you...and the kids.” Francine was positive that she would not be contributing any limbs to the family tree.

“You’re wrong! He didn’t say anything, but then he never does...but I could tell.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you, I gotta get ready for work.”

“You still working as a model?” Her tone made the word interchangeable with prostitute.

“How many times I gotta tell you? You know I make more money in a week than that husband of yours makes in a month? You’re gonna see me on the cover of Vogue one day. You think I’m workin in a strip club or somethin, don’t you?”

“Oh, Francine, for goodness sake! Do you have to talk like that?”

“I gotta go. Tell Mama hello for me." She hung up.

Frank pushed a steaming cup of coffee across the counter to her, she picked it up and blew on the hot liquid, took a sip and said, “Best move I ever made was getting outta that backward fuckin town...and I’m never goin back.”

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Date: 2013-04-14 05:53 pm (UTC)
ext_325262: Pip Pumphandle (Default)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, my! No THAT'S a Francine that I haven't seen before! But I like her. Hope to get to know more about her. Junior does come off a bit whiny in this one, doesn't she?

Date: 2013-04-14 06:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Holy shit!

I need to reset my canon-brain!

hmm lovely

Date: 2013-04-14 11:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I love Francine as a wild no holds gal who just does what she wants. Yeah divorce can mess a person up and well, someday down the road maybe her Daddy could make a trip to New York city to see his little gal. That would be a story in itself seeing Ennis walk into Manhatten and seeing the life his little sweet girl is living. But, who knows maybe they have more in common than they know. joe

Date: 2013-04-15 05:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
uhuuu didn't see that coming
I hope she can live her life without feeling bitter, because you can either be bitter or happy but not both at the same time.


Date: 2013-04-20 01:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Modeling can f*ck your head up worse than divorced parents. You're just fodder for the runway and cameras. It can twist your brain into thinking that the only value you have as a human is your looks. You worry about your weight, your height, your musculature, the shape of your nose, the size of your ears, etc., etc., etc.

It sucks up most of your money. You have to pay for photo sessions, and either live in NYC with a bunch of roommates (usually other models), or rack up the frequent flyer miles to get there when needed. And then there's the trial of saving up enough money to get to Paris and Milan for fashion weeks.

Then there are the agents, photographers, designers, and others who run the industry. While there are some good people running the industry, there just as many (if not more) scumbags. They waste your time, they waste your money, and they don't have anywhere near the connections they claim to have in the business.

I went through all that sh*t when I was young. Admittedly, it is 10 times worse for the women than it is for the men. But I've heard everything from "we didn't order any black models for this shoot," to "I'm sorry, you're not black enough. We were hoping for someone with more African features."

The only models that make it to the cover of Vogue are the supermodels. And for every supermodel you can name, there are a hundred thousand beautiful young women slogging their way through the trenches appearing on shopping mall runways and in Bed, Bath & Beyond catalogs.

Sorry for the rant, but I've seen the ugliness close up.
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