Although the chill was not strong, Marcie was still glad to step into the moderate warmth of the front hall. A table lamp had been left on in the living room, and Schroeder sauntered over and picked up a note that had been laid against its ceramic base. He scanned the message and carelessly crumpled it to toss into a nearby trash bin.
"Mom and Dad are gone to help a neighbor," he informed Marcie, "but they should be back soon. While we wait, I'll go get my music."
Marcie told him that was fine, and while Schroeder slipped off to his room, she laid her purse down by the lamp and made her way over to the piano. She took a seat on the wooden bench, gazing out the window to find an excellent view of the row of houses on the other side of the street. From her position, she spotted Linus and Rerun watching television in the Van Pelts' living room; Shermy sat on his porch swing with Violet cuddled against him; in the Browns' living room, Lucy, still in her pretty sundress, stood with her back to the window, blocking the view of the other occupants, except for Sally who now sat on a cushion in front of the television.
Marcie closed her eyes and slid herself around to face the piano. She laid her elbows on the cover and buried her face into her hands, sucking in slow breaths.
In moments, Schroeder joined her, carrying a three-ring binder. Rubbing her eyes, Marcie scooted over to the right, allowing him to take the side closest to the window. He laid the binder on the music stand, opening the cover.
"The work of a lifetime," he smiled fondly. "Musical portraits of friends and family."
"Musical portraits! That's quite ambitious."
"And cheaper than buying a bunch of Christmas presents."
He gently flipped through a collection of sheet music of various ages. Some looked like they had been done in the steady hand of a meticulous young man while others had the sloppy scrawl of a prodigious toddler. A few had been marked with simple notes like "For Mother's Day" or "Grandpa won the turkey tournament" or "Linus and Lucy." More often were poignant titles, the kind of which only a select few would understand the significance, like "Blanket Lullaby", "Back of the Bike Day", or "Entrance of the WW1 Flying Ace."
"Some portraits are easier than others," he admitted.
He stopped on one composition titled "The Fussbudget Sonata." Marcie adjusted her glasses, grinning.
"Three guesses who you wrote that one for," she joked.
"I was sarcastic even as a little kid, though Lucy took it as a compliment."
He started to play a part of the piece. At first it resembled Beethoven's "Turkish March," suggesting a cheerful moment of a child or children out playing. Then a few discordant notes began to weave in — some inconvenience was making playtime unpleasant — and now came the complaining.
"The sun's too bright," Schroeder narrated aloud. "Mommy strapped my shoes too tight. I want some water — no, no, Charlie Brown, I want it in the red cup! The blue cup tastes funny. No, no! I changed my mind…"
His hands stopped, and he gazed ruefully at his composition. "This wouldn't be an accurate representation of her now, of course. She learned how to channel her crabbiness into a productive force."
"That's certainly true," Marcie nodded. "She's a force of nature among the drama kids, and she helped out with the school elections, making sure everyone went out and voted, even if they favored the candidate she didn't like, and she helped the president and Joey Walters with their platforms. No wonder so many people look up to her now."
"Indeed." He touched the corner of the sheet music, gently rubbing his thumb over the surface. "But even in her turbulent days, Lucy could be nice, like when she took care of Snoopy's brother, Spike."
Marcie looked at his contemplative face. "What would you write for her now?"
"That's the question of the millennium," he replied. "Lucy has one of those personalities that is hard to put to music sometimes. Same with Charlie Brown."
He flipped a few pages, and Marcie stopped his arm when she noticed a woefully damaged sheet, mostly blank except for several pink eraser marks and pencil smudges. It was also crinkled and torn in places as if Schroeder had accidentally damaged it while trying to correct a mistake.
"Speaking of Charlie Brown," he said resignedly at her curious look, "I never seem to get beyond the first bar for his portrait. He's a hard guy to write even a commercial jingle for."
Marcie studied the blemishes on the page. She noticed then that they were only centered on the first line while the lower ones had been left untouched.
"Why not just toss the sheet out and make a new one?"
"Do you know how many pages I went through already?" he challenged. "I promised myself that I wouldn't use a new music sheet for Charlie Brown until I finish this page, even if it's just something ridiculously simple."
Schroeder smoothed down one of the wrinkles, wearing a grim smile.
"That's why I was so impressed that you made the connection between Charlie Brown and Pagliacci," he said. "I never put the two together for some reason, but it would make sense to use that for inspiration the next time I attempt a portrait."
With a defeated look, he turned the page, showing the next composition, entitled "Violet and Patty Make Mud Pies for Everyone."
Then he brightened. "Actually, I was considering doing some updated pieces for everyone. Some of these compositions wouldn't be a perfect fit for the gang these days. Maybe I could play them for you when you come over, and you could give me your insight."
"I'd be happy to help, if you really think I can," she answered modestly. She hesitated, then reached to turn the leaf back to the empty composition. "Although, if you really want to do a piece on Charles, I think you might balance out the intensity of a professional clown discovering his wife is cheating on him with something more optimistic, like Nat King Cole's 'Smile.'"
She gently laid her hands on the keys, finding the notes she wanted, and played the opening bars by ear.
"Something bittersweet but hopeful," she explained as she finished, "even if it sounds more modern."
"No, that's a pretty good point. I'll have to remember that." He folded his arms, touching his chin. Then he glanced at her and smiled. "So, why didn't you ever tell me you could play the piano?"
She smiled sheepishly. "I took organ lessons back in elementary school, actually."
He looked impressed. "Seriously?"
"I haven't played in a few years," she admitted. "Use it or lose it, you know, but I can still remember a lot." She gave him a sideways glance, smiling. "I did learn 'Für Elise' for my first recital. I played on this huge church organ. I'll never forget its sound."
He flourished a hand over the keys. "Then by all means…"
She removed her hands. "Bad form, Schroeder. Trying to get an amateur to embarrass herself in front of a prodigy."
"No, go ahead," he insisted. "It's not often that I'm around a good friend who enjoys music the way I do. Maybe I could give you pointers, if you ever want to pick it up again."
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"I've sat through Charlie Brown trying to play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' on my old toy piano," he assured her. "I can probably handle whatever you dish out."
He retrieved the sheet music for the easier, popular version of "Für Elise" from his living room's bookshelf. Marcie could still read music, since her public-school music classes had kept her in practice, though it took her a few false starts to get her rusty fingers to produce something that sounded decent. Schroeder politely listened, neither wincing or smiling at her feeble attempts. She stopped right before the more energetic section, shaking her head.
"That's as far as I dare go," she smiled wryly.
"You just need practice," he answered. "If I tried to play something like the trumpet or violin, it would sound weird until I mastered the necessary technical skills."
"You're incredibly polite."
"At least you have passion for the music," he pointed out. "That would help you pick it up again quicker. And plenty of beginners struggle with 'Für Elise' due to the tricky parts — even if Beethoven considered the composition a mere trifle."
Marcie shrugged. After a moment, she shifted herself to face him. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask your opinion on something regarding Beethoven."
"Oh, so you came to an expert?" he joked. "Shoot."
Marcie folded her hands, resting them against the wooden frame below the white keys.
"Have you ever heard of that story that claims Beethoven was so mad at discovering Therese Malfatti wanted to marry someone else that he deliberately made 'Für Elise' more complicated so that she could never play it?"
He leaned back, folding his arms. "One thing to remember about so-called 'accounts' on Beethoven's life is that there are many conflicting stories, and several have no concrete evidence to back them up. Like how I told you that there are different accounts on what Beethoven's last words were," he reminded her. "Different versions of the same event."
She nodded thoughtfully. "But?"
"But," he said, spinning himself away in order to stand, "I am inclined to disagree with the idea that Beethoven tried to get revenge on Therese — and I can offer a primary source from Beethoven's own pen."
He sauntered over to the nearby bookshelf, gliding his fingers over the spines of a row of thick books. After selecting one, he spent a moment or two flipping through the pages before he carried it over to Marcie.
"This is an English translation of a letter he wrote to Therese in 1810. See how he ended it." He turned the book, pointing where to read.
"Now fare you well, respected Therese. I wish you all the good and beautiful things of this life. Bear me in memory—no one can wish you a brighter, happier life than I—even should it be that you care not at all for your devoted servant and friend, Beethoven"
Marcie studied the cordial words in silence. That did not seem to be the response of an embittered man who sought to prove his intellectual and musical superiority over a woman who had spurned him.
"And when did Therese get married again?" she asked.
"Oh, about six years after Beethoven composed the original 'Für Elise' and about six years before he made the revised version, which is what I'm playing for my recital."
He calmly started up the more complicated piece, executing it with a skill that would have made its composer smile.
"Then I was right," Marcie said quietly. "If Beethoven truly loved Therese, he would not have thrown a passive-aggressive temper tantrum just to get even."
"I'm sure he would have been upset," Schroeder answered, swaying a little as he played. "As surprising as it is, Beethoven was human and was known for his temper, but he probably didn't deliberately change 'Für Elise' if he genuinely wished Therese the best."
"Good for him then." She cast a look around Schroeder and out the window toward the Browns' well-lit living room, where she thought she might have caught a glimpse of Charles's leg in its cast. "When you truly love someone, you want them to be happy, even if it can't be with you."
She sighed, returning her gaze to the piano, and she laid the book on top. She listened to Schroeder's playing, then added, "Still, this sure is a good song for when you suffer from unrequited love."
Schroeder shrugged, keeping his gaze on the keys.
"I wouldn't know anything about that, Marcie," he said mildly.
She turned her head. "Don't you?"
"Of course not," he returned. "Who would I possibly like?"
Marcie watched him with her steady-eyed gaze. She considered changing the subject, but after what she had observed today — and her own lovelorn experiences — a further delay might be like sticking a bandaid on a gaping wound. She gently laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping she was doing the right thing.
"Maybe there is a girl," she said slowly, "but she's too busy going out with a bunch of guys who gave her valentines."
He struck the wrong note and stopped playing. He cleared his throat and let out an incredulous laugh.
"Me and Lucy? Where did you get an idea like that?"
She held onto his shoulder, choosing her words carefully.
"I honestly didn't begin suspecting something until today at the theater," she replied, "around the time you made the point of telling Lucy we've been hanging out a lot lately, but you didn't mention it was only for baseball stuff."
"Baseball stuff counts," he replied, but his smile grew more strained.
"Maybe, but it seemed to me that you only began acting more buddy-buddy with me in order to get a reaction out of Lucy, to see if she was bothered by you being with another girl."
"That's— That's—" He faltered. For a moment something like guilt appeared in his gaze — and then he shot to his feet, striding over to the window, and tucked his arms behind his back. He stared out between the curtains, his facial features tightening as though he felt ill.
"Don't worry. I'm not offended," she assured him, maintaining her even tone. She closed the piano cover and rested her elbow on it. "I actually took it as a compliment once I figured out what you were up to. I'm not the type of girl who makes other girls want to lock up their boyfriends, so it was a new experience."
He grimaced, clenching and unclenching his clasped hands, but he remained silent.
"Then at the diner," she continued, "you again made the point to tell Lucy you'd been spending time with only me. A casual observer might have thought you were just reprimanding her for juggling so many guys, but, coupled with my earlier observation at the theater, I concluded you wanted her to notice you'd been spending hours with someone else."
He let out a long breath.
"Again, I'm not offended," Marcie assured him. "In the heat of the moment, a person can do silly things to get someone's attention. I should know," she added softly, looking at her hands.
In that moment, a click of an opening door from outside reached them, and Marcie peered out the window to see Lucy leaving Charles's house. She strolled down to the sidewalk before she paused. It had gotten too dark by now to see her face, but she had clearly spotted Schroeder because she raised her arm high and gave him a careless wave. He lifted a hand long enough to jerk a quick response. Lucy lingered a moment, then turned for her house with an exaggerated waltzing gait, as though trying to give her friend a funny show. Instead of going inside when she reached the door, Lucy sank onto the stoop and began to look through her purse.
"I suppose it must be hard for you, especially since St. Valentine's Day," Marcie observed gently. "Sitting here, playing 'Für Elise', while at any moment you could look out the window to see your own Therese coming and going with yet another guy."
He swallowed with obvious difficulty, then closed his eyes.
"I don't have any right to complain," he said dully. "It's her life."
"You're human, Schroeder, like Beethoven," she reminded him. "It's natural to feel a little jealous under the circumstances."
He did not answer. She leaned forward, giving him a kind look.
"When did you realize you liked her?"
He shrugged, exhaling again. "Who can really say? She'd go on dates before, but I didn't lose my head over it. Probably because she never clicked with any of those guys."
"So you kinda took it for granted she'd always come back to you," she guessed. "What made you see otherwise?"
He finally shifted away from the window, shoving his fists into his pockets. His face contorted into a difficult expression. Marcie waited quietly, knowing he usually did not open up to people like this. For a moment it looked like he would clam up and change the subject, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. An armchair stood near the window, and he glumly sank onto the seat.
"Maybe when she decided to go to that Snowflake Dance instead of my Beethoven party," he finally said. "She never missed one before, in all the years I hosted them, but that was the first time she decided to be with someone else. And… it bothered me, more than I wanted to admit. But I didn't tell her."
He laid his forearms on his knees and hung his blond head.
"And I meant to send her a valentine this year, as a friend, you know, but I got so busy with classes that it slipped my mind."
"Why not send her a belated valentine?"
"Because… it didn't occur to me," he sighed, lifting his hands in exasperation. "Then she announced two days later that she would let every boy who gave her a valentine have a chance to take her to prom, because she wanted to be fair to all her admirers. I didn't have the guts to say anything after that."
Marcie pinched the fabric of her black slacks, considering his dilemma. Although she herself had long ago made her feelings known to Charles, she understood Schroeder's awkwardness all too well: the difficulties of pursuing a close friend, the lonely sense of longing, the uncertainty of the other's reaction, the fear of failure and what would happen to the friendship afterward, all working together to leave a person paralyzed with indecision and self-doubt, yet each moment of delay stung when one had to watch one's beloved grow closer to someone else. It was easy for people to advise a lovelorn admirer to move on or to wait patiently for a chance to present itself, but when one had to experience that heartache daily, neither option seemed like a good, immediate balm for the emotional pain.
"If you got your nerve up, would you be willing to tell Lucy?" she asked.
"Who knows?" he replied. "She seems to have moved on from her old feelings for me long ago." He pushed himself up, flopping back against the chair. "Kinda poetic, isn't it? As a kid, she used to say that she planned to be popular with guys in high school, but she promised that she'd let me take her to senior prom. I of course told her I would never seek after her. But here I am, proving her younger self right."
Marcie nodded sympathetically. She hesitated, weighing her words, then asked, "But can you be happy for her, Schroeder, if she chooses someone else?"
He draped one hand over his eyes. "I try to be."
"I guess that's all you can really do," Marcie stated sagely, linking her hands around her knee. She pictured Charles with his good arm around Peppermint Patty's waist, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but she kept her voice at a neutral level. "Even if you put on grand, romantic displays or walk across town to ask them to the movies or kiss them on the cheek because their baseball field was taken from them, it's always going to be their choice. You just… have to let them be happy. Because you care for them that much."
"Like Beethoven and Therese."
"Exactly."
"Do I have a chance though?" he asked softly. "Or would it be too selfish to say something now?"
Marcie thought about it.
"She seems to like two of the boys I've seen," she answered frankly, "but she isn't going steady with either of them, so I guess there's still some hope, if you act soon. Once she agrees to be someone's girlfriend, you'll have to wait until she's single again, if ever. But you have to be willing to move on if that happens."
He cringed, sliding his hand down his face. He rolled in his chair, peering out the window, and his unhappy gaze shifted to concern. He sat up.
"Lucy's still sitting on the front stoop," he told her. "Is something wrong?"
Marcie leaned forward to get a better look. Someone had turned the porch light on, and it beamed on Lucy's curled form. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and she had bowed her head.
Marcie stood. "I'll talk to her."
"Maybe I should go too," Schroeder said, starting to stand, but Marcie took hold of his shoulder as she passed him, shaking her head.
"No, you stay here and play the piano like normal, and try not to appear nosy." She started for the hall. "If I'm correct, she may prefer to talk to me right now."
Schroeder twisted in his seat, following her with his perplexed gaze. "What do you mean?"
Marcie did not reply but made sure to grab her purse from the lamp table as she went out.
With the sweet 1810 version of "Für Elise" following her as she crossed the street, Marcie tried to figure out her best strategy for approaching a delicate situation. She could not just come out and reveal sensitive information like a gossip columnist; Schroeder would be mortified if he ever found out she had betrayed his confidence, and there was always the chance Marcie had misread the situation.
But I've been mostly right thus far, she considered.
As Marcie approached, Lucy raised her head, blinking tiredly. She quickly straightened, fixing her hair.
"Hey, are you okay?" asked Marcie.
"Oh, yeah." Lucy sniffed, rubbing her eyes. "It's nice out, and I was enjoying it a little longer, but I guess I tired myself out today. An active social life catches up with you pretty quick."
"As long as that's all it was." Marcie jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Schroeder saw you out here and was concerned."
"He's a sweet guy when he wants to be," Lucy chuckled, but her tone sounded a little off. She raised her eyes, meeting Marcie's gaze. "Peppermint Patty said you and Schroeder had a good time today."
Marcie sighed. "I'll bet she did."
"Is it too soon to say congratulations?" Lucy returned, but her smile did not reach her eyes.
"It's always best to take what Peppermint Patty says with a grain of salt until you get all the facts," Marcie advised her. She sank down beside Lucy, linking her hands around her knees.
Lucy scooted over to give her more room. "It's okay if you do like him. It's good for Schroeder to have someone who understands his fascination with music."
"Well," Marcie said, looking at her friend, "I can honestly say that his mind was not really on me today."
"I know that feeling," Lucy said with an ironic smile, "but what about when he wasn't focused on Beethoven?"
Marcie hesitated, not wanting to blurt everything out in a tactless way, but Lucy seemed to misinterpret her silence for embarrassment. She patted Marcie's shoulder.
"Don't worry. I'm not a crabby, attention-starved eight-year-old anymore. My days of trying to eliminate the competition are behind me."
Marcie shook her head. "I really don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to Schroeder."
"Oh, I'm not worried." She closed her eyes, venting out a long breath. "I made my peace about Schroeder when I was eleven. If he ever finds someone with whom he feels comfortable building a life, then good for him. I'd rather see him happy than for him to die alone with only his bust of Beethoven for company."
Marcie raised an eyebrow. "You sure have an interesting way of putting things, Lucy."
"I'm just being practical." She lifted her chin up, prim and cool. "If he prefers another type of girl, then why get upset? I have at least fifteen other guys who know I exist."
"Lucy—" Marcie did a double take. "Fifteen?!"
"I can't help being beautiful and winsome," she answered, playfully fluffing her black hair.
Marcie blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth. Fortunately, she recovered.
"But none of them are Schroeder, are they?" she observed.
"What does it matter?" Lucy returned bitterly. "Schroeder didn't even remember to send me a valentine this year. Why should I keep holding a candle for someone who doesn't have any real warmth for me?"
Marcie's eyes shot toward the lit window of Schroeder's house. Through the curtains, the pianist was visible, his arms moving to produce the faint music still carried on the wind, but Marcie was sure he was watching them that very moment.
"I think he's pretty warm towards you," Marcie said. "In fact, he was showing me the sheet music for 'The Fussbudget Sonata' a little while ago."
Lucy's head snapped toward her.
"He still has that?" she cried.
Marcie nodded, smiling. "He sure does, but he says it no longer fits you, and he really wants to do a new piece for you."
"Schroeder said that?"
"He's pretty serious when it comes to his own music, don't you think?" Marcie poked Lucy's arm. "If I were you, I'd go over there and tell him you want to get started on the project right away."
Lucy looked from her to Schroeder's house, touching her chin. "Would he really want to see me right now?"
"Has that ever stopped you before?"
"Nope!" She climbed to her feet, smoothing out her sundress. She started toward the road but then stopped, pulling out a compact mirror. "Should I redo my makeup first?"
Marcie shook her head, smiling as she stood. "You look fine. Besides, I've always thought some girls get a special glow around a boy they like, and that makes them extra pretty."
"Then I should be a sunbeam," Lucy grinned, casting a longing gaze for the boy in the window still at his keys, then she turned back to Marcie. "Would you mind staying out of the house awhile?"
"Why do you think I took my purse with me?" Marcie smirked. She strolled past Lucy, then turned in the direction opposite of Schroeder's house. "Let him know that I'm heading down to the corner store. I may be conveniently gone for ten or fifteen minutes."
"Can you try to stretch it out to twenty?" Lucy gave her a grateful smile before she broke into a brisk jog across the street.
Ambling along, Marcie looked back in time to see her reach the door, but before Lucy could knock, Schroeder opened it, his tall frame silhouetted by the light behind him. Marcie faced forward again, quickening her pace.
"And the matchmaker stays single," she mused with a slight sigh, but despite her disappointments today, she could be satisfied knowing she had been able to help two of her friends find their way to happiness.
She wandered the aisles of the well-lit corner store at a slow pace, trying to stall for time while also trying not to inconvenience the bored clerk watching her at the counter.
I can't move too slowly, or he might think I'm shoplifting, she reminded herself. Wouldn't that be a way to cap off a day like this?
As she hovered by a shelf with raspberry Zingers, remembering with a smile how much Snoopy enjoyed the snack cakes, another customer turned down her aisle and stopped short.
"Marcie?"
She spun, tensing when she saw the stupefied face of Floyd.
"Are you following me or something?" she demanded.
"What? No! I'm spending the night with my cousin, and my aunt sent me out to grab a few things." He showed her the half-filled basket in his hand. "Do you live around here?"
"I've been visiting friends," she replied.
"Ah! Makes sense."
"If you'll excuse me then." She made a brisk turn, marching stiffly up the aisle, but he followed.
"Wait, Marcie, I need to tell you something."
She slowed, coolly lifting an eyebrow. He ducked his head, running his free hand through his dark hair.
"Look, I'm—well, I'm super sorry about earlier. I didn't know about you and the blond guy — Charles, was it? Well, I see now that I was coming on too strong, so no wonder you were mad. And I-I apologize."
He swallowed noisily. Marcie did not reply, so Floyd continued.
"For what it's worth, I just want you to be happy, Marcie, even if it's with someone else." He shuffled his feet. "Have a nice life, I guess."
Why does he have to be so sarcastic, even now? Can't he be genuinely nice to me on the one night I'm going through a heartbreak?
As she watched Floyd head toward the counter, she remembered leaving the theater with Schroeder and their conversation that followed. What had Schroeder advised her to do with Floyd?
Call his bluff.
Marcie squared her shoulders. "Hey."
Floyd stopped.
"I'm not saying I'll ever go out with you," she said, "but for the sake of argument, say that in a month or two I decided I was emotionally ready to look at another guy."
He turned. "Go on."
"Would you be willing to go on a double date?" she asked. "And let me pick the other couple?"
Floyd's hopeful eyes gleamed.
"Of course! Whatever you want, Marcie! You call the shots! Just, um" — he rubbed his neck — "what about Charles?"
"Charles isn't in the picture anymore," Marcie said softly, "and the blond guy you saw has a girlfriend — or he should by now."
"Oh, well, uh, I see…" He rolled his shoulders. "Then, uh, is it okay to ask for your number sometime?"
Marcie shook her head. "You give me your number, and in two months or so, I'll give you a call, when or if I ever decide."
"Like I said, you call the shots, Marcie," he beamed, looking genuinely giddy.
She passed him a small writing pad from her purse, and he scribbled out his number. She nodded and pointedly spun away, looking at a shelf of Butternut Bread. Floyd got the message and finished his shopping, and he had a spring in his step as he reached the counter. As he bounced out the front door, Marcie pulled out the writing pad again and studied the number.
"Probably a fake," she reasoned. "Maybe I can get Peppermint Patty or Lucy to call first, just so I don't embarrass myself."
She lingered as long as she dared before she finally left without purchasing anything, and she headed back to Schroeder's. Night had fallen, but Marcie kept a leisurely pace, knowing the neighborhood was relatively safe (even if it had the likes of Floyd lurking about). As she neared Schroeder's house, the door to Charles's house opened, and Peppermint Patty emerged. She jogged over to Marcie, waving her down.
"Hey! I thought you had gone home by now," she said, her sandals slipping a little as she came to a stop. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm just waiting for Schroeder's parents to return home so I can get a ride, although I don't know how long they'll be."
Patty looked appalled. "You're waiting out here?"
"I walked down to the corner store," she explained.
"You need to be more careful, Marcie." Patty took a protective, sisterly hold of Marcie's shoulder. "Daddy's going to be picking me up soon. Why don't you catch a ride with me?"
"That sounds like a solid solution," Marcie smiled gratefully. "I just have to let Schroeder know."
Patty smirked. "Well, I mean, I sure don't want to deprive lover boy of a moonlight car ride—"
But Marcie held up a hand, cutting her off.
"Schroeder wants to be with Lucy, Sir," she stated, "not me."
"Lucille!" Her eyes shot wide open, but then they hardened. "Does Beethoven Boy think he can get away with stringing along my best friend when he's sweet on another girl?! Well, I'll fix him!"
Huffing, Peppermint Patty spun and pushed up her sleeve. She would have probably marched right up the street to deal out her fury on the unsuspecting musician if Marcie had not run ahead of her and grabbed her shoulders, planting her own feet firmly on the sidewalk to keep her friend in place.
"I've never been interested in Schroeder that way, Sir," she insisted. "In fact, I'm glad he can be with Lucy. It's about time, don't you think?"
Patty took several breaths, processing Marcie's calm words, and she began to nod.
"Yeah, you're right. Lucille's been waiting years for Beethoven Boy to notice her, huh? But I thought she was pretty happy being a teenage dream, getting all those boys to chase her."
"I guess Lucy discovered that fifteen boys can't replace one Schroeder."
"Ain't that the truth!" Patty chuckled, then stopped. "Wait, fifteen?"
"I believe so."
Patty slapped her head, beginning to laugh again.
"Ol' Schroeder is going to have his hands full with that one!" She slung her arm around Marcie. "Well, let's go tell the love birds you're catching a ride with me then. We can play chaperone until Daddy gets here."
"Don't tease them now, Sir," Marcie advised, "or they might retaliate by being chaperones for you and Chuck."
"Marcie!" Patty squawked, turning red.
"Fair's fair, Sir." Marcie looked at her friend's inflamed face, then slipped an arm around Patty's shoulders. "Congratulations, by the way."
"Oh, stop."
"No, really," she insisted, trying to keep the hitch out of her voice. "If the two of you are happy, then that's great. I'm glad to see you together because… I love you both."
Patty waved a dismissive hand, but she gave Marcie a slight squeeze. Still with their arms around the other, they headed up the road. Piano music carried through the air as they approached Schroeder's house, but instead of "Für Elise", the musician had selected a different work.
Peppermint Patty stopped, knitting her brow. "Wait, I know that piece. The, um, uh, that one where you play it with one hand."
"Ravel's Piano Concerto for the Left Hand," Marcie supplied.
"Yeah, that one, but why would he be playing it now?" Patty wondered, exasperated. "It's not romantic enough to perform for the girl you like."
A slow smile of realization spread across Marcie's face. "Maybe because it frees up his other hand to hold Lucy's?"
Patty's eyes widened, then she smirked. "The sly dog."
The curtain had been drawn, providing only a sliver of yellow light. When they knocked, the piano stopped, but Lucy's muffled voice said, "I'll get it, sweetie. Keep playing."
The music started up again, and Lucy opened the door.
"I figured it was you, Marcie," she greeted. "C'mon in. You too, Patty."
"Actually, we won't be staying long," Marcie told her.
"Fortunately for you," Patty winked.
They explained the travel plans in brief terms, then Marcie added, "Oh, and would you let Schroeder know I took his advice? About calling Floyd's bluff and insisting on a double date?"
Patty whirled around, staring. "A double date with Floyd? You?"
"I'm ready to deal with his sarcasm once and for all," Marcie answered her before she turned back to Lucy. "Incidentally, when I call Floyd in a month or two, would Schroeder be interested in being part of the other couple for the double date? If he can ask out a girl he likes, that is" — with a smile.
"No problem there," Lucy tittered.
From the living room came Schroeder's voice. "Are you already making date plans for us?"
Lucy turned her head and called back, "You wouldn't have me any other way, and you know it!"
"All too well."
The piano ceased again, and Schroeder joined them. Lucy slipped her arms around his elbow. She had been right; she now resembled a sunbeam. Schroeder himself looked a little flustered, but he calmly (and smiling) extended his hand to Marcie.
"Thanks for inviting me out today, Marcie," he said. "I'm glad I went."
Marcie shook his hand. "Likewise."
THE END
A/N: Some readers might recognize "The Fussbudget Sonata" from the Dec 11, 1954 strip.
Thanks for reading! :)