Marcie happened to spot Schroeder through the glass doors just as he climbed out of his dad's blue car. She leaned her broom against the wall and jogged over to unlock the door, ushering him into the cool lobby.
"Not too late, am I?" he asked, scanning the quiet area. He wore a clean, purple polo shirt and black slacks, just like Marcie had recommended. "After the morning baseball practice, I had to run home and take a shower."
He ran a hand over his still damp blond hair for emphasis. Every other Saturday he helped the baseball team, which Marcie knew must have cut into his schedule for his musical studies, where competition would have been fierce for the students looking for scholarships and awards.
"The olfactory senses of the theater crew thank you," Marcie joked, motioning for him to follow her to the office. After introducing Schroeder to her supervisor and getting a temporary volunteer badge, Marcie took on the task of showing him around.
"Most of the prep work has been done," Marcie explained as she guided Schroeder down the hall. "Programs are folded, and our cleanup crew already did a quick spot check around the theater. For your first time with us, I think you might work best as an usher. Do you like kids?"
"I wouldn't be an assistant coach if I didn't," he smiled.
"Let me rephrase that," she replied. "Can you handle little kids who start crying when the music gets too loud or who snore up a storm or who fold their programs into paper airplanes and try to hit the conductor for fifty points?"
His blond eyebrows shot up. "Does that airplane thing happen often?"
"Not on my watch!" Marcie declared proudly. "Thanks to all those children's concerts with Peppermint Patty, I learned to spot the early warning signs for troublemakers."
Schroeder smirked. "C'mon, Patty couldn't have been that bad."
"Guess how many times we got tossed out of a theater," she challenged, playful. "Go on. Take a guess, then double it a few times."
"And you're sure it was always Patty's fault?" he grinned.
She tossed her head back. "I plead the fifth."
He chuckled, and Marcie was pleased to note that he seemed comfortable around her. They had always been cordial toward each other and had gone to many of the same parties over the years, but it was rare for them to share a laugh like this without Peppermint Patty, Charles or another member of the gang present.
The musicians were already at work with the pre-concert tuning of instruments and rehearsal. Most of the usher team were hanging around the seats sectioned off for volunteers while they waited for the theater to open. Marcie made quick introductions for Schroeder before she assigned him to her own regular door to collect tickets.
"I might run a few errands while you're working," she said as she led him up the main aisle to the double doors, "but will you save me a seat?"
"No problem."
Marcie peeked out into the lobby, and she spotted a few short heads congregating outside the glass front doors. She checked her watch and tapped the face for Schroeder to look.
"Time to open the front doors," she said, "but the theater doors don't open for another fifteen minutes. Okay?"
"Roger." He closed the door behind him and stood like a sentry, already looking like an official member of the crew. He adjusted his temporary badge around his neck so that the side which read MAY I HELP YOU? faced front.
Marcie strode forward with the keys, and the early arrivals hurried out of the bright sun. Marcie recognized her regulars, and she made sure to smile and wave to the more nervous guests to set them at ease. This first wave soon ebbed, and Marcie stepped back intending to return to Schroeder, but the entrance opened again, and three figures stepped in: one young boy and two teens, and Marcie did a double take. She blinked and adjusted her glasses to make sure that the sunlight on her lenses was not playing tricks on her eyes.
"Lucy?"
Her friend turned, surprised. From the way she held onto the arm of the tall, auburn-haired guy beside her, she was clearly on date, even though she wore a casual blue T-shirt and jeans.
"Hey! What are you doing here, Marcie?" she asked.
"I volunteer here."
"That's right," Lucy nodded, giving the vintage lobby a sweeping glance. "I think you mentioned that before." She gestured to the little boy in front of her, who had similar features as her date. "Carlton and I are dropping off his cousin, Isaac, for the concert before we head on out."
"Well, I'm sure he's going to have a good time," Marcie said, giving a welcoming smile to the little boy.
"Sure, my friend's here," Isaac said, heading toward the cluster of children in line for the water fountain. "I hope there's enough programs to go around today!"
Potential airplane makers, Marcia noted, intending to keep an eye on Isaac and the little girl he just joined.
Turning back to Lucy, Marcie said, "Speaking of friends, Schroeder's here, if you wanted to say hi."
"Well, that's a nice surprise!" Lucy said pleasantly. She took her date's hand as she started forward. "Have you met Schroeder yet? Blond guy who plays the piano?"
"Back in December, maybe."
"Oh, right," she laughed. "I think you'll like Schroeder, Carlton. We go way back."
That's one way of putting it, Marcie thought, following them.
Schroeder's eyebrows shot up when he spotted the pair, but otherwise he gave no indication of surprise.
"You never know who you'll meet at these concerts," he said in greeting as Lucy reached him.
Lucy reached for his badge to inspect, as comfortable stepping into his personal space as she would have been with one of her brothers or Charlie Brown.
"Ooh, look who's all official," she ribbed, poking his chest. "I'm surprised it took you so long to do something on a layman level, sweetie."
He smiled. "Well, Marcie and I have been hanging out a lot lately, and she said they needed volunteers, so I was ready to help a friend."
"Not to mention you get to attend a free Beethoven concert," she returned knowingly. "You never came to the Tiny Tots Concert when I invited you."
"Things were different back then," he answered evenly, "and the first time I ever decided to go, that was the day they brought in an accordionist to do a cover for a Chopin piece…" He shuddered.
Lucy tittered, turning to Marcie. "He stayed in bed a whole week after that!"
"I take it you're not fond of accordion music then, Schroeder?" said Marcie.
"That would imply I consider it music," he returned, his voice like a desert.
"Sassy boy," Lucy laughed again and gestured toward the tall boy beside her.
"Do you remember Carlton, Schroeder?" she smiled. "He took me to the Snowflake Dance back in December…?"
"Vaguely," Schroeder answered.
"Well, it's been a while. Who can remember all the details?" Carlton returned amiably, holding out his hand to shake Schroeder's. He winked at his date. "Especially when you have more interesting things to occupy your attention."
Lucy smiled, giving him a light swat. "Oh, you."
Schroeder brightened. "I concur. The Snowflake Dance fell on Beethoven's birthday." He at once turned to Marcie. "You remember my party, right, Marcie?"
"Of course," she replied, a genuine smile tugging on her lips. "It was super fun."
Schroeder would probably never know how much that invitation had meant to her. When a girl's only options were to go to the Snowflake Dance alone or stay home trying to forget her unpopularity with teenage boys, a quiet party where fellow classical-music aficionados could eat cake and listen to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony had been like an early Christmas present. A lot of other students who had not been able to get dates for the dance had also attended, including Charles, and she had been able to stay near him throughout the night.
Schroeder formed a pleasant smile before he turned back to Lucy. "So, what are you guys doing today?"
Lucy brightened. "Carlton is taking me to the batting cages! Isn't that just wild?"
Schroeder stared. "Batting cages? You?"
She nodded, looking quite pleased. "Carlton says I'm a natural with a bat! He says I have excellent form and a lot of undeveloped potential."
"He must really like you then."
"Oh, I do," said Carlton, missing Schroeder's dry tone. "Shall we go then? We'll need to leave now if we want to get a good spot."
"Lead on!" Lucy hummed, taking his arm again. She waved vaguely at Schroeder and Marcie. "Have fun, guys. You'll have to let me know later how good the concert was."
"It's Beethoven," Schroeder returned. "We'll have the time of our lives."
Lucy waved again but did not look back, too absorbed in her auburn-haired hunk. When they were out of earshot, Marcie commented, "I think she likes him."
"Hmm?" Schroeder turned.
Marcie adjusted her glasses knowingly. "In my experience, when a girl really likes a guy, and is super comfortable around him, her face takes on this certain glow. It can even make her look extra pretty."
"If you say so." He shrugged, grimacing slightly; he rarely showed any keen interest in his friends' romantic relationships, often deeming such talk as mushy. He then folded his arms, knitting his brow in thought.
"Batting cages," he muttered, touching his chin. "Why didn't we think of that?"
"For Charles's team?" Marcie guessed.
"For Lucy," he answered, "back on the original team. A few sessions at a batting cage could have improved her game."
"Depends," Marcie returned knowledgeably. "Lucy's skill level was about my own, and I don't think dragging me to a batting cage would have made me want to learn more."
"Oh, but that's because you never liked baseball," Schroeder pointed out, turning his head to her. "Being forced to do something you hate rarely turns someone into an MVP."
"Unless you only do well in order to play less," she answered, making a face. "When Peppermint Patty drags me to bowling alleys, I can bowl perfect games just so that I roll the ball the least amount of times."
"No fooling?" He blinked at her. "That's pretty impressive, actually."
"So I've been told."
"Well, Lucy is a go-getter, with the proper motivation. She can hit a home run if she has incentive" He gestured toward the entrance where the couple's retreating backs were still visible through the glass. "As you can see."
"Live and learn, I suppose."
"Yeah," he said flatly, but just then, more children came into the lobby, and for the sake of looking professional, further conversation had to cease.
The theater doors at last opened, and they both focused on the jostling swarm of children. Yet even as she tore tickets and handed the stubs back to the children, Marcie could not completely stay focused on her work. Her mind kept going back to the encounter with Lucy, and for some reason Schroeder's words repeated themselves.
Well, Marcie and I have been hanging out a lot lately…
She thinned her lips, mulling on the odd choice of words. Did her being absorbed in homework at his house while Schroeder and Peppermint Patty talked baseball count as "hanging out a lot"? She had to admit she did not know him well enough to guess what he really thought about her visits, although he had always shown approval of her familiarity with classical works.
His delivery had been so casual, too, and yet not quite the way he usually talked — not exactly cheerful, but warm; yes, warm, by Schroeder's standards — and the way he had turned so quickly from Lucy to smile at Marcie when he brought up the memory of her being at his Beethoven party, almost like… like…
Marcie shook her head at herself. Maybe she was overthinking it.
The halls grew quiet once the theater doors closed again, and soon the opening notes of the Fifth Symphony reverberated through the building. Marice stole to the pay phones in the lobby. She took a deep breath at the sound of the dial tone, which droned as though cautioning her not to get her hopes up too high, yet faint hearts never won cute guys. After she slipped a quarter into the slot, she pressed the well-known number onto the keys, and the beeps sounded almost like a cheerful love song.
The line rang twice before Sally's voice answered. "Brown Residence."
"Hi, there, Sally. It's Marcie. I wanted to check up on Charles. Is he near the phone? If not, it's fine."
"No, he's over on the couch," Sally replied. "He seems okay, though. Peppermint Patty swung by after baseball practice, and she's been here ever since."
Marcie's face fell. "Oh… She's taking care of him?"
"You could say that." Sally sounded almost apologetic. "They're watching TV right now. Want me to try to drag my big brother to the phone, Marcie?"
Marcie closed her eyes once, then forced a smile to make her voice sound pleasant. "No. No, we don't want to risk him getting more injuries. Just… tell him I called. And that I was worried about him."
"Sure thing."
Marice hung up and took a long breath.
"Just keep busy," she whispered, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. "Just keep busy."
She took another step, then another, refusing to let herself stop.
She pictured her best friend beside Charles, and in her mind, Patty had that special glow which could make a plain girl pretty — not that Patty had ever truly been as ugly as she had claimed to be. She always had a twinkle in her eye and a friendly grin that could put people at ease, but being around Charles certainly added a je ne sais quoi quality to her features which Marcie had observed more than once. Maybe Charles observed it now, being older and no longer single-mindedly focused on girls with red hair.
Marcie liked to believe she could achieve that same wondrous glow, but somehow her little bit of radiance never seemed to make her pretty enough to attract a boy like Charles.
"Just keep busy," she ordered herself. She still had a job to do.
Soft footsteps crept up beside her.
"Hey, Marcie!" a familiar, hopeful voice said. "Got a minute?"
At once her somber features switched to a stony mask.
"Not even a millisecond," she retorted, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
The teenage boy did not seem to get the message, but Floyd had a reputation for persistence.
"We'll walk and talk then," he said smilingly, falling into step with her. He was a dark-haired boy who followed Marcie around the theater whenever he got the chance. Marcie had met him years ago at summer camp, and despite the slim odds, they had ended up going to the same high school. Ever since they were kids, he insisted he found her cute, and he kept asking her out.
Marcie could not understand how anyone could be so sarcastic — or cruel — but gone were the days when she could just throw him into a patch of poison oak or dump her lunch tray on his head. These days, she just ignored his bullying, choosing to be the bigger person. Today, though, with the failed telephone call so fresh in her mind, she had to dig her nails into palms to keep herself from shoving Floyd away.
"My dad's letting me borrow the car tonight," Floyd was saying. "Do you like movies?"
"When I watch them by myself."
"That's fair," he returned, not at all abashed. He jogged a little ahead so that he could face her, walking backwards now. "How about eating? You eat, right?"
Marcie refused to meet his eyes. "When I'm hungry."
"Great! There's a nice Greek place that opened up two blocks down—"
"I'll have to check it out with my friends later."
"Or maybe I could pick you up, say, seven—"
"No, I'd rather wait for my friends," Marcie cut him off. "Charles's casts will be off in a few weeks, and I can take him out to celebrate."
She stressed his name, hoping Floyd picked up the unspoken message.
His face fell.
He was a good actor, at the very least.
"Well, uh— Charles, huh — well, great, um, see—" He exhaled, looking away. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that a lambcake would have a boyfriend…"
Marcie bit her cheek to keep herself from saying something that could come back to haunt her. She knew she was not beautiful — or cute or desirable or dainty or attractive in any conventional way — but why did Floyd feel the need to rub it in her face? What did he gain from rubbing salt on her wounded soul?
She squared her shoulders and coldly warned, "If you keep making fun of me, Floyd, I'll report you to the supervisor again."
He took a step back, having the nerve to act as though she had hurt him. "But, Marcie—"
But she would hear no more of his sarcasm. She spun on her heel and flounced toward the theater doors.
The orchestra was still performing the first movement of the Fifth Symphony. Marcie made her way through the theater's twilight to the volunteers' seats, and she found Schroeder near the aisle. Wordlessly, she sank beside him. She took a few breaths to calm herself, refusing to let Floyd's jerky behavior (or Peppermint Patty's visit to Charles's house) ruin the concert for her.
As she listened to the passionate performance, she turned to see how Schroeder was enjoying the music. To her surprise, he had directed his attention to the program, where one page had been devoted to a brief biography on Beethoven. He was at work making markings with a pen.
"What are you doing?" whispered Marcie, leaning closer.
"Proofreading," he returned. "Did you know the program says Beethoven was born in Eighteen Hundred?"
"Really?" She checked her own program. "Well… he sure accomplished a lot in twenty-seven years. He really was a genius."
Schroeder thinned his lips, and for a moment, Marcie worried she had offended him, but then he turned his head, and his eyes danced.
"He's even more amazing than I thought!" he answered with suppressed laughter.
His snickers were contagious, and despite her mood, Marcie found herself tittering louder than she meant.
"Shhh!" someone scolded them.
Marcie covered her mouth, shooting an apologetic look toward the direction of the shusher. She feigned a stern expression at Schroeder.
"Who knew you'd be such a bad influence?" she pretended to scold.
"You started it."
That almost sent her into another burst of laughter, but even as she suppressed her snickers, she was glad for the levity, even a little bit. At least she could still find something to smile about
The movement ended, and polite applause broke out. The conductor, a kind-looking older gentleman, pivoted on his stand to address the children, explaining the next piece.
"Just like the Fifth Symphony, many of you may have heard this next piece on TV. While one of his most famous pieces, it was only published after Beethoven's death because he considered it a 'trifle.' The original version was believed to have been written for a woman who Beethoven wanted to marry…"
As he launched into a description of Beethoven's relationship with Therese Malfatti, Marcie wiggled in her seat. Against her will, her thoughts drifted back first to Charles, spending over an hour with Peppermint Patty. She could picture Patty on the floor beside the couch where Charles laid, whispering to each other during commercials or leaning their heads against the other's while their programs ran.
Then Marcie thought of that obnoxious Floyd, always pretending he had a crush on her. She let out a long, aggravated breath.
"Something wrong?" Schroeder whispered, glancing at her.
She shrugged, thinning her lips. She did not really want to share her wounds with just anyone, but as she looked at Schroeder, she remembered he often had great insight. Like Lucy and her old psychiatry booth, Schroeder had a way about him that made people feel comfortable enough to voice their troubles, and occasionally he offered good advice (beyond recommending someone listen to a work by Brahms). After weighing her options, she decided to take a chance.
She leaned close to him and dropped her voice to a soft enough volume. "Schroeder, you know how a boy thinks, right?"
He shot her a dry look. "Astonishingly, yes."
"Why do some boys act like jerks for no good reason?"
He sat up slightly. "Did someone mess with you?"
"Not physically, if that's what you mean," she murmured. "There's just some guy who's super cruel and calls me beautiful all the time."
He stared at her, blinking slowly. "…And you find that insulting?"
Marcie folded her arms. "When an ugly duckling gets called a swan when she's not actually a swan, it grates on her nerves."
He sat back, rubbing his neck. "Well, uh, you're not exactly an ugly duckling, per se."
"If it looks like a duckling and quacks like a duckling, it's sure not a swan," she retorted.
He rolled his shoulders, grimacing. Marcie remembered then that he was an only child with no female cousins, and thus he never had the experience of comforting a sister after a hard day. She forced herself to go easy on him.
"Girls like me don't like empty flattery, Schroeder," she explained. "Getting told you're beautiful when you know you're not only re-enforces your convictions. So, why do some guys have to tease girls like that?"
Schroeder tapped his chin, frowning. He hesitated, then leaned toward her. "Is it possible that you're just that guy's type?"
"Who are you kidding?" she frowned.
"No, I'm serious. Look at Lucy, for example." He made a few gestures, trying to put his thoughts into words. "She's not conventionally attractive. I would say she's more like the funny valentine who Frank Sinatra sings about, but ever since her personality began improving, her whole demeanor made her more appealing to some guys. Personality and confidence can really draw a guy in."
And what if you have neither? she longed to retort, but another "Shh!" prevented her, and just in time, the pianist began the famous opening of "Für Elise."
Marcie and Schroeder both settled back in their seats, and Marcie glanced over in time to see Schroeder's spider-like hands tap the air on invisible keys. It made her smile in spite of her heavy heart, and she was glad she had thought to invite him to volunteer. Having a platonic friend, even an emotionally awkward one, was better than being alone on a day like this.
She turned her attention back to the pianist, and she pictured Beethoven first penning his "trifle" for whomever the real Elise was. Although Marcie did not believe in the apocryphal revenge story, she understood how such a hypothesis could gain popularity: the tenderness of composing a beautiful song for the one Beethoven wanted to marry, the tragedy of him discovering her heart laid elsewhere, the catharsis of his sabotaging the song, putting the ungrateful woman in her place and proving his genius, finally getting the last laugh when the love song which he wrote became so famous that one could imagine Therese rolling in her grave each time it was played.
But if Beethoven had done it that way, did he really loved her to begin with? Marcie pondered.
Doing something rash during a moment of weakness was understandable, and a broken heart could be hard to bear, but did a person who genuinely loved another go out their way to get revenge on the person who turned them down? If your first impulse at discovering your beloved wanted to marry someone was to do something to hurt your beloved, could you really call what you felt before love, or was it just a selfish attraction?
No, Marcie was sure Beethoven had not altered his song out of revenge, if he genuinely loved Therese.
Although maybe his enduring acquaintance with sadness is why he poured himself into his music to the point that he forgot to get dressed in the mornings, she mused. Maybe, like Marcie, Beethoven knew the best way to heal a broken heart was to stay busy.
As she pondered that, a movement in the audience caused Marcie to sit up straight, narrowing her eyes.
"Paper-airplane alert!" she hissed softly, jumping to her feet.
A/N:
"I would say she's more like the funny valentine who Frank Sinatra sings about…" — In The Peanuts Valentine Day Activity Book (1980), there's a puzzle called "Name That Tune," and it's prefaced with, "Lucy wants Schroeder to play a valentine song, but he thinks that it's too mushy. Finally, he agrees and selects one song especially for Lucy." Solving the puzzle reveals he plays "My Funny Valentine."
