"I don't suppose you'd like to see Maureen's show at the lot tonight, or… Come to dinner?" Mark tentatively asked his roommate Roger, while holding out his coat for him to take.
"Zoom in on my empty wallet." Roger scoffed, without turning his attention away from the Fender guitar in his lap.
"Touché." Mark replied, letting the coat fall from his hands. He turned around before saying, "Close on Roger, his girlfriend, April left a note, saying 'We've got AIDS.' Before slitting her wrists in the bathroom." With one last glance back at his depressed friend, he slid the heavy door to the loft open, hitching his bag on his shoulder as he went, and began to descend the dank staircase.
Once on the street he turned every which way, as if hoping to find some sort of clue as to where Collins had gone. Choosing a direction at random, he walked down the sidewalk. His camera out, he peered down each alleyway, looking for any sign of his friend.
After a few minutes, he stopped for outside The Cat Scratch Club, filming a pair of strippers leaning on the side of the building and smoking. "Hey honey, What'cha up to?" asked one of them, looking at Mark. He felt his face heat up, despite the cold December chill. He switched off the camera and turned his head away from the women, doing his best to ignore them "Aww, don't be shy sugar. I can make your world go round." She said, cackling in a manic way before taking another drag on her cigarette. Blushing furiously, he continued on his way, his worry for Collins steadily growing.
Mark opened the door to the Life Café, a welcoming warm gust of air enveloping him. He sat down at a small table in the corner, tucking his camera inside his bag before pulling out that day's copy of The Village Voice. Inside he found a small square in one corner, advertising the performance that night. He felt his stomach drop, as it always did whenever he thought of Maureen. It had been a month since she had dumped him, and he knew he should have moved on by now. She obviously had. However, he remained the same, alone and pining for her.
"What can I get for you?" Mark looked up to see a waitress with flaming red hair smiling down at him, notepad in hand. He blanched, sputtering on his words.
"Uh," he stopped, forgetting his order. "Sorry. I'll just have a hot tea, thanks." He said, finally gaining control of his lips. The girl looked so much like April it was remarkable. With a pang of remorse, he went back to his paper, silently remembering Roger's deceased girlfriend.
Once his tea arrived he gulped it down quickly, realizing his tardiness. He wanted to go back to their loft, hoping that Collins had turned up, before heading to the Performance Space.
He looked down at the check, before reaching into his jeans for his wallet. Opening it up, he was dismayed to find only a quarter and a few measly pennies inside. Tea was cheap, but it wasn't that cheap. Looking around nervously, he placed the change on the table and got up, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. As the door to the café swung shut behind him he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful he had not been caught. Thievery. And on Christmas Eve too, he thought, deciding to ignore the fact that he was Jewish.
Soon; however, a slight fear gripped him, realizing what he had just done. Mark had been planning to go to the café tonight to celebrate after the protest; he wondered how the workers at the resturant would react when they saw him showing his face so soon. Surely, they would remember him. Shrugging his shoulders in and act of giving up, he continued on, turning the corner onto Avenue B. With one last look towards the payphone where Collins had called earlier, he started up the stairs, scheming up a way to get Roger out of the house and to the protest. He slid open the door and dropped his things on the couch, but before he could say a word to Roger, he heard a knock at the door.