This story has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while, begging to be written. I got so sick of telling it to shut up that I just gave in and started writing it. At the moment, I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I know it will be at least a few chapters. This is my first RENT fic, and I'm quite excited about it. It may be some time between updates because I'm drowning in stress right now, but reviews, good or bad, will certainly brighten my day. I only ask that you please not flame. Thanks!

Disclaimer: My writing, but not my characters.

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Joanne Jefferson gathered her things together, loosened her tie, and left her cramped office with a sigh. Work had been determinably bad today. At least she could go down to the Life Café, get a drink, and nurse it all evening in a gloomy corner of the restaurant. Maybe if she stared into the beaker long enough, she could drown herself in it.

Maureen Johnson skipped from her small apartment, messy, handwritten scraps of paper clenched in hand. She hurried to the apartment her boyfriend, Mark Cohen, shared with his best friend, Roger Davis. She pounded on the door, and, when her bangs went unheeded, she called them on her cell phone. All she was met by were several long, empty rings and the answering machine's dissonant "Speakkkk." She left a quick message, and then, remembering she had a key, let herself in. The apartment was, unsurprisingly, devoid of life. She made her way to the flashing answering machine and played back her own impatient recording.

"Mark? Pookie, are you there?" said her voice, full of static on the machine. "I was just thinking we could go to the Life Café. I have a new protest to show you. I hope you aren't ignoring me, Pookie, because I'm coming in." She pressed the Delete button. Well, she thought grumpily, she could still go to the Life and get a drink…or two.

Knowing the walk to the café was far too long from her office building, especially in heels, Joanne caught a taxi. She sat in the backseat and stared out the window. She wondered why the people she worked with were such jerks. Plus, the law firm was being audited. When at last she reached the café, she paid the taxi driver and made her way into the smoky restaurant. She picked a small table in a corner where she could quietly and effectively efface herself and bought a beer. She rather wished she had run home first to change into something more comfortable than slacks and suspenders.

Maureen, living much closer to the Life, simply walked, grinning when she got a wolf whistle. When she got there, she immediately plopped down at a table full of people she'd never met, introduced herself, and ordered a drink. Before long, she was totally drunk. After singing several loud renditions of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" with her new and somewhat reluctant friends, she jumped up on the table and launched into her newest protest, a ballad promoting the rights of minority groups.

Joanne watched the woman's antics from her table, slightly amused. The head waiter had just come over to try to get her off the table, but she just leaned down, grabbed him by the ears, and kissed him on the lips. He threw his hands in the air and stalked back to the kitchen. Maureen chose to get down of her own volition a moment later, and, to Joanne's surprise, plunked down in front of her.

"Hi!" she said brightly, only slurring her words a little, "I'm Maureen."

"Hello, Maureen. I'm Joanne. You have a beautiful voice," Joanne said, referring to the singing Maureen had done on the tables.

"Thanks," Maureen said with a grin before she downed another drink that was no more a virgin than she was. "I like your earrings!" she exclaimed, going so far as to lean over and touch them.

Joanne wondered if Maureen was just being friendly or was hitting on her. She decided she wouldn't mind the latter. The girl was cute.

The door to the café opened and Joanne barely had time to blink before the girl in front of her became a curly-haired projectile launched at the skinny, pumpkin-headed man that had walked in. She nearly bowled him over. "Marky!" she cried.

"You're drunk," 'Marky' said, although he had gathered this from the alcohol on her breath. Her way of greeting him was quite customary.

"Where were you, Pookie? I wanted us to come here together, but you weren't home," she pouted.

"I was out trying to get some decent film. I don't know where Roger was."

Roger, a recovering drug addict who fit the rock star mold, chimed in, "I was on the roof working on a new song."

"Any luck?" she asked both of them.

"Nope," they said simultaneously.

"Well," Mark said, "We just came to see if you were here. Have you eaten?"

Maureen nodded. "We can go to my place if you want. We could watch a movie or something." She winked when she said 'or something.'

Joanne sighed, a little disappointed. Maureen had a boyfriend. Even so, after Roger had left to go back to his apartment, and Maureen and Mark were turning to go to hers, Maureen winked at Joanne, pointed at her table, held up five fingers, and mouthed 'tomorrow.' Maybe there's hope yet, Joanne told herself.

The next day seemed to crawl by for Joanne who kept wondering whether Maureen really would show up at the Life or not that evening. For Maureen, the day was carefree. She didn't even remember her promise until four o' clock, and then it was just a simple matter of getting ready and telling Mark she couldn't dinner with him because she felt ill.

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I'm not going to come care for you. I swear I'm a germ magnet," he had said. She had laughed but managed to turn it into an overly dramatic whimper just in time.

"It's ok, Pookie. I don't want you sick too," she had said while grinning to herself on the success of her plan thus far. At ten till, she headed down to the café, planning to be fashionably late.

Joanne, for whom punctuality was key, began to fidget in her seat when her watch read one after. To her, fashionably late meant only fifteen minutes early instead of thirty. She immediately began to suspect that she had been stood up, and had pretty much given up all hope when Maureen finally walked in. She quickly spotted Joanne and slid into the booth with her. She was just about to open her mouth when a waitress bustled over.

"What cin Ah git fer you girls?" she asked in an overdone southern accent that was as fake as the beauty mark on her plump cheek.

"Well, Ah'll have a hamberger," said Maureen with an even more affected southern accent, "And a beer."

Joanne, who didn't care to carry on the trend, said simply, "I'll have a coffee, please."

The waitress nodded and left to get their orders.

"Why didn't you order any food?" Maureen asked curiously.

"Not hungry," Joanne said. This wasn't entirely true; her stomach was just too busy with all the butterflies to make room for greasy food. "Besides, coffee is my food." This was more true.

Maureen grinned. "I hope you don't mind if I eat."

"No, not at all," Joanne said dismissively. "So…uh, why did you invite me here? Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, Mark? No, we're just close friends," Maureen lied blithely.

Joanne raised her eyebrows but didn't call her out on it.