Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?
Mark drove in silence for a few minutes, then turned to Roger. "Do you have any idea about where my 'appointment' could be? I don't really want to have lied to your mother." He grinned to show it was a joke.
Roger smiled awkwardly. He didn't understand the joke, but he didn't want Mark to know that, so he just gave the awkward smile then returned to gazing out the window. He was thinking about his father. Roger knew he hadn't done anything wrong. He knew it... but that didn't stop him thinking otherwise.
Mark was a little concerned about Roger's silence, but decided that it would be better to address it at home, but first, he wanted to see about getting Roger out in public. In the past week or so, Roger had not wanted to go anywhere but willingly came to the office and Temple. Mark knew it would be in Roger's best interest to venture out so he wouldn't get too overwhelmed at the courthouse. He tried to think of an excuse to get him out. As he ran his fingers through his air, it came to him. "Roger, I think I could use a haircut. It's been a while since I last had one. Do you mind if we stop at the mall? The hairdresser there takes walk-ins."
Roger hesitated. "Maybe... maybe you could drop me off at home," he suggested softly. "I should start making dinner." It was as good an excuse as any, and probably better than some. Roger liked it, though he too could use a haircut. Robert hadn't minded as long as Roger kept himself tidy, so the last of Roger's haircuts had been done at home, by himself. He wouldn't have minded short hair, either. Less like a girl's...
Mark knew it was an excuse, so he decided to shoot it down. It was time to push just a little. "Why don't we both get haircuts, do some shopping and the have dinner out together. Then you won't have to worry about making dinner. You're a great cook and I appreciate what you do, but I think you deserve a break for a day."
"Okay," Roger said softly. He rubbed the heels of his hand across his pants. "In our nice clothes?" he asked. Not that it bothered him; he would have his own clothes clean for temple next week and Mark had other decent outfits, but it was an excuse and Roger would take any port in a storm.
"Sure. We can ask for extra towels when they cut our hair and then we can get into someplace a little fancier since we're so handsome in our nice clothes." Mark thought for a minute. "Actually, I just realized you don't have a suit. We should get you one for court."
"Really?" Roger asked. He felt nauseous just thinking about going to court, let alone in strange clothes. "I can't wear this?" It was good enough for G-d, wouldn't it be good enough for court?
Mark looked him over. Roger's clothes were perfectly appropriate to wear to Temple, but they gave him a young appearance. He looked almost lost. "You could, I suppose," he said. "You look nice in that, although kind of casual. I'd suggest a tailored shirt and tie, but if we do that, you may as well get full suit. You never know, you may need one for something else." Perhaps if Roger's appearance looked well-put-together, he'd stat to feel more confident.
Roger felt his muscles tighten. He didn't like all this dressing up. It stirred guilt. "I think this is ok," he said softly, brushing invisible dust motes off his shirt. Then he winced. He fully expected a slap for that. "Shit, I'm sorry."
"For what?" Mark asked. "You didn't do anything wrong. How about we compromise. No suit, but perhaps a new shirt and tie? And we should get you some boots too. I bet the snow this morning is only the start of winter."
"We'll do whatever you think is best," Roger said. He didn't have a lot of influence here, and he knew it. He slumped back in his seat. "Why doesn't he love me?" he asked softly after a moment. He was referring to his father, as though Mark might have some answer.
Unfortunately, Mark didn't have one. "I'm sorry, I don't know," he replied sadly. "My folks don't like the fact that I'm gay, but they still love me. They just try to ignore that aspect of my life and go about their business as usual. But you know, Roger, it's his loss. You're a great person. You're smart, brave, compassionate and you have a good sense of humor, and I love you a lot. Though, I guess it's not the same, is it?"
"No," he said softly, because it wasn't. "I mean... I love you, too." He pressed his cheek against the windowpane. The cold glass made him feel real. His father's comment bounced around in Roger's mind, and he wasn't so wrong, was he? After all, Roger figured, an impotent boy is close enough... bad enough an impotent gay boy...
"What are you thinking?" asked Mark. "Talk to me."
"'m thinkin' G-d messed up," Roger said matter-of-factly. His tongue felt heavy
"Why do you think that?"
"'Cause I'm messed up," he mumbled.
"G-d doesn't make mistakes, you know. You've got some problems, sure, but so do we all."
Roger gritted his teeth. He didn't know how to explain this to Mark. He just felt wrong inside. "Where are you going to get your hair cut?"
"There's a place at the mall I usually go to. They have four or five good hairstylists but they're not too expensive. How do you want yours cut?"
"I don't know. How do you think it would look good?" Roger asked. He was trying to gain some sense of comfort here by ceding any sense of control.
Mark glanced over at him and tried to picture different styles. It was hard to do: Roger sat with his hair falling forward, obscuring his face, and Mark had trouble picturing his profile. "Shorter I think, but not a crew cut or anything like that. Maybe we should look through the books when we get there."
Roger balked. He liked his hair long and a little shaggy, but he nodded. "Okay." He wasn't going to argue with Mark, not after that close call earlier. Besides, he could handle shorter. It was too long now even for his tastes.
Within a few minutes, they pulled into the crowded mall parking lot. Mark hoped it wouldn't be too overwhelming for Roger. With the holidays fast approaching, more people than usual were hunting for bargains. Mark parked near the door closest to the hairdresser and the shops he liked the best. He didn't want to fight the throng of shoppers any longer than necessary.
Roger took a deep breath. He would be fine. He was with Mark. He was safe. He would be okay. He unbuckled his seatbelt, gave Mark a shaky smile, and slipped out of the car. "Which way to the hair place?"
"Left when you get to the first corridor. It's not too far," Mark assured. They entered the mall and found the place easily. There were a couple of people ahead of them, so they began looking through the style books. Mark found an updated version of his usual cut so he decided to get that. He had a hard time picturing some of the styles on Roger, though. "What do you think of this one?" he asked pointing to one of the photos.
"That looks good," Roger replied, not really looking. He would have his hair cut however Mark wanted it--after all, Mark was the one paying, housing him, buying the food, checking his messed up arm. It would be ingratuitous not to give him some amount of control.
Mark looked at the picture and looked at Roger again. "Actually, I'm not sure. I don't think it's you. I'm not that good at this kind of thing. I don't exactly fit the "stylish" stereotype of being gay," he commented. "Maybe we should just ask your stylist. He or she would have a better idea."
"Okay." Roger tugged on his hair softly. He knew it was too long now. Even he didn't like that much. Maybe there was an added bonus to Mark's preference for short hair: Roger's dad would like it.
In a few minutes, Mark's name was called. "If you get done before I do, just tell the cashier that I'm paying for your haircut." He then followed an enthusiastic young woman to the back of the shop.
Roger's name was called next. The stylist who had called him washed his hair, blow-dried it, then asked, "When was your last haircut?"
"'bout three years ago." Sometimes he had gotten fed up and asked permission to just hack it, but no one had actually professionally cut Roger's hair in three years.
"Three years?" the stylist repeated in disbelief. Roger told him that he lived under a rock and the stylist laughed. "So how do you want it?"
"Longish. Shorter than this, obviously."
Mark's cut didn't take long, so he took a seat in the waiting area. He liked the cut and had even agreed to having some gel applied to his hair. His stylist had shown him how to style his hair in the mornings using a relatively simple method involving only a small amount of product. He wondered what Roger would get done. He didn't really have any preferences for Roger's hair as long as it looked neat.
A little while later, Roger joined Mark. He had the sudden compulsion to pull on a hat, and kept stroking his hair flat to cover it. Mark's hair looked much shorter, an interpretation of Roger's overzealous fears, and suddenly he thought his hair was much too long. He liked it, but didn't think Mark would.
Mark glanced over at Roger's hair and gasped. It wasn't short, but it wasn't too long either. The style perfectly suited him. In all honesty, he found it quite sexy. "You look great!" Mark exclaimed.
Roger blushed and grinned. Mark liked it. He tugged on his hair. "Thanks. You look good, too. They put stuff in it." He touched Mark's gelled hair. "Can I keep my hair like this?"
"'Course you can. It's your hair!" Mark exclaimed. "As long as you like it, I'm happy. Besides," his voice lowered significantly, "It's very sexy."
Roger blushed. "Really?" he asked, more than a little thrilled at Mark's approval,
Mark nodded, not taking his eyes off of Roger. "I think your stylist may be jealous that I get to take you home," he said softly. He stepped to the cashier and paid both bills leaving large tips for both stylists.
Roger smiled. Mark was being so nice today he didn't even mind being in public. Still, he decided to push his luck. "We're heading home now?" he asked. The mall was filled with people. He could hear the babies screaming.
Mark shook his head. "I still want to go to the menswear store down the hall. It won't take long," he promised. He wanted to get a good dress shirt for Roger and decided to cover it up by getting a couple of new shirts for himself as well.
"Okay." Roger hadn't ever been in a menswear store. When he left home he still bought his clothes at Gap.
Mark led the way into the store and called an attendant over. When he had shopped for Roger, he just got everything in Medium. Now he needed more specific sizes. Luckily his usual salesman was on duty. "Hi Frank," he greeted.
"Hi Mark. How can I help you?" he asked.
"I need a couple of dress shirts, one blue, one white, both long sleeves. And Roger here needs a shirt and tie, but I don't know his sizes. Would you mind measuring him?" He asked.
"No problem." Frank turned to Roger. "I just need to get my tape, if you'd excuse me."
Roger gave Mark a look of utter betrayal. He suddenly desperately needed to pee. "Mark... please... I don't need," he murmured weakly. Before Roger knew what was happening Frank had returned with his tape. Roger closed his eyes, feeling them water, but he just did as he was told, allowing Frank to measure him and trying to pretend he was somewhere else.
Mark knew Roger was extremely uncomfortable, but, fortunately, Frank only needed a couple of minutes to get the measurements and calculate Roger's sizes. He marked them down for Roger. Mark turned toward the younger man. "What color shirt do you want?" asked Mark.
"I dunno. Blue," Roger guessed. He liked blue, always had, since the first time he saw the ocean. Somehow even knowing that was only a mirror of the sky, he thought first of the ocean.
Mark smiled. Blue would look good on Roger, plus he had heard that people in blue project an air of innocence on the witness stand. "Are your pants OK or are they too loose?" Mark had guessed about Roger's size, but realized now that he had overestimated slightly. "Be honest," he warned.
Roger tried to pretend his pants were not slipping. Usually he kept them up with an old belt of Mark's or by keeping his hands in the pockets, but the truth was they were a little baggy. "They're fine."
Mark frowned. "Take your hands out of your pockets and turn around slowly for me," said Mark. He wanted to be sure.
Roger took his hands out of the pockets, but kept them plastered to his sides as he turned.
"Just as I thought," said Mark. "Two pairs of khakis, one pair of grey slacks, one pair of black dress pants and two pairs of jeans, if you have them." Mark also selected some ties and black socks for he and Roger to wear to court.
"Anything else?" asked Frank.
"Do you sell winter boots?" asked Mark.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to find those somewhere else," replied Frank.
"Then that will be all." Mark paid the bill and took the bag containing the boxes of clothing.
Roger protested softly. "Please tell me that's all for you," he said, low enough that only Mark heard him.
Mark shook his head. "Some is for me, but you really needed pants that fit. I had to guess at your size before." At Roger's look of discomfort, head to explain further, "Look, Roger. It makes me feel good to give you things. You deserve clothes that fit and are comfortable to wear."
Roger still wasn't comfortable with it, but he knew it was no use protesting, and he knew better. "Okay, Mark." He took the bag, though. The least Mark could do was let him carry that. "Are you ready to go home now?" Roger wanted to get back to his kitchen and laundry, where he belonged
Mark really wasn't finished with shopping. Roger still needed new boots, but they could wait.
"I think we're done at the mall," he confirmed. "But I still want to take you to dinner. I meant what I said before about you deserving a break"
"I'd be happy to cook," Roger insisted meekly. It wasn't that he minded eating out, although he was frightened. What if they encountered Robert? "But.. we could go out."
Mark smiled. "Great. It can be our first date."
Roger grinned, albeit shyly. "That sounds nice."
As they passed the pay phone on the way out, Mark indicated he needed to stop and went over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number from memory. He wanted to share one of his favorite restaurants with Roger, so he called for a reservation. Luckily, he was able to get one immediately. Once he was off the phone, he offered his harm to Roger. "Shall we?" he asked and gesticulated at the door.
Roger took Mark's hand. He nodded, hoping they would go somewhere else. He didn't like the mall, he had decided; it was too crowded, making him sweat, making it difficult to breathe.
Mark led Roger back to the car. It had started to snow lightly again, so he brushed off the windshield before unlocking it. After he pulled out of the lot, he headed downtown.
to be continued!
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