So this is my first fanfic ever. I'm planning on following all of the characters from two years before to the beginning of Rent.
Let me know if you like it. Let me know if you hate it. Let me know if you want me to post more.
Disclaimer: Don't own Rent (that's why Roger and I are not dating). Thank you Jonathon Larson!
You, me, Collins, and Maureen
Mark participated in the rest of the conversation, but his heart wasn't in it. He hated talking to this new Benny—Benny the asshole, whose words only reminded him of before.
Before—just two years ago. He remembered that time as if it had happened decades before, in some lost era.
Two years ago, Collins had just finished his first semester as a teaching assistant at Columbia. Mark and Collins, the sophomore and the grad student, had found in each other kindred souls at Brown, and when Collins finished his dissertation and took a job in New York, Mark saw no reason not to follow him. Screw his parents, screw his over-achieving older sister—he was finally doing what he wanted.
And, coincidence of all coincidences, who did Mark run into on his first day wandering around Alphabet City but Benny, an acquaintance from high school, who was—dum dum dum—looking for new roommates to share his loft apartment.
Mark and Collins had moved right in, and for that whole first year everything had been an adventure. Mark found an ancient Kodak camera, set up a darkroom in the bathroom of the loft (much to Benny's displeasure), and started right in trying to film the screenplays he'd spent all his time in college writing.
During the day, Benny was always off doing something—taking classes on computer and video game design, drawing up business plans, meeting with the hoi poloi. His dream was to create a digital studio where people could realize their own dreams, if only virtually, and he was stopping at nothing to achieve it.
And Collins taught way uptown, leaving the loft before Mark had even woken up in the morning and getting back well after night had fallen.
Which left Mark alone all day. At first he loved it. His parents, out of guilt, or as a form of bribery, or something, were still supporting him, perhaps hoping he'd work this out of his system in a year and then return to school. He had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted.
He loved wandering around the city, camera in hand, soaking it all in without having to talk to anyone. He'd despised Brown because it was too big to create a true community, but too small to let him be anonymous in peace. Here, he found, no one bothered him if he didn't bother them first.
Soon enough, however, days of perfecting his screenplays and filming and developing background scenes grew boring. Mark began putting fliers up, inviting aspiring actors to audition for his movie. He started hanging around the local performance space during the day, trying to screw up the courage to talk to some of the dramaphiles who hung out there. The days grew more and more frustrating, and more and more isolating.
The nights, though. The nights were perfect.
Collins did all of his grading and writing and editing at school, and Benny was always ready to burn off steam when he got home. So Mark made it his job to have dinner ready and waiting for them when they got in. They'd sit around, eating, discussing their days and planning the night ahead.
Every night there was a new activity—a new club, a new bar, a new protest or performance. Mark had gone from his small suburban town to boring Rhode Island to this, and he couldn't get enough.
Granted, he always sat on the sidelines, filming or nursing a drink or talking to (and smoking up with) Collins—Benny tended to disappear once they arrived places—but what looked like boredom to some was pure bliss to him.
Going out at night was a chance to escape his life, to escape himself.
Still, the days were boring.
And then one night, at the end of the semester—Collins' first as a teacher, Mark's first as a drop-out—Benny came back in an unusual mood. Most days, it took an hour of food and half a bottle of wine to coax him out of his class- or work-induced bad moods.
Today, however, he burst into the room. Collins and Mark were sitting at the kitchen table, eating mac and cheese and smoking a joint. Benny ran in, out of breath, waving a flier and shouting excitedly. "The Well Hungarians are back! I didn't even know they were still together, but they're back!" He grabbed Mark's arms and swung him around the room, then dropped him abruptly. "What's for dinner? Man, I'm starving—let's eat, let's eat. The concert's at 8."
Benny grabbed a plate and fork and ate standing up—well, if bouncing from foot to foot like a small child can be called standing.
"Hold up, man," said Collins, passing to Mark. "What's all the commotion about?"
"You mean I've never told you about my favorite band? My ex-roommates? The reason there was room in the loft for you two?"
They eventually got the story out of the way-too-excited Benny. His good friend John had been the drummer for this band, The Well Hungarians, for a few years. A year ago they had acquired a new front man and had been scouted by some labels. They had cut an EP with a small indie label and, six months ago, left for a country-wide tour.
And now Benny wouldn't shut up.
"Fine, man, fine. Just, whoa, just slow down." Collins let out a low chuckle. "You're kind of freaking me out, man."
Benny grinned. "Sorry guys—it's just John and the guys were my best friends here till they left. And running into John like that in the street—amazing!"
They finished eating, and Benny bounced to the bathroom to take a shower.
Mark and Collins went to the sink to do the dishes in peace. "What is this all about, do you think?" Mark asked as he dried the last dish.
Collins shrugged. "Who knows, man. Let's just hope it all goes well. I don't wanna deal with pissed off Benny."
As if on cue, Benny burst out of his room, grabbed their arms, and rushed them out of the apartment and down to the Bowery.
CBGB was crowded and smoky. Mark was embarrassed by the small thrill he felt when he saw that his name, thanks to Benny, was on the list of VIPs. As soon as they got in, he jerked away from Benny, who rushed towards the stage and was immediately embraced by the guys in the band. Mark found a stool in a corner and set up his camera.
The band was electric. Mark filmed Collins for a while, swaying and dancing by himself in the green light, but he was soon captivated by the four guys on the stage. John was in the back, eyes closed, pounding on the drums like his life depended on it. The bassist and guitarist looked like twins, with long brown curls swinging frantically in time to the music. The green and blue lights danced around the stage, lighting on one musician for a few moments before bouncing to the next.
The heavy bass rocked the floor at his feet, and Mark could feel his camera's sympathetic vibrations as he tried to hold it steady, zooming in on the lead guitarist. This must be the new front man, he thought, as he took in the man's spiky blond hair, his face twisted with feeling, his hands and guitar bathed in a pale orange light.
And then he looked straight at the camera—Mark was sure—and winked.
Mark felt a thud and fell off of his stool.
"Marky!" squealed the tall brunette who had just ambushed him. "In the corner, as usual." She turned to her friends, three girls, all dressed in matching leather pants just like hers. "This is that filmmaker I was telling you about, girls. He is putting me in his movie!" She squealed again.
"Oh, hey, Maureen." Mark tried to sound casual as he righted the stool and sat back down. She'd shown up for an audition a week ago, and he hadn't been able to shake her since he'd given her the part of "the mother" in his new movie.
He didn't think he could've cast anyone who looked less like a mother. The strap of her skin-tight tank top was hanging off of her shoulder, and he could not figure out how she had poured herself into those leather pants, let alone how she was balancing in her stilettos.
And now she would not go away. "Cmon Mark." She stood in front of him, between his camera and the stage. "Quit filming, it's so boring. Let's dance!" He shook his head violently as she grabbed his camera away from him. "Ellie will watch your camera—wontcha, hon?" She turned to her friend.
Mark grabbed the camera back from Maureen as she moved to toss it to Ellie. "Fine, I'll dance with you, but the camera stays with me." He shoved it in its case and slung it around his shoulder as Maureen dragged him onto the floor.
Was it really only two years ago that Maureen had danced her way into his life?
They hadn't danced for long. Mark had quickly found himself in a new corner with Maureen pressed up against him, her tongue exploring his mouth. Mark closed his eyes, giving in to the pounding music and the flashing lights and the insistent tongue.
Some time later—Mark hadn't really been paying attention—he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey hey, Mark. Got yourself a little…" Collins nudged him playfully. "Good job, man! But the band stopped playing."
Mark opened his eyes with a start. Maureen grinned. "Guess it's time for me to go, honey. See you on Monday for filming!" She pecked him on the cheek and ran off to find her friends as Mark took a deep breath and looked around.
Collins chuckled. "Didn't notice the music stopping or the house lights going on? It must be love." He grabbed Mark's arms and twirled him around. "Now let's go find Benny, make sure he hasn't gotten into any trouble."
Mark grinned. "I… I think I'm gonna go get a drink at the bar or something, before it closes. I can see Benny, anyway—he looks like he's having fun." Benny was perched on the stage, gesticulating wildly, his three old friends clustered around him.
"Suit yourself." Collins shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered over to the stage.
