Chapter Text
Pop stardom is for losers with no life and idiots who can’t write their own music. Fortunately, Janis doesn’t look good in glitter and leotards, or whatever the pop girls are wearing now. Janis is sort of a B-list celebrity, but she’s famous enough to have opened for tried and true pop stars. Instead of attention, Janis half wishes she could just go back to small headline tours in mid-size venues that can only be called music halls half the time, writing stories and turning them to songs, and taking ten years to produce a single song because it just doesn’t feel right, and she’s still not a popstar. Now she just has deadlines and people that see her lyrics as inauthentic because she didn’t live them. What do they know, Janis could be getting high off her ass every day she doesn’t have a meeting.
Controversy follows Regina George like a lifted white Toyota Tacoma with the sun for headlights that tailgates for a living. Slept with a married man and ruined a marriage? Check. Caught hooking up with a friend in a club bathroom? Check. Plagiarism accusations? Check, but she never plagiarised anyone. Broke up the band? Comically large check that they have when you win the lottery.
According to her agent, Regina needs to fix her reputation, but Regina George has never been anything but authentic in front of the cameras and she won’t stop anytime soon. The label can spend the money to put her through media training again, but they know it won’t stick. No one can stop Regina from going out to the bountiful LA club scene, and what she does there cannot and will not be stopped. It’s sexy, it’s sleazy, it’s not special. Regina’s one bad day away from an early 2000’s meltdown and everyone knows it. She wouldn’t look as good as Brittney did with a shaved head.
On her 27th birthday, Janis posts a demo of a song called “27’s” on her blog. While not completely fleshed out yet, her production is scribbled all over it with a driving lead guitar, catchy drums, and a keyboard that you wouldn’t expect. It’s something she wrote forever ago, with a promise to put it into the world if she made it to 27. There wasn’t ever really a question of if Janis would make it because while she experimented as a teenager, nothing stuck, not even vaping (if anything was going to kill her, it would have been the Benadryl because she was too afraid of death to really get into anything more addictive than nicotine).
On her 27th birthday, Janis receives an email from her own label asking about the demo and if she’s willing to sell it. It depends, because it’s not going to a straight laced kind of guy who thinks they’re cool or edgy for singing about death. There’s enough edge in the song from Janis thinking she's so original for writing about the 27 club.
Somehow, Janis spends her birthday exchanging emails with her manager and the label and setting up a meeting to negotiate contracts, like the try hard she isn’t.
Janis loves her job. It’s the best job in the world. She wouldn’t trade it for the world. She’s never once been sarcastic in her life. Janis ‘Imi’ike is the most genuine person on the planet and no one can ever say anything about it. She’s in show business for a reason.
“Kylie, I’m not going to rehab. I’m not addicted to anything. I only do substances when I go out.”
“Regina, you go out every night!”
“Trust me when I say that I’m not addicted to anything. Besides, you’re literally still a kid. You don’t know shit.”
Kylie glares and it’s almost like looking in a mirror, if Regina were two inches shorter and a natural blonde.
“You worry me, Gigi. I don’t want to wake up to the news that you fucking, I don’t know, died of a fent overdose.”
“You know I don't do, like, opioids, right? I’m not that stupid.”
“That’s not the goddamn point. The point is that I don’t want you to die!”
“I’m not going to! Not anytime soon, at least.”
Kylie sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, looking exactly like their mom whenever Regina got caught smoking with Karen in high school. Crazy deja vu. It kind of makes her want to hand over the joint that’s tucked in her purse.
“Just…please think before you take anything, Gigi. As much as you’re a pain in my ass and an embarrassment to my social life, I kind of like having a sister.”
That’s worth consideration. Regina also kind of likes having a sister, even though said sister is 16, doesn’t have her license yet, and is generally an annoying teenager.
Lunch is a stilted affair, as it always is. Kylie’s still a screenager and definitely doesn’t see her famous-but-not-cool older sister as someone she wants to hang out with. Regina’s no longer a cool sister after her fall from grace, and she probably won’t redeem herself in Kylie’s eyes, even if she fixes her reputation.
Regina George doesn’t show for her first studio session, but it’s not Janis who’s footing the bill for the recording studio. Shane, Regina’s constant collaborator, isn’t surprised. Might as well get acquainted with her new collaborator, though, so Janis plays her demo and tweaks where she no longer likes.
Shane Oman is probably one of the most famous producers that doesn’t have his own tag. He’s the chosen producer for pop princesses, with too many number one hits to count.
“‘27’s’ is supposed to be, like, loud and maybe a little stressful. Even foreboding,” Janis mumbles, never being one to give elevator pitches about her own music. “It was sort of a, I don’t know, manifestation I wrote when I was, like, seventeen.”
“Shit, dude. And you’re sure about selling it?”
“Yeah. I made it to 27 and I don’t necessarily want to die anymore, so it would be like finally getting rid of the trinket that looks wrong on your shelf but you don’t know what to do with.”
Shane hums, tapping a beat out on the desk.
“Since Regina probably isn’t gonna show, wanna take advantage of the free studio time?”
He’s properly speaking Janis’s language now. He’s familiar with Janis’s body of work, and seems to get that Janis isn’t one of his pop girlies. Janis isn’t really one to just jam. Shane’s not much of an instrumentalist, but he’s pretty good at finding a rhythm on a sample or drum machine pad. It builds to something a little drum heavy at what Janis sees as a chorus and then a guitar driven breakdown, and then Janis starts thinking of the words to go with the sounds. It’s far from familiar, this songwriting process is a single firefly in a giant field and Janis doesn’t have a jar.
One voice memo later, Janis has a decent demo and a good working relationship with Shane. Her contract with the label says that she gets full creative control over her own music, something she took a lower percentage of profit for, but not something she’s willing to compromise on.
Regina’s late for her studio session and she knows it. She’s not the goddess of traffic and unfortunately she can’t control the idiots who all work in their cars and are always on the goddamn 405. She’s listened to the demo. It’s a vibe. Not her vibe, but it is a vibe.
The songwriter, Janis Last Name, demanded that she produce it, and Regina honestly doesn’t care that much. Other people write her songs, other people create her music, other people advertise her albums and singles, Regina just sings songs. Regina just does what her manager tells her to do, so she’ll show up and record the song.
Regina trusts Shane. He texted her that Janis is chill, and Regina trusts him. Never heard of her, but that’s okay. Shane’s judgement is enough.
Loitering in the doorframe just to turn her 42 minutes late into an even 45, Shane’s interactions with Janis tell Regina everything she needs to know. Janis is in the recording booth, singing a verse to something that isn’t the demo that Regina’s been told to record. The track is distinctly not Regina’s vibe but the lyrics hit home.
“Hey Shane,” Regina calls, grinning at her best friend.
He whips around so fast that his headphones fall off and the cord slaps him in the face.
“Gi! Finally gracing us with your presence!”
Janis in the booth holds up a finger in a “hold on” gesture, writing something down on her phone before redoing that verse. Listening closely, her vocals are strong, but the lyrics impress Regina more than anything.
“What’s that song?”
“A demo that Jiggles and I have been working on since you skipped your first session. Everything alright?”
“I’d say you know what chronic pain is like but you really, really wouldn’t.”
“I’m Janis,” Janis shakes Regina’s hand, still a little distracted by her phone.
“Jiggles here wrote the song, but I’m sure you already know that. Honestly, all you need to do is record the vocals since we’re capable of working on the rest of the track. Unless you want to hang out and watch us work on the track.”
“What’s up with the song you were just singing?” Regina demands of Janis, pretending like Shane’s just a mildly annoying poltergeist that has never heard of the concept of silence.
“Hm? Just a demo that Shane and I kind of came up with earlier this week.”
Filing that away in her mind palace, Regina sits down on the terribly tiny sofa to talk to Shane about the song (Shane loves this studio and this specific room, probably because Regina hates this couch so much). There was a point in time where Regina actually enjoyed her job, where it wasn’t just a paycheck. Now, though, she just sits, listens to the demo again, listens to what Janis and Shane want from her, and reads the lyrics off the email that Janis sends her.
As an artist, Janis is picky to say the least. It’s not her song anymore, she shouldn’t care so much about it. But Regina will be nice and hold her tongue because her agent will murder her if she just fuels the “Regina George is a diva and you should never, under any circumstances, work with her” rumour.
Take after take after take after take and Regina is in hell. It’s the longest that she’s ever been in the booth, but Shane also isn’t satisfied with what Regina’s giving him.
“Let’s take a day, Regina,” Janis offers. “We’ve got plenty of time before the deadline. Hang out if you want, I’m gonna work on the track.”
Janis’s home studio is her bedroom that faces the 101; the window and walls try so desperately to block out the noise of the too close freeway but have never gotten a passing grade, and Janis has managed to make the worst studio possible with it. She’s not used to people watching her as she works, which makes her wonder why she invited Regina to stick around while she works on the track. Normally it’s just her, laptop, keyboard, the drums she doesn’t use because she’s going to get a noise complaint if she does, sample pad, guitar, and the shadowy figure that pretends to be the pile of laundry that she still hasn’t folded. That being said, she's no stranger to real, proper recording studios, ones that aren’t little more than glorified closets or home offices. Those recording studios are always more capable, but there’s something different about making music in her bedroom.
There’s a couple tweaks to be made to the track, so Janis plays around with the hi-hats and 808s, trying to make it sound like it’s not percussion echoing in the cavity where her brain should be.
Knowing the song like the back of her hand, Janis whispers the lyrics to herself as she records the guitar track. Shane and Regina are still in the room, watching Janis mess up her chords. The two of them are evil, watching Janis in the middle of the room through an electron microscope. Janis is not good while being watched, a weeping angel but instead of moving, she's only capable of playing the guitar well.
Janis is, technically, a multi-instrumentalist. She can play guitar, keyboard, the drums, and bass, but she’s not really any good at any of them besides guitar. It’s not very good for her career when her instrumentals are part of her signature as an artist.
“Why aren’t you keeping this song, Janis? It sounds way better coming from you than from me.”
“Hold please,” Janis mutters, persisting on what is her best take so far. After losing her spot in the second verse, Janis sort of panics on the words, ending up ballbling along to the melody.
“It’s called I don’t want to die anymore, Regina,” Janis confesses, making eye contact with Shane’s shoes. “I’m not an edgy teenager who thinks killing myself is cool anymore. As much as it fits in my discography sonically, I don’t need more of a reminder.”
“And you think I want to die?”
“Who am I to guess what you want to do with your life?”
Janis is a professional at making situations awkward, and she does what she’s best at. The hardly-more-than-silence is awkward because Janis finally stops muttering to herself and the twang of the guitar is a little too quiet to fill the room, but it doesn’t flow well enough to be ambient.
Janis ‘Imi’ike, Regina learns, is incredibly neurotic. She only records in one take, always has at least two beverages with her at all times and one of them is a Hydroflask that somehow only has one major dent and is covered in stickers that she takes everywhere, will stop a recording to prioritise a melody or beat that could be something else entirely, and openly reminisces about the closet that she records in. The irony is appreciated by Regina and Shane, but they’re not in any place to tell Janis to go back into the closet.
Out of sheer curiosity for what is wrong with Janis, Regina shows up to all the studio sessions she can (sometimes getting hit by a bus leaves a lingering mark that results in her not being able to get out of bed). She invites Kylie, an attempt to win her sister’s favour, once, but Kylie looks at her with such disgust that Regina is reminded that while she’s famous, she’s not cool. Hopefully Kylie doesn’t think that their #coooooooolmom isn’t cooler than Regina.
Kylie’s missing out on the most interesting thing since Regina George herself, though. Janis is scary good at what she does, and what she’s doing is recording drums for “27’s.” Janis says that she’s a jack of all trades, master of none, but that doesn’t dismiss the fact that she’s good at what she does. She gets it in fewer takes than the lead guitar, even though she says that guitar is her best instrument. Even Shane is impressed, and he’s seen many good drummers.
Another quirk of Janis is that she’s modest to a fault. She refuses to accept praise on her performance or production, always having something negative to say about her lyricism, the tracks she creates, or things she's fallen short of as a performer. Shane is effusive in his praise, as he is for everyone he works with, but Janis doesn't brush it off, doesn't accept it, she straight up refuses it. The take is good enough for the recording, but apparently it’s still not her best. Either Janis is modest or she's a perfectionist with unbearable standards and will be Regina’s worst nightmare when she finally records the vocals.
Janis is also absurd, in a good way. Regina’s weighed insane, crazy, delusional, and out of her mind, but absurd is the best way to describe Janis ‘Imi’ike. When any of them get a little too hung up on a detail, be it enunciation, messing up a riff, or something just not sounding right, Janis demands they pivot for at least three minutes to something different to “expel the stickiness,” whatever that means. It leads to unintentional bonding where Regina learns that Janis is a closeted musical fan—and not just mainstream musicals like Next to Normal, we’re talking concept albums that went sort of viral on the musical side of TikTok years ago—and that she has a near encyclopaedic knowledge of lyrics but not song titles. She shamelessly works on demos for herself and ones she’s going to sell and Regina can’t even guilt trip her about it. Pint sized Janis ‘Imi’ike holds more creativity in her pinky toe than Regina has ever possessed in her entire life.
After spending a week and a half in the studio for Regina’s new single “27’s,” Regina can confidently say that Janis deserves to be way more famous than she is. Janis shouldn’t be writing for washed up teen stars, she should be going on tours and getting discovered as the super cool opener for someone more famous, more talented, more popular than Regina George.
Regina’s different from what Janis expected. If Janis could describe her in one word, it would be “tired.” She’s obviously tired of doing her job, just doing what she’s told and nothing more. Regina doesn’t demand outrageous things in the studio, a giant list of producers and assistants, and obnoxiously high standards that even she couldn’t meet. Janis is pretty good at puzzles, and if she’s putting the pieces together correctly, Regina has exactly zero control over her own career. If Janis were a better person, she would try to ask if Regina even wants to have any sort of creative control over her own career. Unfortunately, Janis has to protect herself first, and that means not getting involved in anyone else’s business.
She’s an interesting creature, though, and despite banishment spells and spring cleaning, Regina George won’t leave Janis’s mind, even weeks after finishing the single. They’d parted with a grin and a whispered “at least try to get and-slash-or stay clean, George. Wouldn’t want you dying on me,” and Janis returned to her little closet studio to work on Rx, which will probably end up being a single on her debut album.
Needing to get out of her closet, Janis meets Cady for drinks and a night of supporting their best friend. Damian has a show at The Upstairs in downtown LA, which is probably Janis’s least favourite place on the planet, but she’ll make the drive for stupid Damian who made the great business decision of trying to become a comedian in Los Angeles.
As funny as Damian can be, it would have been much funnier if Janis and Cady brought tomatoes to throw at him like the true Shakespearian women they are. Once he’s finished with his set, Damian joins them at the table at the back of the room to finally debrief everything that’s happened since they last talked.
“Regina’s, like, really boring.”
“What, did you expect to get high with her and make acid-infused music?” Damian teases, trying to find the tiny straw in his drink.
“Shut up, Dementia,” Janis grumbles into her vibrant green mocktail. “I expected her to be, like, a pop star. Not whatever husk of a human being that the shrooms have made her.”
“That’s what the fucking Benadryl did to you when you were getting clean, fool.”
If she hadn’t paid $12 for the drink, she’d dump it on Damian’s head.
“Well, that happened. And since then I’ve been working on an album I guess. I’ll show you both if you swing by my apartment.”
“Hold on, Jaundice, an album? Are you shitting me? You’ve released nineteen singles in the past three years. You’re finally going to release an album?” Damian yelps, having been begging for more music for years.
“Yeah. I’ve got seven songs written—not all recorded though—and my label is kinda getting on my ass to release an album.
“Janis. Jaundice. Jandice. Please please please tell me you’re going on tour. I desperately need you to go on tour so I can be your WAG.”
“You are neither a wife nor a girlfriend, freak,” Janis complains, shoving Damian while Cady laughs at them.
“I could be,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Janis ‘Imi’ike, will you marry me?”
“Eat shit and die, freak,” Janis deadpans as Cady hits her in the shoulder.
“Be nice, Jaundice,” she admonishes.
“What have you been up to, Chlamydia?” Janis asks, managing to end Damian’s harassment, as if she doesn’t already know. All of them know that it’s a bad deflection technique, but Damian and Cady allow it.
“I really wish you’d choose a different disease for me; I don’t particularly like being an STI.”
“Do you want to be Consumption?”
“I could be Consumption. Better than Chlamydia. But I’ve been subbing at Oaks Christian, that super bougie private school in Westlake Village, and wow, teenagers suck. Were we openly harassing substitutes when we were in high school?”
“Not the two of us,” Janis denies emphatically. “Us angels were just talking about them behind their backs. Remember Dolly, the long term bio sub in sophomore year?”
“Okay, wait, some people were absolute menaces to her. Remember when Jason criticised her eye shadow to her face?”
At the reminder of Dolly’s vibrant blue eye shadow that reached her too thin eyebrows, Janis cracks up.
“That whole year was a fever dream, I swear. If you hadn’t been there, Caddy, I wouldn’t believe that actually happened.”
“I love being a teacher and I can’t freaking wait until I can find a permanent position. Preferably not at Oaks Christian. Although, your girl Regina’s little sister, Kylie, goes to Oaks Christian, fun fact.”
“She is not my girl!” Janis shrieks, unnecessarily defensive.
“Janis, babe, are you sure she isn’t your girl? Normal people don’t react like that.” Damian’s ass has no need to be this condescending.
“I don’t care about Regina George! I just worked with her once!”
“And you want to work with her again, right?” Cady probes, poking Janis’s forehead where it rests on the table and her forearms.
“Why am I getting psychoanalysed at the goddamn comedy club?” Janis groans loudly into the table.
“Where else are you supposed to get psychoanalysed, babe?”