"Nothing is going on, Jo! Nothing happened!" she exclaimed, running to catch up with Joanne. She'd been talking to a waitress named Fredi- nothing else had happened. Yet apparently Joanne had seen enough to convince her that Maureen was cheating. Again.
"Don't give me this crap tonight, Maureen! I've had enough!"
"Pookie, please believe me!"
"No. I won't play dumb this time and just act like it never happened. I had thought... I had thought you meant it when you said I was the only one." The mocha lawyer shook her head. "You know, Mark had warned me about you. Way before any of this ever happened. I can't believe I didn't listen to him."
"Mark? What the hell does Mark have to do with anything?"
"You cheated on him, too, didn't you?"
Maureen looked up, trying to mask the hurt in her eyes. "That was different!"
"How? Tell me, how is this different than any other time? How the hell am I any different from Mark?"
"I didn't love Mark!"
Joanne just shook her head. "And you didn't love me either, did you?"
Maureen looked around for anyone who could back her up, but the Life was almost empty by now. All of the Bohos had left within the last half hour. It was no use. Whether she liked it or not, Joanne would never believe her. Her heart dropped, and tears of anger and sadness began welling up in her eyes.
"I do!" she whispered in a last vain attempt to stop her lover from leaving. "I love you, Pookie!"
"Goodbye, Maureen," Joanne said coldly, striding out of the cafe. Regardless of the tears rolling down her cheeks, the mocha woman forced herself to keep walking, never looking back. If she looked back, she'd fall for it again, and Joanne's emotions couldn't take another blow.
As soon as the lawyer was gone, the diva felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the room. It was hard to breathe; her mind was reeling, and she was extremely dizzy. She leaned on a chair for support. The one time she was actually innocent, Joanne accused her of cheating. How typical.
"Guess I had it coming," she muttered to herself, plopping back down at their table and resting her head in her hands. She had never really cheated on Joanne- she had never even wanted to. In a sickening way, though, making Joanne jealous reassured her. She saw the hurt and irritation in Joanne's eyes and knew the lawyer really did love her. Truthfully, she didn't think before she flirted- it was instinctive. Attractive person equals flirt, simple as that. It was that instinct that had put Maureen in this situation time and time again. Joanne didn't understand- Maureen only flirted to get her attention.
"Need another drink, hun?" one of the waitresses asked, gazing sympathetically at the performer, who just nodded. She walked over to the bar, bringing out out another bottle of beer, then strode back and handed it to the distraught brunette.
"I'm broke," Maureen informed her in a glum voice, chugging half the bottle and running a hand through her hair.
"It's on the house."
She mumbled a thank you and left the cafe, heading back to her apartment. Correction- Joanne's apartment. When she reached the door, she found it locked for the first time in months. Of course, she never had the key- Joanne knew that. Looking down, Maureen noticed a bulging suitcase sitting on the ground, with what appeared to be all of her belongings inside.
Choking back a sob, the diva abandoned the suitcase, practically running back out and into the snow. The icy wind bit at her face, and Maureen wished she'd at least bothered to get a jacket before she left; she knew she couldn't have handled another minute at the apartment, though, knowing Joanne was on the other side of the door and unable to get in. Instinctively, she turned left.
The performance space was empty, save for a few hobos sleeping next to shopping carts and random clothes and trinkets they'd found on the streets. Ignoring them, Maureen climbed onto the stage they'd built for her protests and sat with her back to a crate, hugging her knees to her chest. Normally she would just go back to the Loft and wait until the next day. Joanne would usually forgive her (after a little...persuading). This time was different, though. The lawyer had made it clear that she never wanted to see her again, and Maureen knew she probably would't be getting another chance.
Burying her face in her arms, she finally let out the torrent of wracking sobs she'd been holding in since she'd left the Life.
It was Collins who found her first. He, Mark, and Roger had taken a shortcut, going to meet Mimi at the Catscratch after one of Mimi's midnight shows. As usual, Collins was attempting to get lonely little Mark to put down the camera and Roger to cheer up a little bit- at this point in the night, he was so drunk it had probably worked.
"...and he was like, 'No, dude, I don't-' Maureen?" he asked, turning and walking towards her. The performer turned her head away from one of her oldest friends, trying to calm herself down. It was no use, though. She couldn't stop the tears. Collins bent down, gently pulling Maureen's arm away to reveal her tear-stained face. "What's up, little Mo?"
She tried to speak, but couldn't find the right words. Her throat was too constricted for her to make any sound at all. Therefore, she just buried her face in her hands, trying to hide her expression from the three guys.
"Mo, come on," the anarchist slurred, sitting down beside her and putting an arm on her shoulder. "Talk to us."
Roger leaned against the wall, folding his arms and staring at the floor, lost in thought about who-knows-what (or more like who-knows-who). Mark just smirked and sat on the edge of the stage as he filmed the entire thing, already having guessed why she was like this.
"Leave me the fuck alone, guys," she managed to choke out.
"Let me guess," Mark said. "You cheated, Joanne got angry. You two had a fight. You begged for forgiveness. Joanne left, probably kicking you out of her apartment. Then you came here." If looks could kill, Mark would be dead three times over. Seeing Maureen's glare, the filmmaker shook his head, still smirking. "Stop making a big deal of it, god knows she'll take you back tomorrow. You're such a drama queen."
"Querido dios, Mark, just leave her alone."
Mimi walked over to the three. The petite dancer swatted at Collins' arm, causing him to groan and scoot a few feet across the stage. Sitting in his spot, Mimi put a thin arm around Maureen's shoulders. "Mo, are you okay?"
The only response was a sniffle.
"What's wrong?"
It took a few seconds before she could reply. "Joanne," Maureen whispered, finally able to speak through the tears.
"Oh, chica..." The latina sighed, giving her friend's arm a sympathetic squeeze. She pulled her jacket sleeve over her hand, using it to wipe the tears off the brunette's face.
"She's not-" hiccup "-going to take me-" sniffle "-back this time, Meems," she sobbed, burying her face in the younger girl's shoulder. "I could see it in her eyes." Hiccup. "This was the last straw."
"Ah, so typically Maureen," Mark said. "Cheats on her partner, then expects sympathy for it."
Irritated, Maureen's head shot up. "I didn't cheat this time! I really didn't, so if I were you, Mark, I'd shut the fuck up before I kick your ass into next fucking week!"
"It's okay, chica, calm down. Mark's just being a dumbass," Mimi soothed. "He doesn't know what he's talking about." She turned to the boy in question. "Mark, do us all a favor and put down the god damn camera."
The performer took a few deep, shaky breaths before resting her face in her hands. "I seriously didn't cheat this time!"
Roger walked over, messing up her dark hair and slumping down next to her. "We believe ya, Mo," he slurred, taking a swig from a beer bottle Maureen hadn't even noticed he'd been carrying. "Chill." Maureen leaned her head on his shoulder, wiping her eyes.
Mimi rubbed her back. "Joanne probably just assumed she saw something and overreacted. She'll probably come around tomorrow. Come on, you're staying at my place." Usually the latina stayed at the loft, but sometimes she and Roger stayed the night at her apartment, for reasons Maureen didn't care to visualize.
The drama queen opened her mouth to protest before realizing she had nowhere else to go and finally shutting it again with a small nod, figuring it was either that or put up with a drunken Mark and Collins all night. After she finally calmed down, she stood, allowing herself to be led down the street and up to Mimi's apartment. She curled up on the lumpy couch, which was pushed up against the wall, one of the few pieces of furniture in the whole apartment. Mimi and Roger briefly said goodnight to her and retreated into the bedroom; inside, Maureen couldn't help but wish that could've been her and Joanne.
"I'm sorry, Jo," she whispered into the darkness. "I love you."
"Hey, white boy, is there any food?" Collins asked, searching around the room (though he already knew perfectly well that there wasn't any.)
"Were you expecting Santa to come bring us a box of Cheerios?" Mark asked him, bent over his camera screen and attempting to ignore his hangover. "Of course there isn't." There hadn't been food for days.
The door to the loft slid open, and Roger entered, his arm around Mimi. "There's no food, Collins, you can stop looking," he said, not even having to see the wannabe chef to know what he was doing.
"Where's Maureen?" Mimi asked, sitting on the table and examining it's cold, metal surface. Since the incident last Christmas, everyone kind of avoided the table, save for the latina dancer. She was the only one who still felt comfortable around it. It was the table where she'd last seen Angel.
"She's not at your place?" Collins asked, his head still in the old refrigerator that had broken so many times it was useless by now.
"No. I thought she came here," the dancer replied with a shrug.
"She's probably over there begging Joanne for forgiveness," Mark guessed. "Possibly standing on or walking over the furniture. Most certainly making a scene."
Mimi whacked him in the arm. "Be nice." As usual, Mimi was protective of the performer. Since Angel had died, Maureen and Mimi had grown closer, in a way. Both had been close to the drag queen, looked up to her for advice in times of need; now that she was gone, they had to lean on each other for support- with the relationship drama both of them went through on a daily basis, they certainly needed it.
"I'm sorry, but she deserves it!" Mark exclaimed. "If she wants to act like a bitch, she needs to face the consequences."
"Mark, we all know you're jealous," Collins called, finally shutting the refrigerator door and joining the others in the living room. "No use hiding it."
The filmmaker's face flushed, and he looked down at his feet. "Am not," he mumbled.
"Watch: as soon as she gets back, he's going to be trying to seduce her," Roger muttered as he walked into the kitchen, smirking. "Don't you remember what he did last time she and Joanne broke up?"
The filmmaker's face turned beet red, causing everyone to burst out laughing. "Can we please not talk about this?"
"Okay, we can save it for later- at the time, you were too busy with that whole...situation to notice the fact that I caught it on video," Roger announced, pulling a tape from his back pocket and raising an eyebrow. "A little something to add to your documentary."
Mark paled, then flushed, then lunged for the tape. Roger pulled it away just in time, shoving it back in his pocket. Mark's mortified expression caused everyone in the room to burst out laughing.
"You suck, Roger, you know that?"
"Yup."
A/N: First fic, so please be nice! Sorry about this chapter...the others are better. I promise!
Tell me if I should continue or not. I'll probably post the second chapter tomorrow, regardless.
R&R!
