A/N: There it is: chapter two, enjoy it! Thanks to DivaActress for being the most wonderful beta! Please review!
Roger had flat out refused to answer any of Mimi's questions until they were back at the loft. Once there, he thrust the plastic bag filled with groceries onto the metal table, not caring that half its contents spilled out and crashed to the floor. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the room, panting like a cornered animal. Then he yelled "Fuck!" and punched the table hard enough to feel a vicious stab of pain shooting up his arm.
Mimi was getting scared. She picked up the food and stuffed it into the fridge.
"Do you need an ice pack for that?" she asked, nodding towards Roger's hand. He looked down at his mangled knuckles and chuckled sadly. "Yes, please!"
She handed him one from the freezer and then led him over to the couch. Roger's energy seemed spent and he let her lead him around like a puppy.
The ice on his hand was numbing the throbbing pain pleasantly and he took a deep breath before closing his eyes and speaking again.
"Okay. Ask away, Meems!"
Mimi hesitated a little. "Why do you think that he was your son? You haven't seen each other since high school; she could have had a hundred different boyfriends since then."
"He's ten, Mimi. Ten years ago, we'd just graduated. Besides, he has my eyes, don't you think?"
"There are plenty of guys with green eyes, baby," Mimi tried to reason, although she herself could not shake the image of the clear jade eyes of the boy. "It's not like she named him Roger or anything..."
He smiled mirthlessly, his hand clutching the ice pack even harder. The coldness was beginning to burn. "No. No, she did not call him Roger." Suddenly, he turned to look at his girlfriend, an expression of perplexity on his face. "I can't believe I have to ask this... What's your middle name, Mimi?"
Mimi felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, knowing exactly where Roger was going with this. Fighting the sudden urge to throw up, she answered, "It's Teresa. Maria Teresa Marquez." She took a deep breath. "What's yours?"
"Roger Andrew Davis."
She bit her bottom lip until she tasted metallic blood on her tongue. "Wouldn't she have...Why would..." Heavy silence. "What are you going to do?"
Roger groaned and got to his feet. "Drink myself into stupidity. I don't know."
Mimi was starting to panic. "How can you not know? You might have a son with another woman, you have to do something! Roger!"
He chucked the ice pack to the floor and yelled, "I said I don't fucking know! Jesus!"
As Mimi tried to take his arm, he jerked it out of her grasp and stumbled away into his room.
"Roger," she called after him. He paused in the doorway. Without turning around, he begged, "Please, Mimi, give me some space. I need to be alone right now."
And the door closed behind him.
Tuesday was girls' day. That meant that Mimi, Maureen and Joanne met up at their favorite diner, the Moondance, and talked just about everything guys were not supposed to hear or wouldn't understand anyway. Angel, too, had come to these gatherings. His death had left a gaping hole in the small community.
Mimi was early on this particular Tuesday. She was sipping her third coke and stared at the tabletop with such a forlorn expression on her face that the waiter, Jonathan, just couldn't, in good conscience, pass her by one more time without asking her what was wrong.
Jonathan was a great guy who knew the three women by name and always made sure to be working on Tuesdays while they had their little meetings. A bohemian himself, he could relate to their way of life and enjoyed hearing about the events happening around the loft. He was a composer and writer and Joanne had once said that only a true genius could pull off hair like Jonathan's: black, curly, and utterly untamable.
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Mimi. She turned to face him, giving him a watery smile. "You're gonna ask me what's wrong, right?" As Jonathan nodded, she continued, "You're going to be surprised, believe me..."
Half an hour later, Maureen and Joanne had arrived as well and Mimi told them and Jonathan about Roger's suspicion that Andrew Lynley might be his son...and also that he hadn't spoken to her since he found out, which had been four days ago. Maureen and Joanne looked utterly dumbstruck and shared Mimi's opinion about Roger having to do something. Jonathan, in the meantime, appeared to be lost in thought. "Lynley... Lynley... that name rings a bell... HA!" he yelled suddenly, making the three women jump in surprise. Maureen spilled ice tea down her shirt. She didn't say anything, though, but waited to hear Jonathan's epiphany.
"Linda Lynley," he announced proudly, "owns, or owned, that florist's store... The English Garden!"
"I've heard of that place," Joanne agreed enthusiastically. "Thanks, Jon, you're the best. Now, at least, we can do something."
Mimi was absentmindedly drawing little stick figures with her fries. Joanne's last comment, however, caught her attention.
"Do something? Like what?" she asked. She looked tired and the bags under her eyes proved that the last couple of nights had not been restful. "I don't want to sneak around behind Roger's back, that'll only make him angry."
"Hey, Jonathan!" a voice yelled from the kitchen, "you're not being paid to sit around. Move your ass, man!"
Jonathan chuckled and excused himself. Before he left, he gave Mimi a reassuring hug and told her, "Everything will be fine."
Mimi smiled sadly, unable to believe him. The disheartened expression on her face made Joanne and Maureen exchange worried glances.
"Meems, I know you don't want to upset Roger," Joanne said gently "but perhaps you ought to consider doing something, if only to ease your own mind. You know Roger, he's really not great about doing stuff on his own."
"True," Maureen agreed, wiping at the stain on her shirt with her napkin, "he always waits for Mark to do stuff for him."
Walking into the "English Garden", Mark asked himself for the hundredth time what made him agree to this. Maureen had handpicked him as their spy since he was a friendly guy people confided in easily, plus being, according to Maureen, "easy on the eyes".
Still, he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he met Roger through Collins, those nine years ago, Emma had still been fresh on the rocker's mind and he had talked about her a lot. What Mark had heard about her made him imagine a formidable opponent in a verbal sparring and a dashing woman to boot. What he saw when he looked at Emma Lynley for the first time was neither. She was standing behind the counter, rearranging a bouquet of tulips and looked up for a second when she heard the bell. "I'll be with you in a second," she said, her smile professionally polite.
Mark studied her. She had the stressed-out, thin and slightly nervous look he had seen quite often in single mothers in New York City. But there was something else, as well, an underlying sadness eating away at her strength. Perhaps, as a filmmaker, he was over-interpreting her, but it was probably safe to assume that he was right.
On the counter sat a framed photograph. While Emma busied herself with the tulips, he took the time to look at the boy in the picture. He found himself not doubting for a second that Andy Lynley was Roger's son. It wasn't just the eyes, he discovered. There was something about his chin, his lips, the way he smiled... Never in a million years could this kid deny that his father had been someone extraordinary.
"How can I help you?"
Emma's voice shook Mark out of his contemplation.
"Yeah, um... My name is Mark Cohen, I'm supposed to get some flowers for a friend of mine, but I have no idea what to get." He smiled sheepishly, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. Emma's smile grew friendlier.
"Don't worry," she assured him pleasantly, "we'll find something. What's the occasion?"
Now for the difficult part... "My friend just found out he has a kid."
"How lovely! Okay, if the flowers are for a spouse or girlfriend, we could go for the classic red roses..." She took a step towards a vase of long-stemmed blood red roses.
"Their not married," Mark interjected, "They're not even dating anymore."
Emma raised an eyebrow. Her smile diminished somewhat and she bit her bottom lip.
"But the baby... is it a boy or a girl?"
Game over. She knew what he was aiming for. He hadn't been subtle enough, but that had been expected. With a sickening jolt he thought of what Roger would say if he saw him.
"It's not a baby. A boy, and he is ten."
All traces of a smile were gone from her face and she crossed her arms in front of her chest defiantly.
"Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" she asked angrily. "Does Roger really think I'm that much of an idiot not to notice when he sends on of his mates here to... to spy on me?"
Mark shook his head and tried to pacify her. "He didn't send me. Roger doesn't even know I'm here. It's just... he suspects that Andrew is his son. He is, isn't he?"
"No," Emma spat fiercely, "he is my son! We got on well, for ten bloody years without relying on any bloke, and I'll be damned before I start now!"
This made Mark angry. He didn't like her accusing Roger of not being there for a child he didn't even know he had. He was about to say something when Emma held up her hand to stop him.
"Enough of that!" she said flatly, "I don't even know you. This is my life, and therefore certainly none of your business." Her gaze softened a little. "I'm sorry. I'm just pissed off that Roger didn't have the balls to come here himself, but I shouldn't take that out on you. Tell Roger to come see me if he wants to get to know his son. If he doesn't..." She shrugged and smiled sadly. "We've managed so far."
Mark turned to leave, but before he reached the door, he paused. There was one question burning in the back of his mind he had to get an answer for.
"Why didn't you tell him you were pregnant? I know you broke up, but you could have still told him."
Emma shrugged, making the tulips in her hand nod their heads as if they were wiser than the two humans present. "I guess I didn't want to tie him down. He dumped me because I thought that becoming a rock star right out of high school was not the most realistic goal. Said I wasn't supportive enough. But he was a decent bloke, and certainly not one to knock up a bird and then leave her out in the cold. He would've married me, I suppose, gotten a decent job and taken care of me and the wee one. But he would've been miserable the entire time, and at some point, it would have been too much. I didn't want that for him. He had so many dreams and in his mind, he had the entire world and all paths were open for him." Her eyes were slowly filling with tears and she swiped at them angrily. "I hope he made use of his time up till now..."
Mark nodded weakly and walked out of the shop, the door falling shut behind him with a merry jingle of bells. He himself felt as if he had just been punched in the gut. Emma's words, kind though they had been, were seeping into his brain like poison. The filmmaker tried to imagine the scenario of Roger learning about his ex-girlfriend's pregnancy, marrying her, becoming an accountant or some such job and leading a perfectly ordinary life. It was true that he would have been miserable and probably sooner or later would have blown up and left, but there was one thing he was now he probably wouldn't have been then.
Dying.
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