Despite all the wild hopes Joan had for her first meeting with her mother, Sharron's own excitement started to wan away the moment they were within steps of the inn where she was staying.

The first thing she noticed was the oversized dumpster that was not that far from the parking lot, and how there were soda cans, torn grocery bags, and candy wrappers littered all over the sidewalks. This wasn't a place where wealthy tourists booked a week's stay, but rather where the down and out went to stay when they were trying to escape from somewhere. And knowing part of Joan's mother's background and how cautious her uncle was about her circumstances, it wasn't hard for Sharron to imagine that she may be one of those unfortunate ones.

But there was no hope of getting Joan to notice this reality. "If I were to have a lot of money someday, I'd probably skip out on all the fancy pansy hotels and see what it's like at places like this. After all, I hear that most artists get their inspiration from these sorts of experiences."

"Oh, look at yourself, Joan, still longing for your mum to be some accomplished princess," Sharron teased.

"We still know nothing yet about her situation, Sharron. Until we see her for ourselves, anything can be possible," Joan said.

"Your uncle really didn't give you even a hint of what your mother does now?"

"No. He refuses to bring anything up about that when I ask, and Dad does the same. It's so frustrating."

Sharron sighed. She knew Joan never gave up on something if nothing could satisfy her curiosity. And as she noticed Joan opening the door to the entrance, she realized there was no turning back now. Whether Joan's mother really was as well off as her daughter wanted to believe she was, or she was struggling to support herself after her battle with mental illness, they were both going to have to face the truth now regardless of whether they were prepared or not.

Joan walked up to the front desk and said, "Excuse me? Could you tell me how to head to room 216?"

The man at the front desk gave her simple directions, after which Joan started leading the way for Sharron, practically dashing through the lobby before getting to the stairs.

"Think you're ready for this, Sharron," she asked once they were halfway through.

"I hope so," Sharron answered, not wanting to give away her doubts to her friend.

"Don't worry too much about it. If she's anything like Dad, we're in for a good time no matter what she does now."

Once they were on the second floor, Joan started sprinting around the lobby, not stopping until they were standing right in front of room 216. Once there, she removed her glasses and started brushing her hair with her fingers. "I don't want to look all shabby when Mum sees me," she said.

"You really don't look that bad with glasses, Joan. In fact, you seem more plain without them than with them sometimes."

Joan laughed. "Tell that to the boys downtown who constantly ignore me whenever I go out wearing those old things."

"They ignore you because they know you'll raise hell if they attempt doing anything that upsets you."

"Yeah. I can see how that may be the case too. But either way, I don't want to wear spectacles right now."

And once she was sure she didn't look too shabby, Joan knocked on the door, a little too confident that they were in for a good time.

"Hello?" a soft voice with an American accent answered. "Is this Joan?"

Joan beamed. "Yes, this is Joan. Do you mind if we come in and see you?"

"Of course. I've been waiting so long for this, as I'm sure you've been too."

When she opened the door, Joan and Sharron got their first glimpse of the woman. She was short and perhaps a little too thin, with a small scar around her check and dark circles around her eyes. She also had shoulder-length hair that was just as curly as her daughter's, and wore a simple green dress along with small, ruby earrings.

"Hello, Joan," she said, putting her arm around her daughter's shoulder. "I'm so glad that we're finally getting to chance to meet again after all these years."

"I'm glad to finally see you too, Mum," Joan said, her voice slightly trembling as she managed to say that last word, and the two of them embraced.

Sharron looked around the woman's room for any signs of who she was and what she did. To her disappointment, she seemed to have brought little along with her. There was a large red suitcase placed beside the bed, and all Sharron could see in it were blouses and socks. A small box beside the lamppost appeared to store some sort of jewelry, and a paperback romance novel was alongside it. The bed was well-made, there was nothing randomly scattered around the floors or desks, and everything else seemed in good order. There were no signs of records or instruments anywhere, not even a magazine clipping of a pop star. But then again, Frances Lennox was too old to be a star struck music fan. She probably had more in common in Sharron's own mother than she did with the wild American schoolgirls they always saw in the movies.

But probably the most interesting item she saw was a picture of a small house with three people huddled together as they smiled for the camera. There were two children, with the oldest appearing to be a boy who looked no older than six, and the youngest being a little girl only a few years older than him, with rosy cheeks and a dress that resembled that of the woman who must have been her mother.

Hold on, Sharron thought, finally realizing something important. That woman must be Joan's mother. She has the same hair, figure, and even the same dress. But could those really be her children? Surely, she would have said something to Mike and Gretchen if she'd started another family when she was away, wouldn't she?

Of course, she knew better than to utter a word about it to Joan. Let her enjoy a few moments of excitement and wonder before she realized the full extent of what her mother had done. Sooner or later, she would see the photo herself and ask questions which she would not permit to go unanswered.

And already, Joan seemed to have a boatload of questions. "Where are you living now, Mum? Are you still in New York, or did you choose to settle down somewhere else? Have you seen Dad at all these past couple of years, or are you planning to…?"

Frances laughed. "One question at a time, dear," she said. "First of all, no, I no longer live in New York. Just staying in New York state felt like too much for me, where everyone always seemed too busy to notice you and it felt impossible to stay well because of all this stuff that went on around you. So, I left all that behind and moved to a nice little place in Connecticut. A lot goes on over there too, but it never feels as overwhelming as it is in New York."

"And what about Dad? Have you tried to get in contact with him?"

At hearing this, Frances' expression appeared pained and uneasy. "I tried calling him multiple times before I left, intending to explain certain things and express my interest in seeing him again, but he would never answer, and even hung up once upon realizing it was me."

Joan looked almost as sad as her mother did. "But why would he do that? Dad's usually the nicest person I know, even nicer than my friend Sharron over here. I figured he'd love to meet up with you again, but for some reason, he hates talking about you. It's as if he's purposely trying to forget you."

Frances sighed. "Joan, you must know that I wasn't always the best wife and mother."

"Why? Because you were sick at some point? That could happen to anyone, including a lot of my friends' parents after everything they had to live through during the war."

"It's a little more complicated than that. You see, your father's family never really approved of me. In their eyes, I was just some wild American girl looking to get together with the first British boy I met, and it didn't help matters that he started meeting up with me at pubs every night. I first came over to England with some friends as part of a trip sponsored by a relative of theirs who worked in international business, thinking anywhere had to be better than the state of misery New York was in during the depression. Well, it turned out that England was just as stricken by the depression as any other place was, and my friends and I quickly got bored because of how little we could do given how tight money was. And that's when the nightly trips to the pub began."

"And is that where you met Dad?" Joan asked.

"Not at the pub itself, but as we were walking through downtown Liverpool. He was with this large group of bosom friends who'd started flirting with my friend Charlotte as they saw us go by. Your father noticed the new red dress I was wearing and complimented me on it, saying 'Nice dress you got there, miss.' Given how much I couldn't resist getting compliments by men back then, I started giggling and thanked him. Then, realizing we were all going to the pub, we decided to stick together there, and that's how we got to know each other. Funny enough, Charlotte ended up hating George, the man who flirted with her the most, but your father and I got close quite fast, since we both liked talking a lot and were into these delicious brandies they served there. And I think you can guess where things went from there."
Joan smiled. "He became your boyfriend after that, didn't he?"

"He did, but things were always complicated for us. His parents didn't like me at all, and as much as your uncle Mike tried to make things easier for us despite his own doubts, there was just no way we could them to support our relationship. Of course, we only got closer over time, and we ended up marrying in secret exactly nine months before you were born, and it was two events which forced your father's parents to finally show some concern for us: my pregnancy and the start of the war."

Joan knew this part of the story. Her mother had wanted to go back to New York with her father after the attacks in London, but because of a lack of money and how dangerous air travel could get, her father had convinced her to stay with his family for the time being. She'd given birth to Joan just days after a nearby air raid, and according to Uncle Mike, her panic over that event had led to a state of hysteria where she kept demanding to know if Joan was alive and would holler out if she heard even the slightest noise coming through her hospital room. The nurses recommended plenty of rest for her, but warned that if this went on for too long, she might have to be placed in an asylum. As a result, her grandparents were constantly looking out for her when they took her home, while Uncle Mike took care of Joan and her father reluctantly left to serve in the navy, where he'd stay until 1944, when he'd return to find that many things had changed with his family.

"So, after your father left, I became devastated. The only thing that seemed to give me any comfort was going back to those same pubs where we first spend time together. Almost all the money your father left behind for me was going towards booze, restaurants, and the cinema; a desperate attempt to relive better times. Before long, I was seeing another man as well. I can't even remember much about him now other than all the fancy places he'd take me that were not far from home. As you could probably, I was just being foolish. I didn't even give much thought to your needs back then, which brings me more shame than anything else."

But as her mother made all these confessions, Joan didn't feel much hatred towards her. In later interviews, she'd reflect on how she eventually realized just how much she and her mother had in common. "We were both trapped in such bloody awful times where we were so confused about what we wanted and could think of no better way to deal with our problems than to seek excessive pleasure. People think that it just happens to actors and rock stars, but my mother has lived quite an ordinary life, and she still fell into this trap."

However, it would the ringing of the telephone, which immediately got Frances' attention, that would make Joan become aware of what her mother hadn't told her so far.

With her eyes darting around the room and her mother's belongings, she barely took notice of the picture of Frances and the two children at first. A while later, upon failing to find the slightest trace of a record or instrument, she turned back to the picture with some curiosity."

"Sharron, could you see that picture?" she asked.

Sharron got startled by her request. Taking a deep breath, she said, "I…I did catch a glimpse of it. Seems quite sweet, don't you think?"

"But doesn't the woman in it look an awful lot like my mum?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe that's just a friend of hers, or her sister…"

"Mum had three brothers, and no sisters. Also, I doubt she could have a friend who's practically her identical twin."

"So, what are you thinking?"

"That she's hiding something from me. Chances are, those two kids are her own, and she must have formed another family when she moved to Connecticut. She probably has no intention of living with Dad and me again, and just came her to utter a little apology to me and get back to her perfect new life." As she spoke, her voice was trembling, and Sharron worried that she would soon break into tears.

"Now, Joan, I'm sure your mother still cares about you. Even if she did form a new family, that doesn't mean she wants nothing to do with you anymore."

"If she really did care, she would have said something by now!" And in a fit of rage, she threw the picture onto the floor and started marching for the door.

Upon seeing what her daughter was doing, Frances told the person she was speaking to, "I'm sorry. I'll have to call you back later." And after hanging up, she started going after Joan, saying, "Joan, please don't go. I meant to explain things to you, but with the call, I just had to put it off."

"No! You're just making excuses!" Joan yelled. "I thought Uncle Mike was being too harsh towards you, but now it seems that he was right all along. You just had to replace Dad and me as soon as you could, didn't you? Was the thought of going back to boring old England so unbearable that you were willing to leave your real family behind for some bloody fantasy of a good life?"

"Don't do this, Joan! I love you. Nothing I did since leaving England was done so that I wouldn't have to see you again. I begged your uncle to let you come live with me, but…"

"To hell with all that! You never cared at all, and you know it!"

And with that said, she stormed out of the hotel room, with Sharron sadly following her along. Frances was left lying in her bed, desperately crying over how terribly things had gone in her attempt to connect with Joan again.

It would take Joan about ten more years, after she'd gone through a difficult marriage in the midst of her growing fame and iconic status, struggled to maintain an active role in Jessica's life despite all her most sincere efforts, and found love in someone who shared her passions in a way Christian never could, to understand exactly why her mother had chosen to move on the way she did. And it would be her mother, more so than even her bandmates, who'd be one of the few people that never judged her negatively because of how she handled all that craziness, since she'd been through the same thing.