Second Act

"Zoom in on Roger Davis, retooling famous classical music pieces for his derogatory rock songs."

Roger raised his middle finger in Mark's direction without looking up from his Fender, retorting, "Pan to Mark Cohen, talking to a nonexistent audience. "

"Touché," he murmured. Mark started to lower the camera, until Maureen swept into the room and sprawled across his lap on the couch, making an entrance as always.

"How about a close up on Maureen Johnson, the filmmakers' girlfriend," she exclaimed. Mark smiled, obligingly turning the camera on the two of them as Maureen pursed her lips in the direction of the lens.

Roger made a gagging sound behind them, which both Maureen and Mark ignored. She took the camera from him gently, shifting so she was against one end of the couch, her legs draped over his lap, pointing the camera in Mark's direction. "Say hi, Mark!"

"Don't touch it! No one touches the camera but me!" Benny chimed in an anxious, high-pitched voice that was evidently supposed to be an imitation of Mark. Then, in his own voice, he added, "Oh, I forgot, she's the exception to your precious rules."

Collins laughed, "The man's not a fool, Coffin."

Maureen grinned, then returned the camera to Mark's grasp. "Announcement," she called, addressing the whole group. "You officially have one week until my birthday. As I requested, no major gifts. We need rent money."

"How generous," Roger smirked.

She ignored him, tilting her head as far back as she could on the arm of the couch so she could look at Collins, standing in the kitchen. "Except for you, Collins. Now that you're a big college professor, I expect some splurging."

Grinning, Collins walked by the couch, tugging playfully on her hair, hanging over the armrest. "Anything for you, baby girl."

Mark's lips curled in a half grin. "How about me? Am I an exception to the no gifts rule?"

Maureen immediately sat up and rotated, laying her head in his lap. "No major gifts," she corrected, winding her hand around the blue and white scarf he still had on and tugging him toward her, kissing him softly on the lips. "And, no, the rule applies to you, too."

"You'll keep that night free for me right?" Mark asked, tangling a hand in her hair and stroking absently.

She arched an eyebrow and pouted her lips at him. "What'd you have in mind, Pookie?"

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You'll keep that evening free for me, right? Night, too, of course."

"Of course," she parroted mockingly. "Where are you taking me?"

"Don't know yet," he replied honestly. "Still working on that."

Roger let out a bark of laughter, then intoned seriously, "Life Café, table for two, tea for one…and just put that on my tab."

It was Maureen's turn to direct her middle finger at Roger. Then, speaking to Mark, she tugged playfully on his scarf again, saying sarcastically, "Well you better make it extravagant, seeing as I splurged for a used clothing accessory for your birthday."

He smiled sweetly at her, his own fingers drifting to touch the soft, worn material. He'd loved that birthday gift.

Mark had to make hers really good.

*~*~*~*~*

It was seven months ago, just a week and a half after Maureen had moved him with him, Roger, Benny, and Collins. Collins had been her TA years before, before she dropped out of Boston University, and they'd kept in touch sporadically. When she dropped out and moved to the city, she found him, the only person she knew in New York, and he asked Maureen to move in with them.

Benny and Roger had immediately started trying to impress her, upping their witty anecdotes and snappy comments when Maureen was around.

She had the opposite effect on Mark; he couldn't make eye contact with her, not without blushing, anyway, and in the ten days she'd lived with them, he'd said exactly two sentences to her:

Nice to meet you.

Where do you want this box?

It hadn't escaped the notice of the other guys, and they teased him relentlessly…whether Maureen was in the room or not.

She came into the loft at five thirty, off work from what Maureen called "that shithole diner", to find them pulling on jackets.

Roger sent her a patented charm smile. "Hey, Maureen, you're just in time. We're heading to the Life to celebrate Marky's birthday." He clapped a hand on Mark's shoulder, shaking him playfully. "You in?"

Maureen's sparkling gold-brown eyes found slid to him, and right on cue, Mark felt the heat rise to his face and his gaze skirted away. Maureen, though, smiled widely and enthusiastically, her voice suggesting that his birthday was the most exciting thing she'd heard in awhile. "It's your birthday? No one told me, I would've gotten you something!"

"Oh, no, you, you don't have to, it's fine," he stammered in the direction of the floor.

Roger choked back a laugh, then nodded toward her bedroom door, "We could wait a half hour if you want to give him something."

Mark groaned, humiliation rising, but Maureen merely rolled her eyes. "Do you guys mind giving me fifteen minutes to change?"

"No problem," Mark said quickly, before Roger could interject again. Maureen smiled again, just at him, and as his heart turned over she disappeared into her room.

Roger clapped a hand on the back. "Way to go, buddy. Two sentences. You made it through."

"Shut up," he murmured over Collins' and Benny's snickering.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged, in tight, ripped jeans and a red tank top. In her hand she held a grocery bag, but Mark was too busy staring to notice it until Maureen pressed it into his hands.

"Sorry about the wrapping job," she said, smiling playfully. "And it's used. Short notice and all that."

Damn it, he was blushing again. "You really don't have to give me any of your stuff."

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that no one would be able to argue with. "Just open it, Marky."

His hand dove into the bag and met with soft material; Mark pulled out a long, well worn scarf, blue and white striped. A smile touched his lips; Maureen was staring at him expectantly, and for once the other guys were quiet.

Mark's eyes met hers, and he forced himself not to look away. "I can't take this."

"Sure you can, I never wear it. And anyway…" Her lips slowly stretched into a grin, and she plucked the scarf from his hands, wrapping it around his neck. Once it was secure, though, she didn't let go. Maureen winked. "Happy birthday, Marky." She leaned in, kissed his cheek and smiled sweetly. "C'mon, I'm starving!"

As Benny and Collins followed her out of the loft, Roger, laughing, clapped a hand on his back. "Good birthday, right?"

*~*~*~*~*

Tonight, though, he was ditching the scarf, a rarity. He and Maureen had been dating for a little over five months, and he wanted to do something great.

Though her rule had merit; money was practically non-existent. So it presented a challenge, but Mark didn't mind. He could be creative.

Maureen had looked surprised when he'd slyly told her formal wear, and Mark had enjoyed that. It wasn't often he could surprise her.

When he walked out in a suit, the guys mock wolf whistled and snickered.

"That your bar mitzvah tux, Mark?" Roger asked innocent.

"Ha, ha," he muttered, staring at his watch. He knocked on the door to the bedroom he and Maureen now shared. "Mo? You almost ready, we gotta go?"

The door swung open and Maureen leaned seductively against the doorframe, pouting at him. "Ready."

Mark gaped at her. Maureen was wearing a red dress that stopped several inches above the knee. It was tight in all the right places, low cut, and for a moment he could only stare dumbly. Her dark, unruly curls had been tamed into loose waves.

She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, then straightened his tie, smiling haughtily.

Benny let out a low whistle, genuine this time, and Roger's eyes widened. "Damn girl."

Slipping her hand into Mark's, Maureen pulled him in front of the others on their way to the door, clearly enjoying the attention.

"You kids have fun!" Collins said with a smirk.

She waved slyly at them. "Don't wait up."

As soon as they were outside, Mark rediscovered vocal ability. "You really look beautiful."

She snaked her arms around his neck, subtly pressing her body against his in that way that drove him crazy. "Thanks, Pookie."

He rolled his eyes, smiling, the way he always did when he pretended to hate the nickname. In the next second, his lips were on hers, kissing her properly.

It was Maureen who pulled away, smirking. "I thought you said we were going to be late."

Mark sighed. "We are."

So he took her hand and they walked into the street. "So, honestly, Marky, where are we going? I told you not to spend any money."

He smiled. "Believe me, Mo, I'm not. I'd love to spend a lot, but there's no way-"

"I know," she cut him off gently. "It's just that we're dressed like people with money…"

To her surprise, Mark threw her a pretty good imitation of her own coy, teasing grin. "That's because we're going to be hanging around with people with money, and we have to blend in."

Maureen sighed dramatically, but she leaned into him a little, not asking anymore questions.

Ten minutes later, he slowed to a stop. Maureen's eyes roamed around them for a moment, and then she raised her eyebrows at him, impatient. "Why are we stopping?"

He pretended to glance around. "We're here."

Maureen squinted at him, then lifted her eyes to the sign above them. "Funny, Marky. Where are we really going?"

"Here," he insisted. "Look, I didn't buy tickets. Obviously. But I know you have a thing for the theatre so…we're second acting."

It was a rare moment; he had her speechless. The lights of the marquee reflected in her dark eyes as she took it in, still trying to figure out if this was a joke.

Maureen came into New York with lots of talk about gritty performance pieces and writing her own music, but Mark was the only one who knew the real obsession with singing and performing had come from Broadway, when her grandparents had taken her to New York when she was younger and she fell for the stage.

He'd heard this play, Les Misérables , which had opened in October the year before, was supposedly pretty good.

Since Maureen still hadn't said anything, Mark nervously added, "Someday, I'll take you to a full show. With tickets I actually bought. But for now…I figured this would be at least a taste."

A smile was slowly stretching her lips, and in the next instant Maureen had thrown her arms around his neck. "I love it. And I love you."

Relief and pride bubbled up inside him as he kissed her. When he pulled away, Maureen was still smiling giddily. Then, she giggled, excited. "So how do we do this?"

Mark had asked around, mostly to his out of work actor friends, enough to feel confident. He glanced at his watch. "Intermission's in five minutes. We'll stay at the side entrance and mix in with the smokers and slip back inside. Then, I guess we find open seats."

Maureen clapped her hands, a youthful gesture that made him smile. "Sounds exciting."

So twenty minutes later, they were pushed among a crowd of theatre goers, entering the theater. Mark's heart was pounding, his nervous side kicking in even though there was no real danger of being caught…they'd merely get kicked out.

In contrast, Maureen was in her element. Affecting, for God knows what reason, a British accent, she made louder than necessary comments. "Such a fascinating adaptation, wouldn't you say, dahling? Very affecting score….cellos, blah blah blah, strings…"

He choked back a laugh, squeezing her hand as they entered the dim theater. "Just stand in the back," he murmured from the side of his mouth. "Until we see seats."

By the time the lights went down, the traffic from the lobby and aisles had stopped, and Mark and Maureen squinted frantically in the darkness.

"Maybe we should try an upper level," she hissed.

"No, I think there are more ushers there…" He paused, tilting his head to avoid the glare of stage lights on his glasses. "Down there."

As discreetly as possible, they moved down the aisle to the side section, about twenty rows back, where there were two empty seats.

The people in the occupied places next to them glanced over suspiciously, and Mark had to physically clap a hand over Maureen's mouth to keep her from giggling. Soon, though, a song began, and they settled in.

By the time "On my Own", the second song of the act, played, Mark knew the gift had been a good one. Maureen was leaning forward in her seat, taking it all in. He smiled, paying much more attention to her than the play.

They got about four songs in when a middle aged couple approached from the aisle. The man tapped him on the arm and Mark, startled, felt his stomach sink.

Maureen, though, leaned across him and asked coolly, "Yes?"

"You're in our seats," the man informed them in an impatient stage whisper.

Maureen laughed once, as though the possibility was ludicrous. "I think you must be mistaken, sir."

The man's eyes narrowed. He gestured at the other occupants, who were staring. "Ask them, we sat there the whole time."

Mark was seconds away from bolting, but Maureen gave him a skeptical look, then stated, "You expect me to believe you've been in the restroom since intermission?"

The man's face was turning red with anger. "The line was long! Now get out of our seats!"

A beam of light hit Mark in the face, courtesy of an annoyed looking usher. "Is there a problem?"

Pointing like a spiteful child, the man informed him, "These two are in our seats."

The usher returned his face to Mark and Maureen, holding out a hand. "Can I see your tickets?"

"Um…" Even Maureen didn't have an answer. Except, hissed in his ear, "Go."

They were up and speed walking up the aisle in the next second. Mark glanced over his shoulder; the usher was following. "We gotta go…"

So they burst out into the street and kept running, even though Mark was fairly certain they weren't being followed. He could hear Maureen laughing and it made him grin as Mark tugged her across the crosswalk, barely beating the light.

When they finally stopped, they were breathless and laughing. Maureen leaned against his chest, their hearts racing against each others.

After a good minute or so of only laughter, Mark touched her face, tilting her head so she was looking at him. "Sorry that didn't exactly work out."

"Are you kidding?" She gasped, eyes sparkling. "Best birthday ever."

A grin split his face. "Yeah?"

She wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled his lips toward hers. When she eventually drew back, Mark nuzzled his nose against hers and, as always, it made her laugh softly. "You look beautiful," he murmured.

"You look great, too." She smiled. "You clean up pretty well, Pookie."

Mark mock groaned, and she shut him by kissing him again, until he smiled against her lips. "Happy birthday, babe."