Title: A Good Day
Summary: A week in the life of Mimi.
Notes: Pre-RENT
Monday
By the time Mimi has put her lipstick on, the light that has been flickering warningly in the dressing room for the last five minutes finally dies. She can't help but think matter-of-factly that it's perfect timing, but the thought isn't enough to make her feel better. Mimi's like every other money-making individual: she hates Mondays. Just because her nine-to-five starts at night doesn't mean that she's exempt from Monday depression.
The girl next to Mimi, Cynthia, reaches over and takes her eyeliner and doesn't think to ask if it's okay until she's already putting it on, encircling her eyes with thick, thick, black, and pursing her lips in concentration.
Cynthia's twenty-six. She wears layers of make-up and winces as soon as she steps off the "stage." Her smile is coy but frozen, and each day as she walks in she sighs, looks around, and seems to be asking herself what she is doing in this place. She has been doing this for nine years.
Mimi's fear is that she will be Cynthia in seven years, and every Monday it gets harder and harder to tell herself that her fear is irrational. She started this job as a seventeen-year-old, certain that this was just a stepping stone to something greater. Now it's two years later, and Mimi feels like she has been working at the Cat Scratch Club all her life. She's ready to retire, but then again, that could just be because today is Monday and she's not on stage yet.
She hears loud music from outside, and Ted is at the door, gesturing to Mimi and Cynthia and four other girls that it's time; they need to hurry up and get out there now. So she pulls on her kimono, the one with a hole near the wrist (it's okay because no one looks there anyway), and follows Cynthia out of the room, telling herself that she's only literally following in Cynthia's footsteps.
When the spotlight is on Mimi, she can't help but smile. Even if she's in a run-down night club, there are still people out there who are cheering for her. She's the center of attention, she's dancing, and this night is about her. Tonight she's the star of her own world, the world of tight tops and glitter and poles and loud music and tired, tired, people (this is the only time that she doesn't count herself as one of them). When she's dancing, with everyone's eyes on her, Mimi can't help but think that maybe she's the lucky one.
When it's all over, and she's in the dressing room, pulling on normal clothes and feeling her pulse slow down as the sweat dries on her face, tiredness sets in. The high from dancing never lasts long on Mondays. Mimi lives for her highs, so maybe that's part of what makes Mondays so bad. She slips her jacket over her shoulders and stares defiantly at herself in the mirror, willing the insecurity away. Even if she has to settle for being sexy instead of beautiful, at least it's something. Even if she's settling for less, at least she has something to settle for.
Beside her, Cynthia rolls her eyes to the ceiling, as if to say one more day down. Mimi can't stand to count down the days until her death, so she looks away.
Tuesday
Mimi is proud of herself for doing things her own way. She arrived in New York as a young fifteen-year-old without anything. Now she has a job, clothes, food, and an apartment. No matter how she is looked at on the street when people wonder what kind of turns a girl could have taken to end up where she is, Mimi is proud of herself. She feels that she has done well with the little that she has been given.
On Tuesday, Mimi wakes up at two. She makes herself a cup of coffee and thinks about Mama.
Mimi has always been a spontaneous person. She never planned to run away from home; she woke up one day and knew that it was time to leave, that she couldn't stand things the way that they were anymore. She needed change, so she took things into her own hands and forcefully created her own opportunity.
Mimi takes her last sip of coffee and sets her mug down with a soft thud. She decides that she needs to call her family.
There's a crumpled piece of paper underneath her mattress that has the digits scrawled on it, in case she should ever forget. She hasn't forgotten, but she searches for the paper anyway, just for reassurance. When she finds it and sees how the numbers in her head match up with the numbers on the paper, she is relieved.
She dials the numbers carefully, as if they'll change if she doesn't pay close attention. The phone rings, and she holds her breath and pretends like she doesn't know why she's doing so.
"Bueno?" Her mother sounds tired, as always, but strong. The strongest woman Mimi's ever known.
"Hello? Mama?"
A pause, and then, "Who is this?"
"Mama, this is Mimi. Soy Mimi."
Her mother is quiet for a long time. The silence rings in the air. Mimi hears a sharp inhale of breath through the phone line, and then finally, her mother speaks. "No es posible, no lo creo."
"Mama, it's me."
Mama doesn't respond, but right now Mimi can't bear the silence. There is judgment and grief and sadness in it, and strained, strained, love. "Mama, it's Mimi. Estoy en New York. I…I miss you."
And because she's said that, she feels the need to envelope it in words, words, words. She talks about how she has a job where she gets to dance all the time. She talks about the way New York lives at night, wild and careless and dangerous. She talks about how she saw a girl on the street yesterday who looked like Isabella, how she's made friends, how she's eating her vegetables, and how she's grown up. She promises that she will call more often, and hopes that it isn't a lie.
She doesn't talk about the smack or the way people look at her. She doesn't ask how everyone is back home, whether anyone else has gotten hurt, and if anyone even cares that she's gone. Mimi is brave, but there are some things that she can't handle.
When she finally stops talking, the phone feels empty. She can't find anything else to say and she wishes her heart wasn't pounding.
"Mi nena," Mama says. Her voice is shaking. "Mi hija. Quien eres?" Mimi can't even answer; she doesn't know who she is either. "No te conozco."
Mimi bites her lip. She gives her mother her phone number, and before Mama can say how much she loves her, Mimi hangs up the phone. She slides down the wall and rests her head in her hands, and all she can see is her poor mother, crying because she does not know her baby anymore. All Mimi has ever done is cause her mother trouble, no matter how much she tries not to.
She gets up a minute later and pushes the conversation out of her head, because she can't take it right now. She looks in the broken mirror that reflects little pieces of Mimi everywhere, and is angry to see that there are tears in her eyes.
Outside, New York is alive again. Inside, Mimi is in pieces.
She doesn't want to be broken like this, so she grabs her coat and her purse and heads outside, away from herself and into everything that will help her forget.
Wednesday
"Mimi!" Angel's voice is loud and cheerful, and just hearing it makes Mimi laugh. "Chica, you look hot!"
Mimi laughs again and spins around, proudly modeling her new coat. Angel's admiring voice cheers her on, so she poses one more time before pulling Angel into an enthusiastic hug.
Angel ushers her inside, and doesn't even ask why Mimi has made this surprise visit. She just accepts it, and Mimi follows her into the kitchen, where Angel is making rice. Mimi jumps onto a stool. She takes off her scarf, hat, coat, and gloves, and nods when Angel offers her some of the food. Angel dishes out two plates, Mimi gets cups and fills them with water from the sink, and the two of them sit at the small table and have a feast.
"How have you been?" Angel asks. Whenever Angel asks questions, she looks right at the person she's talking to, as if to try to tell them that she really cares about the answer. Mimi has never met anyone who cares as much as Angel.
Mimi tells her about the couple she saw as she was walking over. The boy whispered something into the girl's ear and she smiled and pulled him in for a kiss. Mimi watched from afar.
Angel nods and spoons some of the rice into her mouth. After she swallows she says, "Sometimes I get lonely, too."
They finish eating and talk about the ugly bags that people have been carrying lately, and Angel pulls out a sheet of paper to show Mimi her new designs. She says that she designed one of them with Mimi in mind, and Mimi squeals in excitement. It's a red dress with white designs on it, small and cute and out-of-season right now.
"I wasn't sure about the color," Angel admits. "I only made it red because it's my favorite."
Mimi says that red was Isabella's favorite color, too. Isabella, her favorite little sister, the only one who seriously looked up to her. Oh, Isabella.
Angel looks at her seriously. "Mimi," she says, her voice earnest in a way that only Angel's can be, "it's okay to be sad."
Mimi shakes her head and tells her that no, it's not, not about things that you can't change.
They talk about how long Mimi's hair is getting. Angel drums a new beat on the table that makes Mimi get up and dance, and the two of them sing, each making up stanzas until they're both breathless and laughing.
Finally, Mimi looks at the time and realizes that she needs to go to work. Angel's face crinkles up and she frowns. Mimi knows that Angel doesn't approve of her job, but she's dancing, and at least the club is no-contact, and more importantly, it helps pay for both of their AZT.
They hug again after Mimi slips her coat back on, winds her scarf around her neck, jams her hat onto her head, and pulls her gloves on (left hand first, then right). The worry seeps back into Angel's face as Mimi grabs her purse, and she takes hold of Mimi's arm when she says, "Stay out of trouble, chica, okay?"
This is Angel-code for please, no more smack. Mimi pulls her arm away from Angel's and forces a laugh as she reminds Angel that trouble finds her.
Angel's still frowning when Mimi clacks out of the door, so as Mimi prances down the stairs, she sings De Colores as loudly as she can, and does dramatic hand gestures to accompany the song. It's only when she hears Angel laughing behind her that she can smile, too.
Thursday
Every other Thursday Mimi gets paid, so Thursday is her day to take care of business. In the grocery store, she feels like any other person. She pushes her cart and looks for sales. She doesn't mind how her cart is filled only with generic brands; at least it's filled with something.
Her favorite place in the store is the bakery; she loves the smell of fresh bread baking and the sight of warm doughnuts and sweet cakes. She hovers around them for a moment before turning away, towards the fruits. The oranges are on sale, six for a dollar, and they're healthier than cake, too.
Before she goes to the checkout, Mimi swings by the bakery and grabs a loaf of fresh bread. It's worth it, she decides. Besides, she just won't buy cigarettes. She needs to cut down, anyway, and she's sure she can find a pack somewhere in her apartment if she looks hard enough.
The cashier at the check-out counter checks Mimi out, in more ways than one. She thinks that she probably shouldn't be as offended by his roaming eyes as she is, but right now she's not even working, so he has no reason, and furthermore no right, to look at her like that.
When he opens his mouth to ask for her number, Mimi cuts him off and states loudly that she'd like plastic bags, not paper. The proclamation shuts him up, and Mimi walks away proudly, a smile tugging at her lips.
Once outside, she catches a glimpse of her dealer. The two of them make eye contact, and she strolls down the sidewalk briskly, as if she has somewhere to be. She "accidentally" drops one of her bags, and as he bends down to help her pick it up, they quickly exchange money for drugs. Mimi straightens up, tells him thank you for helping her, and heads home. She feels slightly guilty when she thinks of Angel, so she does her best to ignore the feeling. She's too far in now to stop, anyway. It's part of life; she needs it.
When she gets home, she climbs up the stairs and unlocks the door to her apartment. She takes off her boots and puts the groceries away. Then she sits down on the chair, the only one in the apartment, and pulls out the bills that need to be paid. She pulls out the money that she has been setting aside in the box under her bed and carefully counts it. She pays each and is satisfied when she thinks about how she won't need to pay for another three months, hopefully.
When she's done, she realizes just how tired she is. On Thursdays she doesn't work, so she's allowed to feel tired. She makes herself a cup of hot cocoa, wraps herself in a blanket, and stares out the open window. She marvels at how old she feels until she remembers that she's drinking cocoa, and then she laughs at herself.
After she finishes her drink, she rinses her mug off, sets it in the sink, and curls up on her mattress. New York runs and runs and runs, and usually Mimi's running alongside it, but even she runs out of energy at times. Mimi lets New York dance the night away for her, and she closes her eyes and goes to sleep. Somewhere, she hears music, faint and low and true, and she wonders if it is in her head.
Friday
The glitter is seeping into her eyes, and the hair trailing down her back only makes her feel hot. She's not on stage tonight; she's hanging in a cage, grinding and twisting and ignoring the way her legs hurt after she's been in here for two hours.
The cage is finally lowered and opened, and as Mimi slips out Melinda slides in. They don't speak to one another; there is too much to do. Fridays and Saturdays are crazy. There's hardly ever time to talk to each other.
Before she can retreat to the dressing room to wipe the sweat off her forehead, she's been requested for a lap dance. She smiles brazenly at her client. He's a repeat customer.
"Another business trip?" She asks lowly, when she's close enough for him to hear her.
His eyes don't leave hers, but he nods. He told her last time how he comes in whenever he's in town for a business trip. His wife doesn't know. Mimi feels sorry for her, and she wishes that he hadn't told her. Now every time she does a dance for him, she thinks of his poor wife, sitting at home, missing him.
"No touching," She warns him, as she comes even closer. His breath hitches and he nods quickly.
While she dances she thinks of rain, cool and clear. He moans and she thinks of books, and of how many there are in the world that she hasn't read. He finally exhales, and she thinks of what she would name a cat if she had one. When the music ends, he mutters, "You're beautiful," and she knows that this is not beauty. This is not the beautiful that she wants to be.
It's over quickly. He tips her generously, and she's gone before he can say anything else. Table Three has requested a table dance, and there's no time to keep anyone waiting.
When it's all over, and Mimi's in the dressing room with aching muscles, Tiffany, one of the new girls, looks at her wistfully.
"You're so good at this," She says. "You always look like you're having so much fun."
Mimi doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't know how to explain that it's only fun when she's in the spotlight, or when she's not thinking about it, or when she's showered and she has the money in her hands. The rest of the time it's work, and it's messy and dirty and seedy and she knows that. She doesn't know how to tell Tiffany that it's only fun because it has to be. She doesn't know how to say that she doesn't like to be a stripper; she likes to be in control, she likes to have all eyes on her, she likes to feel important, she likes to dance.
So Mimi doesn't tell Tiffany anything. She just smiles and puts her hat on, squeezes Tiffany's hand and says to have a good one. She walks out and knows that Tiffany's staring after her, confused, but what else can she do? Mimi lives for passion, and it's her only weapon against the depression of reality. She hasn't been given many breaks in life, so she makes her own and is satisfied.
Saturday
Mimi leaves work early on Saturday, but she doesn't tell anyone. She sneaks out silently, like a cat, and no one's any wiser. But when she's on the street, she realizes that maybe it was stupid of her to leave without changing into her normal clothes; now she's walking down the streets of New York at one o'clock in the morning, wearing only a coat over her work clothes.
She still walks with her head high. She has pride, and maybe her problem is that she has too much of it, but she won't let that stop her. It's because she has her head up that she sees the car that's following her, and that's enough to convince her to maybe walk a little faster and with her head down. She drops her hands into her pockets and walks quickly.
"Hey!" The man in the car shouts out to her, and pulls up beside her. "How much?" he asks, and gestures to her. He looks around a little nervously, in an "I'm not used to doing this" sort of way.
Mimi's still walking when she finally realizes what he's saying, what he's implying, and just like that, she gets pissed. She stops walking and turns around to stare at him. "I'm not a whore," She tells him.
He stares at her and scoffs, looks her up and down. It's all Mimi can do not to punch him in the face (yeah, she does have a temper; so what?). She turns back around and resumes walking, nearly pounding her feet into the sidewalk with each step. When she glances back and sees that he's still following her, she flicks him off and lets out a string of curses at him, each word filled with more anger and more attitude than the last. And then she cuts through the alley and starts running, because this is New York, after all.
She's still running when she gets into her building, and as she locks her door she laughs and laughs, adrenaline still pouring through her. It was dangerous, but she can't help but admit that it was fun, and the man got what was coming towards him.
She takes a shower and it's not until she's about to go to sleep that a thought hits her mind, one that she can't get rid of. It's three-thirty A.M., but she picks up her phone and dials Angel's number.
When Angel answers, she apologizes for calling so early and before Angel can reassure her about how it's okay that she woke her up, she launches into the story about "a funny thing that happened." When she's done, she waits and listens to the heavy sound of Angel's breathing. When it's apparent that Angel's not going to say anything, she finally blurts out, "I'm not a whore. I'm not a slut."
With those words, Angel seems to get it. "You're not," She says, and more importantly, she sounds like she means it. It's almost enough for Mimi, so she apologizes again and hangs up after telling Angel to sleep well.
Mimi can't sleep well, though. She sits, walks around, and sits again. She drinks water, finds her smack. She gets annoyed with just how much the events of the evening (morning?) bothered her, and even more annoyed with how she needed Angel's confirmation. She sighs in frustration when she still doesn't want to sleep.
She spends the majority of the night sitting by the window. At five o'clock, a storm takes over New York. Mimi thinks that she's the only one to see it. When it passes, she wonders if it was even real.
Mimi stays up the whole night.
Sunday
Wide-eyed and tired-minded, Mimi walks into the church. She walks in late; the service has already started. She makes the sign of the cross as she enters, and she squeezes into a pew at the back. She didn't expect the place to be so full.
After all the masses she has attended in her childhood, she knows the right things to say. Her mouth forms the words "Thanks be to God" at the correct time. Her hand grips the cross in her pocket tightly, the cross that she found this morning. Her mind is on the stained glass windows, on the image of La Virgen, the Holy Mother. She wonders what it would be like to be so beautiful, so revered. La Señora looks serene, with her head lifted towards Heaven.
Mimi thinks that things must get better than this.
She doesn't take the Eucharist, but she allows herself to be blessed by the priest. He blesses her, his mouth wrapping around words that Mimi does not hear, echoing rejection that does not come.
She leaves while everyone is offering one another a sign of peace, but she gives a smile to the young boy beside her who reaches over to shake her hand. She leaves the church, but while she's still on the steps, she turns around and says a prayer. She prays for her Mama, the woman who carries the weight of the world. She prays for Isabella, the smart little sister who is missing her role model. She prays for Carlos, the brother who was shot before he could even really live. She prays for Angel, who touches the world with the care that she spreads and forgets that she needs to be cared for, too. She prays for Tiffany, and Cynthia, and the priest, and her other siblings, and the boy who sat next to her in church. She prays for anyone who needs it.
She prays for herself, for the past that she continually pushes away, the present that she marches through, day by day, and the future that is coming, that she is creating, that must be better than guilt.
When she opens her eyes, she feels better. She realizes that she's smiling. In gratitude she nods to the church, and then blows a kiss to it and laughs into the December cold. She spins and twirls outside the church, hair and scarf flying out around her. The few people near her—a teenager with his backpack, a dad with his two kids, and a woman with her briefcase—watch and seem to smile along with her.
The smile stays on her face the whole way home, and when she gets inside she feels closed-in, so she goes out to stand on the fire escape. She closes her eyes and breathes in the polluted air of New York, the city of life and love and danger and shame and fear and loss and determination and strength. The city of Mimi. It swallows people up, it eats their dreams, but here, Mimi thrives. Home is what you make of it.
She hears music that sounds familiar, and this time she's sure that it's not just in her head. She opens her eyes and leans over on the fire escape, straining to hear more. It's coming from above her. She leans over further, peers up, and sees a man above her. His eyes are closed, and he's playing a song on his guitar—the same song she heard earlier in the week—a song of heartache. A song for the broken, for the scared, for the lonely. Mimi understands the song. She understands him.
He's cute, she notices, and something about him speaks to her. He's like Mimi—he needs redemption, too.
His notes finally die and it sounds like his spirit's dying as well. Mimi's breath catches in her throat as she watches him look out into the eyes of New York. He isn't satisfied with what he sees. He shakes his head and walks back inside.
Mimi closes her eyes quickly and adds in a prayer for her Mystery Boy. She wants to know him, and she will, someday. She watches the spot where he was sitting for another moment, and then she climbs back into the apartment. She leaves the window open.
Everyone is looking for something, Mimi realizes, as she makes herself a cup of coffee. She sits on the table, and thinks about her Mystery Boy, and wonders if life has dealt him a difficult hand, too. Even so, life is what you make of it. She laughs out loud. She has her coffee. She has her smack. She has her AZT. She has her best friend. She has her job. She has her life. She takes a sip of coffee, and gathers up the strength to continue for another week, another month, another lifetime.
She listens carefully, and hears the music that Mystery Boy was playing filtering in through her window. She smiles, and decides that it's going to be a good day.