Louise Belcher meanders up Madison Avenue toward the gleaming Dean & DeLuca outpost. It's five blocks out of her way, but she doesn't mind. It's Friday evening and she's just escaped her harrowing forensic science job, once more gloriously free for sixty-four hours. Not even the gloomy drizzle can shake her optimism.
Her umbrella is pink, a reminder of bygone days as a child where she'd worn bright-pink bunny ears every day of her life, not counting a certain incident in which a certain blond teenage douchebag had stolen them temporarily. And oh, how foolish he was, Louise thinks to herself with a chuckle.
Now Louise's hair is generally found cascading smoothly down her back. She doesn't usually wear much makeup, save for a few coats of bright red lipstick at the office. She loves the power it gives her, the way the male higher-ups squirm when she bites her lip with it on, leaning forward just so.
Louise finally pushes open the door to Dean & DeLuca, inhaling the distinct scent of truffles, figs, and fine cheese. After pondering a moment, she decides to pick up ingredients for shrimp scampi, a Friday evening treat for herself and her boyfriend Rudy. While she's at it, she'll also pick up some of that red pepper hummus Rudy loves so much.
Much as she hates to admit it, the quasi-domestic life has started to grow on Louise. She's been dating Rudy for three years now, ever since she was twenty-eight. They're not married yet (though Louise suspects Rudy's planning to pop the question fairly soon), but they've settled into a comfortable routine typical of married couples. She often finds herself embracing this routine, such as right now. However, she does long to reunite with the fiery, adventurous side of herself that so deeply dominated her personality when she was younger. Louise and Rudy do fairly well for themselves as DINKs, but he's very level-headed with his money, apportioning it into various savings and retirement accounts, whereas she prefers buying concert tickets, plane tickets, really anything that'll let her escape having to be completely mature and professional for a little while.
After she's purchased the groceries, Louise heads home, ready as she'll ever be to take on the challenge of peeling and deveining a pound of shrimp. She turns the key, opening the door to the modest duplex where she and Rudy reside.
Seconds after she's stepped through the door, Louise drops her bags, mouth falling open. The bedroom door is open, and there's Rudy, copper hair askew, back glistening with sweat, frantically jackhammering some unfamiliar woman on the very same sheets she'd picked out with him at Anthropologie.
Rudy whips around, eyes wide and face devoid of color. Both he and the woman scramble to their feet, the woman at least having the decency to cover herself with her arms. Rudy's flushed and breathing hard, but he manages to stammer out something along the lines of "Louise...I thought you had a work event tonight- I mean, fuck, I'm so sorry, I never meant for this to happen, it isn't what it looks like, holy fucking shit…"
Louise, who's managed to slow her racing heartbeat, doesn't cry. She calmly shuts the door, deposits the bags on the counter, and finally walks up to Rudy. He's almost incomprehensible now in his rambling, asthmatic breathing patterns beginning to creep into his voice. "Please give me a second chance," he whimpers.
Louise slaps him hard across the face, leaving a mark that grows redder by the second and (she hopes) stings like a bitch. "I don't give second chances, you pathetic sack of shit. We're over."
And then she runs. The rain's pouring now and she left her umbrella inside with her traitorous soon-to-be ex-boyfriend and whatever bimbo he'd decided to bring home. Rudy had tried to run after her, but it seemed his asthma got the better of him. Good, Louise thought to herself. Let him fucking asphyxiate for all I care.
There's one good thing about the rain, though. It masks the tears beginning to creep onto her cheeks. They're born partly of sadness and partly of anger. She doesn't understand what went wrong. She'd been working a bit more recently, but not to the point of neglecting Rudy. Had he done this before? How could he just destroy her trust like this?
Louise runs for blocks and blocks, unsure of where she's going. Her feet seem to know, though. Finally she ends up in front of a grimy staircase which she proceeds to descend. She hasn't been to this little dive bar in years, but maybe it's just what she needs right now. She'll dry off, drown her sorrows, lose her composure in the best kind of way. She'll figure out where to go from there. Perhaps an elaborate revenge plot is in order, or perhaps it's best if she just leaves Rudy in her past forever.
Inhaling sharply, Louise pushes open the door to the dive bar. It's more crowded than she remembers it being, likely a product of it being a Friday night. She takes a seat at the bar, ordering a whiskey on the rocks to commence her ill-fated binge. As she sips, she scans the room. The clientele vary in age from a gaggle of obviously-underage teenagers to a group of thirty or forty-something men playing cards in button-downs. Louise smiles nostalgically upon seeing the teenagers, fondly remembering her own days as an under-21. She still had her fake ID buried somewhere in her room above her parents' burger joint in New Jersey. Back then, during the golden days, alcohol had meant fun, the thrill of doing something illegal, the quickly-burning soul of any good party. Jagerbombs were pure distilled teenage spirit. Now alcohol was just a temporary bandage used on the problems one couldn't control.
Louise sighs, crossing her elbows on the bar and laying down her head, wishing desperately to run away from her problems. She lays there a few moments until she's stirred by the sound of someone sitting next to her. Irritated, she wishes whoever it is would just leave her alone.
"Hey there, sweetheart. What's got you down? I...holy hell, Louise Belcher?" says the voice. Louise blinks hard, clearing the tears from her eyes. Sitting on the neighboring barstool is none other than Logan Barry Bush, the arch-nemesis of her childhood.
He looks good. The gods of aging have smiled upon Logan, turning him from a scruffy, lanky teenager into a well-groomed, well-dressed man in his mid-thirties, Louise guesses. Stubble lines his sharp jawline and upper lip. His ever-blond hair is swept back with gel on top, cropped close on the sides.
Louise takes a shaky breath, unintentionally inhaling the musky scent of Logan's cologne. "Damn, Bush. I never in a million years imagined I'd see you again. What the hell are you doing in New York?"
Logan shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I live here now. I've lived here since I got out of college, basically. Could you believe me if I said I moved here to escape my mother?"
Humoring him, Louise grins, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why, that's ridiculous. Cynthia was always the loveliest lady, our mothers got along so well."
"Indeed. Almost as well as we got along, wouldn't you say...Four Ears?"
Louise rolls her eyes, cheeks turning pink. "Jesus, no one's called me that since I was, like, thirteen."
"So you finally ditched those raggedy bunny ears, huh? I'd call it a positive change." Logan chuckles. "Anyway, what's brought you to the city that never sleeps?"
"Business and pleasure." Louise meets his eyes, smirking. "As great as Ocean City was, I always craved the big-city life, plus the job market's fantastic."
Logan nods. "I'm on Wall Street now. All other cities are irrelevant compared to New York for finance jobs, as far as I'm concerned."
"Little Logan's on Wall Street now, ooh." drawls Louise. Laughing playfully, she takes another swig of whiskey. "I bet you can't go five minutes without telling that to new people you meet."
"Not like I need their validation." scoffs Logan. "Your drink's getting low, can I buy you a new one? Perhaps something with...melon liqueur?"
A grin takes over Louise's face. "I'll take you up on that. I can't believe you remember that day. God, seeing you covered in moldy melon juice has gotta be up there in my top ten favorite moments of all time."
"How could I ever forget? Ah, well, I got my revenge. I'm sure I'm one of the few people who can say they've made you cry."
Louise's face falls. "You'll have to add another person to that tally." she mumbles, averting her eyes.
Logan reaches out a rough hand, cupping her face. "Hey...are you okay?"
Louise scoffs loudly. "Oh, I'm fine. The slut my boyfriend was fucking when I came home this afternoon'll be sore for days, though."
Logan winces empathetically. "Fuck. What an idiot. He didn't deserve you, Louise, I hope you know that." He strokes her face with his thumb, wiping the tear currently making its way down her cheek.
Louise pushes him away. "Fuck you, Logan. Who do you think you are, some kind of Casanova or something?" Yet she's smiling despite herself, charmed in ways she'll never admit.
"Nah, I'm more of the Bond type. Name's Bush, Logan Bush." he says in a perfectly terrible British accent.
"Guess that makes me none other than Blofeld." she quips.
"Hey, speaking of Bond, I know something that'll cheer you up. Are you a fan of poker?" he asks.
"Am I ever." she grins. "I ran a casino from my basement when I was nine years old."
"This'll be great fun, then." Logan takes Louise's hand in his, much to her surprise. He gets up and leads her to the back, to the table where she saw men playing poker earlier.
"Boys, this is Louise. She's an old friend, but don't you dare go easy on her." says Logan domineeringly. The men at the table nod enthusiastically towards her as she takes her seat beside Logan.
"Logan, you've found yourself one hell of a woman there." says one of the men, looking Louise up and down. "Pleased to meet ya," he says, extending a hand to her, which she shakes. "Mark's the name."
"Just let your cards do the talking, Mark." she says with a smirk.
Three rounds later, neither Louise nor Logan is having any luck. Louise is out eighty dollars, which is just fucking great on top of the previous events of the day. Another man, Louise remembers someone calling him Rhys, is currently gleeful from three wins in a row.
"I think it's about time you all conceded to my obviously superior skills." says Rhys in a smug, booming voice.
Logan raises his eyebrows. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall, my good man."
Rhys rolls his eyes. "You're just saying that because you're jealous I've already made more than your Christmas bonus." He strokes his chin in mock thought. "Should I buy a yacht or a jet first? Decisions, decisions."
Louise glowers, pushing her cards forward. "I've come to know when to stop, and this is the moment."
Rhys looks around the table as nearly all the other men follow suit. "Really? You're all gonna make it even easier for me?"
Logan hasn't folded yet. "Absolutely fucking not." he says coolly.
"Good." says Rhys. "I want at least some devastation when I win again."
"Well, go on then, show the table what you've got."'
Rhys smugly reveals his hand. It's the six, seven, eight, nine, and jack of clubs. A straight flush. The table goes silent. There's no way Logan can beat him. Unless…
Logan turns over his cards. He's got the ten, jack, queen, king, and ace of diamonds. A royal flush, without contest the best possible hand in poker.
"FUCK YES!" screams Louise. Giddy, she places her hands on the sides of Logan's face and kisses him hard, heady from a fiery mix of liquor and adrenaline. When she pulls away, only slightly embarrassed, Logan is grinning.
"I don't know what came over me. Not like I was rooting for you or anything." says Louise derisively, still flushed.
"Oh, don't even try to deny it, baby Belcher."
"Hmm, I don't know what you're talking about." says Louise in a sing-song voice. "Celebratory tequila shots?"
"Celebratory tequila shots." agrees Logan definitively. "I think it's only fair that I buy."
"No complaints here."
Louise and Logan walk, swinging their hands together, toward the bar. They knock back three shots apiece, their lack of a chaser making itself painfully evident by the burn in their throats.
It's a sweet sort of burn, though. Songs by Cage the Elephant and The Neighborhood play ceaselessly as Logan leads Louise toward the dance floor. All thoughts of Rudy have dissipated from Louise's head as Logan twirls her, then pulls her close to him. A sweet heat lingers on her skin where he touches her. She's never been happier or more drunk, and she feels more like herself than she has in years. It's funny, really, that all the choices she's made in her life have led her to this moment. Dancing as if she has no earthly cares with the man she once considered her least favorite person alive. The change is so dramatic it makes her laugh.
"What's so funny?" asks Logan in a husky voice, his breath hot on her neck.
"Mm, wouldn't you like to know."
"I would, actually."
"It's too loud in here. Let's go somewhere we can actually hear each other."
Louise giggles like a schoolgirl as Logan pulls her toward the back door of the bar. She feels seventeen again, as if she's running away from Huxley High School to ditch class with her boyfriend. Those instances were uncannily common back in the day, but she's made it this far in life, how bad of an impact could they really have had?
Together they escape the suffocating air of the bar, finding themselves in the alley behind it, which is riddled with puddles and dimly lit by the moonlight. Logan pushes Louise up against the wall, peppering kisses down her neck and collarbone as her hands clutch his back. Every place he touches her feels as if it's on fire and it's becoming unbearable. He electrifies her in ways Rudy could never have dreamed of doing.
"How much did you win, anyway?" Louise manages to say between heavy breaths.
He grins at her. "More than enough for a night at the Ritz. What do you say?"
"Hmm, gonna have to go with yes. But only because I'm sure the minibar is fucking stacked."
"You say that as if you haven't consumed enough alcohol to send a small Russian village to the E.R."
"Shut your butts, coconuts." They both crack up, feeling ten years younger in each other's company.
Soon they reach the Ritz. The woman supervising the front desk is skeptical about there being any rooms left, but Logan, flush with cash, manages to get her to find a vacancy.
The elevator ride up to their room is entirely too long, and Louise already has Logan's shirt half-unbuttoned by the time it's over. They stumble drunkenly into the sumptuous suite, not even bothering to admire how luxuriously their surroundings are outfitted. Louise pushes Logan down onto the plush bed, straddling his torso.
"Not tonight, Four Ears." chuckles Logan softly as he flips her over, pinning down her wrists. Louise submits, moaning as he sucks the delicate skin of her neck, his hands wandering south to caress her hips and free her of her pencil skirt. Hands free, she all but tears Logan's shirt off, impatiently doing the same to her own blouse to help things along.
Between hungry kisses, Louise manages to remove Logan's pants, leaving only the thinnest possible strips of fabric between their bodies, which they quickly remove. "Fuck, Logan, I need you right now." she murmurs, sending a renewed vigor through his veins.
Finally they are free of every hindering garment, their hips as aligned as the stars. Logan plunges himself into Louise, eliciting a gratified moan from her lips. Each thrust feels more earth-shattering than the last, culminating with all the force of a meteor.
Later, when they have had their fill, at least for the moment, of each other, they rest serenely wrapped in a tangle of limbs. Louise stirs slightly, as she is often wont to do halfway through the night. She blinks up at Logan's sleeping face, and smiles. She has a funny feeling that this isn't just some one-night stand, and she's had enough of those to know. Snaking her hand into his, she gives it a squeeze, and snuggles close to him. With him, she feels like somehow everything's going to work out.
Two ships that once passed in the night have finally reunited in the harbor.