The Lucy Variations (19 page)

“Ow, Lucy!”

“You know what? Lots of people’s parents get divorced, and
they
don’t start acting like assholes.”

Then Reyna gave Lucy a long look before shoving back so that Lucy hit the opposite wall of the hallway. “Trust me. I know men a lot better than you do. I’ve had
real
relationships and non-relationships with
real
guys, and no matter how ‘nice to you’ or whatever they seem, how ‘special’ they make you feel, they’re all the same when it comes down to it. My dad. Every guy at school, maybe even Carson. Will.”

They were leaning on the walls across from each other now.

Someone walked between them to get to the bathroom. “Excuse me.”

Lucy knew that Reyna didn’t want to be there. And that the stuff between her parents had been brutal, the knowledge of her dad’s affairs crushing. But Reyna was wrong. About men. About Will.

“If that’s what you think, you should probably leave,” Lucy said.

Reyna laughed. “Without you?”

“I’m not kidding. Leave.”

Reyna pushed herself off the wall and turned away. “Have fun with your new best friends.”

Lucy let her walk down the hall and disappear around the corner, and waited until enough time had passed for her to have gone out the front door. Then she went to the living room and tried to ignore the fact that people were watching, noticing that Reyna had left upset. She pulled back the edge of the curtain and looked out the window. Part of her hoped Reyna’s Mini would still be parked there, Reyna leaning on it, maybe, waiting to see if Lucy would come out. All she saw were the car’s tail lights retreating into the foggy night.

She let the curtain fall back into place.

Then she realized Aruna was standing behind her, watching over her shoulder. “Do you two fight a lot?” she asked, her breath on Lucy’s cheek.

“No.”

Aruna put her arm around Lucy. The weight of it was uncomfortable, but Lucy resisted shrugging it off. “It’s hard at this time of life,” Aruna said. “You’re both changing. I remember. So much happens at your age. You’re becoming the people you’ll be.”

Alcohol turned people into philosophers. She’d seen it with her dad, and sometimes her grandfather, the way they’d make trite statements sound like the wisdom of the ages after a cocktail or two. But she knew Aruna was right.

After Reyna left, Lucy wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Will seemed to always have people around him. She stayed on the edges of the room, wondering how she’d get home, what Will had said to Diane Krasner, if Reyna would ever talk to her again, and if she cared.

She noticed a girl sitting on the floor nearby and held in a little gasp when she realized it was Felicia Pettis. Felicia was a few years older than she was and had always been the one taking the prizes that Lucy won, after her, and doing the tours that Lucy did, before her. They’d never actually been in the same place at the same time.

She saw Lucy watching and waved. Lucy went over, pushing aside all thoughts of Reyna.

“Hi,” Lucy said. “I hope this isn’t weird, but…okay, I probably shouldn’t start a sentence like that if I don’t want it to be weird, but…” She put her hands on her cheeks. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to meet you. I didn’t see you when I first got here, I—” She didn’t want Felicia to think she’d been ignoring her on purpose or something, out of jealousy or an old sense of competitiveness.

“I blend in,” Felicia said. She was petite and smooth-faced, and she scooted over on the floor to make space for Lucy. “Sit down.”

“Thanks. I’m…I’m Lucy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Felicia said with a laugh. “I love that sweater.”

“Oh, thanks. My mom picked it out, which is ironic, because…well, I don’t know why it’s ironic.”

Felicia sipped from her beer bottle. “So. I have
just
learned tonight about what happened in Prague. It shocked me, I have to say.”

Lucy inched closer. “You really hadn’t heard?”

She shook her head. “I took myself out of the loop a long time ago. I went off Facebook, I went off Twitter, I don’t read the blogs, the industry news, any of it.”

“Yeah, you sort of dropped off the face of the earth. The last thing I heard about you was at the Himmelman, like, three years ago.”

“And what did you hear?” She held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Lucy laughed. She hadn’t heard anything definite, just everyone wondering why Felicia wasn’t there and trying to make guesses ranging from the flu to that she’d run off with some conductor from Spain.

“I used to watch your YouTube videos all the time,” Lucy said. “Especially that Liszt one?”

“Oh, God. I begged my dad not to record that recital. I had this massive cold sore…”

“I didn’t notice. I was too busy obsessing over your interpretation of that piece. So original.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you…” Lucy paused and reframed her question. “I hate it when people ask me this, actually, because it feels personal, but now that I’m asking you, I guess I understand why they ask me. They really just want to know if I play any more, that’s all. I read too much into it,” she said, shaking her head. “I get, I don’t know. All defensive. But: do you play any more?”

Felicia nodded. “I do.”

“Just for you? Or?”

“No, I’m still on the whole circuit or whatever you want to call it. I just don’t
win
now or place very high or do publicity stuff, which is why you thought I dropped off the face of the earth.” She was matter-of-fact and didn’t seem embarrassed about being at the middle or the back of the pack or wherever she was.

“Oh.” Lucy didn’t know what else to say.

“And I work part-time doing data entry at a place that allows me flexible hours,” Felicia said. “I live in West Portal with two room-mates. I’m taking some classes online at State. You know. Just being twenty.” She smiled and held up her beer. “That’s my little speech. I have to give it every time I run into people who remember me from back then.”

Lucy wondered what her own defence would be, the lines she might wind up repeating over and over to explain her choices.

“How do you know Will?” she asked Felicia.

“Everyone knows Will. I was on his show way back. We stayed in touch. He’s a sweetie.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Lucy said, trying to sound as casual as Felicia did, like Will didn’t mean anything special to her.

“Earlier tonight he was telling everyone you were coming and that he’d heard you play, and you were still great even though you hadn’t played for a while and all this stuff. So congrats on that.”

Lucy leaned forwards, not sure she’d heard. “What?”

“It’s cool, making a comeback. I mean
I
didn’t know you’d left in the first place, but whatever makes you happy. Will’s just a teeny-tiny bit excited. It was cute.”

Okay
, Lucy thought. It didn’t sound totally terrible or anything. Still. It was their secret, she’d thought. She stood up. “It was nice to officially meet you, finally. I should…”

“Hang on.” Felicia pulled out her phone and handed it to Lucy. “Put your number in. And I’ll do mine.”

Lucy took her phone out of her pocket and gave it to Felicia. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, we should hang out.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said again, and put her phone back in her pocket, next to Will’s nail clippers.

Ten minutes later Will finally got away and found her, back in the kitchen, sipping more bubbly water and reading the label on a box of crackers. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Reyna left you.”

“I told her to.” She set down her water. “Where’s your piano?” she asked him. She was tired. Drained, emotionally, from the fight with Reyna and now trying to figure out why Will was telling people she was making a comeback.

“I don’t have one here. There’s no room. My piano is at my folks’ house in Sacramento.”

“Sacramento. That’s a long way to go.”

“Ha, yeah, well, I don’t go.” He smiled. “Don’t look so sad. My viola is here. In a closet. I have plenty of access to pianos, don’t worry.”

It didn’t seem the same to Lucy, and she wondered how much he actually played other than with students. “I think I’m going to call my mom to come pick me up,” she said.

“Let me give you a ride. I want to explain about Diane, and…” He scratched at his stubble. “Or try to.”

He sounded defeated, and Lucy knew she wasn’t mad about him telling a few party guests, didn’t really care, and just wanted to be able to talk to him without all these people around. “You can’t leave your party,” she said.

“
It’s my party, I can leave if I want to
,” he sang. “Sorry. Now maybe you can imagine the dorkiness that was me in high school.”

“A little. I guess I should say goodbye to Aruna?”

He looked towards the living room. “You can give it a shot. I’ll meet you at the door.”

Aruna was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, her martini glass still held loosely in her hand though it was full of olives now and not gin. “Lucy!” she exclaimed, loud enough that everyone turned around. “Come here, beautiful.”

“Thanks for having me,” Lucy said, squatting next to her, smelling that exotic perfume.

“God, these are great boots.” Aruna squeezed Lucy’s calf, pulling her off balance; she half-fell, half-sat on the floor. “You should spend the night. I can’t believe Reyna ditched you!” She reached over her shoulder and patted the couch. “Right here. This is our guest bed.”

Will called from across the room. “I’m taking Lucy home, babe! Don’t do anything crazy.”

“I’ll wait till you come home to get crazy,” Aruna replied. To Lucy, she said, “I hope you had a good time, not counting Reyna.”

“I’m glad I came,” Lucy said. “Thanks.”

She stood up, waved goodbye to Felicia, and at last got out the door. When Will closed it behind them, he exhaled hugely and said, “We made it.”

They trotted down the stairs, into the Daly City fog.

Before they’d even driven the first mile of the fifteen they had to go, Will said, “I talked. About you. I spilled the beans.” He shook his head. “When we agreed to keep it a secret, I mostly thought about your family. I got excited and mentioned it to one or two people.”

Lucy played with the hem of her sweater and felt the bump of the nail clippers in her pocket. “It’s a small world,” she said. “I mean, Diane Krasner. She’s only one degree of separation from my parents.”

“I know. I guess I wanted to impress her.”

She looked over at him. His profile, lit every few seconds by headlights, was elegant, strong. “Why? You don’t have to impress anyone. You’re you.”

He laughed. “Oh, sure, just say my name, and the red carpet rolls out.”

“My parents think you’re impressive. Everyone knows you’re a great teacher. My grandpa wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t somebody, trust me. You had that TV show and—”

“Right.
Had
. Cancelled after two seasons.”

She watched the road, Will making the turns that would take them onto the highway.

“I interrupted you,” he said. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m a good teacher. Thank you. Anyway, I don’t need to talk about this, the main point is I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone without asking you first. If you don’t forgive me, I understand.”

He usually seemed so confident and comfortable. She wanted him to see himself through her eyes.

“You impress
me
,” she said. “You, being yourself. From when I first met you. And I didn’t even know all that stuff about from when you were my age.”

“Back in the olden days.” He smiled and glanced at her. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop with the self-pity. Thank you, truly. That means a lot. You impress me, too. Not just with your musicianship. Now that we’re real-life friends, there’s a lot more to be impressed by.”

Real-life friends
.

“Like what?” she asked, thinking she shouldn’t but unable to stop herself.

He contemplated the question. “You’re very poised, obviously. Smart. I think you’re brave to do what you’re doing. Inertia is a son of a bitch, you know? Once you stop something, it’s hard to restart. Especially something that requires hard work.”

“Yeah.”

“Also you must know you’re beautiful.”

Lucy looked at her hands in her lap. Her mom and dad had told her that. Her grandma. Reyna. Sometimes she thought it about herself. This was different. “I’m not mad that you talked about me,” she said quietly. “I have to tell my parents, anyway. This will help make me do it.”

“Oh, God, thank you,” he said, relief in his voice. “When I saw the look on your face in the kitchen with Diane, I thought I’d really effed it up.”

Their freeway exit loomed. She imagined herself home, with her family, telling them. Tomorrow?

“No,” she said. “Maybe it’s not even that big of a deal. Maybe I’m the one who’s been making it harder than it needs to be. Reyna said something like that…”

“Is that what you were fighting about?”

“That’s…too hard to explain.”

“Okay. I won’t pry.”

He drove exactly the speed limit and not one mile-per-hour over. “Hey,” he said, “mind if I take Portola? I know it’s the long way, but I love the view.”

“Me too.”

He rested his elbow on the driver’s side door and touched the hair at his left temple. “About impressing people…I guess I’ve been feeling old lately. I can see my future, being an old guy who teaches. You know, never having my own success again.”

She’d been watching him talk, the shape of his jaw as it moved around his words. She was losing track of the conversation and of her own thoughts. The experience of being in the car with him had become more physical than mental. She was aware of everything he did with his hands, mouth, voice. And noticing her own body, the grip of denim on her thighs and the sweater hood behind her neck, prickling.

They passed the School of the Arts, and that brought her back to her mind.

When Lucy was in eighth grade, she’d asked her mother about going there for high school. She’d been looking at the school’s website. The kids seemed like they were having so much fun.

Her mom had laughed the idea away with one sentence:
You’re overqualified, to say the least.

Lucy asked Will now, realizing it had been her turn to talk for a while. “Is it dumb to go to music school when I already kind of…know everything?” Then she covered her eyes. “Um, that sounded awful.”

Will chuckled. “You’re great, Lucy. But nobody knows everything.”

“I just mean—”

“No, I know. Listen.” Will pulled over, turned off the engine. The car was cool and dark, the spectacular lights of the city before them, and a dizzying wave washed over Lucy as he leaned into her space a little bit to turn on the stereo and mess with some buttons.

Then it started, a piece she knew and loved: the four opening notes of the woodwinds, the build of the timpani, strings. The piano came in. Skilful. Expressive.

“Do you recognize that?” he asked.

“Mendelssohn. Concerto number two.”

“It’s you.”

“What?”

“It’s you, Lucy.”

She stared out at the famous view she’d been seeing her whole life – the Transamerica Pyramid, the string of lights across the Bay Bridge. Yes, it was her. She remembered: the hours in the music room with Grace Chang sitting near. She remembered the day she’d nailed this piece, found the music in it, made it a part of her. How it had landed, finally, not in her head, where it had been confounding her for months, but in her heart, where it belonged.