Chapter Text
July 14th, 1993 - Richie Toziers House - Derry, Maine.
“So do you think Tori Spelling or Jennie Garth would date me?” The question posed by Richie was met with an uproar of laughter from his remaining friends. Remaining, because the numbers of the Losers Club had slowly dwindled over the years.
It started with Beverly Marsh, that very summer. She was the first to go when she moved out to Portland. At first, she was great at keeping in touch - with regular phone calls and letters sent out and even once meeting them halfway in Bangor for a day out together. The group had been convinced that they would be able to stick together like glue no matter how far apart they moved, because surely fighting an Eldritch monster in the towns sewer system embedded a bond that couldn’t be broken. However, as the weeks past the letters and phone calls began to fade. The last time any of them had heard from her had been in October that year, when Bill called and she seemed to have no idea who he was.
No one tried to call after that.
It was a few months later in April of 1990 where Ben Hanscom also moved out of Derry. His mother had gotten a job transfer out back to his home state of Tennessee. They knew it would be the last time they’d see him again, but the remaining five Losers held out on the hope that Ben would keep in touch. And like Beverly, he did. The phone calls and letters were frequent, and even accompanied by plenty of photos. It had been Mike who was last to call him, and Ben, not knowing who he was, hung up on him. Like with Beverly, none of them tried again.
After it happening to Ben too, Bill had come to the conclusion that it was something to do with the curse on Derry.
“It doesn’t w-want us to come back,” He explained quietly. The group was hushed and crowded together in the Uris family living room. The clock read 3:26am, and the house was dark. The only light coming from Richie lighting up a cigarette. Stan scowled, but said nothing. “It’s making us forget s-so we won’t come back… If we all end up leaving…” The worry in his voice was palpable.
“I won’t.” Mike spoke up, and all the heads turned to him. “There’s… I’m not getting out of Derry. My family is established here, not like you guys… If someone has to stay… It’ll be me.” It was a burden, and all of them knew that.
“Are you sure?” Eddie was the first to speak. He found himself looking towards Bill, instead of Mike, but Bill’s jaw was set and a firm gaze locked on Mike. His chin dipped, just a little, only seeming to be noticed by Mike and Eddie.
“I’m sure.” Mike answered.
And he would be the last to stay. It was nearly exactly one year after that when the Denbrough family packed up. Bill said he’d call, but he never did. Eddie had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to prolong the inevitable and make it harder on all of them. Perhaps he would’ve called if he remembered, but the call never came, and two years later Eddie, Stan, and Mike were sitting up in Richie’s room as he mused about his move out to Beverly Hills the following morning. He seemed excited about it, but all of them knew it was only on the surface. He didn’t want to forget.
“Neither Jennie or Tori would waste their time on a dumbass like you,” Stan quipped back, and Richie gasped in surprise.
“How dare you, Stanley Uris! I am an absolute catch!”
“Or really now?”
“Yes, sir. Yes indeed-” The Voice, inspired by Alfred Pennyworth of the Batman Comics was the one that Richie had decided to prove it. “I am smart, I am hilarious, I am dashingly handsome - isn’t that right, Eds?” His arm looped around Eddie’s shoulders and his other hand ruffled the perfectly styled hair on his head.
“Fuck off!” Eddie was nearly laughing as he pushed Richie away from him. “You’re fucking annoying is what you are. And don’t call me Eds!”
“Annoying, Handsome. Disruptive, Sexy. Trashmouth, Incredibly talented kisser - they’re all the same in my head, you see. You would know for sure about that last one, Eddie.” Richie had dropped the voice, but grinned proudly. His eyes bright behind the coke bottle lenses that he still wore, even if they had become a little bit too small for his face at the sides. They were part of his signature look, and he had grown to like them over the years.
“I guess you need to get your head checked, in that case.” Mike muttered, and Richie howled with laughter.
“Yowza, Homeschool! You got me good!” Richie gave him an appreciative clap on the back, leaning back on his hands after, before bursting out in song to sing-along with the radio. ”I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign! No one’s gonna drag you up, to get into the light where you belong! But where do you belong?” He hopped up onto his feet, giving a dramatic spin. That was one thing that Richie Tozier was always good for - giving a performance. He was always in his element whenever he got to show off. Wiggling his hips, he continued along with Ace of Base on the radio. ”I, under the pale moon, for so many years I’ve wondered who you are. How could a person, like you, bring me joy?” By then, his attention was fully on Eddie, a hand extended towards him. He was singing directly towards him, with a dopey grin on his face, and Eddie just laughed and shook his head.
”Under the pale moon, where I see- HEY!” His performance was halted by a pillow hitting him in the head, skewing his glasses and distracting him from song. He turned to the source, a rather smug looking Stan. “Excuse me, I was in the middle of serenading my love,” Richie turned up his nose.
“Oh well thank God I stopped you then.”
Richie had opened his mouth to make an argument, clearly having something to say on the matter but he was stopped when his mother knocked on the door and poked her head in. Maggie Tozier, despite knowing that all of Richie’s things were packed away in the moving truck already a day ahead of them on it’s way to Beverly Hills, was surprised to see her sons room so tidy. All he had was a few pairs of clothes (which he didn’t even put into his bag), the sleeping bag on the floor, a pillow, and the battery powered radio which was the source of music for the boys.
“Your mother’s here,” She told Stanley. Obediently, he stood. Maggie left the room and shut the door behind her.
It was a strange moment between Stan and Richie. The reality of Richie being the next to go, and the next to forget was suddenly too real for all of them. Mike and Eddie were silent, watching the two from where they sat on the ground. Surprisingly, it was Stan who moved first. He embraced Richie so tightly he teetered backwards, nearly falling over with the sheer force of Stan’s hug. But he didn’t complain. He was just as eager in returning it and they leaned on each other.
“I’ll miss you, Staniel.”
“No you won’t, Trashmouth.”
For the first time in his life, Richie didn’t argue.
The pair clung onto each other for what must’ve been at least a few minutes longer, as the song had changed from Ace of Base and was halfway through some Cyndi Lauper song, but no one was listening anymore. All four boys had gotten teary-eyed and fallen into a heavy silence. They were all scared to break the moment, and they all flinched when Andrea Uris shouted for her son from the living room below.
Stan parted from Richie’s side, giving him a final pat on the shoulder, before heading from the room. He didn’t say his goodbyes to Mike or Eddie, and neither were offended.
Richie wouldn’t let the atmosphere stay emotionally tense for long. He watched the door for a few moments after Stan left, and then headed over to the window, to wave at him as he got into his mother’s car and drove off. He wiped his eyes, before turning back to them both. “Do you guys think I can do a cartwheel?”
“No.” Eddie and Mike said at once.
“Challenge accepted!”
He didn’t do the cartwheel. He sure attempted to do one, and got about half way into the air before he crumbled in on himself. “Fuck, no I can do this! I swear guys, I can do this.” Richie insisted, and made another futile attempt, falling onto his ass and almost rolling into a somersault.
“Richie, stop, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“No I won’t! I can only die with honor, Edward.” A third attempt was made, which looked like it could be successful, but he didn’t have enough momentum and ended up in handstand for about two seconds, (Eddie’s eyes unfortunately stuck on the dark patch of hair on his stomach, trailing from his belly button down into his pants as his shirt had slid down) before falling over.
“Alright. Guess I can’t do a cartwheel.”
“And this surprises no one.” Mike remarked with a grin towards him. But then, his eyes flickered to the window and the sun setting outside. “I guess I should get going… It’s a pretty long bike ride back home.”
Richie nodded, and without a word, he stepped into Mike, embracing him just as he did with Stan. They didn’t speak, as there was nothing that they needed to say to each other. There was nothing that they could say that would take away the reality of this all. Eddie looked away, and gave them their time together. He picked at the carpet, he distracted himself by listening to the radio (Which was now playing George Michael) and only looked up when he heard the sound of Richie’s door closing. And then it was just them.
“Do you have to-”
“I can stay a little longer.”
Eddie had answered his question before Richie could finish asking it, and immediately Richie dropped down onto the floor, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and pressing his face into his shirt. This sort of affection from Richie had been strange at first. Before they were dating. A fact that they mostly kept under wraps from their friends. It’s not that they were hiding it exactly, but they never explicitly told anyone. And none of the Losers really picked up on it either. And why would they? Richie had always been touchy and flirty, and Eddie would always playfully shut him down. It was like nothing changed, except every little touch meant worlds more to them than it had before. Automatically, Eddie’s fingers brushed through Richie’s hair, smoothing it out and lightly detangling knots. They were both quiet, Eddie playing with his hair and Richie holding him tight. Eddie hadn’t even realized Richie was crying until he felt the dampness in his shirt.
Richie never cried, and so far, Eddie had seen him do that twice in one day. It squeezed his heart tightly, and Eddie felt like he might choke. “Please don’t forget me,” Eddie said, breaking the silence between them.
“I won’t.” Richie’s voice was muffled behind his tears and Eddie’s stomach.
“Liar,” Came Eddie’s immediate response. And both of them hated the way that he sounded. Both of them hated that it was true.
“I can’t forget you, Eds,” Eddie wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but didn’t correct him this time. “How on Earth could I forget you? Your dumb face, that ridiculous way you style your hair, your stupid fanny pack, those…. Those tiny shorts you wear. How the hell could a guy forget someone like you, Eddie Spaghetti?”
“It won’t be your fault,” Was all Eddie could tell him to try and assure him. It would hurt, sure, losing Richie like that. But Eddie couldn’t blame him. Just as he hadn’t blamed Bill, Ben, or Bev before him. This was all beyond their control, and it seemed to be a part of process of them all growing up and growing away from each other.
“I’ll try,” Richie decided, sitting up and blinking tears out of his red and puffy eyes. “I’ll try not to forget you.”
“As if the others didn’t,” Eddie didn’t mean for his words to come off as harsh, and even Richie seemed to recoil at the striking reality that Eddie brought down on him. Richie didn’t like to think that way. He didn’t like to believe that there was anything in this world that was beyond his control; he was invincible, and he could do anything that he set his mind to… Except a cartwheel.
“I’ll remember.” Richie told him firmly this time. There was a fire in his eye and a determination in his word. “Whatever it fucking takes, Eddie. Even if I have to tattoo your name on the back of my hand, I’ll do it if it means I never have to forget you.”
“Okay.”
Eddie was out of arguments after that. He always admired Richie’s optimism, and the way he could always make everyone laugh. A beat of silence passed between them, then the song on the radio changed. A dopey grin, mirroring the one from Richie’s performance of Ace of Base, came up onto his face. Immediately, he turned up the radio as loud as he could. Eddie knew the song too, and he had to laugh.
Before he knew it, Richie was pulling him up onto his feet, holding both of his hands and pulling and pushing him around in a circle, leading him in a sort of clumsy dance, that Eddie was doing his best to keep up with - but Richie was like a firecracker, moving and swaying in all sorts of different directions and Eddie couldn’t even try to predict what he was going to do next.
Meet me in the middle of the day
Let me hear you say everything’s okay
Bring me southern kisses from your room
Meet me in the middle of the night
Let me hear you say everything’s alright
Let me smell the moon in your perfume
As the lyrical voice of Steve Forbert found itself filling the room, both boys sang along proudly. A hard change from the emotions of the previous moment, but it was light, it was fun, and they were both laughing and dancing together. If you could even call holding onto each other and jumping in awkward circles dancing. But they were having fun.
It's king and queen and we must go down now beyond the chandelier
Where I won't have to speak my mind and you won't have to hear
Shreds of news and afterthoughts and complicated scenes
We'll huddle down behind the light and fade like magazines
The chorus then repeated out three times, and they both slowly stopped singing. Standing together, holding each others hands tightly. The music played loudly, and switched to another song - but Eddie and Richie stayed perfectly still. Eddie trying to commit each of Richie’s freckles to memory, the curve of his nose from where it had been broken, the lines that formed on his face when he smiled, the shape of his jaw, the specks of gold in the iris’ of his eyes.
And Richie was doing the same; remembering the exact colour of Eddie’s skin, the curls in his hair, the line of his cheek bones and the way his mouth slightly dropped open while he was deep in thought.
For the last time - Richie kissed him.
Songs faded in and out of each other, and eventually, Eddie parted from the moment. The sun was down, and his mother was likely to freak out when he finally pedaled home. He didn’t hug Richie. He didn’t touch him again, merely wishing him a goodbye, and requesting a phone call soon. Richie promised that he wouldn’t forget - he wouldn’t forget Eddie, and he wouldn’t forget the phone call.
But he did.
September 19th, 2003 - Richie’s Records - New York City, New York
Richie Tozier had become a household name seemingly overnight. Starting in 1999 when the twenty-three year old comedian took to the Comedy Central stage and became an instant hit! He toured across the country in 2000, made trips into Canada and Europe by 2001, and by 2003 his career had plateaued.
It had been a whirlwind of a few years for Richie, most of which he didn’t remember purely out of exhaustion and the occasional usage of various drugs. One thing he would never forget, however, was his sensationalized disaster of a marriage.
Isabelle Tozier, or going by her maiden name, Lyon, had been a perfectly nice woman. They had met in college, UCLA, and both were in the dramatic arts program. She was very theatrical, and had a knack for Shakespearean classics. Isabelle could rattle off sonnets and soliloquies like no one else could, and Richie admired her for that. But more than that, she was funny. Humor, to Richie, was always the most important trait and from the very first moment that she had made him laugh, he was smitten. Naturally, they dated all through college and Isabelle became many of Richie’s ‘firsts’. His first serious girlfriend, his first love, his first time, his first marriage, and his first divorce.
Richie hadn’t thought about marriage until Isabelle had brought it up, just before he was about to go on his first cross-country tour. She wanted to get married, something about wanting commitment before he went running off all over the world. To which, Richie willingly agreed. Three weeks later, and they were married in the Town Hall and looking forward to starting their lives together. Or so, Richie had assumed.
As it turned out, he was more committed to the marriage than Isabelle Tozier ever was. He had called his wife every night, he had worn his ring, he had made jokes and told stories about the love of his life across the nation and thought that everything was going to play out like some perfect love story. But like most Hollywood couples, their love crumbled in the tabloids.
It started with stories that Isabelle avidly denied in the most convincing fashion. (“That’s just my personal trainer, Richie. He comes over so we don’t get hounded at the gym. You’re doing great, baby, I love you.”) But as the rumors only spread, Richie’s desire to know the truth grew stronger. He wanted to believe Isabelle, he did believe Isabelle. Which is why he wasn’t proud of what he did, even if he was thankful. He hired a private investigator.
Alexander had been a nice guy, he had been upfront with Richie that if he already suspected cheating, that was likely already the case. Richie affirmed he was sure that Isabelle was faithful to him, he just wanted to put the rumors to bed, and at the time, he was convinced that was all this was. But one week later, he had gotten an email from Alexander with six photos attached. Isabelle had been seeing a personal trainer alright, but it didn’t seem like he was training her in fitness by any means. The next week, he returned home and filed for divorce.
The divorce settlement had been one of the worst times of his life, and as Richie tried to push his career and flourish, the whole thing dragged him down. He found himself less interested in comedy, and really only kept up his shows to pay his fees and pay out his settlement to Isabelle. Somehow, she had managed to swindle him out of most of his money and his possessions, as well as a healthy dose of alimony. But he didn’t care anymore; he just wanted out.
The divorce was officially finalized on January 12th, 2003 and with that, Richie packed up and moved out of L.A, about as far away from California as he could. He settled himself down in New York City, in an apartment above an empty shop he had purchased with a good portion of the money that he had left. Now free of his marriage and taking an official break from his comedy career (although it was against the wishes of his agent, who insisted that he was wasting his potential) Richie decided to do something that was more up his alley, something that could really care about - he opened up a record shop.
Given, that wasn’t the best choice in 2003. So, he resigned himself to not selling just vinyls and included an inventory of mostly CD’s, as well as posters, and any other merchandise he could get his hands on. It took him a fair amount of time to get the place together, to hire some teenagers looking for work as part-time employees, and make sure everything was the very best it could be before finally, on September 19th, 2003, Richie’s Records opened in New York City, just two blocks away from Times Square.
The opening of Richie Tozier’s record shop had been highly anticipated by the local press, so it was no surprise that a fairly large crowd was waiting outside the doors on opening day. Richie stood in the shop with his employees - or ‘crew’ as he preferred to call them. His back to the door where there was the telltale flash of cameras and the buzz of people talking excitedly, pushing against the door as they desperately tried to get in. The crew, adorned in black pants and yellow t-shirts with the ‘Richie’s Records’ labelled embroidered over the left breast mostly looked nervous, but Richie seemed excited.
“Today, you lovely people will be apart of music history! A part of the history of New York! This will be one of the most important days in your whole lives, I say!” He spoke with the sort of dramatic purpose that only the dorky stylings of Richie Tozier could provide. A few crew members cracked a couple of smiles. “Yes, that’s it. Today is the first day of the rest of your lives, my friends. But fret not! I believe in each and every one of you. It’s going to be crazy, yes indeed, there may even be blood shed! Who knows! Chaos will befall this place, but we will rise to victory, my dears! Together we stand, and together we will not fall! Now everyone… You remember our cheer?” He arched his eyebrow, and around the room, he was meant with nods. “Alright. On three? One, two, three-”
“YOWZA!”
“That’s what I like to hear!” Richie pumped his fist in the air. “Ready?” He turned towards the door, and put his hand on the lock. “Set-” He turned the lock and pulled the door open. The crowd began to flood in, spreading around the store. “GO!” Reporters turned and surrounded Richie immediately, shoving microphones and recording devices into his face.
“Does this have anything to do with your divorce from Isabelle?”
“Do you plan on returning to the stage at all?”
“Are the rumors of you working for Saturday Night Live true?”
“Are you opening a recording studio too?”
“Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea-” It was the first time Richie got a word in, but it didn’t last long before more questions were thrown his way. None of which, he decided to comment on. Merely silencing them with - “This has been lovely, truly, but I do have some actual work to attend to here.” He pulled himself away from the crowd of them, some of them leaving, and some of them staying to question his crew. “DON’T ANSWER ANYTHING!” Richie shouted with cupped hands over the store - and the crew took his word.
Richie headed his way up to the cash register, where he worked alongside one of his crew members in checking people out. He was eager to talk to his customers, say hello and thank them for coming out today. He even tossed in a free autograph with every purchase, which people seemed to be going nuts over. And Richie loved it - he loved the soft glow of the limelight and being able to make people happy. That was what he had always wanted.
September 19th, 2003 - Kaspbrak/Collins Apartment - New York City, New York.
Eddie Kaspbrak wanted nothing more than to just take a break. He had spent a long day driving around the city, traffic being even worst in the Times Square area because of the opening of Richie’s Records and of course, that was where most of his clients had desired to be. The chauffeur service that Eddie worked for wasn’t anything easy, he would argue. Driving around the rich and famous in various luxury, but discreet, cars (One’s that drew less attention than limos) was something that took a toll on him. Coming into the apartment, being greeted by his loving girlfriend with an affectionate kiss on the cheek and a lukewarm tea being shoved into his hands was precisely what he expected.
“Thank you, Myra.” He returned the kiss to her cheek and offered a tense smile.
“Are you alright, Eddie? You seem tense.” Stiff and angry hands met his shoulders, trying to work away at the countless knots embedded in his muscles, but Eddie shrugged her off.
“I’m just fine,” He assured. “I’m only tired.” He toed off his shoes and padded off towards the kitchen. He set his tea down to retrieve the bucket of various pill bottles from the cabinet. He sorted through it for a moment, removing five separate bottles and taking out a dose from each. With a couple sips of his tea, he swallowed them all down. Logically, he knew medicine wouldn’t work so quickly, but already he felt better.
“I think I’m just going to go to bed, baby,” He told Myra, quickly drinking down the rest of his tea.
“Aw, Eddie-bear are you sure?” She had barely started to ask for anything and she was already whining. “I was really hoping we could go and visit Richie Tozier’s new record shop! I love his shows and I would love to go and meet him.”
Eddie grimaced. Not only had he heard far too much about Richie Tozier today - none of his memories regarding the man were all too pleasant.
“Marty,” The affectionate pet-name he gave to his girlfriend only seemed to relax her, which was exactly what he needed right now. “You don’t want to meet Richie Tozier. He’s obnoxious and annoying.”
“How would you know?” Myra’s tone sounded accusing; and frankly, Eddie couldn’t blame her. The tiny nobody that was Eddie Kaspbrak knowing the handsome and famous Richie Tozier? Why, it didn’t seem believable at all!
Eddie rubbed his hand over his face. “We went to school together, back when we were kids.”
The gasp that came from Myra after that startled Eddie, and for a moment, he genuinely believed that she might’ve stopped breathing.
“You were friends with Richie Tozier!?”
“No, no!” Eddie shook his head, and Myra seemed to calm down the slightest bit. “No, no, baby… We just went to school together, back in Maine. He was in my grade and I remember he was loud and annoying and we all called him Trashmouth. I remember he… He smoked, and he always got into trouble and he was just a nuisance. Definitely not someone worth going out and meeting… Maybe someone like, that author Bill Denbrough, or that… That guy from that Time cover, Ben Hanscom? They also went to school with us.”
Myra seemed absolutely crestfallen about the revelation. She really didn’t care about some author or some architect. In her mind, you weren’t famous unless you were talked about by Perez Hilton. “Maybe we should go, Eddie… Maybe he remembers you… Maybe he’d give his a discount or something special?”
Eddie shook his head again, putting his mug into the sink and putting the pills away. “He wouldn’t remember me, Marty. I had no friends back then. I didn’t talk to anyone, and they didn’t talk to me. Certainly someone as ‘cool’ as Richie Tozier wouldn’t remember me now.” He stepped towards her, pressing a peck on her lips. “I’m going to go take a nap now, okay, Marty? Then I’ll take you out to dinner later. Does that sound okay?”
“Okay, sleep well, Eddie.”
He headed off into their bedroom, changing out of his suit and into a pair of pajamas. Eddie dropped down into bed and hugged his pillow close to him. He always slept better without Myra by his side, it always got too hot when she was in the bed with him, and he found himself never able to get quite comfortable.
Eddie had been just on the edge of sleep when he heard the front door open and close. Myra was gone, and he figured, she was going off to Richie’s Records. Ah, well. It was no skin off his back. If anything, knowing that she was gone and the house was at peace helped soothe Eddie off into the best sleep he had had in weeks.
It was later in the day, and while the record store was still flooded with people, it wasn’t as bad as it had been that morning. The crew and Richie had gotten used to the flow and fallen into the swing of things to get everything running smoothly, and it was exactly how Richie had dreamed for all of this to play out. Since his divorce he didn’t think he had ever been so happy.
He smiled charmingly to every customer that came up to the counter, and the same held true for the chubby lady with blushing cheeks and a shy smile on her face - two ABBA records clutched in her hands which she presented to him shyly at the counter.
“ABBA, huh? I like it! Disco never died.” Richie scanned the two records. “You a fan?”
The woman nodded eagerly, still seeming to have difficulty finding her words. “My boyfriend likes them too.” She explained. “He…” She thought for a moment, and Richie tilted his head curiously. “His name is Eddie Kaspbrak, he said he used to go to school with you back in Maine?”
There was a spark in Richie’s eye, a definite recognition at that name. But… No solid details. He couldn’t really place a face to the name, but he definitely felt his chest tightening and aching at the thought of that name. I forgot something. I forgot something. There’s something I needed to do for him and I forgot. Fuck, what was it?
“I did,” He confirmed with a nod, bringing the wide toothy grin back up onto his face - but it didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Richie was incredibly frustrated now that he couldn’t remember what the hell it was that he had forgotten. Why did that name seem to mean so much to him but he couldn’t remember a single thing about the person it was attached to? He nearly wanted to bang his head against the wall.
“Wow,” The woman looked quite literally like she had stars in her eyes, and Richie kept face with his grin.
“Would you like an autograph?” He asked, and she nodded eagerly. He took out one of the glossy signed photos and uncapped his Sharpie. “What’s your name?”
“Myra,”
“To Myra,” He wrote as he signed it. His writing was notably messy and scribbly, and would likely be impossible to read in a few months time when this moment started to fade from Myra’s memory. “Enjoy those records and stop by again! You seem like a lovely lady. Thank you for your support… Richie Tozier.” He punctuated it with a drawing of a smiley face and slipped the photo into the bag with her records. “Have a nice day, Miss Myra-” The Alfred Pennyworth Voice was back. “And I do hope to see you again,” He tipped an invisible hat. Myra giggled.
“I’m sure you will! I’ll bring Eddie by next time too!”
“I look forward to it!”
Myra returned home, and Eddie was still asleep. She had taken out the vinyls and added them to their small collection. Most of them were old, and rarely played albums from their teenage years but Myra thought they might pull out those new ABBA records tonight. She proudly displayed the autograph on the mantle of the electric fireplace in the dining room, and a few hours later, Eddie naturally noticed it. He didn’t say anything on it, and he didn’t touch it. If it made Myra happy, he was happy too. As promised, they went out together that night, and soon enough, Richie Tozier was the last thing on his mind.
April 7th, 2007 - Richie’s Records - New York City, New York
Four years had passed since the opening of the record store, and Richie’s fame, as well as vinyl sales, had hit an all time low. No longer did people care to come in and get his autograph. Occasionally, some tourist would come in and crack a couple of jokes referencing Richie’s old material, and he’d laugh along, do a couple of Voices, but that was about that. Richie was perfectly okay with that. The store was still doing incredibly well based on CD sales and other merchandise, and he even had performances from local indie artists and occasionally bigger names performing every Sunday night. The store had done everything Richie ever dreamed it could, and if it wasn’t for waking up to annoying phone calls, it would’ve been perfect.
Richie’s manager called him at the crack of dawn at least once a week - even before Richie’s alarm had gone off. He rolled out of bed, and picked up his phone. “Good morning, Helen,” His exhaustion was evident in his voice, and he was hoping that it would make her feel bad, but Richie was having no such luck. He was convinced that Helen was a robot without any natural emotions.
“Richie,” Her voice was crisp and clearly annoyed. “Did you reach out to that guy from Saturday Night Live about writing for them like I asked you to three weeks ago?” Fuck, he knew he forgot something. Richie rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh.
“No,” And before he could say anything else, Helen was interrupting him with an annoyed rant.
“Do you want to have a career, Richie? I’ve kept your name in people’s minds all this time, I’ve sent out tapes of your old bits, I’ve kept Comedy Central re-running your performances, I’ve sent you contracts from comedy festivals… People still want to hear you Richie! They like you! You’re funny! All you need to do is take the step!”
Richie had heard this time and time again, and he thanked her every time. The residual checks from each of those things were something he was grateful for every time they came in the mail, but he couldn’t help but be tired of that whole scene - and no matter how many times he told Helen that he was done with it all, she kept bugging him and bugging him and begging him to take to the stage again. Richie was almost considering doing one last tour just to get her off of his back for a little while… And maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, it’s not like he had a wife to worry about cheating on him while he was gone this time.
“I’ll call the guy later… Gus, right?”
“Gus Tylers. I’ll email you his number. Richie, you better do this. Do this or I’ll stop representing you.”
It wasn’t the first time Helen had made that threat either, and Richie had found himself no longer caring about it. “I will, promise. My word is my bond.” He rattled off, standing up and starting to head off towards the bathroom.
“I’ll call you tonight to make sure you did.”
“Oh, I can’t wait.” And with that, he hung up on her, snapping his flip-phone shut.
Richie took a long and hot shower to wake himself up, then he got himself dressed in his signature look of black jeans, a yellow Richie Record’s shirt (to keep solidarity with his crew. He felt it’d be unfair if he also didn’t wear the shirt) and topped it off with a Hawaiian shirt, this one white and patterned with hearts in all the colours of the rainbow. He looked over this small collection of glasses, all of them in different colours too, although his favourite were the ones with neon pink frames. He decided to wear those ones today. They were shaped like the glasses he used to wear in his youth, but now the lenses weren’t as thick, even if his vision had only gotten worse. His eyes were a normal size beneath them.
Finally, he lazily mixed some mousse into his mess of dark curls on his head. He actually put some effort into styling his hair these days, but still favoured his hair to look mostly a mess.
He had been about to mix up a bowl of his favourite instant oatmeal when another call came through. He immediately knew who it must be, and his stomach felt sick thinking about it. He answered, and before he could even get a word in, Isabelle Tozier was speaking.
“You know you can’t avoid alimony forever.”
What a lovely way to start his day.
“You know you’re not going to get it forever,” He said dryly. “I don’t have to pay it once you get married.”
“And that’s still three months away, and you’re also three months behind, Richie.” Isabelle seemed almost smug about it. He wondered if she would bother taking it to court. The fees that she’d have to pay would probably suck up all the alimony he owed her anyways… But he didn’t exactly put it beyond her either.
“And does Luke Wilson really not have enough money to keep you satisfied, my dear? Do you really need my money too?”
There wasn’t even a pause to think before Isabelle said “Yes.”
Richie huffed. He went to get his checkbook, and wrote out six checks in the appropriate amount, each of them dated one month apart. “There. I just wrote six checks. Dated a month apart each. I’ll mail them out to tomorrow. Happy?”
Apparently, she was, because without a word, Isabelle hung up.
With that done, Richie set the checks onto his kitchen table and placed an apple over them so he wouldn’t lose them. He was going to go and open the shop, now without any time to even have a coffee. He made and ate his oatmeal, and then headed downstairs to go and start his day just like any other.
And it was a completely normal day like any other. Within a couple of hours, his conversations with Helen and Isabelle were forgotten and he was back and in his regular spirits - talking and laughing with his crew members and customers and having a good of day as any. Even in such a good mood that he ordered in a pizza for the crew around lunch. He liked to think he was a good boss, and he had a low turnover rate, so he figured that was a pretty good sign about his business. They liked working with him.
Perhaps it was another good thing, it was about a half hour to close and he sent them all home early. He didn’t expect them to get busy at 10:30 at night, and he’d handle closing up on his own. Besides, he liked having the space to blast music over the speakers and sing and dance while he swept up the store - which was precisely what he was doing.
Using the end of the broom as a microphone, he sang loudly and badly while he spun around the aisles.
Oh
The taste of your lips
I’m on a ride
You're toxic I'm slippin' under
With a taste of a poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic?
And I love what you do
Don't you know that you're toxic?
Richie’s performance was halted when he heard the bell of the door being opened barely ringing out over the thumping noises of Britney Spears over the speakers. Standing there, was a short guy with thin framed glasses, soaking wet hair stuck to his forehead and his black overcoat dripping wet. His gaze was turned downwards frowning at the wetness in his loafers and Richie almost laughed at the man who appeared to be his polar opposite.
He produced a small remote from his pocket and turned down the volume of the music. “What can I do for you, sir? Perhaps offer you an umbrella?”
The man looked up, and for the first time Richie saw his face and realized the man was about his age, but he looked older. He was tired, and there was a distinct unhappiness in his face. There was also something so familiar about him, but Richie couldn’t quite place it. He was going to piss him off, he was sure of it.
The man brushed his wet hair off of his forehead, and took off his glasses, attempting to clean off the raindrops with his damp jacket, but it didn’t help at all. “Do you have the new Keith Urban album? Or, I think it’s his new one… the one with his cover of Romeo’s Tune?” He asked. Sighing at the state of his glasses and instead just tucked him into his jacket pocket.
“Now, why on Earth would you want the Keith Urban version when the Steve Forbert one is so much better?” Richie asked him, but he complied. “I think I only have it on CD. Is that alright?” He left the broom behind, going to search for the country section and flipped through the CD’s, checking the back of them to make sure it had the correct song. “Aha! Here we are, Greatest Hits: 18 Kids by Keith Urban.” He presented the disc to Eddie proudly.
Eddie checked it over for his own purposes and nodded contently. “I agree with you about Steve Forbert but… My girlfriend is crazy about this Keith Urban guy, and she loves the cover.” He shrugged a little. “I’d do anything to make her happy,” But there was no real sense of romance in his words. Richie noticed it.
“And what’s a guy like you doing with a girl with no taste in music?” The question held no offense in it, but Eddie always got strangely defensive when it came to his relationship with Myra.
“Because I love her,” He snapped. Richie held up his hands in defense, his eyes widening slightly at his outburst.
“Never meant you didn’t,” He assured, his tone a little bit gentler. Eddie felt his shoulders slump, and a strange sense of guilt overtake him. Richie Tozier had been nothing but annoying throughout his time in Derry, and yet, here he was feeling bad for getting snippy with him. What was the world coming to?
“It’s fine… I knew what you meant… Can I just get the CD? It’s her birthday.”
It’s her birthday and you haven’t even gotten her gift yet? What a way to show the gal you love her. But Richie didn’t vocalize that thought. Instead, he merely offered his customer service smile and lead the way up to the cash register, scanning the CD and rattling off the total of “20.75, but for you, good sir… 15.75.”
From his wallet, Eddie pulled out a $20 bill and three quarters. “20.75,” There was a firmness in his tone that Richie wasn’t going to argue with right now. So he merely thanked Eddie, who then prompted him with a surprising question. “You’re from Derry, right? Class of 94?”
“Yeah.” Richie confirmed, and now looking at this guy… Something was clicking. Something frustrating and fuzzy in the back of his mind that was screaming You know him! but Richie couldn’t figure it out. “Didn’t actually graduate from there. Moved out to Beverly Hills before I got the chance but… Yeah, yeah I’m from there. I guess you are too?” He offered the yellow plastic bag containing the CD towards him. Richie had long since stopped giving out autographs with purchases.
“Yeah. We were in the same class… Eddie Kaspbrak.” He gave a small wave, and something fell into place.
Inhaler. Fanny packs. Perfectly styled hair. Wristwatch alarms followed by pills. Placebos. Broken arm. Loser. Losers Club. Eddie Spaghetti. Eds. My love-
“Well, I gotta get going.” Suddenly, he seemed to be in a rush. His face had paled and his breathing quickened as he moved towards the door, while Richie seemed to be absolutely frozen in his place. His jaw slightly dropped and a headache seeming to split his head open. He couldn’t remember everything, he knew he wasn’t remembering everything, but suddenly, Eddie Kaspbrak was the only thing on his mind, and he watched as his figured disappeared out the door into the rain again.
Richie remembered he was supposed to call him.