As a kid, the Fourth of July had been Finn's favorite holiday, especially after he went away to school. It meant fun with kids in the neighborhood and a day off from structured activities. Plus, he really did love to watch things explode. His dad was the guy who'd buy a trunk full of fireworks and make sure that any neighborhood kids who came by got a good show, and even got to set a few off themselves if they wanted, and he always put extra food on the grill for anyone who came around. He's still like this, even without any kids living at home.
Finn lingers longer than he should on his parents' front stoop, watching Calvin Storm show some kids how to light sparklers. He's patient, and emphasizes the importance of safety without unnecessarily scaring them. It's not quite dark, but sparklers are bright enough to appease the kids' impatience until the real show.
It will be dark by the time Finn gets to Leia's party. That's something he shouldn't miss, no matter how much nostalgia he's drowning in.
He goes inside to kiss his mother goodbye. Camille pats his cheek and tells him to visit more often. He promises he will and makes a mental note to tell Robyn to start clearing some time. There are people who live across the country from their parents and see them more often than he does.
Back outside, he shakes his dad's hand, telling him he'll stop by again soon, and waves goodbye to the kids, who are writing their names with light.
Leia Organa lives in a five-bedroom Cape Cod style home right on the edge of Will Rogers Park. It's understated, despite its size, especially compared to the newly constructed villas and steel-and-glass compounds that dot the area. Definitely a place Finn can see a child growing up in, just not the kind of child who grows up to be Kylo Ren.
Finn parks on the road two blocks away from the house and follows the sound of thumping bass to Leia's back yard. Carnival lights are strung from the house to the far reaches of the yard. There's a stage set up on the terrace, where the Max Rebo band is belting out a cover of "American Woman." Finn signed the band last month, after they were dropped from New Republic. They're not the most original band in the world but they're a solid party band with a loyal fan base. Not everyone can be a revolutionary.
The guests, an assortment of Resistance artists and employees, are scattered around the lawn lounging on islands made of blankets and rugs and floor pillows. The only tables seem to be the ones loaded with food.
A small crowd is gathered around the grilling station, which consists of four grills and four chefs. (Kosher, Halal, vegetarian and heathen.) He spots Poe in line for a hamburger, drinking a Red Stripe and talking with Greer Sonnel. He's as relaxed as he can ever look, in a Viernes Verde t shirt and plaid shorts. His stomach drops a little at the sight of Poe enjoying himself with Greer, with her perfect face and hair, but he shakes his head and starts toward the pair. Leia intercepts him, however, hooking her arm into his and turning him back toward the house.
"Finn, I'm so sorry but I need to talk to you for a moment. I've been meaning to for days but there's been so much going on I haven't had the chance. Do you mind or do you want to get your food first?"
"No, Leia, we can chat."
She leads him into the house, through the kitchen, stopping to give instructions to the caterers and grab a bottle of beer for Finn and a glass of wine for herself. She also digs into the far reaches of the freezer and extracts a single cigarette from a box. They settle into wicker chairs on a screened in porch off the kitchen and Leia lights the cigarette.
"Don't tell anyone," she says, exhaling. "Technically I quit years ago but sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me sane."
"My lips are sealed," Finn says. "What did you want to talk about? Is it a problem with one of my artists?"
"Finn, as you know, we've experienced tremendous growth in the last year. And looking at our first and second quarter numbers, we're poised to end the year with a bang. So, I've decided to bite the bullet and start a subsidiary label to focus on hip hop. Greer Sonnel has already agreed to head the label and I want you to be head of A&R."
Finn sits up straight. "Leia, that's, amazing. I'm honored, but are you sure? I've only been here three months."
Leia waves her hand. "You've been killing it in your field for five years. No one else has your track record, other than Greer. Of course people will grumble. But they always do. People will grumble about Greer getting the head position and she's been with us for fifteen years. And don't worry, you'll be able to finish your current projects if you don't want to hand over the reins. You can take the rest of the weekend to think about it."
"Okay. Though I'm leaning toward yes."
"Good, but take the weekend anyway. I'll send someone over with a benefits proposal tomorrow." She stubs out her cigarette and gets up. "Oh, you can talk to Greer and Poe about it but no one else. We're announcing to the staff on Tuesday and sending out the press release immediately after."
Finn sits on the porch for a few minutes longer after she leaves, his beer going warm in his hands.
Head of A&R at 26. It won't be much bigger than an indie at first, but still. Maybe he can finally move out of Encino. And there are a few hip hop acts he's been dying to develop but who need some extra attention before they're ready to record. Greer is incredible to work with. Tough and inspiring with an ear to rival Poe's.
Poe. Who won't be his boss anymore.
Finn chuckles and takes a drink. Rey will get a kick out of that once she finds out. It'll probably be the first thing she mentions, even before asking if he's still going to work with her on her album.
And what will he say to her? She'd asked him, not long ago, what he would do if Poe wasn't his boss and he'd practically told her he would pursue it.
That's not a priority right now, no matter how nice Poe looks in a t shirt.
He should go and talk to him—them—though. There's a lot to talk about.
They aren't at the grill station anymore, but he finds them sitting under a tree some distance from the band. They're alone, which would have scared him off ten minutes ago, but he welcomes it now.
"Hey, my man!" Poe says, reaching out and clasping Finn's hand. "We were just talking about you. Have you said hi to Leia yet."
"Yeah," Finn says. "She told me. Asked me."
"Did you give her an answer?" Greer asks.
"She said to take the weekend but I think we all know it's yes."
"Sit down," Poe says, moving over to make room on the blanket.
Finn sits down, looking at his future boss and soon-to-be-ex boss. "Holy shit, y'all," he says. "It's a good day for brown folks. Leia's got this place looking like United Colors of Benetton."
Greer laughs. "I wonder if she even noticed."
"She notices everything," Poe says.
"True. So, Finn, are you going to finish out Rey's record before jumping over to all hip hop all the time?"
"Of course. I can't leave her in the lurch."
Poe sets his empty plate down and reaches for his beer. "How's she doing, anyway?"
"Good, as far as I can tell. Exhausted. They ended up with closer to forty-five dates than the thirty I pitched to her. I caught her show in Houston since I was there scouting, but I didn't tell her. Still haven't told her. But they've gotten real tight, and the band's chemistry is off the charts. I definitely want to secure them as her performance band, and to play on the album. She's coming into her own as a performer, too. Developing a recognizable performance style, some signature guitar moves, learning how to work her hair, all of it."
"Sounds like you found us a star out there in the desert," Greer says. "Can't wait for you to work that magic at TwinStar."
"That's what she's calling it? I didn't even ask."
"Yep." Greer says, and holds up her bottle to the light. "Would you look at that. I'm out of beer. Either of you want another?"
"Sure," Poe says.
Finn shrugs. "Why not?"
They sit and listen to the band finish a cover of "American Pie" and segue into one of their originals.
"I think signing them was one of your best calls so far," Poe says. "They're due for a bit of a comeback. Let 'em be one of those old fart bands that piss off the kids when they swoop in and win a bunch of Grammys."
"I'll admit, a big part of it was that I liked them so much as a kid, even if my mom did blast them on Saturday mornings when it was house cleaning time."
"Oh man, with my mom it was Johnny Pacheco. I still can't listen to him without thinking about that scrub brush. Poor Mama had bad knees, you know, so I had to do the floors."
"I had to do the dishes because I was short and didn't have to lean over as much. The week after I went off to school we suddenly got a dishwasher."
"I still had to scrub that floor the last time I went home."
"I ducked out early tonight. I saw that stack of pots and pans."
"I wonder what Greer had to endure?"
"I'm going to go out on a limb and say Bollywood soundtracks and, I don't know, dusting the tops of the door jambs because she's tall."
Finn laughs, a deep belly laugh that leaves him out of breath. "You know," he says. "As happy as I am about this promotion I'm going to miss our lunches."
"Aw," Poe says. "The new office won't be far. We can still do our lunches."
Finn spots Greer picking her way back across the lawn with the beer and takes his chance. "Maybe a dinner or two? Non work?"
Poe looks at him, eyes sparkling. "Why the hell not?"
When Greer rejoins them, Finn asks about Saturday morning cleaning.
"Broadway cast recordings, and laundry. We hung everything to dry and I've been taller than my mother since I was ten."
They crack open the beers and Poe raises his bottle. "To TwinStar," he says.
"To TwinStar," Greer and Finn repeat, tapping their bottles with Poe's as the first firework shoots across the sky.