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No one asks him why he’s back. They don’t need to because there are two reasons people come back: failure and family. Schroeder’s alone, which leaves the former. The first person to comment on this is, of course, Lucy.
“Of all the gin joints,” Lucy opens with this, her mouth quirked up at him as she slides onto the barstool beside his. He opens his mouth to protest, but Lucy turns and gives him that look. The familiarity of it pains him.
“So why’re you back, miss me?” He teases and remembers the way she used to taunt him, not with short skirts and tight tops like the girls in Los Angeles did. But with stupefying large vocabulary and the maddening ability to distract him from practicing. Lucy stiffens at the question, a moment of fear or anger or maybe embarrassment but it passes.
“The town was lost without its star,” they both know she’s lying. Her drink arrives, though she never requested anything. After thanking the bartender, Lucy downs it. She grins at him as she sets the empty glass down, her short hair falling past her ears and into her face. Messier now than she was in high school, Schroeder finds himself intrigued.
Lucy kisses him on a Tuesday, half-drunk on memories and scotch. Schroeder kisses her back. They go too far and it’s something close to a mistake, but neither of them can admit it even to themselves.
They fall into a pattern. It’s a lot like the one they had in high school. She ends up at his house, under the premise of something ridiculous. Then Lucy baits him, teasing him into making that first move. It’s not dating, although occasionally she brings Chinese with her or he picks up donuts for them the next morning.
“No one would hire me after the thing with my professor,” Lucy admits. Schroeder is not sure what time it is, but its dark and she’s on her side, rolled away from him. He runs a hand down her back, the skin prickling into goosebumps as he goes. “It’s so ludicrous, I’m the best but they won’t look past…”
She trails off and the silence hangs like a cloud between them. Schroeder looks at her, though he can only see her skinny pale shoulder and her dark head, hair tousled.
“I quit. Everyone thinks I got fired or couldn’t get a job, but that’s not… I just got scared,” he admits. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud and it weighs on him. For a moment, Lucy doesn’t respond. Then, she rolls over, her head resting on his chest.
“We were supposed to be better than this,” she whispers. He runs a hand through her hair absently, wishing he could disagree.
“D’you miss it?” He follows her eyes to the piano, sitting dusty in the corner. He pulls away from her, sitting up and frowning down. Despite this, she seems nonplussed and merely runs a hand across the bed spread. “I think it broke your heart, y’know? You like to pretend it was some girl but the only way to get your heart broken is to love something.”
“Are you saying music’s the only thing I love?” Shroeder asks nearly immediately and Lucy looks up at him. She stares for a moment and Shroeder nearly brushes the bangs from her face, but stops himself.
“You aren’t exactly making a case for loving anything else,” Lucy replies. If she expects him to argue, she’s disappointed as Shroeder stays silent. Lucy sighs and sits up, the sheet sliding off her top. The girl murmurs something about needing to go and steps off the bed. Shroeder is, as always, struck by how at ease Lucy is, despite being stark naked, as she meanders about the room in search of her clothing. She tugs on her suit without looking back at Schroeder.
“Someone called about the cds I sent out when I was in Los Angeles,” Schroeder comments around a mouthful of leftovers. Lucy looks at him oddly. “It doesn’t matter; I’m not going to do anything about it.”
“Why not?” Lucy asks. Schroeder shrugs at the question because she wouldn’t like the answer. It’s her, in reality, tying him to this town. She looks at him over her box of Chinese and glares.
"You can't sulk forever," Lucy comments. She kisses the top of his head and grabs her keys. He wants to ask her to stay, but knows she won't.
“I did,” Schroeder screams this, partially so it is heard and partially because he needs it to be heard. The only indication of either is the tightening in Lucy’s posture. He swallows before continuing to bat down her claim. “I did love you. I still do and don’t give me that bull about not knowing you. Christ, Luce, I know you so well it scares the both of us.”
She turns at that and her expression scares him. Shroeder can tell everything is going wrong before she even opens her mouth.
“So what? We just say ‘screw it’ and get hitched and have a million babies and…Shroeder, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
“Say yes, say nothing and kiss me,” he moves for her but she backs away, a hand in front of her to hold him off. He remembers now, how it used to be, her sprawling across the back of his piano and him clanking away at keys wishing her away.
“You’re going to write amazing music. You’re going to be so goddamn famous and you’re going to look back and thank god and me and everyone that I’m doing this,” she says this so fast and Shroeder knows now what Linus meant by her lawyer voice. He shakes his head and Lucy laughs a broken chuckle. She rolls her lips in, her version of biting them. “I’m not your happy ending. Don’t put that on me.”
“Lucy, I could make you happy.”
“That’s not what I want!” Her voice goes shrill and she stops, collecting herself. “I want to go out and save people from getting thrown in the slammer in Chicago and you want to, no, you need to play in bars and studios and concerts on the coasts.”
“What if we can’t?” He croaks out. There’s a beat and Shroeder is scared to death during it. Then Lucy sets her face the way she always has when times get tough.
“Fuck that. Of course we can. I’m Lucy and you’re Shroeder and the world be damned if we aren’t the best.”
“Of all the gin joints…” Schroeder murmurs to himself, though he finds himself unable to approach her. She’s across the room, amongst a crowd of people – mostly men, arguing animatedly with someone. It pains him for a moment, maybe it always will, seeing her. But she looks robust and alive and only moderately angry. Her argument must finish because she tosses her arms above her head, triumphant, before marching towards the bar.
“Schroeder?” He considers not answering for a moment. Then he turns and smiles. Hair slightly unkempt behind her ears, a full smile, cheeks still flushed from her previous argument, it’s all so Lucy that it hurts for a minute.
“Looks like you got back on your feet,” he comments. She nods and shrugs, as if it wasn’t a big deal, then asks how he is.
“I’m good. Did some work on a couple Sundance movies, nothing huge,” Schroeder pauses. “I’m also, erm, engaged.”
“Congratulations, Schroeder,” she says this so genuinely. There’s a moment of silence that verges on awkward, before the bartender thankfully passes her drink over to her. She bids him good-bye before turning to leave.
“Wait, Lucy?” Schroeder calls after her. Her back stiffens before turning. “Thank you. You were right.”
Lucy smiles at that, her eyes sparkling. “I’m always right.”