Fic: If You Leave (Pretty in Pink, for lgbtfest)
Here is my fic for this year's lgbtfest, in a fandom I've never before written. Enjoy!
Title: If You Leave
Fandom: Pretty In Pink
Characters: Duckie Dale
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Pretty in Pink does not belong to me.
Prompt: 2312. Pretty in Pink, Duckie Dale, Duckie has spent half his life defining himself by being in love with Andie. What happens when he realises he actually prefers other guys?
Summary: When Andie leaves for college, Duckie tells himself he's ready for a fresh start. But he might not like that fresh start when he sees it.
Warnings: Some harsh language, some internalized homophobia
Author's Notes: I'm barely finishing this on time and I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope I did Duckie an ounce of justice. The title, naturally, comes from the excellent OMD song at the end of the film.
If You Leave
The bell tinkles as Duckie walks into the front door of TRAX - not as exciting as the blaring alarm that guards the back entrance, but hey, he’s trying to make a good impression. Iona’s behind the counter talking on the phone. Her heavily outlined eyes look up at him from under a pink wig, just like the color of Andie’s prom dress, which makes his heart clench a little.
“Sure,” says Iona into the receiver, “Let me call you back.” She hangs up and directs her attention to Duckie. “She’s not scheduled to be in for another hour.”
Duckie puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Obviously. What, you don’t think I have Andie’s schedule memorized?” Iona’s frown reminds him that he should maybe keep the stalker references to a minimum. “Besides, Andie’s not the only reason I come in here. It just so happens that I’m not here to talk to Andie at all.”
Iona looks skeptical. “Then why are you here?”
“Can’t a guy walk into a record store simply for the love of music?” He picks up the nearest record to prove his point, sees it’s Michael Bolton, and quickly replaces it with a shudder. “Nevermind. The truth is I came to talk to you.”
“To me? About what?” She narrows her eyes and asks, “This isn’t about that kiss, is it?”
“What? No! Definitely not.” Just the thought of that night makes him cringe, and he still can’t believe he was drunk enough to use Iona to make Andie jealous. Afterward, he had immediately gone to the bathroom’s grimy sink to wash her taste out of his mouth. Then he had vomited. From the alcohol, not the kiss. Or maybe a combination of the two. The truly pathetic part, however, is that kissing Iona was his first kiss ever, a fact that he plans to take to the grave.
But all of that has nothing to do with why he’s here. “I came because I have a proposition for you.” His poor choice of words makes him wince. “A business proposition.”
She rests her chin on her hand. “And what would that be?”
“Andie’s leaving for school in a month, right? And then you’ll be short an employee.” He indicates himself and flashes a winning smile. “You should hire me!”
“What?” says Iona in surprise, not exactly the reaction he was going for.
“Hire me. I already know the store inside and out, I’m particularly acquainted with the security system, and I’m not going to run off and abandon you like some people.” Kate Bush has been playing in the background, and Duckie points at a speaker. “I love this album. This is a great album. I bet I could sell ten copies of this album.”
Iona has been watching his prepared speech with raised eyebrows. “You really want to work here?”
“Yeah, sure,” says Duckie. After all, what else is he supposed to do? Andie’s going off to school and leaving him all alone. The girl he devoted his life to is starting a new life without him. And maybe filling her vacated post isn’t the best path to a fresh start, but there’s not much else he’s qualified for.
“You’re not going to college?”
He tries to look appropriately disdainful. “What would someone with my superior intellect and charm need with college?” The fact that he barely graduated high school, of course, has nothing to do with it.
There’s a pause, filled with Kate singing about the Hounds of Love, before Iona says, “I’ll think about it.”
***
“Hello, you’re speaking with the Duck.”
“Hi Duckie.”
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Higher Education herself! I’ve been on tenterhooks all day waiting to hear from you. So? How is it over there? I want to know everything.”
“It’s pretty overwhelming. We had orientation this morning, and I met my roommate. She seems nice. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know. Wandering the streets of Chicago crying out your name.”
“Duckie…”
“Kidding, kidding. I started work today.”
“It’s still weird to think of you at my old job. Just promise me you’re not going to spend all your time moping around.”
“I’ll have you know I do not mope. I’m a beacon of optimism.”
“And that’s what I love about you. How am I going to survive school without you?”
***
It figures. Now that he’s no longer following after the woman of his dreams, no one seems to care if he’s allowed inside her favorite club or not. Either the bouncer feels sorry for him, or he’s grown tired of torturing him.
In any case, Duckie is sitting by himself toward the front of the venue, watching some mediocre band attempting to sound like The Fall. At least they look good doing it - they power through their songs with just the right air of indifference, and the singer has his shirt off under his leather jacket. Duckie looks away and decides it’s time for a drink.
He hasn’t gotten really drunk since Andie’s first date with Blane, but on a night like tonight, when he hops on his bike and comes to the club to stop himself from riding past Andie’s abandoned bedroom window, a beer can’t hurt. He’s pushing through the thick crowd toward the bar when he accidentally bumps into some muscled punk with hair spiked to the ceiling. The punk’s drink sloshes a little over the hand that holds it.
“Watch where you’re going, fag,” he says.
Duckie should keep walking. He should ignore the comment. Or he should apologize to the kind sir for being so rude and careless. But something in the guy’s voice stops him cold. Like an idiot with a death wish, he turns around and asks, “I’m sorry, I’m didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
Spiked-Hair-And-All-Muscle does a double take, hands his drink to a friend, then steps closer. “I said watch out, faggot.” He really makes sure to enunciate that last word so his meaning is crystal clear. How considerate. The people around them are watching now.
Duckie could still walk away, but anger begins clouding his judgment. It’s not just anger at this asshole, but all the assholes he’s dealt with in his life. He’s out of high school. He thought he wouldn’t have to hear this kind of shit anymore.
Adrenaline has Duckie bouncing on his toes, unsure of what to do, when the part of his brain he should never, ever listen to tells him that a faggot definitely wouldn’t throw a punch right about now. So naturally he does. Only, he chooses the very moment when Spiked-Hair decides that Duckie’s not worth it, and starts to turn away. Also, the guy is really fucking tall. As a result, Duckie’s punch falls somewhere in the vicinity of the punk’s armpit.
What follows doesn’t even qualify as a fight. One retaliating punch to the face, and Duckie is lying on the ground, waiting for the burst of pain to kick in. When it does, bringing with it sparks of light, Duckie has the brief thought that he has gotten just what he deserves.
***
“Duckie?”
“Oh, hey Andie, you picked up!”
“You kept calling. What time is it?”
“Where I am, or where you are?”
“Duckie, you know we’re in the same time zone. And my roommate’s asleep right across the room. You can’t just call at all hours of the night.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I really am. I just wanted to talk to you. You didn’t call me yesterday.”
“I had class.”
“Yeah, I know that. That’s why I’m calling at night.”
“Goodnight Duckie…”
“No, wait, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Make it quick.”
“You think I’m a stud, right? I know I’m no Blane, but…”
“Goodnight, Duckie.”
***
Iona laughs as soon as Duckie comes into work the next day. He scowls in response.
“What happened to you?” she asks, obviously indicating his black eye.
“Would you believe me if I said I got into a bar fight?”
Iona just laughs louder, then tries to stifle it. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so mean. Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as my pride.” He walks over to the turntable, takes off whatever bouncy pop single is playing, and puts on The Smiths instead. Something to match his mood. “I Want The One I Can’t Have” should do it.
“Can you take over the register while I restock?” asks Iona.
“It would be my utmost pleasure,” he replies without enthusiasm.
It’s only a few minutes into his shift when a girl walks in with cropped short hair and combat boots. Duckie stares at her for a moment, wondering if the blow to his head has made him delusional. He feels certain he’s seen her before. Then it hits him (pun not intended). “Hey! You were playing at the club last night, weren’t you?” It’s coming back to him now: she was the bass player to the right of the shirtless singer, the only girl in the band. He remembers thinking that Andie should join a band.
The girl smiles half-heartedly, and says, “It’s possible.” Then she does a double take at Duckie’s face, like she’s never seen a black eye before. “Wait, I know you! You’re the one who got decked during our set, aren’t you?” Iona laughs from the back of the store.
Oh, wonderful. His reputation precedes him. “Yes, that was me, but no autographs please.”
She walks up to the counter and leans over to offer her hand. It gives him a good view of her cleavage. “I’m Ginger.”
“Duckie,” he replies, taking the hand, and not looking down her shirt.
“What kind of name is Duckie?”
“What kind of name is Ginger?”
She shrugs. “As in Ginger Rogers, not Gilligan’s Island. I don’t know, ask my psycho mom. She thought I would turn out glamorous or something.” Ginger steps back so Duckie can take in her full post-punk ensemble. “Clearly, I didn’t disappoint.”
“Clearly.” Duckie already likes this Ginger person, and he’s annoyed when a customer interrupts their conversation to make a purchase, like they’re in a store or something. He rings him up as quickly as possible then asks, “Do you live around here?”
Ginger looks up from where she’s started browsing through records. “Nope. The band’s just passing through. We’ll be at the same club tonight and tomorrow, then we’re moving on. Do you have the latest from New Order?”
Duckie grabs Low-life from the new music display behind the counter and makes a show of flourishing it. “Ta-da.”
“Awesome.” With a tug on the chain by her hip, Ginger frees her wallet from her back pocket while Duckie bags her purchase. “So,” she says, handing him money then propping both elbows on the counter, “Will you come back tonight to hear us play?”
Duckie doesn’t even have to consider it. His schedule isn’t exactly booked solid. He hands her the record and says, “Sure, I’d love to. And I’ll try not to get beat up this time, but no promises.”
Ginger tilts her head back to laugh. As she heads for the door, she waves and says, “I’ll see you tonight, Duckie.”
The bell has barely tinkled to signal her departure before Iona is standing next to Duckie with a mischievous grin. “Looks like someone has a hot date!”
Oh god, is that what he just signed up for? A jolt of panic hits his spine, and he uses both hands to steady himself on the counter. “What? No, it’s not like that. She was just being nice.”
“Uh huh. A nice girl who invited you out to a club. Sounds like a date to me.”
Duckie moves one hand to his chest. “You know, don’t forget, I’m still nursing a broken heart over here. There’s only one girl for me, okay? And I wouldn’t dare do that to her.” He tells himself it’s true, that he’s nervous because he doesn’t want to cheat on Andie.
Iona sighs. “You can’t pine after that girl forever. You need to move on. Get a fresh start.” Iona’s advice so mimics his own thoughts that he wonders if she might be right. If this is a date, then maybe he should just go for it. This could be the opportunity he’s been waiting for - fate, even. Surely he can ignore the dread that seems to be rising with every passing second.
Or maybe he should join a monastery and be done with it.
***
That night he’s back at the club in the same seat, and the band has already taken the stage. Ginger - his date, he supposes, maybe - catches sight of him and lifts her head in a too-cool-for-school nod. Duckie waves in response, but he thinks he might be grimacing, and he realizes too late how unmanly it is to wiggle one’s fingers in the air. Christ, this is going to be a long night. And now he has the band’s entire set to sweat it out.
He really doesn’t know how he feels about this whole potential date thing. What is he supposed to do, exactly? Charm and wit he can handle, but then what? Even if he manages to win her over, he’ll still have to lean in for a kiss…
And that’s where his imagination fuzzes out like a bad TV signal. He can’t imagine doing anything physical with this girl, because she’s not Andie. It wouldn’t be right. Not that he ever imagined anything physical with Andie, but that’s because Andie is too good for that, and his love for her - to put it bluntly - transcends his dick.
Meanwhile, Blane has probably had his dick in her already, without even realizing how special she is. For some reason he can imagine that scenario perfectly. There have been countless nights where he’s fallen asleep to the thought of Blane’s exaggerated member shoving into her, his hairy chest exposed and heaving. It’s a nauseating image, but also strangely arousing. He takes it as a sign that he wants to fuck Andie after all.
With distractions like these, the show is over before he knows it, and Duckie has worked himself up into a fervor of anticipation. He gives the band a standing ovation as they leave the stage, takes a deep breath, then goes to find Ginger.
It takes him some time to talk his way into the backstage area, which is really just a cramped, dirty room with busted amps piled in one corner. The entire band is milling about drinking beers, but Ginger seems to have vanished. He asks if anyone’s seen her. The shirtless singer, still sans shirt, points Duckie to the door that reads “Emergency Exit Only.” Well, that’s never stopped him in the past. The door leads him to a group of smokers who direct him around the corner to where the dumpsters are. He can’t imagine what she would be doing back there, but he follows their suggestion anyway.
Then he sees her. Or rather, he hears her first. He hears the sloppy smacks of exchanged saliva and some heavy breathing during pauses. Next he catches sight of her dark hair on the other side of a dumpster. Then he realizes that she’s making out with someone.
And only then does he comprehend, with a blow to the gut, that the person she’s making out with is another girl.
“What the fuck is this?” he yells without thinking.
The girls are startled into jumping away from each other, but Ginger recognizes him and rolls her eyes. “God, Duckie, it’s just you. Don’t scare us like that.”
Duckie cannot wrap his head around what he’s seeing. He refuses to. “What do mean, ‘just me?’ Who the hell is she?” He points an accusatory finger at the blond in the blazer, whose tongue has just come out of Ginger’s mouth.
Ginger walks out from behind the dumpster, and urges the blond to follow. “Duckie, this is Kathy.”
“Katie,” mutters the blond.
“Katie.”
She offers her hand, but Duckie takes a step back instead. He can’t handle this. He knows lesbians are supposed to be hot, but he can find nothing appealing in this situation. “You mean to tell me,” he says, his arms raised in front of him, “that you’re a dyke?” He tries to make the word sound ugly, as ugly as the word faggot. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to make her feel ashamed.
“Yeah, so what if I am?” asks Ginger, angry now. Katie looks as though she wants to bolt.
“That’s-that’s disgusting!” Duckie blusters. He has no idea what he’s saying right now. That part of his brain he should never listen to? It has completely taken over, as though shock has short-circuited his rationality. “And I, for one, will not stand for it.” He realizes he’s been slowly backing away, but Ginger advances on him, and grabs his wrist.
“That’s rich, coming from someone like you!” she hisses.
Duckie breaks away from her grip, and holds his wrist like it’s been injured. “Don’t touch me, you-you fucking queer!”
The words taste like poison on his lips. Not wanting to see her reaction, he turns on his heel and runs.
**
“Hello?”
“Andie? Is that you?”
“Hey Duckie.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. No…nothing. I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened. Is it Blane? Because I’ll punch his lights out for you. I’ll do it.”
“It’s…we broke up.”
“You see, I knew it! I knew that guy was no good for you! Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”
“Duckie, you’re a state away, and you have no car. No, I’m fine. Actually, I broke up with him. It just wasn’t working. The long distance thing - I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”
“You’re better off. Trust me.”
“I don’t know. I hope I made the right decision.”
“You did.”
“Duckie?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s stupid, but…have you ever convinced yourself that you knew exactly what you wanted, and then the next day realized that you were completely wrong?”
***
The following morning, Duckie feels absolutely miserable. After a lifetime of hearing “fag”, “queer“, “penis breath”, and every other lame insult under the sun, the fact that he could turn around and say those things to someone else makes him feel like a monster. Or worse, like some privileged richie from high school. Why did he have to act like that? What was so upsetting about two girls making out? He asks himself these questions, but he doesn’t allow himself to answer them. He’s too busy feeling ashamed of himself.
Iona must see it in his face, because instead of asking about his hot date, she puts one hand on her hip and asks, “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. Literally nothing. Turned out she’s-” he stops short because he doesn’t want to use the language from last night. “She, uh, she prefers the company of other ladies.”
Iona looks genuinely sympathetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry honey. I can’t tell you the number of times that’s happened to me. I know how you must feel.”
But she doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know shit about how he feels. He’s never known anyone who understood how he felt, not even Andie, and maybe Ginger could have been that person but he’s already fucked that up and in another day she’ll be gone. Grief wells up inside of him, a stupid waste of an emotion, and he can feel his eyes start to prickle. He hastily excuses himself to the back room, closing the door behind him.
What, you’re going to cry now? he thinks to himself. You’re going to cry like a little girl? Like some faggot?
That’s when the tears start coming in earnest, and he can’t stop them; he can only keep as quiet as possible. Because suddenly he knows it’s true. No, not suddenly - the truth has always been there, waiting in ambush. For years he’s had the thought of Andie to keep it at bay, because he couldn’t be like that as long as he loved Andie. But now Andie’s gone and there’s no one left to protect him from his own ugly truth. This isn’t the fresh start that he wanted. This isn’t whom he wants to be.
The door cracks open, and Duckie quickly wipes his eyes on his sleeve, although he knows they’re still puffy and red. He feels pathetic in every way.
“Duckie?” says Iona softly. “Oh, honey…” She closes the door behind her and pulls him into a hug. It’s awkward and against his will, but at this point he needs whatever support he can get, so he allows it. When she releases him he sits down on one of the metal folding chairs while she takes the other. She doesn’t seem concerned that no one’s watching the store. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Duckie takes a steadying breath and tries to act his usual sardonic self. It’s not easy with puffy eyes and a raw throat. “What isn’t wrong? Andie’s in college, my so-called date went down in flames, and on top of that it turns out I’m the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Ducky looks down at his hands to avoid her piercing stare. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the pleasure of hearing me last night. I called her disgusting, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. I’m lucky she didn’t turn my black eye into a matching set.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…” Iona tries.
“It was,” Duckie confirms. “Worse than bad.”
Iona rests her chin on her hand, considering the issue. “Did you actually believe what you said, though? About it being disgusting?”
Duckie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. For once he is without words. Because now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know what he believes. Does he actually find homosexuality disgusting? Wrong? Immoral? And why should he - because it’s unusual? This is coming from the guy who built his entire fucking identity on being unusual. He’s never shied away from being the oddball; he relishes standing out in a crowd. But this…this is a completely different kind of situation, and he can’t joke his way out of it. So what does he actually believe? Would it be so wrong for him to be gay?
“No. No, of course not,” he slowly answers.
“See then,” says Iona, standing up. “You’re not a bad person. You have nothing to worry about. I have to go keep an eye on the store, but you can stay in this room as long as you like.”
So he does. He stays in that back room for over an hour, and he thinks long and hard about the one thing he’s been avoiding so well his entire life.
***
“Hi, this is Andie.”
“Hi, it’s the Duck.”
“Sorry Duckie, this isn’t a good time. I’m trying to study for finals.”
“Oh, I see how it is. The important college girl doesn’t have time for her best friend anymore.”
“Nope. No time at all. You know, I’ll be seeing you face to face soon enough; I come home in less than a week.”
“Is it that time already? I hadn’t really been keeping track.”
“You’re such a liar. Oh, I’m bringing a friend to stay with me over break. His family lives in California, so it’s too hard for him to travel home. I think you’ll like him.”
“Yeah? What’s his name, Dwayne? Shane?”
“No, it’s not like that. Trust me. He’s just a friend.”
“Of course, I understand. His name must be Pluckie.”
“Now come on, Duckie , don’t be like that. No one could ever replace you. Look, I really can’t talk now, but I’ll see you soon enough, okay?”
***
It’s been three months since he’s seen Andie, but it feels more like three years. It’s a miracle he still recognizes her. She steps out of the car looking positively radiant, and Duckie is struck by just how much he’s missed her - not because he’s in love with her, but because she knows him better than anyone else in the world. Soon, she’ll know him even better than that. There’s something he’s been thinking of telling her, but later, once she gets settled.
“Duckie!” she cries, and flings her arms around him. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”
Duckie can’t seem to remove his goofy, ecstatic grin. He holds her at arm’s length. “Is this a vision? Have I finally started hallucinating? Surely you can’t be standing here in front of me.”
The passenger door slams, and Duckie remembers that Andie was bringing a “friend” with her, whatever that means. She makes the introductions.
“Pete, this is my good friend, Duckie. Duckie, this is Pete. We took a fashion elective together.”
Duckie takes one look at him, and any misgivings melt away. Pete is tall with wavy, dirty blond hair. He’s wearing a Pet Shop Boys tee shirt paired with tight-tight jeans, and his brown eyes are crinkled in a smile. He offers Duckie his hand. “Andie’s told me a lot about you.”
“It’s all true,” Duckie assures him. He lets the handshake linger for just a moment too long and smiles before looking away. It’s not much, but hey. It’s a start.
Title: If You Leave
Fandom: Pretty In Pink
Characters: Duckie Dale
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Pretty in Pink does not belong to me.
Prompt: 2312. Pretty in Pink, Duckie Dale, Duckie has spent half his life defining himself by being in love with Andie. What happens when he realises he actually prefers other guys?
Summary: When Andie leaves for college, Duckie tells himself he's ready for a fresh start. But he might not like that fresh start when he sees it.
Warnings: Some harsh language, some internalized homophobia
Author's Notes: I'm barely finishing this on time and I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope I did Duckie an ounce of justice. The title, naturally, comes from the excellent OMD song at the end of the film.
If You Leave
The bell tinkles as Duckie walks into the front door of TRAX - not as exciting as the blaring alarm that guards the back entrance, but hey, he’s trying to make a good impression. Iona’s behind the counter talking on the phone. Her heavily outlined eyes look up at him from under a pink wig, just like the color of Andie’s prom dress, which makes his heart clench a little.
“Sure,” says Iona into the receiver, “Let me call you back.” She hangs up and directs her attention to Duckie. “She’s not scheduled to be in for another hour.”
Duckie puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Obviously. What, you don’t think I have Andie’s schedule memorized?” Iona’s frown reminds him that he should maybe keep the stalker references to a minimum. “Besides, Andie’s not the only reason I come in here. It just so happens that I’m not here to talk to Andie at all.”
Iona looks skeptical. “Then why are you here?”
“Can’t a guy walk into a record store simply for the love of music?” He picks up the nearest record to prove his point, sees it’s Michael Bolton, and quickly replaces it with a shudder. “Nevermind. The truth is I came to talk to you.”
“To me? About what?” She narrows her eyes and asks, “This isn’t about that kiss, is it?”
“What? No! Definitely not.” Just the thought of that night makes him cringe, and he still can’t believe he was drunk enough to use Iona to make Andie jealous. Afterward, he had immediately gone to the bathroom’s grimy sink to wash her taste out of his mouth. Then he had vomited. From the alcohol, not the kiss. Or maybe a combination of the two. The truly pathetic part, however, is that kissing Iona was his first kiss ever, a fact that he plans to take to the grave.
But all of that has nothing to do with why he’s here. “I came because I have a proposition for you.” His poor choice of words makes him wince. “A business proposition.”
She rests her chin on her hand. “And what would that be?”
“Andie’s leaving for school in a month, right? And then you’ll be short an employee.” He indicates himself and flashes a winning smile. “You should hire me!”
“What?” says Iona in surprise, not exactly the reaction he was going for.
“Hire me. I already know the store inside and out, I’m particularly acquainted with the security system, and I’m not going to run off and abandon you like some people.” Kate Bush has been playing in the background, and Duckie points at a speaker. “I love this album. This is a great album. I bet I could sell ten copies of this album.”
Iona has been watching his prepared speech with raised eyebrows. “You really want to work here?”
“Yeah, sure,” says Duckie. After all, what else is he supposed to do? Andie’s going off to school and leaving him all alone. The girl he devoted his life to is starting a new life without him. And maybe filling her vacated post isn’t the best path to a fresh start, but there’s not much else he’s qualified for.
“You’re not going to college?”
He tries to look appropriately disdainful. “What would someone with my superior intellect and charm need with college?” The fact that he barely graduated high school, of course, has nothing to do with it.
There’s a pause, filled with Kate singing about the Hounds of Love, before Iona says, “I’ll think about it.”
***
“Hello, you’re speaking with the Duck.”
“Hi Duckie.”
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Higher Education herself! I’ve been on tenterhooks all day waiting to hear from you. So? How is it over there? I want to know everything.”
“It’s pretty overwhelming. We had orientation this morning, and I met my roommate. She seems nice. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know. Wandering the streets of Chicago crying out your name.”
“Duckie…”
“Kidding, kidding. I started work today.”
“It’s still weird to think of you at my old job. Just promise me you’re not going to spend all your time moping around.”
“I’ll have you know I do not mope. I’m a beacon of optimism.”
“And that’s what I love about you. How am I going to survive school without you?”
***
It figures. Now that he’s no longer following after the woman of his dreams, no one seems to care if he’s allowed inside her favorite club or not. Either the bouncer feels sorry for him, or he’s grown tired of torturing him.
In any case, Duckie is sitting by himself toward the front of the venue, watching some mediocre band attempting to sound like The Fall. At least they look good doing it - they power through their songs with just the right air of indifference, and the singer has his shirt off under his leather jacket. Duckie looks away and decides it’s time for a drink.
He hasn’t gotten really drunk since Andie’s first date with Blane, but on a night like tonight, when he hops on his bike and comes to the club to stop himself from riding past Andie’s abandoned bedroom window, a beer can’t hurt. He’s pushing through the thick crowd toward the bar when he accidentally bumps into some muscled punk with hair spiked to the ceiling. The punk’s drink sloshes a little over the hand that holds it.
“Watch where you’re going, fag,” he says.
Duckie should keep walking. He should ignore the comment. Or he should apologize to the kind sir for being so rude and careless. But something in the guy’s voice stops him cold. Like an idiot with a death wish, he turns around and asks, “I’m sorry, I’m didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
Spiked-Hair-And-All-Muscle does a double take, hands his drink to a friend, then steps closer. “I said watch out, faggot.” He really makes sure to enunciate that last word so his meaning is crystal clear. How considerate. The people around them are watching now.
Duckie could still walk away, but anger begins clouding his judgment. It’s not just anger at this asshole, but all the assholes he’s dealt with in his life. He’s out of high school. He thought he wouldn’t have to hear this kind of shit anymore.
Adrenaline has Duckie bouncing on his toes, unsure of what to do, when the part of his brain he should never, ever listen to tells him that a faggot definitely wouldn’t throw a punch right about now. So naturally he does. Only, he chooses the very moment when Spiked-Hair decides that Duckie’s not worth it, and starts to turn away. Also, the guy is really fucking tall. As a result, Duckie’s punch falls somewhere in the vicinity of the punk’s armpit.
What follows doesn’t even qualify as a fight. One retaliating punch to the face, and Duckie is lying on the ground, waiting for the burst of pain to kick in. When it does, bringing with it sparks of light, Duckie has the brief thought that he has gotten just what he deserves.
***
“Duckie?”
“Oh, hey Andie, you picked up!”
“You kept calling. What time is it?”
“Where I am, or where you are?”
“Duckie, you know we’re in the same time zone. And my roommate’s asleep right across the room. You can’t just call at all hours of the night.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I really am. I just wanted to talk to you. You didn’t call me yesterday.”
“I had class.”
“Yeah, I know that. That’s why I’m calling at night.”
“Goodnight Duckie…”
“No, wait, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Make it quick.”
“You think I’m a stud, right? I know I’m no Blane, but…”
“Goodnight, Duckie.”
***
Iona laughs as soon as Duckie comes into work the next day. He scowls in response.
“What happened to you?” she asks, obviously indicating his black eye.
“Would you believe me if I said I got into a bar fight?”
Iona just laughs louder, then tries to stifle it. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so mean. Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as my pride.” He walks over to the turntable, takes off whatever bouncy pop single is playing, and puts on The Smiths instead. Something to match his mood. “I Want The One I Can’t Have” should do it.
“Can you take over the register while I restock?” asks Iona.
“It would be my utmost pleasure,” he replies without enthusiasm.
It’s only a few minutes into his shift when a girl walks in with cropped short hair and combat boots. Duckie stares at her for a moment, wondering if the blow to his head has made him delusional. He feels certain he’s seen her before. Then it hits him (pun not intended). “Hey! You were playing at the club last night, weren’t you?” It’s coming back to him now: she was the bass player to the right of the shirtless singer, the only girl in the band. He remembers thinking that Andie should join a band.
The girl smiles half-heartedly, and says, “It’s possible.” Then she does a double take at Duckie’s face, like she’s never seen a black eye before. “Wait, I know you! You’re the one who got decked during our set, aren’t you?” Iona laughs from the back of the store.
Oh, wonderful. His reputation precedes him. “Yes, that was me, but no autographs please.”
She walks up to the counter and leans over to offer her hand. It gives him a good view of her cleavage. “I’m Ginger.”
“Duckie,” he replies, taking the hand, and not looking down her shirt.
“What kind of name is Duckie?”
“What kind of name is Ginger?”
She shrugs. “As in Ginger Rogers, not Gilligan’s Island. I don’t know, ask my psycho mom. She thought I would turn out glamorous or something.” Ginger steps back so Duckie can take in her full post-punk ensemble. “Clearly, I didn’t disappoint.”
“Clearly.” Duckie already likes this Ginger person, and he’s annoyed when a customer interrupts their conversation to make a purchase, like they’re in a store or something. He rings him up as quickly as possible then asks, “Do you live around here?”
Ginger looks up from where she’s started browsing through records. “Nope. The band’s just passing through. We’ll be at the same club tonight and tomorrow, then we’re moving on. Do you have the latest from New Order?”
Duckie grabs Low-life from the new music display behind the counter and makes a show of flourishing it. “Ta-da.”
“Awesome.” With a tug on the chain by her hip, Ginger frees her wallet from her back pocket while Duckie bags her purchase. “So,” she says, handing him money then propping both elbows on the counter, “Will you come back tonight to hear us play?”
Duckie doesn’t even have to consider it. His schedule isn’t exactly booked solid. He hands her the record and says, “Sure, I’d love to. And I’ll try not to get beat up this time, but no promises.”
Ginger tilts her head back to laugh. As she heads for the door, she waves and says, “I’ll see you tonight, Duckie.”
The bell has barely tinkled to signal her departure before Iona is standing next to Duckie with a mischievous grin. “Looks like someone has a hot date!”
Oh god, is that what he just signed up for? A jolt of panic hits his spine, and he uses both hands to steady himself on the counter. “What? No, it’s not like that. She was just being nice.”
“Uh huh. A nice girl who invited you out to a club. Sounds like a date to me.”
Duckie moves one hand to his chest. “You know, don’t forget, I’m still nursing a broken heart over here. There’s only one girl for me, okay? And I wouldn’t dare do that to her.” He tells himself it’s true, that he’s nervous because he doesn’t want to cheat on Andie.
Iona sighs. “You can’t pine after that girl forever. You need to move on. Get a fresh start.” Iona’s advice so mimics his own thoughts that he wonders if she might be right. If this is a date, then maybe he should just go for it. This could be the opportunity he’s been waiting for - fate, even. Surely he can ignore the dread that seems to be rising with every passing second.
Or maybe he should join a monastery and be done with it.
***
That night he’s back at the club in the same seat, and the band has already taken the stage. Ginger - his date, he supposes, maybe - catches sight of him and lifts her head in a too-cool-for-school nod. Duckie waves in response, but he thinks he might be grimacing, and he realizes too late how unmanly it is to wiggle one’s fingers in the air. Christ, this is going to be a long night. And now he has the band’s entire set to sweat it out.
He really doesn’t know how he feels about this whole potential date thing. What is he supposed to do, exactly? Charm and wit he can handle, but then what? Even if he manages to win her over, he’ll still have to lean in for a kiss…
And that’s where his imagination fuzzes out like a bad TV signal. He can’t imagine doing anything physical with this girl, because she’s not Andie. It wouldn’t be right. Not that he ever imagined anything physical with Andie, but that’s because Andie is too good for that, and his love for her - to put it bluntly - transcends his dick.
Meanwhile, Blane has probably had his dick in her already, without even realizing how special she is. For some reason he can imagine that scenario perfectly. There have been countless nights where he’s fallen asleep to the thought of Blane’s exaggerated member shoving into her, his hairy chest exposed and heaving. It’s a nauseating image, but also strangely arousing. He takes it as a sign that he wants to fuck Andie after all.
With distractions like these, the show is over before he knows it, and Duckie has worked himself up into a fervor of anticipation. He gives the band a standing ovation as they leave the stage, takes a deep breath, then goes to find Ginger.
It takes him some time to talk his way into the backstage area, which is really just a cramped, dirty room with busted amps piled in one corner. The entire band is milling about drinking beers, but Ginger seems to have vanished. He asks if anyone’s seen her. The shirtless singer, still sans shirt, points Duckie to the door that reads “Emergency Exit Only.” Well, that’s never stopped him in the past. The door leads him to a group of smokers who direct him around the corner to where the dumpsters are. He can’t imagine what she would be doing back there, but he follows their suggestion anyway.
Then he sees her. Or rather, he hears her first. He hears the sloppy smacks of exchanged saliva and some heavy breathing during pauses. Next he catches sight of her dark hair on the other side of a dumpster. Then he realizes that she’s making out with someone.
And only then does he comprehend, with a blow to the gut, that the person she’s making out with is another girl.
“What the fuck is this?” he yells without thinking.
The girls are startled into jumping away from each other, but Ginger recognizes him and rolls her eyes. “God, Duckie, it’s just you. Don’t scare us like that.”
Duckie cannot wrap his head around what he’s seeing. He refuses to. “What do mean, ‘just me?’ Who the hell is she?” He points an accusatory finger at the blond in the blazer, whose tongue has just come out of Ginger’s mouth.
Ginger walks out from behind the dumpster, and urges the blond to follow. “Duckie, this is Kathy.”
“Katie,” mutters the blond.
“Katie.”
She offers her hand, but Duckie takes a step back instead. He can’t handle this. He knows lesbians are supposed to be hot, but he can find nothing appealing in this situation. “You mean to tell me,” he says, his arms raised in front of him, “that you’re a dyke?” He tries to make the word sound ugly, as ugly as the word faggot. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to make her feel ashamed.
“Yeah, so what if I am?” asks Ginger, angry now. Katie looks as though she wants to bolt.
“That’s-that’s disgusting!” Duckie blusters. He has no idea what he’s saying right now. That part of his brain he should never listen to? It has completely taken over, as though shock has short-circuited his rationality. “And I, for one, will not stand for it.” He realizes he’s been slowly backing away, but Ginger advances on him, and grabs his wrist.
“That’s rich, coming from someone like you!” she hisses.
Duckie breaks away from her grip, and holds his wrist like it’s been injured. “Don’t touch me, you-you fucking queer!”
The words taste like poison on his lips. Not wanting to see her reaction, he turns on his heel and runs.
**
“Hello?”
“Andie? Is that you?”
“Hey Duckie.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. No…nothing. I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened. Is it Blane? Because I’ll punch his lights out for you. I’ll do it.”
“It’s…we broke up.”
“You see, I knew it! I knew that guy was no good for you! Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”
“Duckie, you’re a state away, and you have no car. No, I’m fine. Actually, I broke up with him. It just wasn’t working. The long distance thing - I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”
“You’re better off. Trust me.”
“I don’t know. I hope I made the right decision.”
“You did.”
“Duckie?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s stupid, but…have you ever convinced yourself that you knew exactly what you wanted, and then the next day realized that you were completely wrong?”
***
The following morning, Duckie feels absolutely miserable. After a lifetime of hearing “fag”, “queer“, “penis breath”, and every other lame insult under the sun, the fact that he could turn around and say those things to someone else makes him feel like a monster. Or worse, like some privileged richie from high school. Why did he have to act like that? What was so upsetting about two girls making out? He asks himself these questions, but he doesn’t allow himself to answer them. He’s too busy feeling ashamed of himself.
Iona must see it in his face, because instead of asking about his hot date, she puts one hand on her hip and asks, “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. Literally nothing. Turned out she’s-” he stops short because he doesn’t want to use the language from last night. “She, uh, she prefers the company of other ladies.”
Iona looks genuinely sympathetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry honey. I can’t tell you the number of times that’s happened to me. I know how you must feel.”
But she doesn’t know, does she? She doesn’t know shit about how he feels. He’s never known anyone who understood how he felt, not even Andie, and maybe Ginger could have been that person but he’s already fucked that up and in another day she’ll be gone. Grief wells up inside of him, a stupid waste of an emotion, and he can feel his eyes start to prickle. He hastily excuses himself to the back room, closing the door behind him.
What, you’re going to cry now? he thinks to himself. You’re going to cry like a little girl? Like some faggot?
That’s when the tears start coming in earnest, and he can’t stop them; he can only keep as quiet as possible. Because suddenly he knows it’s true. No, not suddenly - the truth has always been there, waiting in ambush. For years he’s had the thought of Andie to keep it at bay, because he couldn’t be like that as long as he loved Andie. But now Andie’s gone and there’s no one left to protect him from his own ugly truth. This isn’t the fresh start that he wanted. This isn’t whom he wants to be.
The door cracks open, and Duckie quickly wipes his eyes on his sleeve, although he knows they’re still puffy and red. He feels pathetic in every way.
“Duckie?” says Iona softly. “Oh, honey…” She closes the door behind her and pulls him into a hug. It’s awkward and against his will, but at this point he needs whatever support he can get, so he allows it. When she releases him he sits down on one of the metal folding chairs while she takes the other. She doesn’t seem concerned that no one’s watching the store. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Duckie takes a steadying breath and tries to act his usual sardonic self. It’s not easy with puffy eyes and a raw throat. “What isn’t wrong? Andie’s in college, my so-called date went down in flames, and on top of that it turns out I’m the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Ducky looks down at his hands to avoid her piercing stare. “Yeah, well, you didn’t have the pleasure of hearing me last night. I called her disgusting, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. I’m lucky she didn’t turn my black eye into a matching set.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…” Iona tries.
“It was,” Duckie confirms. “Worse than bad.”
Iona rests her chin on her hand, considering the issue. “Did you actually believe what you said, though? About it being disgusting?”
Duckie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. For once he is without words. Because now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know what he believes. Does he actually find homosexuality disgusting? Wrong? Immoral? And why should he - because it’s unusual? This is coming from the guy who built his entire fucking identity on being unusual. He’s never shied away from being the oddball; he relishes standing out in a crowd. But this…this is a completely different kind of situation, and he can’t joke his way out of it. So what does he actually believe? Would it be so wrong for him to be gay?
“No. No, of course not,” he slowly answers.
“See then,” says Iona, standing up. “You’re not a bad person. You have nothing to worry about. I have to go keep an eye on the store, but you can stay in this room as long as you like.”
So he does. He stays in that back room for over an hour, and he thinks long and hard about the one thing he’s been avoiding so well his entire life.
***
“Hi, this is Andie.”
“Hi, it’s the Duck.”
“Sorry Duckie, this isn’t a good time. I’m trying to study for finals.”
“Oh, I see how it is. The important college girl doesn’t have time for her best friend anymore.”
“Nope. No time at all. You know, I’ll be seeing you face to face soon enough; I come home in less than a week.”
“Is it that time already? I hadn’t really been keeping track.”
“You’re such a liar. Oh, I’m bringing a friend to stay with me over break. His family lives in California, so it’s too hard for him to travel home. I think you’ll like him.”
“Yeah? What’s his name, Dwayne? Shane?”
“No, it’s not like that. Trust me. He’s just a friend.”
“Of course, I understand. His name must be Pluckie.”
“Now come on, Duckie , don’t be like that. No one could ever replace you. Look, I really can’t talk now, but I’ll see you soon enough, okay?”
***
It’s been three months since he’s seen Andie, but it feels more like three years. It’s a miracle he still recognizes her. She steps out of the car looking positively radiant, and Duckie is struck by just how much he’s missed her - not because he’s in love with her, but because she knows him better than anyone else in the world. Soon, she’ll know him even better than that. There’s something he’s been thinking of telling her, but later, once she gets settled.
“Duckie!” she cries, and flings her arms around him. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”
Duckie can’t seem to remove his goofy, ecstatic grin. He holds her at arm’s length. “Is this a vision? Have I finally started hallucinating? Surely you can’t be standing here in front of me.”
The passenger door slams, and Duckie remembers that Andie was bringing a “friend” with her, whatever that means. She makes the introductions.
“Pete, this is my good friend, Duckie. Duckie, this is Pete. We took a fashion elective together.”
Duckie takes one look at him, and any misgivings melt away. Pete is tall with wavy, dirty blond hair. He’s wearing a Pet Shop Boys tee shirt paired with tight-tight jeans, and his brown eyes are crinkled in a smile. He offers Duckie his hand. “Andie’s told me a lot about you.”
“It’s all true,” Duckie assures him. He lets the handshake linger for just a moment too long and smiles before looking away. It’s not much, but hey. It’s a start.