Chapter Two

Eggs. I smell eggs!

Mimi poked her head from beneath the covers and peered around the loft. How long had she been asleep? Mark was nowhere to be seen, Roger was slumped forward in a hard wooden chair with his arms crossed, snoring lightly. So where was that delicious odor coming from?

"Hola, Senorita!" The deep voice came from the fire escape outside the cracked window of the loft.

"Collins!" Mimi tried to sit up too quickly and immediately felt dizzy. She leaned on the arm of the couch to steady herself. "What are you doing outside?"

"Being quiet 'til you woke up. Thought we could share some huevos rancheros. Feel up to it?" Collins opened the loft window fully and climbed in. He greeted Mimi with a warm hug and helped her off the sofa.

"Of course," Mimi stretched a bit and went to the sink for a sip of water. "Here, help me up." Collins lifted her onto the cold metal table. He filled Roger's dirty mug with tap water from the faucet and handed it to her. How Mimi had missed Collins! She smiled widely as he placed a full plate onto the table beside her.

"Go ahead." Collins took the mug from Mimi and watched as she tasted his concoction.

"Mmmmmm!" Mimi closed her eyes and savored the taste. She hadn't had anything like this in too long. "This is delicious. Where'd you learn to make huevos rancheros like this?" Mimi asked, fully knowing the answer before Collins could respond.

"Angel loved 'em, too."

"We went by the cemetery on the way home today."

"Yeah, I heard. Listen, Mimi, I'm sorry I couldn't visit you in the hospital. I tried, really. It just made me think too much of…"

"It's okay," Mimi interrupted. "I thought of her too."

"…hadn't planned on doing anymore protests considering my performance space had been cleared for the installation of the studio. But after it was on TV and all I just decided that this was way too important a cause to just put on a shelf somewhere, ya know? So I asked my Pookie for her help, and of course she couldn't resist this, right honey? Anyway…"

Joanne squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as she watched her father nervously sip his wine and gaze into space. He never made eye contact with anyone when he was anxious or annoyed. Now, Joanne thought, he seemed to be both. Why couldn't Maureen stop talking about herself for two minutes -- or at least long enough for Joanne's folks to make their apologies and excuse themselves from the table?

"Um, honey?"

"…and Joanne didn't think that we should, but I told her…"

"Honey?"

"…need our help. I mean, I may not be a lawyer but…"

"Maureen!" Joanne kicked her partner hard under the table, causing Maureen to let out a surprised screech.

"You bitch!" Maureen snapped. She aggressively slid her chair back from the table and stood with her hands on her hips, as if awaiting an apology. Mrs. Jefferson gasped, covering her gaping mouth with both hands.

Joanne worried that her mother would pass out. She stood and placed her trembling hands on Maureen's shoulders, trying not to cause a scene at the swankiest restaurant in town. But there was no comforting Maureen Johnson. She slung Joanne's hands from her shoulders and turned to leave.

"Maureen!" Joanne started to trail the drama queen, and then remembered her parents. Her mother, obviously still in shock from Maureen's outburst, was frozen with her wide eyes staring blankly and her hands covering her mouth. Her father held his head between his thumb and index finger, as if attempting to soothe a headache and hide his face all at once. Joanne stood frozen for a second, torn between the woman she loved and the parents she wanted so badly to impress. Before she could apologize, Maureen stormed noisily back into the room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson," Maureen announced dramatically, "forgive me if I'm not myself tonight. Your precious 'Kitten' forced me to dress this way in order to impress you."

Joanne braced herself, for she knew what was coming next.

"But I believe that dressing like somebody I'm not is the same thing as selling out. Therefore…" Maureen yanked the butterfly clip from her hair, allowing her wild, curly locks to flow over her shoulders. She ripped off the black suit jacket she was wearing, revealing only a lacy black bra underneath. The restaurant patrons and staff gasped in amazement as Maureen held her arms up in victory, did a twirl, and exited into the cold winter night.

Joanne closed her eyes and sighed loudly, wishing this was all a bad dream. This was so typical…for Maureen, anyway. Dropping three twenty dollar bills on the table, Joanne quietly commented, "Goodbye Mother. Dad. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

Joanne tried not to cry as she collected Maureen's jacket and turned to leave. Before she could exit, Joanne heard her mother's voice meekly call over the crowd.

"Uh, waiter? There appears to be a button in my wine."