"The jury finds in favor of the plaintiff, and will transfer the children Mark and Cindy Cohen to the custody of plaintiffs Roger Davis, et. al. immediately. "
The words hardly mean anything to Roger, at first. Momentarliy he forgets the words defendant and guilty, or at least confuses plaintiff and defendant. When a split second later he is suffocated by hugs of his friends, he is abruptly reminded of the words' meanings. Four pairs of strong arms embrace Roger: Angel's, Collins', Benny's, and Maureen's. A moment later, however, another pair of arms wraps itself around Roger's leg. He tilts his head backward and upside down to see Mimi standing beside Mark, who is clutching Roger's leg and crying.
"Marky, what's wrong?" Roger asks tenderly, tearing away from his friends to look the little boy in the eye. "Tell me what's bothering you."
Mark sniffles and rubs his arm sideways over his eyes and nose. "Not sad," he tells Roger, his voice unexpectedly clear. No one listening in on Mark's conversation could tell that his throat is blocked by tears. More conversationally, sounding very like an adult and yet using words only a child could, Mark observes, "Didn't know you could cry when you're happy. But I'm happy'n I'm crying."
Roger hoists Mark into the air, cradles him in his arms, and squeezes tight. Mark, who is usually largely opposed to extreme physical contact, does not flinch away but rather buries his face in Roger's chest and lets his tears flow into the suit that will (probably) never be worn again. Roger blindly gropes in the air, trying to grab the coat of either Benny or Collins, but finds clasped in his hand a lilac hankerchief.
Again he meets Mimi's chocolate-colored eyes, and Roger glares at her. "Look, if you want to have sex, I'm not in the mood," he tells her bluntly. "Me and my friends just beat you. Okay? It's like high school again. Go run along to your sugar daddy, why don't you?"
"That's not what I'm here for," Mimi tells him, and she tugs on Roger's sleeve. "Come on," she insists. "Come talk to me."
"Not now," Roger tells her firmly. "I'll meet you somewhere. I'll meet you… how's Washington Square Park sound?" Ah, Washington Square. It is the home of Roger's ex-dealer, the site at which he met April Ericcson, and the place where Roger first kissed said girl. It holds memories that are wonderful in their nature but tragic when one considers the death of the subject, and thus they are neutral.
"Fine," replies Mimi. "Eleven?"
Roger shakes his head. "Nine. By the chess tables."
Mimi walks off, her head down. Roger knows in his heart that she has nowhere to go, and it is for that reason only that he has granted her an audience with him later. However, it does not stop him from murmuring in Collins' ear, asking if he could please go with him to the park, because Mimi might try something weird. Collins agrees, but only after pointing out how paranoid city-bred boys can be. Roger takes this as a compliment.
Jacob is not seen after the declaration of the verdict. Instead, Mark is the center of attention, cradled in Roger's arms and surrounded by Maureen, Benny, Angel and Collins. Trailing behind is Cindy, watching with a skeptical eye the treatment of her baby brother. Collins, who understands that Cindy will always have a watchful eye on anyone handling little Mark, ruffles her hair before grabbing the front door of a restaurant and pulling it open. "Ladies first," he says, allowing entrance to Angel, Maureen and Cindy before Benny, Roger and Mark, and finally himself.
Mark beams when he is sat down at the table. "Daddy used to not lemme eat," he says, and it is well-known that this is not the first the bohemians have heard of this. However, it is with an enormous smile that Mark now says, "I c'n eat wh'never I want now."
"Who told you that?" asks Roger in awe, because it is very truthful and it is doubtful that Mark understands the words "verdict," "plaintiff," "defendant," and the like.
Cindy blushes. "Me," she says, and stares at her unopened menu. She is not Mark; she knows that she is allowed to eat in this company, mainly because she knows a fair amount of information regarding social dynamics, and knows that people like Roger (et. al.) do not abuse children the way assholes like her father do. And yes, in Cindy's mind, Jacob is an "asshole." This is not because she is a particularly profane young lady, but because there is no other word to describe the man.
"Good job," says Roger, and slaps her on the back. Cindy winces, but knows that by that Roger meant no harm, and smiles weakly. Maybe the musician isn't all bad, she muses begrudgingly, and decides to look at possible meals before coming to any more life-changing conclusions. (She eventually selects a tuna sandwich, because Mimi is a particularly adapt "tuna chef," and thus Cindy is used to having excellent tuna. Also, although she does not admit this to herself consciously, Cindy knows that this sandwich is among the cheapest items on the menu – six dollars.)
The waiter arrives, and orders are taken. Mark and Roger are sharing an enormous platter of some sort, and as the other bohemians order, various large bills are slapped on the table. "I'm getting government-funded child support," Roger sings gleefully. "Cindy, get something good. Get her – " he turns to the waiter – "get her a virgin whiskey sour. In fact, get us all those, except make just two of them virgins. 'Kay?"
"Just two of us are virgins," points out Maureen in between chewing her gum, but Collins whispers something in her ear and a horrified Maureen closes her mouth. Cindy watches her stonily.
Roger looks at Mark and says, his eyes huge, "I love you, kid."
"I love you too, Roger," and even though it is not the first time he has said it, this time Mark's declaration of love is accompanied by a very sweet kiss on Roger's cheek. For a moment Mark looks like a real unscarred five-year-old, like the little boys that advertise Gap Kids and The Children's Place. In truth, however, with his blue eyes so icy and frame so malnourished, it is a true rarity for Mark to look like a "normal" child.
"I love you, Mark!" screams Maureen, sounding as she does when attending rock shows. Benny echoes the sentiment almost immediately, followed simultaneously by Collins and Angel. (Recognizing their in-unison declaration, Collins and Angel share a tender kiss.)
Seven larger-than-average shot glasses clatter to the table, each filled with sour mix, although a few of them lack the vital whiskey to make the drink truly enjoyable. Mark shies away from the sour taste, sticking to his ice water, but Cindy gulps it down in three easy sips, takes a swig from Maureen's shot glass, and declares, "I like it better with the whiskey."
The ice is broken, and thirteen-year-old Cindy is officially a bohemian, like her brother and maybe – just maybe – her former "babysitter"-slash-"nursemaid."
Lunch ends quickly, mainly because after drinking so many new shots, the bohemians have little room for actual food and opt instead to take their Styrofoam containers home. (Sometimes, when no leftovers remain from their dishes from eating out, they merely request the Styrofoam just so Roger and Collins can entertain themselves by poking holes into the material and making fake snow. Now, however, fake snow is unnecessary; as Mark glances towards the window, he gasps.
It's only September.
New York hasn't had so early a winter in years. Late, certainly, but never early.
And yet here come the first few flakes. It seems impossible, and perhaps it is, but that doesn't stop tiny flecks of snow tumbling to the ground. "It's snowing," Mark announces in his tiny voice, and sure enough, it is.
True, it was briefly snowing recently, on the day of Mark's "makeover," but not like this. This is really snowing. Pressed against the wall of the diner are two teenagers, a small girl and a burly blond boy, whose lips press against each other's for a brief moment prior to their abrupt seperation. Cindy watches, transfixed, and Roger comments snarkily, "Teenagers don't know what they're getting into."
"Aww," coos Maureen, "Roger's mad 'cause he liked Mimi and now she's an asswhore."
Collins starts laughing, but then double-takes and looks at Maureen, half-amused and half-shocked. "Did you just say 'asswhore?'" he demands.
"Yes," she says smugly. "And?"
Collins shakes his head, grumbles a little to himself, and leans back in his chair.
"Hey," Roger says abruptly, "would anyone mind if we go walking in Washington Square? We can get Mark that ice cream we promised him."
This is deemed a good idea, and so, much to the relief of the diner manager, the bohemians exit.
Some things differ from the bohemians' current visit to Washington Square Park than their last one. For example, Roger upon his last visit took the time to visit his dealer, but now, to everyone's relief, he smoothly walks on by. For another, Maureen does not look at anyone other than her companions, uninterested in matters of the lips and exposed skin for the time being. (Matters of the heart, she knows, are very different than matters of the sex. Having no problem at all with loving her friends, Maureen still no longer wishes to be a part of a romantic partnership, at least for now, because she is either tired of fondling others or of having to conform to another's expectations. It is quite a change.)
The one thing that remains the same is Collins and Angel's undying passion for each other. As the two straddle one another on a park bench, Angel, not even noticing the uncomfortable nature of her oddly-tailored men's pants, trails her fingers up Collins' shirt seductively.
Maureen and Benny talk quietly off to the side, with Cindy lurking behind them due to her irrational apprehension towards Roger. Although this Cindy-Roger tension may be dying, it is still somewhat present, and she does not wish to be too close to him for the time being.
Mark and Roger are engaged in a very complex talk, telling what appears to be a fantasy story of their own creations. "And then," Roger says energetically, under his breath, "Prince Mark met the beautiful princess – or prince, 'cause, you know, you could be like Maureen who likes her own gender, I don't know – and gave – uh, the prince or princess a huge kiss on the forehead and said 'I love you.'"
"Like I love you?" Mark asks Roger innocently.
Roger coughs. "No. Differently."
"Oh, okay."
Several hours pass, and at last, Roger tears himself away from the group. "I'm meeting Mimi," he says, and he and Collins walk about three steps before being stopped by Maureen.
"You're going without us?" she demands.
"Well, that was the general idea of it, yeah," Roger says. "Glad you noticed."
"Isn't happening," Maureen snaps. "Why would you even want to? Do you looooove her?"
"No!" Roger yells.
With a satisfied smirk, Maureen falls into stride alongside Roger. "Then you shouldn't have a problem with everyone else's presence, should you?"
Roger grumbles something indecipherable – rhyming with "pluck stew" – and begins walking towards the arranged meeting place. Although he would never admit it aloud, he is comforted by the familiar footsteps accompanying him, like a rock climber comforted by the thought of the people fifty feet below, ready to catch him if necessary.
