So I'm back with Chapter Two already...I wrote it and didn't feel like letting it just sit there until I get a review or two, so here it is.
Disclaimer: Don't own Rent. Don't own the characters. Whatever.
Roger paced nervously outside the office door, obsessively straightening his tie. It was ancient, blue and green striped with some odd stain which he had tried viciously to get rid of this morning. It was also the only one he owned, and he hadn't worn it in over a year and a half. He hadn't had a job in a year and a half. It was that exact thought that had prompted this uncomfortable ensemble of a button down shirt and a tie. He'd been working on a song for Maureen that morning, when he'd begun wondering if she planned on paying him. It was perfectly alright if she didn't, but it had gotten him thinking. Mimi danced, that was her job. Joanne was a lawyer, Maureen was a performance artist (even if it didn't bring in much money, it was something), Collins was teaching again, Benny was...well, he was Benny, and even Mark had at least had a job, even if he'd quit. Roger, on the other hand, hadn't been bringing in money since, well since April. The girl, not the month, he thought with a little bit of bitter sarcasm.
So that was how he got here, pacing outside office door in a dark, dingy boutique that looked like it was run by someone who was either very, very unorganized or a complete lunatic. Half of it was a thrift shop, used clothes, some of which looked like they were from the 1920s, and old dish sets lined the walls on the right side of the store. The other side was all new clothes, pinks and purples and royal blues, every single color that stood out or made a statement was there in some form, and two mannequins wearing neon green and pink stood a few feet to his left, staring at him blankly. But the middle of the store was what had caught his interest. There sat an assortment of guitars, acoustic, electric, and bass.
He'd been walking along, looking for a store with a "Help Wanted" sign. There had been a lot, but none of them looked like they would pay well or not bore him out of his skull, until this one. He'd jotted down the number on the sign, and a woman with a crisp, no-nonsense voice named Ms. Bates had picked up and told him if he wanted an interview, he'd best come in today. She sounded old and cranky, which was just the type Roger like to work for. He would rather be able to dislike his boss, it gave him a sense of rebellion, and a feeling that he was actually doing something productive, since he wasn't really enjoying it. Weird, he knew, but that's how his mind worked. All that brought him here, leaning against a wall, nervous as hell.
He took a deep breath to calm himself, but suddenly the wall behind him fell away. At first he thought he was passing out, since he hadn't eaten much this morning–he'd been nauseous from his AZT and nothing in the kitchen had appealed to him. To his relief though, a hand caught him on the back and he managed to reel forward with a very ungraceful swinging of his arms. Upon righting himself, he turned around, and came face to face, well, more like face to the top of a head. He looked down a little and saw a petite girl with curly red hair and black, cat-eye glasses. It dawned on him then: he hadn't been leaning on the wall, he had been leaning on the door. He couldn't keep from blushing a little. Luckily the girl didn't seem to notice his embarrassment.
"You're here for the job position, I assume?" she said, in what Roger guessed was a slight British accent.
"Uh, ah, yes, that's me. Is...is Ms. Bates in?" he asked awkwardly. This was definitely not the same person he had heard on the phone. Maybe this was the secretary, although this didn't look like a place that would have one, and the girl was dressed in casual clothing that in no way resembled a normal secretarial attire: a pink and brown plaid blouse and blue jeans. The girl looked confused at first, but then she smiled, nodding.
"Oh yes, you spoke to my grandmother on the phone. She told me you'd stop by. She's Ms. Bates, I'm Fiona Bates. My grandmother owns this store, but I run it. I understand you're looking for work?" Fiona spoke very fast, and Roger could barely keep up.
"Um, I, ah, yes. I am." he finally managed to choke out. He could only hope that speech skills wasn't on the list of required attributes of a retail worker.
"Well..." Fiona said, looking him up and down, "You certainly don't look like a drunk or a junkie. You aren't are you?" she asked, rasing an eyebrow.
"What? Oh, no. Definitely not." This was one question he could answer with confidence.
"Other than that I don't really have any qualifications. Just try not to be late and call in if you're sick so I don't think you've been mugged or anything. Welcome to the work force, Mr..." she trailed off, and it took Roger a moment to realize she was asking his name.
"Roger. Roger Davis," he said, extending his hand, happy for another question he knew the answer to. Fiona shook his hand, her grip surprisingly hard.
"Great. Welcome, Roger. Now go home, I've got to call my friend at the electric company and see if I can get an extension on my payments. The rent for this place is killer. You can start tomorrow. Oh, and try to wear something you look a bit less awkward in." With that, she smiled again and started heading back into her office. Roger smiled as well, very proud of himself for getting a job. He started towards the door, but before he could get there, Fiona called his name again.
"Roger! One more question, sorry. This might be kind of awkward, but...do you have HIV or AIDS?" When she said this, Roger froze, a stone cold fear settling over his former happiness. He took a deep breath and turned around slowly.
"I..I..yeah. I have HIV." he said, looking at the ground, "Is that a problem?" Fiona shook her head, and Roger looked up a little. "Afraid I'll seduce and infect the rest of the work force? Which...I'm guessing is you?" He attempted to make a joke out of it, since she'd implied that it didn't make a difference. A small, sad laugh escaped her mouth, and she shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at him.
"It's a bit late for that," she said, and as if right on cue, both of their AZT beepers went off. With a small smile, Fiona headed back into her office, removing a pill box from her pocket on the way. Roger stood for a moment, somewhat surprised, then turned and left.
"Ahhh, dammit, come on..." Roger muttered, shoving the key in the lock again and jiggling it around. He was at a constant war with this lock, and was determined to win. He'd liked it much better when they didn't need a lock, but after having to fend off a robber with his guitar, he'd agreed that a lock was the best choice. He shook the key again, but the lock stayed put, refusing to budge. "God-" he didn't even get to finish his curse before the door flew open in front of him. Mark was standing there, a mocking smile on his face.
"Problems with the lock again?" he asked, and Roger rolled his eyes, pushing past into the apartment.
"So guess what?" he asked, wanting to reveal his good news, but also to get the topic off of his failure with the lock.
"You're going to take a class on how to work a key?" Mark jabbed, before tossing Roger his AZT case. "I believe it's time for one of those?"
"Yeah, yeah," Roger muttered, popping a pill in his mouth and swallowing. "Anyway, as I was saying, I just did something I've never done before." Mark raised an eyebrow.
"Really? And what's that?"
"I got a job." Roger announced, thoroughly enjoying the look of utter surprise that overtook Mark's previously sarcastic, smartass look.
"You?" he breathed, squinting at Roger, "Mr. I-Have-My-Music-And-Thus-No-Need-To-Work? Mr. Anti-Authority? Mr. Rebel? YOU have a job?" Roger nodded.
"Well damn. Hey, if that's what you were doing all of today, go find Mimi and tell her. She came by earlier for...well, actually I don't really know what she came for, but she seemed a little weirded out because she thought you'd been with Maureen all day." As Mark said this, Roger nearly exploded with laughter.
"Maureen? She's jealous of Maureen? I think I might die before I'd date her, or do ANYTHING with her, for that matter. Oh, no offense, man." He added, remembering that Maureen was the only girl Mark had ever done anything with.
"No worries. And that's what I said, and I told her about you and Maureen and the bagels-"
"Damn bitch always ate the last one and tried to blame it on me!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but the point is I think she's been missing you lately." Roger nodded as Mark said this, knowing he was right.
"I'll go look for her. She doesn't start work for another few hours, I'll take her out to dinner or something. I helped some guy load a drum set into his trunk on the street today and got ten bucks out of it." With that, he turned to leave, but paused for a moment. "Hey, Mark?" Mark looked up. "We gotta find you a woman." Mark shrugged.
"Yeah, I know."