Chapter Eleven: Santa Fe
Disclaimer: I still don't own RENT.
As we walked outside (I swear, I'm still not used to this. Me. OUTSIDE. I swear, if that song weren't so annoying…), we came across two police officers who clearly had nothing better to do than poke random people with sticks. I decided to stop and watch and maybe get a few pointers for the next time I encountered Benifer. And no, I'm not referring to couple, just an incarnation of evil. Well, it's possible that Benny and Lucifer might have…I mean, he's certainly evil enough…
"Come on, get up."
"Come on, let's go."
"Wake up."
"This ain't a campground." Wow. Those first three I can understand, but the last one…People know the streets aren't a campground, you know. For one thing, you don't have to shell out ten bucks to sleep there.
"Let's go. You gotta go." Okay, I think she gets the picture. Maybe she's just not a morning person. Or perhaps she has low blood pressure and CAN'T get up any quicker. Oh, she could SO take them to court for insensitivity to a serious medical condition.
"Christ, it's a lady," one of them groaned, and I can't blame them. If they were getting sued before, they're TOTALLY in for it now, on charges of sexual harassment. The police sticks are technically phallic symbols, after all. Then again, Freud did say 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.' But I heard that was when one of his friends implied he was gay for smoking them nonstop…So who knows, really?
"Come on, ma'am, you gotta get up," the other officer said, suddenly much more polite. Now, they just need to find witnesses to their newfound caring about the plight of the poor.
Mark decided to be an activist and actually do something for once instead of just standing around filming everyone else doing things. But, being Mark, it still involved a camera.
"Smile for Ted Keppel, officers," Mark said cheerfully. I'm not entirely sure why he thinks Ted Koppel would be interested in this, but then, a guy can dream, I guess.
The officers, while surely realizing that there is no way in hell this would every make the news, apparently realized that it could very well be used as evidence in the pending lawsuit and so ran off to go get a warrant on Mark's camera. They needn't bother, really. I'll probably take care of it for them the next time I'm drunk.
Instead of thanking us, ignoring us, going back to sleep, or even requesting a copy of Mark's film, the homeless lady draws herself up to her full height and glares at Mark. "Who do you think you are?"
Mark opens his mouth to reply, "Mark Cohen", but I kick him. We do NOT need angry homeless people learning our names and, consequentially where we live and then coming to us to beg for our mad rent-evasion skills. Or possibly finding a place to crash. And it's a rhetorical question, anyway.
"I don't need no goddamn help…" she rants, not realizing that that's a double negative, therefore signifying that she does, in fact, need help. "From some bleeding-heart cameraman." So…she's good to receive help from an ex-junkie rocker, a gay anarchy professor, and a drag queen?
"My life's not for you to make a name for yourself on," she continues, not realizing that her rant would probably have a better chance of making Mark famous than the scene with the cops.
Angel, ever the saint, quickly comes to the rescue. "Easy, sugar, easy. He was just trying to-"
"Just trying to use me to kill his guilt," she cuts her off. Wow. Despite Mark's designer clothes, we live in a literal deathtrap with no heat half the time and we never have food. What does Mark have to feel guilty for? Unless she's talking about his 'nighttime activities' since Maureen dumped him…
"It's not that kinda movie, honey," the bag lady interrupts, glaring at me. Wow. The PSYCHIC bag lady. I wonder if I could date her?
She just shakes her head, though. "This place if full of artists." So she already has a date then? Figures. Guess that just leaves Mimi. Suddenly, she stops. "Hey, artist, you got a dollar?" she asked sweetly.
Mark looks incredulously at me. Sure, we both have about 200 thanks to Angel, but what's with the sudden mood change? Is she PMS-ing or something? Unfortunately, before Mark could hand her a dollar, since, despite her rudeness, Mark would do it anyway as he's a good little Jewish boy, the bag lady snorted. "Didn't think so."
We headed to the subway to head back home when all of a sudden some upbeat music started following us around. Guess it's time for another musical number, then.
Sure enough, Angel semi-sings "New York City."
Mark is clearly not in the mood sing at all, much less about the wonders of New York. I don't know why he's so depressed, though. I mean, it isn't like we all didn't know about his 'secret shame' anyway. Small apartment with paper-thin walls, after all.
"Center of the universe," Angel continue merrily.
"Sing it, girl," Collins encourages as our usual cheerleader, Mark, is in no mood to be encouraging anyone, so Collins is encouraging his girlfriend in encouraging Mark.
"Times are shitty, but I'm pretty sure they can't get worse," Angel says optimistically. Yeah, um, here's a tip: Never, even, ever under ANY circumstances should you ever say that things can't get worse because you're wrong. They can. And probably will. And wow, I can't believe Angel actually swore. I'm just…in shock. Oh, and for the record, I would appreciate it if the fact that I've finally left the apartment and so am somehow now able to remember A-names was kept secret from my friends. I'm not sure how many congratulations about 'breakthroughs' I can take in one day.
"I hear that," Collins agreed. Wow, I never would have pegged Collins for an optimist, seeing as how he gets fired at least once every six months. On the other hand, he always immediately gets rehired, so…Or maybe he's reassuring Angel that he's not deaf. But why would she think that unless…Oh my God! Ear-sex! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeew!
"It's a comfort to know, when you're singing the hit-the-road blues," Angel sings, smiling and putting a hand on my shoulder. I, for one, am feeling distinctly uncomfortable, seeing as how it appears that Collins new…girlfriend…I think…is hitting on me.
"That anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be, a pleasure cruise," Angel croons. Hm, perhaps, but it couldn't possibly be a very good one. And Collins was smiling as he beckoned me into the subway after Angel, so perhaps he's not angry after all. But then, perhaps he is simply passive-aggressive or looking to murder me in my sleep.
"Now you're talking," Collins grins, clearly having a very different idea of 'pleasure cruise' than was probably intended. Then again, we know nearly nothing about Angel, so she could be into S&M, in which case I won't judge. Mostly because those people scare me. And Collins' excessive giggling is not helping the mental images.
Suddenly the subway started and I was thrown into a seat. VERY embarrassing. At least now, though, I can pretend that I think Collins is just laughing at me and not…Yeah…
Collins, for his part, was leaning against a pole and dancing. Oddly, he wasn't pole-dancing. I felt the need to point that out because I know that even with that particular tidbit of information, some people probably still won't believe me. Like once, when Roger signed me up for dancing in High School, we had to do some Latin American dance or something involved jumping over poles. I tried to explain that to my friends, but, predictably, once they heard the words 'pole' and 'dancing' in the same sentence, there was no chance of clearing things up.
"Well, I'm thwarted by a Metaphysic puzzle," Collins announces, taking off his coat. Oh, dear Lord, I hope he hasn't convinced himself that that's pole-dancing and consequentially deciding to strip. I mean, if Collins were arrested, since Collins knows me I'd probably be arrested as an accomplice! Or, because I'm filming this, as I film everything, I could be charged with producing pornography! But…But I'm too Jewish to go to jail!
"And I'm sick of grading papers, that I know," Collins continued, despite the fact that his new job won't even start until after New Year's. And he could just get a TA to do it for him. Or change careers. He really doesn't have to try so hard to get arrested.
"I'm shouting in my sleep; I need a muzzle." OH I SO KNEW IT!
"And all this misery pays no salary so…"Collins hands Angel his coat and then bends down, very suggestively on one knee and I'm almost positive this is inappropriate and possibly illegal, but then, I'm sure Collins knows his public indecency laws better than any, most of all me. Besides…Wait. NO salary? I mean, I could understand 'shitty salary' but NO? I mean, he's an incredibly sought-after Professor and yet he's doing that for free? No wonder he hates his job. He's probably only doing it to keep out of prison.
Okay, so apparently Collins was only bending down to pick up a used cup, which is somewhat disgusting, and is holding it out and shaking his hips back and forth. Okay I REALLY think that could get him arrested under 'solicitation prostitution.' I mean, I see a guy a few seats down from us eyeing him speculatively already and something tells me that Collins is just getting started.
"Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe. Sunny Santa Fe would be," Collins paused as Roger puts a quarter in the cup. Hm, didn't know Roger was bisexual. Am suddenly wondering about our rooming situation. Or perhaps Roger's just trying to get that one guy to think that Collins already has a client. Either way, Collins looks in it and says, "Nice." But, of course, he was probably being sarcastic even if he was smiling. Like I said, passive-aggressive.
"We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe," Collins repeats, throwing the quarter back to Roger to signify that he was still client-less. Hm, I wonder if that's how Collins intends to pay to get to Santa Fe? Roger, for his part, looks thrilled to be receiving money at all. Then Collins throws Angel the empty cup. I don't really understand why.
"And leave this to the roaches and mice," Collins said gesturing all around him and starting to swing on the pole but I WON'T THINK OF THE OBVIOUS IMAGERY! And wow, just give New York to the roaches and mice. I mean, sure mice can carry the plague and roaches can survive a nuclear holocaust but come on man! We're New Yorkers, we don't surrender that easily!
Collins, determined to give me nightmares, starts swinging even faster and whoa-ing. I decide to pace with my camera and follow him around, so as to relieve my nervous tension. I still can't believe nobody's complained yet…After twenty seconds or so, I'm starting to get incredibly dizzy and so am forced to sit down.
Collins immediately turns to Angel. "You teach?" is, amazingly, the only thing she can think of to ask. Maybe it's because Roger and I are there, though.
"Yeah, I teach," Collins confirms. Well…sort of. More 'teaching by example.' I swear, more of his students have gotten arrested… "Computer Age Philosophy." Translation: How to be an Anarchist in a Modern Society. But they don't find that out until at least the third class, by which times a few of the more boring students have dropped it and the rest are all thoroughly indoctrinated into the beliefs (or lack thereof) of Anarchy, that he's remarkably never been reported. And of course he only passes students who refused to do any homework, take any tests, or show up for the final.
"When my students would rather watch TV," Collins said mournfully. Yes, people these days really are too lazy to make decent anarchists.
"America," Angel shrugs.
"America," Roger and I echo dutifully.
A woman across the aisle eyes Collins disdainfully, but sits down with a book anyway. Guess the rest of the compartments are full after everyone in ours ran away to get some peace and quiet.
"You're a sensitive aesthete," Collins informs Angel, swinging his feet on the seats. Oh, now if that isn't a way to get the conductors pissed off, I don't know what is. Come to think of it, where ARE the conductors? Did anybody come and check to see if we had tickets? Which we don't?
"Brush the sauce onto the meat," Collins continued. I…don't actually know what he's talking about but I suspects it is not for young children's ears. "You can make the menu sparkle with rhyme," Collins says, glancing over at Roger. At Roger is trying to pretend that he doesn't know them. Wow, they must be being REALLY weird for Roger to do that.
"You can drum a gentle drum," Collins gives Angel more work to do. "I can seat guests as they come, chatting not about Heidegger but wine." Collins moves down the aisle. Surprisingly most people jut ignore him. Then again, we live in New York, so perhaps they see things like this a lot. I wonder what I can do. Surely Collins is just about to tell me.
Surprisingly, his next words aren't something along the lines of 'Mark, you can be in charge of advertising' but "Let's open up a restatement in Santa Fe."
As we echo "Santa Fe", I can't help but wonder: Does this mean I'm not invited? I'm actually feeling slightly emo about this. Probably less emo than Roger on a good day, but hey, this is a big deal for me.
"Our labors would reap financial gain," Collins said. He pointed to me, then Angel, and finally Roger and we all take turns saying "Gain." Hm, WOULD reap. Does that mean he's not serious about going? Too bad. Then again, I suppose his attention span is too short to open up a successful restaurant.
"We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe," Collins insists. Great, he's flip-flopped again. "And save from devastation," he says, getting very, very close to Roger and making Roger very, very uncomfortable. Then he goes in for the kill "Brains!" He merrily messes up Roger's hair and Roger looks like that is physically paining him.
"Save our brains," Angel and I sing, grateful he decided to mess up Roger's hair and not our own.
Angel is, in fact, so grateful that she jumps up with him and they swing on poles together. "We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away. Devote ourselves to projects that sell."
"We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe," Collins sings as he twirls Angel. "Forget this cold Bohemian hell," he continues, twirling some random girl.
They whoa again and Angel steals some guy's hat and puts it on the head of the person next to him, probably prompting a fight and Collins twirls yet another girl. You know, if he weren't gay, he'd be a TOTAL Casanova THEN Collins does some impressive gymnastics and he and Angel come to sit by us again.
"Do you know the way to Santa Fe?" Collins asks, putting an arm around Roger and another around Angel. Seriously, am I missing something between them? "You know, tumbleweeds, prairie dogs…" Collins finishes, putting his feet up on the pole that he really is far too attached to and Angel crosses her legs and smiles patronizingly at me. Because I'm left out. Again.
"Yeah," I say, because I do, indeed, know where Santa Fe is and am fully aware that there is tumbleweed and prairie dogs there. And is it just me, or did that one book-reading girl totally disappear at one point and then magically reappear? I know what that means. WITCH!
To Be Continued…
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