What I Did For Love
Chapter 2
Grapefruit. Simple. Wholesome. Healthy. Thankfully served at the local cafe.
It was one thing he appreciated at his favorite old greasy spoon; it didn’t necessarily have to be greasy. If one so wished, one could order any number of foods that didn’t clog the arteries. In this case, grapefruit.
He’d always been quite used to cafes. Even moreso since his travels with Ritardando, a pony who always had waffles when he could.
So Frederic had his grapefruit, while Octavia, seated opposite him, had a bowl of oatmeal, though neither of them had touched their food or their coffee yet. Octavia slouched forward, starting and stopping at attempts to form a complete sentence.
“It’s just...” said Octavia, “I’ve done a lot of thinking on it, and, well, I really appreciate your honesty.” She took a breath. “Honest. It’s just, well...”
“Octavia,” said Frederic, “we don’t have to talk about this if it’s making you uncomf-”
“Yes we do,” Octavia blurted.
The diner turned silent as patrons turned to look at them. The pair were aware of this and went to prodding at their food in sheepish silence. Octavia mumbled something about her oatmeal having turned cold.
It’d started out well. They were going out to breakfast, and things were normal. But Octavia had gotten progressively more antsy, and Frederic had grown more withdrawn. The result was that neither of them were comfortable, and neither of them were doing anything to alleviate the other.
“It’s just...” Octavia sighed. “You just disappear for no reason. Then you come back just out of nowhere and you bring me flowers and you tell me this.”
Frederic looked down at his untouched grapefruit.
“I... I’m sorry, it’s just... it’s a lot on my mind like this...” Octavia leaned on the table, rubbing her temples with her hooves and setting her forelegs on the table in a very informal manner.
Frederic sighed. “I think I should go. I’ll just pay the check and–”
“No,” said Octavia, waving with her right hoof. “No, I’ll pay...”
“But I–”
“Frederic, I’ll handle it.”
He saw no use in trying to argue the point, and just stood up. “We’ll be getting the band back together, right?”
“Yeah, definitely,” she said. “You...” She swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “You can still play the piano, right?”
He nodded. “Well...” He paused. “Maybe I’ve atrophied a little. I’ll just go home to practice.”
Frederic left the diner, pondering what had just happened. He should have waited. He should have waited to open up to Octavia. He had enough to do just catching up and patching up with his friends, and now he’d laid this on Octavia.
Well, there was nothing that could be done about that. He’d just have to go home and practice, and see if that opera company was in need of a rehearsal pianist. He just needed a small steady job, at least until the quartet got back together and secured a gig. Then things would get back to–
“Heya!”
Frederic turned around very, very slowly. He saw the all-too-familiar face, grinning back at him with those gaudy purple glasses.
“Hello Vinyl,” he said.
“Haven’t changed a bit, eh Frederic?” she asked, nudging his chest with a hoof.
“That’d be a bit of a waste of a journey,” he mused.
“So, made a big declaration of love?” Vinyl asked. “Gonna get together with the best musician you’ve ever known?”
“No,” said Frederic. “And, if you don’t mind me being blunt, I don’t think that’s particularly any of your business.”
“My business is kinda boring,” said Vinyl, raising a hoof to her glasses and removing them. “Parties and stuff. Gets kinda samey-samey.”
“I could have told you that after one of your parties,” muttered Frederic. He remembered the blearing, skull-boring “beats” and bright lights that he swore had given him permanent eye damage.
“Well,” he said at last, “I have to get groceries and then head back to my apartment and get back to my practicing regimen.”
“Yeah, practicing,” said Vinyl. “I should do that more often.”
Frederic shot her a pained expression, before carrying on his way.
***
Being that Frederic had very little pocket change, he had a short list. Just some simple necessities - apples, bread, grape juice, cheese.
And yet it seemed to be going on for much longer than it actually was, thanks to the chattery mare that had invited herself along.
“So is that it?” she asked.
“So is what it?” asked Frederic, a few apples stuck into his basket. “Yes, I’m only getting three apples. I’m a little short on funds.”
“No, I mean with Octavia,” said Vinyl. “You’re just gonna give up and walk away?”
“If you see other options, then by all means tell me,” Frederic muttered as he looked over the banana stand. “From where I stand, it seems simple: I told her how I felt. She didn’t feel the same way. Assuming it hasn’t made our professional relationship extremely awkward, that seems to me to be all there is to it.”
“Oh, come on, you’re one of those stuffy types with the neat manes and the fancy clothes,” said Vinyl. “Got her flowers and everything. Aren’t you gonna woo her?”
Frederic looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. “I’d like to spare myself any further embarrassment.”
“Suit yourself.”
Frederic returned to browsing shelves for a preferred brand of grape juice, when a thought occurred to him. “Why,” he began, turning back to her, “are you interested in the prospect of me getting together with your ex?”
“Well, since I can’t get together with her, helping you is like doing it by proxy.”
Frederic stared flatly at her. “Seriously?”
“No,” she said. “That’d be stupid.”
He rolled his eyes and carried down the aisle, a basket hanging in his mouth.
“But seriously,” said Vinyl. “Your whole ‘unrequited’ thing really shook you up.”
“I like to think I’m over that,” said Frederic.
“Well yeah, sure, but... come on,” she said. “Don’t you have any drive to go for it?”
“Vinyl, I have a lot of things on my mind at the moment,” said Frederic, stuffing a loaf of sliced bread into his basket. “I’m trying to pick up the pieces of my life. Then maybe I’ll be comfortable with some kind of romantic pursuit. Besides, if Octavia’s not interested...”
“Oh, that’s stupid,” said Vinyl. “If they aren’t interested, you gotta make them interested. Show a little gumption.” Frederic turned around and stared at her, wide-eyed. “What?”
“I didn’t know ‘gumption’ was in your vocabulary.”
***
The piano clanked as Frederic made the same mistake for the fifth time in a row. His brow furrowed in frustration as he nearly snapped the pencil in his mouth. He leaned forward and circled the problem spot in the sheet music, but he’d already circled it four times.
He groaned, hammering out the problem spot on one hoof over and over again, trying to iron it out properly, but his mind was a flummoxed mess.
Telling Octavia had been a bad idea. He hoped, almost prayed, that it wouldn’t have an adverse effect on their professional relationship.
And the piano still needed to be tuned.
He got up and walked over to the fridge. He had a checklist taped to the door of the things he needed to do. Next on the list was to meet up with his old bandmates.
There was a knock on the front door. Frederic managed to wrench himself away from the fridge to answer it. Opening the door, he saw Harpo and Beauty Brass standing there.
Harpo’s face lit up instantly and he leapt at Frederic, throwing his forelegs around his neck. Beauty Brass gave a light chuckle.
“Octavia told us you came back,” said Brass. “Didn’t think to send a letter?”
Harpo pulled back his face, revealing a big, beaming smile.
“I presumed to make it a surprise,” said Frederic. “Any chance I can find work with you ponies again?”
“Yeah,” said Beauty Brass. “Without you we’ve kinda had to find our own gigs. Harpo and Octavia met up with two violinists and did their thing, aaaaand I’ve been doing jazz combos. Now that you’re here we can get the quartet together again.”
Frederic nodded. “Well, this is a nice surprise. I’d invite you inside, but I don’t think it’s all that presentable...” His voice trailed off, as Harpo seemed to disregard him completely and walked in regardless. “Or sure, just come on in,” he muttered with a shrug. Resigned to accept his new guests, he stepped out of the way and let Beauty Brass enter.
Somehow his cluttered-up apartment didn’t seem quite as dull with guests in the place, he realized. Still, he regretted not tidying up first.
The three went to his living room and sat around in a circle. Harpo made a point of lounging lazily on a beanbag. Beauty Brass, meanwhile, set some paperwork on the table.
“Your timing’s nice,” she said. “This is about the time when ponies are looking for entertainers to brighten up their garden parties and get-togethers and what have you. Harpo’s had his heart set on this one...” She pushed one flier towards Frederic, showing a giant pink tower surrounded by a sprawling, shining city. “The Crystal Empire.” Harpo nodded, still grinning.
“Figure the folks there have missed out on a thousand years of classical repertoire,” said Beauty Brass. “We show up early and we set the standards for performances, well, we’ll never have to worry about not having a job again.” Harpo snickered.
“Sounds like a plan,” said Frederic. “We picked anything to play?”
“I figured we’d go with Demi-Quaver’s Unorthodox Scherzando.”
Frederic peered at her. “That was the first piece we ever played.”
“We’ve played it a lot,” she said dryly. “It’s not as though there’s a whole lot of literature scored for piano, harp, souzaphone, and cello.”
“Well, I still have my old score,” said Frederic, returning the paper. “I’ll just dust that off and get to practicing.”
“Great,” said Beauty Brass. “I’ll just tell Octavia that’s settled and we’ll meet this week to rehearse.”
Frederic nodded. “Right, you do that.”
Beauty Brass was quiet for a minute. Frederic looked at her - she peered at him, as though trying to pick out an unseen blemish. “Frederic,” she said, “are you okay?”
“Uh, yes,” Frederic said, nodding. “I’m fine. Just getting settled back into Canterlot and all that.”
“Well, we’ll give you a heads up when we’re ready to start,” she said, getting up. “In the meantime, you get practicing.”
“Will do.”
***
By the end of the two-hour rehearsal, Frederic felt oddly satisfied. The nice thing about the spare room at the piano warehouse was that they had a lot of pianos to spare, and a shiny new grand piano, freshly-tuned, clear as eighty-eight bells.
The Scherzando was second nature to Frederic and, from the sounds of it, the rest of his band. It was a special piece for all of them. It was the first time they’d met. The first time Frederic had seen Octavia.
And here they were again, packing up and ready to go home. Frederic closed the lid on the keyboard while the others packed their instruments into their cases.
“Good,” said Beauty Brass. “One more rehearsal before the audition and we should have it down. The job’s as good as ours.”
Harpo stomped on the floor approvingly.
“Good,” said Octavia curtly. Her cello case made loud clicking noises as she snapped it shut. She seemed completely focused on that one task, barely heeding the others with direct eye contact. Especially not Frederic. “Just get me the details and I’ll be over there.”
“Alright,” said Beauty Brass, “how about we meet tom-”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Octavia, cutting her off. She tossed the cello case over her back and marched out the room.
The others watched the door. Harpo had a puzzled expression on his face, tilting his head in confusion, while Beauty Brass’s mouth hung open as she still sat there, mid-sentence.
“...ooorrow...” she finished. “She’s certainly in a rush. What’s gotten into her?”
Frederic didn’t say anything, but he had the distinct impression he had an idea.