The day wore on. Collins and Mimi stuck together, watching (and joining in) with some of the performances onstage. Mark and Roger strolled about the grounds, stopping every five seconds for Mark to interview a drag queen or to film the latest piece that was being presented. And, Maureen and Joanne were back at the stage, setting up for tonight's performance.

            "Don't start with me, Maureen," growled Joanne from up on top of the small catwalk on the stage. "You know I'm no good with electronics! I don't know why the hell I even let you…." Her voice trailed off as she stuck her head behind the lighting fixtures.

            Maureen rolled her eyes. "Well I don't either. You're better at all this than me, so shut up."

            Joanne narrowed her eyes, peering down towards Maureen. "What was that?"

            Maureen smiled and shrugged, picking up a cord and pretending to toy with it. "Nothing."

            "Uh huh…" Joanne went back to work. "So what exactly is this about, anyway?"

            Maureen grinned, standing straight in a triumphant pose, holding up the cord. "I'm protesting Thanksgiving!"

            "So I heard…. What for?"

            "The holiday is evil, pookie," she said, climbing the ladder to be near Joanne while dropping the cord. Once at the top, she knelt behind Joanne. "Its roots lie in stealing, leading to a capitalist holiday that only furthers the careers of bigots and chumps like Benny."

            Joanne craned her neck to look back at Maureen. "What's your deal with Benny? Isn't he letting you use this lot?"

            "Not for free, he's not!"

            Joanne laughed, nodding, going back to work. "I should've known. But, darling, nothing's free nowadays. At least he's not trying to stop this."

            "Whose side are you on?" Maureen asked, playfully slapping her girlfriend's behind and strutting back to the ladder.

            "I'll be on Benny's if you don't get back to work." She looked up. "Or should I say, get to work? Not that you've been working at all so far…."

            "Angry, cookie?" She bit her lip, batting her eyes gleefully.

            Joanne looked up and tossed a screwdriver at Maureen. "Screw."

            "What?" asked Maureen with a shocked attitude as she caught the tool in her hands. She turned it over thoughtfully. "What do I do with this?"

            Joanne rolled her eyes. "It's a screwdriver, Maureen."

            Maureen giggled, snickering. "A…what?"

            "Shut up and get to work. If you want to do this performance of yours, you're going to have to do something. I'm not doing all your work for you."

            "But…pookie –"

            "Don't you 'but pookie' me." She gestured for Maureen to climb down. "Go."

            Maureen grumbled but dutifully climbed down and got to work, although Joanne would definitely have to fix whatever mistakes she made.

            "Excuse me, are you Tom Collins?"

            "I am…. Do I know you?"
            "I don't think so, but you were Angel's lover, right?"

            Collins smiled gently, accepting the hand that was offered by a tall, lithe man in a skin-tight red leather shirt and a pair of black leather pants (equally as tight). To complete his outfit, the man wore black snakeskin high-heeled boots and wore a long, straight, blazing crimson wig. He was of Latin descent with a blonde short mustache and goatee.  "Yes, I was."

            "I'm Gene Morison, but I'm better known around here as 'Genie'," the man replied as they shook hands.

            Mimi smiled and held out her hand as well. "I'm Mimi. Nice to meet you."

            "Oh the pleasure's mine, definitely," he continued, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "Now, either you're the most beautiful drag queen I've ever seen or you're actually a woman."

            Mimi giggled. "I'll opt for the latter."

            "That's what I thought." He smiled.

            Collins spoke up, "You knew Angel?"

            "Oh yes! Everyone here remembers Angel," he whispered urgently with a smile and a nod of his head. "And I knew you must be the Collins she spoke of from the moment I saw you down in the audience."

            "You were onstage?" Collins asked. "Oh yeah! I should've remembered when I heard the name Genie."

            Genie nodded. "I've been performing here for years. Angel performed a few years back. Oh, she had so much talent! That girl could play the drums like a maniac!"

            "You can say that again," replied Collins with a grin.

            "Well, Mimi's got other things to do, boys," she said, patting them both on the back, "So, I'll leave you to your reminiscences."

            "It was lovely to meet you, Mimi. Hopefully, I'll see you around again…?"

            "You can bet on that. After the compliment you gave me, I'll be back expecting more." She grinned and trotted off with a wave of her hand, disappearing quickly in the crowd.

            Collins and Genie stood for a few moments in silence, both remembering Angel in their own passive ways.

            "Walk with me, Tom," said Genie, gesturing for Collins to follow.

            Collins nodded, only adding, "Friends call me Collins." He followed beside Genie.

            "Okay, Collins."

            They walked along in quiet contemplation until they reached a part of the park where there weren't as many people around.

            "Here we are," continued Genie quietly, taking a seat in the cool grass. Collins sat down across from him. "So, how come you don't go drag?"

            Collins chuckled. "I don't have the legs for it."

            "No, seriously…"

            "Oh, well… I don't really know." He shrugged. "I guess I've just never tried it. I loved to see Angel in all her dresses and fancy outfits that were usually made from stuff she found lying around in the streets, but I just never felt the need to wear nylons or high heels."

            Genie smiled, nodding. "Good reason. But, you do have the legs for it."  He winked.

            Collins raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Are you flirting?"

            "Maybe." He shrugged, indifferently with another wink.

            "Ah-ha! You are." Collins laughed, leaning back again. Another few moments of silence followed before Collins found courage to speak up. "Look, Genie, I'm not really looking for a relationship or anything right now."

            "Do you think that's why I took you here?" Genie smirked, laughing. "I just wanted to get to know you. Angel said so many wonderful things about you…. I was always so jealous."

            "Oh?" Collins blushed.

            "Yeah…." He shrugged, sitting up straighter. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really looking for any kind of relationship either, Collins, but I am always looking for friends. That's one thing I can never have too many of."

            Collins nodded. "Well, if friends is what you're after, I know of a few good ones. Come have dinner with us all tonight, and you'll see what I mean."

            "That sounds like a date," Genie joked.

            "It is what it is," Collins retorted in a philosophical manner. "It's merely an invitation. Do you accept?"

            "I do." Genie stood, as did Collins. "Just promise me there will be turkey there. With all this talk of the turkey-protest tonight over in the 11th street lot, I'm afraid."

            Collins chuckled, throwing his head back and slapping Genie on the back. "Is that what they're calling it? The Turkey Protest? Oh, Maureen will be delighted!"

            "Who's Maureen?"

            "You'll see," he smirked.

            After Mimi broke away from Collins and Genie, leaving them to their private conversation, she strolled down the streets, making her way to the lot where Maureen would host her protest of Thanksgiving, which Mimi didn't think too exciting, but had to see it, since Maureen was a close friend. As she walked, she felt her stomach churning. Something wasn't right today. She had been feeling so sick lately – vomiting a lot and sleeping even more. Unbeknownst to Roger, she'd taken a few days off from work and had slept over at Collins' dorm room at NYC, where he had reverted to his old standards of teaching Computer-Age Philosophy. Mimi had taken those days off to just sleep and rest, but they hadn't helped at all. This was the reason that she'd distanced herself from Roger lately – she didn't want him to find out she was sick. She knew of too many options for what this sickness could be – another fit from not having her drugs for too long, AIDS, or the pregnancy. Instead of dwelling on it, she'd taken the Mark Cohen approach and decided to think of other things and get her mind off of it all.

            She now found herself at the lot, looking up at the stage, which had grown in size since Maureen's last performance there. She smiled, spotting Joanne swinging from the catwalk up top and Maureen working on some planks of the stage's floorboards.

            "Hey guys," she called out, walking swiftly up to the stage.

            "Hey babe!" Maureen called, dropping the hammer and nails and bounding off the stage. She had been looking for some kind of excuse to stop "working", and now she'd found one. "What brings you here so early?"

            "I split away from the boys at Wigfest, because I need a woman's day today." She smirked. "Men just screw things up."

            "Or down," Maureen giggled.

            "Maureen, get your ass back to work… or whatever it is you were doing," called Joanne, climbing carefully down the ladder. She noticed Mimi and smiled, waving. "Mimi!"

            "Hey Joanne."

            Joanne finished her descent and slapped Maureen's butt, pushing her back to the floorboards. She then made her way down off the stage to Mimi and they embraced. "How are you feeling, hun?"

            Mimi shrugged. "Okay. You?"
            "Exhausted, but that's always the case on performance days. So what's up?"

            "Not a thing. Need some help?"
            "Oh no, darling!" Maureen interrupted, moving once again away from her work. "In your condition, you can't work! We wouldn't think of –"

            "Get back to work!" Joanne yelled. Maureen obeyed, dropping down to her knees. "But," Joanne continued, turning to face Mimi again, "She is right. You can't work when you're pregnant, deary. It's against all my beliefs."

            Mimi bit her lip, taking Joanne's sleeve. "What if I wasn't pregnant?"

            Joanne cocked her head slightly, narrowing her eyes in that intelligent way of hers. "What?"

            Mimi was frowning as they both took a seat on the edge of the stage. "I've been feeling really sick lately and I don't know what's wrong."

            "Have you been to the hospital?"

            "Oh no! If I go to a doctor, Roger will find out, and I don't want him to worry. He's got enough on his mind right now as it is. Better he doesn't worry over Mimi." She shrugged slowly, lowering her eyes.

            "Honey, you've got to go to a doctor. You gotta take care of yourself." She paused thoughtfully, taking Mimi's hand. "What are the symptoms?"

            "Vomiting, fatigue, chills a lot… umm… headaches and pains in my stomach."

            "Geez, girl! Get yourself some help!" cried Maureen, who had crawled up behind them.

            Joanne shot Maureen a harsh glare and then turned back delicately to Mimi. "If you don't see a doctor and get some medicine and find out what's wrong, it may get worse."

            "Worse?"

            "Yeah…. Better to just take the chance of Roger worrying and go get help. We all want you better, honey." Joanne rubbed Mimi's back with sensitivity.

            Mimi nodded. "I'll go later on then…. But, can I help with anything now? Please?" she implored.

            "Well…. Why don't you help us test the sound system?"

            "Sounds good. As long as I can help."

            "Anything I can do?" came a low voice from the side.

            Maureen jumped to her feet, sneering at the man who stood before them. "Sorry, we don't allow hypocritical bigots or tyrannical fascists here, asshole." She folded her arms in a huff, sticking out her tongue at him.

            "Tisk, tisk, Maureen," Benny replied softly, strolling up towards the stage. "I've been extremely understanding with all this shit you're pulling over my head, but I can pull the plug on this whole performance with one little word."

            "You wouldn't!"

            "I won't," he retorted swiftly, "As long as you make nice up there onstage." He turned to Mimi and Joanne. "Evening, ladies. Mimi, what are you doing here?"
            She shrugged. "Taking a girl's day out. You?"

            "I've come to have a little chat with my favorite performance artist." He grinned at Maureen whose only response was a grunt of disapproval. "Oh come now, Maureen! We've had our differences, but let's put the past aside for now, okay?"

            "Go to hell."

            "Aw, poor little Maureen!" he continued sarcastically. "She doesn't understand that life costs money and she wants everything for free." He rolled his eyes, stepping onstage and approaching her. "Now, let's be civil –"

            "Civil my ass!"

            "No, no. Now, if you're not going to be polite and kind towards me, I may just have to make it so that you can't even perform tonight."

            She shrugged. "I'll do it anyway."

            "No, you won't if you're banned from this lot, now will you?"
            "Benny!" Mimi cried, looking up at him.

            "You people are freaks! I'm the one who's trying to help and I get scolded like a child!" He turned back to Maureen. "Now, listen to me."

            "Fine," Maureen retorted in a huff. "You got five minutes."

            "I'll only need two. I heard a little rumor around town that you are going to use certain company's names in your little protest tonight. If those rumors are correct, you'd better change the script, because if these certain companies are affiliated in any way with Cyberarts or the Grey's Shops on 5th and 2nd street, you'll be in big trouble."

            "You mean, you'll be in big trouble," Maureen grunted.

            "That too. Look, I'm trying to do this as nicely as possible. Your little buddies are staying in their apartment for free at the moment because they can't pay their rent. I'm not a bad guy, you understand…"

            "Oh I understand, all right!"

            "Now, now! Let's not get ahead of ourselves. All I'm trying to do is set some guidelines for your protest tonight. I don't give a fuck about your banning turkey and whatnot, but leave the Grey's and Cyberarts out of this."

            Maureen strutted up in his face. "Is that an order?"

            "You're damn right it is." He pushed her away a little. "If you don't follow these little guidelines, you won't ever be allowed to protest again."

            "And Muffy will lose her estate, right?"

            "First off, it's Allison. Secondly, no, but her father does have pride, damn it."

            "I'm sorry. We're not in any way affiliated with the rich and famous, dahling, so please be so kind as to leave at once," she imitated a rich snob.

            Benny threw his hands in the air. "I should have known better to reason with you, Maureen. It's like talking to a brick wall." He hopped off the stage and looked to Mimi and Joanne for hope. "Well? What do you two think? Who's being unreasonable here?"

            Mimi shrugged and Joanne pulled herself up onstage and stood beside Maureen. They were all three silent.

            "Oh come on! Do I come out as being the devil himself because she pouts and throws a temper tantrum? Mimi, tell me you understand where I'm coming from…."

            Mimi shrugged again. "Sorry, Benny. I don't really understand any of the upper-class workings."

            Benny shook his head, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples gently. "Fine. I try to be nice and here's where it gets me. I should've known better." He began to walk off, but before he was out of the lot, he turned around again, raising his hand and pointing a finger at Maureen. "And don't start another riot!"

            Mark and Roger had decided to ditch Wigfest after only another hour of being there. Mark wanted diversity on this reel of film and had decided to play the tourist for a day. They both agreed to go uptown and stroll around Central Park and just take it all in for a few hours before Maureen's performance that night.

            They hoped a cab, which took them to Columbus Circle, 59tth Street, one of the many entrances to Central Park. The streets in Columbus Circle were littered with confetti and other party flares from this morning's Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. They literally had to step over all the wrapping and papers that were strewn about the ground. Soon, the street-sweepers would be in to scoop it all away and it would be clear for congestion and normal New York traffic.

            Mark's camera was still rolling as they entered the serene park. It was nearly desolate today. Everyone was at home with their families – something Mark and Roger agreed never to do. The loft and those who entered were all the family they'd need.

            "This is a nice change from the drag queens, huh?" whispered Mark with a chortle.

            "Yeah…. It's like we're not even in New York anymore."

            Roger smiled as they strolled deeper into the park. All the sounds of the city melted away as the park seemed to make them disappear. They could barely even see the tops of the skyscrapers from where they were in the park now. They stopped over a bridge and Roger leaned down, picking up some pebbles and began tossing them sporadically into the lake below. Each stone left a trickle of ripples surrounding it that quivered with the reflection of Mark and Roger, both leaning over the edge to peer into the waters below. Instead of seeing Mark's eyes, however, the camera lens was there. Roger laughed at this image.

            "Don't you ever step out from behind that camera of yours, Mark?"

            Mark looked startled and shrugged, turning the viewfinder towards Roger and getting a tight close-up shot. "Is there anything to see in the real world?"

            "You got me there." Roger rolled his eyes. "What are you filming me for? If you're going to be a world-famous filmmaker, you can't go on filming the dirt of the streets."

            "Is that what you think of yourself?"

            Roger shrugged again, leaning over the railing and giving Mark a perfect profile of the musician's strong cheekbones and curved chin. His eyes looked up towards the sky. "Sometimes, I guess…. What do you think? Am I the dirt of the streets?"

            "Naw, more like the gum under my shoe, I'd say."

            "I'm serious, Mark…."

            "Oh…." Mark zoomed in closer, getting an extremely beautiful shot of Roger's glazed eyes as they looked up at the darkening sky. "No, I'd never say that. I told you before you had real talent. How could you ever be the dirt of the streets?"

            "I dunno…." He sighed, letting his head drop. "I haven't written but a few songs for your film so far…. And I don't think any will do it justice."

            "Why do you say that?"

            "Your films are Oscar-worthy, Mark. How can I compare?" He turned his face towards Mark.

            Mark lowered the camera slightly. "My films are shit, Roger. Don't mock me."

            "I'm not."

            Flicking off the camera, Mark hopped up on top of the bridge, swinging his legs over the edge and sitting comfortably with his hands to either side. Roger laughed, leaning on folded arms against the ledge.

            "So…." Mark attempted to continue. "What do you think Maureen's performance will be like?"

            Roger rolled his eyes. "Who knows?" He chuckled. "Who cares?"

            "She does," he replied with a grin.

            Roger looked up, nodding. "So do you."

            "Not really…."

            Roger threw his head back in laughter and poked Mark in the stomach, playfully. He mimicked his voice, "Not really! Ha! 'Not really' my ass, Mark." He chuckled, ticking Mark's sides. "You still like her."

            "Shut up!" Mark giggled, pushing Roger's hands away. "Stop! C'mon!"

            "Tell me the truth and I'll stop."

            "No way…." He continued to struggle.

            "So, what you said wasn't the truth, huh? Huh?" Roger grinned.

            Mark growled, attempting to stop laughing, but it only made him laugh more. "Okay, okay! Fine! Let me go!" Roger let his hands fall away. "Geez…. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked touching me."

            Roger pursed his lips, winking at Mark. "Maybe I do." Mark held his stomach, gagging. Roger continued, "So…? You do still like her, right?"

            Mark shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do…. I mean, how can I not? I'll never get over her. But, how'd you guess?"

            Roger shook his head, slapping Mark teasingly. "When Maureen stayed with us, your trousers were a little too tight for my comfort."

            "Since when do you study my trousers? And when did you start talking like a 19th century author?" He made a face. "I mean, seriously: trousers?"

            Roger laughed. "The point was: I knew, and I know now."

            "Well, good for you." He stuck out his tongue, swinging back the other way and sliding off the ledge. Once on the ground again, he turned on his camera. "Close on Roger!"

            "Oh geez…. Not again!" Roger made a face. "Don't you ever want to film anything besides me? I swear like half your films are filled with images of me."

            "You don't like all the free publicity?"

            "Is that what you call it?"

            "That's what it is."

            "Then how come I haven't gotten any gigs lately?"

            "That's your fault." Mark smirked. "Not my fault your music sucks."

            Roger laughed, shaking his head. "I'm glad you find my lack of talent humorous, filmboy."

            "You just aren't trying. Remember how easily 'Your Eyes' came all that time ago?"

            Roger smiled hazily, recalling every moment of that year. "Yeah…."

            "Well? Write like that. Use the things you know. Don't try to write something when you're not in the mood. When you're ready, it'll come to you. You just need inspiration."

            Roger nodded, his tone now serious, "You sure do give good advice…. Why don't you ever advise yourself?"

            "I do. I never listen when I talk."

            Roger laughed again. "Well, I'll advise you then, when you need it."

            "That's every waking moment."

            "Well, what kind of advice to you need now?"

            Mark shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the words out, he felt a vibrating in his pocket. He heard a high-pitched beeping noise coming from the same place and his heart stopped in his chest as he reached to pull out Mimi's pager. He'd given her number to the hospital with instructions to page it when the results came in. With quivering hands, he checked the image of flashing numbers on the top of the small, black device.

            "Is it….?"

            "Yeah…."

            Both friends took a deep breath as the silence surrounded them in Central Park. The breeze flew by suddenly; sending cold shivers down Mark's spine. He replaced the pager in his pocket and looked to Roger.

            "C'mon," he whispered softly, "Let's go."

            The hospital was little less than deserted on the darkening November afternoon as Mark and Roger entered the gloomy structure, praying that everything was okay. What a way to find out if you had AIDS or not – on Thanksgiving Day, of all days!

            The doctor was sitting behind a desk in his office when Mark entered, Roger following closely behind. He looked up and smiled, nodding towards both of them. "Hello Mark." He glanced at Roger. "Roger."

            "Hey," whispered Mark, feeling his entire body trembling with nervousness. "Just give me the results so I can go, okay? I can't stand to wait much longer…."

            The doctor nodded, waving them to sit and they did. "I understand, Mark. I just want to tell you that there's plenty we can –"

            "Please, just tell me…. No discussions…. Do I have AIDS?"

            He nodded again, leaning over the desk. "I'm afraid all the tests are pointing to an affirmative answer to that question, Mark. We've thoroughly examined your bloodwork and we found traces of the HIV/AIDS virus in numerous cells…"

            Mark's eyes closed slowly and he felt his head fall slowly until his chin touched his chest. The whole office seemed to melt away and he felt his head swirling with lightheadedness. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt himself panting softly for air. His hearing slowly disappeared until he could no longer hear the doctor's soothing voice telling him this awful news. All he heard was a distinct ringing through his head, crescendoing until it made his entire body throb in pain.

            "…and we will run some more tests soon to find out if perhaps we made a mistake. Anyway, at this stage of the diagnosis it's…"

            Grabbing hold of the sides of the chairs he sat in, Mark struggled to remain conscious, but it was painful to do so. The veins in his arms bulged as he squeezed the armrests of the chair with all his might. The beating of his heart slowed greatly until it was nothing more than a dull thumping every ten seconds or so – too slow for a normal heartbeat.

            "….and I know that this can be hard for you to find out, especially with today's holiday and all, but there have been tremendous leaps of progression in this area of science since the disease was first discovered so many years ago."

            Roger shook his head. "How did you detect it so quickly after the fact? Doesn't it usually take years to set in? Mine did…."

            The doctor nodded. "Yes, that's true. However, we've found specific patterns in the bloodwork of patients who have HIV/AIDS. Mark's blood seems to fit right along with those specific patterns, and…." He turned, looking at Mark. "Mark…? Mark, are you okay?"

            "Shit! Mark!" Roger called, grabbing hold of Mark's arms and trying to pull them from the chair's arms. He did so with a slight struggle. Mark fell limply to the floor, writhing slightly as he hit the ground and moaning softly. Roger knelt beside him and the doctor was there as well. "Mark!" Roger turned his eyes to the doctor. "What the hell's wrong with him? You're supposed to be helping him! Goddamn it, help him!"

            "I'm trying!" replied the doctor, taking Mark's wrist in his hand and checking the heartbeat. "Nurse Jonne get in here – now!" He turned back to Mark. "It's all right, Mark. If you can hear me, just slow down and take it easy…. Just take a breath, Mark…. Breathe…."

            "Mark, it's going to be okay," cooed Roger from his other side. "Oh God, please be okay…."

            "Thanks, Roger," whispered Mark as he was helped to sit in a chair on stage left of the 11th Street lot, backstage, "For everything…."

            "No problem, pal," Roger replied softly, sitting beside him. "How're you feeling?"

            "Better." He forced a smile for Roger's sake and pulled his coat around his shoulders for warmth.

            Roger stared at Mark, watching his chest heave slowly for every lethargic breath he struggled to take. He watched as Mark's bloodshot eyes closed briefly, only to reopen moments later and reveal they were worse than before. He'd never seen his best friend in such a state – not even when he'd been in the hospital bed; at least then he'd looked as he should, but now he shouldn't be so bad. He'd gone into some kind of fit and was nearly dying on the floor of the doctor's office after only hearing that he might have AIDS. They still were not sure, but it seemed all signs pointed to yes. Roger was not convinced, though, since he knew more about AIDS that it seemed that doctor did. However, the doctor had been trying to tell Mark that there were plenty of treatments to try in the early stages of HIV/AIDS diagnosis. Every day they were getting one step closer to a cure that would end the pain of the millions who'd acquired the fateful disease. But, there was no cure now and that was what ate away at Roger. No matter what, he realized that this horrible illness was slowly devouring all of his friends and there was nothing he could do about. Even he himself would one day whither away and die because of it. But, he was not certain that Mark had the disease. All the way here, he'd been trying to convince Mark that they needed a second opinion – one of a better doctor than that – who might explain things differently. Mark had rejected all thoughts of this swiftly.

            But, he wouldn't think of that now. It was nearly time for Maureen's performance, and he was determined not to spoil it for Mark, because he'd begged to see it, even though he should be resting at home.

            "Well, the downside of today is that you still get to see Maureen's protest tonight, Mark," said Roger with a small laugh.

            "Hey! I heard that!" replied Maureen, bounding in from the side and peering out the curtain at the audience of a few hundred who'd gathered to watch. She smirked and jumped around. "Oo! Look at all those people, guys!" She squealed in delight and twirled herself around, but as she spotted Mark with that sorry cock-eyed smile plastered on his face to assure them he was okay, she knew something was wrong. "Mark! What happened, babe?"

            "Do I look that bad?" he asked softly.

            "Well…to be perfectly honest: yes."

            "I've got AIDS," he blurted out suddenly, sending Maureen into shocked silence. Roger jerked his head towards Mark and swallowed, turning away. "No need to hide it from her, Roger…. She should know."

            Roger groaned, but said nothing, opting to let Mark go on with what he felt.

            "Oh geez, honey, I'm so sorry…." Maureen gestured with her hands, but didn't exactly know what to do. "Shouldn't you be at home, honey?"

            He shrugged. "Probably. But if I'm going to die anyway, I might as well get to view another riot of yours so that Benny'll be pissed off." He smirked.

            She giggled, tussling his hair while biting her lip. "That's the Markie I love! But, no one's going to die. If you do, my protest would be a flop! You'd overshadow me! And no one upstages Maureen Johnson!"

            He laughed, leaning back in the chair. "I'll try my best to stay alive until the performance is over."

            "Good! But, you have to stay alive longer than that. If you'd die, who would I tease?"

            "What about Joanne?"

            She made a disgusted noise of disapproval and laughed. "Joanne who?"

            Mark smiled and threw his hands in the air. "If you say things like that, I might just stay alive for a few more minutes."

            Roger stood slowly and walked out behind the stage, leaning against the stairs' railing for support. He didn't need any more problems. One more would set him over the edge and he'd break down for sure. This was enough. Maureen's performance would give him a good laugh and maybe watching Benny try and stop the riot that would surely follow would give him another chuckle. Tonight would be happy no matter what. No one needed anymore bad news. But, he didn't notice that in the audience Mimi stood uneasily with her hand over her stomach, shivering quietly in the crowd. Moments later, as Roger returned to watch Maureen by Mark's side in the stage left area, Mimi rushed out of the lot towards the hospital.

            The audience applauded and ate up Maureen's performance, all vowing never to eat turkey again….that is, until they got home. However, to Maureen, it was a success. Unfortunately, she was unable to start a riot. No matter how much she wanted to annoy Benny and get him pissed, there was only so much she could do with a turkey protest.

            Mark had disappeared mid-show while Roger was engaged in watching the performance. No one had really noticed him as he took his camera – still filming, of course – and headed off out of the lot. He was fed up of sitting around and filming his ex-girlfriend (who was still a lesbian, he reminded himself dutifully) prance around onstage like the star of some washed-up sitcom that thought they were still big. He was tired of waiting around for things to happen and always being the one holding the camera and stepping aside to let events take place in his absence. He was sick of life itself and all the bullshit he was going through. So much had happened in only one month that he didn't know what to do. And then, there was still this uneasy burden hanging over his shoulders – a movie was due in a month and he hadn't figured out what to film. He wanted to use his old footage that he showed a year ago with the whole gang – Angel and all – but had decided against it. He wanted something new and fresh; something vibrant and alive! Now, all he was getting were shots of uneasy 20somethings who didn't know what they were doing with their lives but who complained about wanting more. And through all this, he remembered uneasily that he had AIDS. Mark Cohen: the good boy from a small neighborhood who had always done the right things – he had AIDS! He didn't even think of Roger's advise to seek another opinion. In his mind, he had AIDS, and there was nothing he could do about it. He thought back to his days of high school and suddenly wished he had done everything wrong. If he had been more like Roger, at least he would have gotten this horrible disease by his own doings and not by that event so horrible that he dared not even recall it.

            Mark found himself in Tompkins Square Park, across from the lot where Maureen was performing. The events of Wigfest were now clearing up and there weren't many performers left. But, there was still quite a crowd about. He sighed. He just wanted to be alone for a little while, but it seemed that anywhere he turned, people crowed him out of space and choked the air from his lungs. Then again, he reminded himself that this was New York – people were everywhere here, simply because there was no place else for them to go. He made his way out of the park and just started walking. Turning the camera so that it filmed him head on, he spoke, "Where am I headed…? Nowhere…."

            "Great show Maureen!" cried Collins as he entered with Genie backstage.

            "I know," she said with a smirk. "Who's this?"

            "Maureen Johnson, Genie. Genie, Maureen."

            "Nice to meet you," Genie said as they shook hands. "Loved the show."

            Maureen bowed graciously and giggled. "Glad for that! Now," she continued, turning around in a circle and looking about. "Where is that girlfriend of mine?"

            "Here, pookie," whispered Joanne, coming up a side staircase, carrying wires and a large black box. She set the equipment down at Maureen's feet. "And there you go."

            "What's all this?"

            "Your electronic crap," she replied with a smile, turning to Genie. "Hey there. I'm Joanne."

            "Hello, I'm Genie." They shook hands and he smiled. "You two are quite a couple. You do all her backstage work?"

            Joanne laughed. "Only because she doesn't do it herself."

            They all laughed. Roger came up swiftly beside them, his voice urgent, "Where'd Mark go?"

            Maureen glanced at the empty chair that he had occupied earlier. "Shit, I dunno…."

            Collins shrugged. "I saw him heading out of the lot a little while ago."

            "What? When?"

            "We saw him about 10 minutes ago," Genie replied. "That was that reddish-blonde you pointed out with the bright scarf, right?"

            Collins nodded. "That's him."

            Roger's face contorted in anger. "Why didn't you stop him?"

            "What? Why would we want to do that?" Collins asked, confused. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

            Roger sighed, realizing he hadn't told Collins yet. "Yes…. No…. Well, he might be…."

            Maureen whispered to Collins and Genie, "He just found out he has AIDS."

            "You mean, he thinks he has AIDS," retorted Roger angrily. "That doctor was a fuckin' moron."

            Collins' face recoiled in pain and Genie matched the expression.

            "Well, it's not so bad for him to have a moment of time alone, is it?" Genie asked softly. "I mean, when I found out, I spent a whole year in repression."

            Collins nodded. "Me too. And you too, Roger."

            Roger sighed. "He doesn't even know for sure… And, I'm not sure it's a good idea for him to just be wondering around NYC alone…. Is it?"

            Collins shrugged, patting Roger on the back. "Sometimes, I'd swear you could be his father, Roger. Calm down and take a breath. He's not your responsibility."

            "The hell he's not –"

            "Roger, he can take care of himself," Joanne chimed in gently. "I'd take a while off too if I knew – or even thought – I had AIDS. Being around all these people can't be good for him. He just needs to sort everything out, hun. Take it easy."

            Roger closed his eyes briefly and sat in the chair that Mark had used earlier. "If he's not back within ten minutes, I'm going to look for him."

            Genie smiled. "You must be his best friend." He bent down to Roger's level and patted his shoulder. "You're a good friend for thinking so much of him, but maybe a few minutes alone won't hurt." He smiled.

            Roger nodded, leaning back slightly. "Yeah, thanks."

            "Hey, where's Mimi?" Maureen asked suddenly. "She was supposed to bring back word from the audience, but I have yet to see her smiling little face." Maureen peered out into the crowd that was beginning to disperse. She withdrew slightly all of a sudden as she spied someone standing near the stage. "Oh gag me!"

            "What is it?" Joanne asked.

            "The scum of the earth himself –"

            "Hap-hap –"

            "—Benny."

            He climbed up onstage, finishing his greeting once there. "—Happy Turkey Day!"

            "Go away," Maureen said defiantly.

            "Aw, now c'mon, Maureen, don't be like that," he continued, slipping an arm around her. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
            "The word is revolted, Benny." She threw his arm off, moving away.

            He rolled his eyes and then found himself staring at Genie. He looked once at Collins, raising an eyebrow. "Who's –"

            "I'm Genie," he said before Benny could finish. "I gather you're Benny." They shook hands.

            "Nice to meet you."

            "Ditto," replied Genie with a smile.

            Maureen stepped between them, pulling Genie away. "Don't touch him, hun. He's got rabies."

            Benny grumbled. "Just because I wouldn't give you the lot –"

            "He's a uptown boy with delusions of grandeur –"

            "—And then you go and throw a temper tantrum like a –"

            "—Who lives in Westport with all his uptown homies –"

            "—Child without candy!"

            "Fuck you!" the both ended up saying at the same time. With a pause, both of them fumed. "Shut up!" again, at the same time.

            "You know, I've got a good mind to –"

            "To what?" Maureen asked, stepping up to him. "Wanna fight?"

            Joanne rolled her eyes, groaning. "Good Lord…. Such children!"

            Roger stepped in between them and pushed them both to their respective corners. "Both of you – shut up. Maureen, you said Mimi was supposed to come back?" he asked, worried again.

            It took Maureen a moment to cool down before she answered. "Yeah, she was."

            "That's why I came here, actually," Benny whispered, moving to stand beside Roger, but careful to keep his distance from Maureen. "She's at the hospital."

            Everyone tensed and Roger nearly jumped out of his skin. He picked up Benny by the shirt collar, shaking him as his voice trembled, "What happened?"

            "Take it easy…. She just wasn't feeling good and was throwing up. I saw her as I was coming over here to check up on the protest and I took her to the hospital."

            "Is she okay?" Roger asked hurriedly, setting Benny down.

            "I don't know. I –"

            "You left her there when you didn't know if she was okay?"

            "Well, yeah. She told me to go away, actually."

            Maureen chuckled. "She must be fine if she had enough sense to do that."

            Roger paced. "You all go out like planned. I'll go to the hospital and then go find Mark."

            Collins shook his head. "That's an awful lot of responsibility you're taking on, Roger. Can't we help?"

            Genie nodded. "Collins and I will go look for Mark. You take care of Mimi."

            Joanne sighed. "So, we're supposed to just go out and party and not care whether or not our friends are okay? Hell no!"

            "Stay here and wait for Mark, then, in case he comes back," whispered Roger, heading off already. He took off running towards the hospital – a place he was beginning to know too well.

            "So, what the hell is wrong with me then?" Mimi asked Dr. Smith, who stood before her in his white garb, holing a clipboard of information. The papers there contained whatever information she'd told him about what was going on with her – the headaches, nausea, coughing, sweating, etc.

            "I'm afraid I do have some bad news, as these tests proved, Ms. Marquez."

            Mimi just nodded, bracing herself for his words. Before the doctor could say another word, the door burst open, and Roger walked inside, instantly at Mimi's side.

            "Are you okay? Benny told us you were sick, and… God, I didn't even know! What's the matter?"

            She smiled softly. "Nothin', babe. You know me – always sick."

            Roger took her chin in his hand and stroked her cheek with his free hand. "Then why are you here at the hospital?" She didn't reply, but bowed her head. He glanced at the doctor. "What's wrong with her?"

            "I was just about to explain, but she has the right to hear it in private, if she wishes."

            Roger looked back to Mimi, helplessly. She merely sighed and motioned for him to shut the door. As soon as he did so, he returned to her side, taking her hand.

            "I'm afraid that your AIDS infection is worsening, Ms. Marquez." He looked at her squarely, his eyes reading her face. "How long has it been since you've taken you AZT?"

            Mimi froze, looking down at the ground and swallowed, shrugging. "A-a while…."

            Roger's eyes widened. "Mimi!"

            "I was just…. I forgot, okay?"

            "How the hell do you forget something that fuckin' important?"

            Her face grew angry then as she glared at Roger. "It's not like I don't have enough to do, Roger."

            "But, you can't forget that! Damn it, Mimi, that'll make the difference between life and death!"

            Here, the doctor cut in, "Now, don't worry too much. If she starts taking it again, she'll be fine…. However, the infection, combined with lack of medication, has begun to affect your pregnancy…. We can do an abortion –"

            "Oh God…." she breathed.

            "—Before it's too late, which will help you more. If you don't, you may be seriously affected and perhaps even die while giving birth. If you do go through with this pregnancy, you child will have AIDS, whether it be as soon as it's born or in later life."

            Roger felt Mimi's grip tighten around his fingers. "Is there anything she can do, besides the abortion?" Roger asked in a whisper. "What exactly is wrong with her?"

            "Her AIDS infection is spreading rapidly through her bloodstream." The doctor sighed. "If she takes her medication again until she gives birth and has a quick delivery, the child will have a better chance of being healthy. But, all the contact with blood during the pregnancy most of the time ensures the child receiving the virus. There is also a chance of her dying from loss of blood during the pregnancy. This does not normally happen, but with HIV/AIDS mothers who've stopped taking medication, it's more common. If she survive, the child will have AIDS and might not make it through the first month of life, depending… You see Mimi, you're already weakened considerably by this – hence the vomiting, weariness, and headaches – and your child has begun to weaken as a result. Not to mention, your high viral load…."

            "Is she going to be okay after the abortion, if she decides on it?" Roger asked. "I mean…is the infection that bad?"

            "I'm afraid it is very bad…."

            Mimi clenched her jaw, letting go of Roger's hand. Fearing expansion of this subject, she spoke. "Okay then," she whispered defiantly. "I'll get the abortion. Just set up a time…." She was attempting to be strong, but she felt her voice fading and quivering.

            The doctor nodded and opened the door. "We'll set up a time at the desk out there," he said while pointing to the mahogany desk before them, down the hallway.

            "Thanks." She watched him leave and slid off the bed she'd been sitting on. She started to follow the doctor out, but Roger grabbed her arm, stopping her. He looked in her eyes and held her there for a full moment before releasing her. She stood, lowering her eyes with a sigh. "What?"

            His eyes burned. "So, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "It's over and done with and there's no more to it? 'Just set up a time', and that's it?" He clenched his jaw, closing the door, so they'd have privacy. "What the hell are you thinking? Don't I get to help decide this?"

            She looked up, her eyes blazing into his. "What's there to decide?" She threw her hands in the air. "You want me to die having this child so that it will live maybe half it's life and then go too, or maybe sooner? Is that what you want?"
            "No! Damn it, Mimi! That's not at all what I –"

            "Well, there's no other choice, Roger!" she cried, her lips quivering. "What did you expect me to do? I'm dying here and now I have to let our child die too…. All because of me, Roger! Damn it, how the hell do you think I feel?" She felt tears swelling in her eyes and turned her head away, letting her back face Roger as she pretended to study a picture on the wall. "I-I'm scared, Roger…. I don't know what else to do…."

            Roger stood, silently stunned for a moment before approaching her slowly, letting his arms encircle her waist as he pressed his body close to hers. "God Mimi, I didn't want it to come to this…." His breath tickled her ear and she felt the tears falling. Luckily, he couldn't see them. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him and admit just how scared she was. "I don't know what I was thinking…. When he said 'abortion', I just lost it, Mimi." He choked on his words. "I guess there's nothing else we can do…. Whatever you want to do, I'll stand by you…." He felt her hands grip his around her stomach, tightly. He could feel them shivering. At this, he became worried and tried to turn her to face him, but she persisted and wouldn't allow it.

            "Don't…. Just hold me, okay?"

            He nodded, letting his head rest against her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. "Okay…." He pulled himself closer to her and they swayed back and forth, as if in a dance.

            Silence surrounded the small patient's room, and for a moment, it felt as if they were the only two in the world – that nothing could touch them. They forgot the problems they were facing and just closed their eyes and felt. It was so much like the first time they'd held each other that it was impossible, at that moment, to discern between the memory and reality.

            "Roger…?" she whispered, turning her head slightly.

            "Yeah?"

            She bit her lip, lowering her soft brown eyes slowly, working up the courage to say what she wanted to. "I-I love you…."

            He whimpered from where he stood and he felt her body twitch slightly at that delicate noise. "I love you, too. I always will."

            She gave way then, letting herself lean back against him, and, holding his hands against her stomach, she cried.

            Mark didn't wander too much farther. He found himself stopping and sitting at the more deserted edge of Tompkins Square Park. Wigfest was concentrated more on the other side, and so there was hardly anyone milling about where he found a drumming table to sit on. He'd let his camera film whatever he happened to pass, which included a few stray drag queens, a group of teens praising the Turkey Protest, and a tour group from Missouri that seemed a little more than lost in the big city. He almost laughed at this. Tour groups always amazed him – how little they actually knew about Alphabet City! From all the BS their tour directors would spit out at them, he wasn't surprised that they'd get the idea that NYC was a place to view, but not live in. How little they knew. As Roger had told him once when Collins had suggested going away, "But you'd miss New York before you could unpack." How unfortunately true. And yet, he sensed that he needed a break from his dismal Village life. Suddenly, the idea of going out of town appealed to him and he found his heart beating rapidly as he jumped into an upright position. He smiled into the lens, holding the camera a little in front of him, and then switched the camera off.

            "Any luck?" asked Maureen, anxious to eat dinner, as Collins and Genie returned.

            "Negative," Collins replied, taking a seat. "I'm about ready to say 'forget Mark' and go get something to eat. My stomach's been naggin' me for hours."

            "I know whatcha mean," Maureen agreed.

            "But, I can't leave until I know Mark's okay…. If Roger's worried, there must be reason to worry." He looked up in time to see Roger and Mimi coming up towards the backstage area. "Speak of the devil…."

            Roger nodded faintly, helping Mimi to a seat and looking around at them all. "He hasn't come back?"

            "Nope," said Joanne sadly. "The search yielded nothing."

            Genie looked up. "Sorry I couldn't do more. We tried…."

            Roger sighed, turning around. Mimi tugged on his jacket like a lost child. "Where are you going?" she asked softly.

            "I need to find Mark…."

            She frowned but then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, okay…."

            "You all go ahead to dinner. I'll find him." He started off, and, when he turned around, saw that they were still there – unmoving. "Guys, go get something to eat. I'm sure he's just lost track of time…. Don't worry; I'll bring him along in a half hour or so. If I'm not there by then… Well, just don't worry."

            Genie shrugged. "He's right. You all shouldn't starve yourselves waiting for him. He's a big boy, right? Plus, it looks like he's got his best friend at his back."

            Collins and Joanne both concurred in union. "Right."

            Roger began walking aimlessly, just as Mark had only a short time earlier. He didn't even know why he bothered to search for him. Maybe he wanted time alone and this would only make things worse. All he knew was that he wanted to help, because he remembered how much it hurt when no one cared – or, he thought no one cared – and when he said he wanted to be alone how much he'd really needed someone to talk to. Besides, Mark was known for doing stupid things when caught up in emotion. Although it would never be anything violent towards another human being – maybe some harsh words, at the most – to himself, Mark was brutal. He would berate and chide until there was nothing left and the only alternative would be suicide – a thought that made Roger cringe. Without Mark, he didn't know what he'd do….

            As if on cue, after walking only for a few minutes – perhaps five blocks at the most – Roger saw the familiar scarf dancing in the distance, edging ever closer. Roger leapt forward almost and rushed towards the colors, finding Mark there, camera in hand as always, but not filming.

            "Hey, Roger," Mark said with a wave of his hand and a short smile. "What's up?"

            Roger just looked at him with an odd look of confusion on his face. "What's up?" he asked sarcastically. "Where the fuck did you go off to?"

            Mark shrugged indifferently, trying to walk past, but Roger stopped him short. "I just took a walk…. What? You mean to tell me that someone actually noticed? Wow, that's a new one." He chuckled softly to himself. "If I weren't so depressed that would be hilarious, huh?"

            "What?" Roger inquired, puzzled.

            "Oh, you know," Mark replied with a wave of his hand to indicate that he didn't want to say it all. He shrugged again with a hazy half-smile. "Just that you all didn't seem to notice my early departure and that's the way it always is, right? I mean, I'm just Mark Cohen."

            "What are you talking about, Mark?"

            Suddenly, Mark's face was angry and miserable. "Only the fact that no one would care whether or not I died of AIDS."

            "But, you don't even –"

            "I'd just be another statistic of NYC, right? No, don't look at me like you're stunned to hear this coming from my mouth, Roger. You know full-well how my mind works, don't you?" He laughed bitterly. "It's a pity that you don't really know me…. We've known each other for so long, but you don't know me at all. Whenever I'm in trouble, you come to the rescue, though. Good 'ole Roger: there always…except when you need him most…. No, don't try to tell me I'm wrong, because you recall Santa Fe, don't you? Yes, I know you do…. Oh, but you'll tell me that was a bad time and that things just weren't working out so you needed to take a break from it all, right? Well? Tell me if I'm getting things mixed up, Roger, because I'm only a filmmaker: I don't write the scripts."

            "Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Santa Fe was a mistake – a terrible –"

            "Oh no! Not terrible!" Mark's voice was quivering now, as if he were mad. "You don't realize just how wonderful that trip was! I mean, to get away from NYC for just a day…. What paradise!"

            "What are you getting at?"

            "Only that I'm leaving," he replied coldly, fixing his jacket so that it was buttoned.

            "What?"

            "Yeah, I'm going to Santa Fe."

            "No! When?"

            "Tonight…. Now…. Oh, I don't know – soon, though."

            "Why?" Roger asked, fear held in his usually strong voice.

            "Why?" Mark made a mock noise of disapproval, staring at Roger with anger held in his eyes. "Why, Roger? God, just look at me! I'm a wreck – mentally and physically! I've been raped, mugged, beaten, hospitalized, and told I have AIDS, and all that within this month! Think what wonders next month will bring…. No, don't even tell me that I'm insane, Roger. Look at me and tell me I don't look like shit! Tell me that my eyes aren't bloodshot from the lack of sleep I get, simply because I'm afraid that I'll be raped again if I allow myself one moment of weakness and vulnerability in my sleep! Fuckin' tell me that I'm not terrified and that you don't know it, Roger, because if you can tell me those things, then do it – before I leave forever…." His voice trailed off weakly.

            "Mark!" Roger cried, moving closer. "I just –"

            "No! Get the hell away from me!" He cried, pushing Roger away swiftly. "Don't you fuckin' touch me…." he whispered more than yelled.

            Roger stared wide-eyed as his own anger set in. "What the hell are you doing, Mark? What's wrong with you?"

            "None of your business…."

            Roger crept closer, forcing Mark to tremble the camera threatening to fall from his hands. "The hell it's not! Mark, we're all scared, okay? You're not the only one who –"

            "Goddamn you!" Mark suddenly cried as Roger stepped closer still. "Please, don't touch me! I'm so fuckin' unstable, Roger…. Don't make me…."

            "Make you what, Mark?" Roger whispered, reaching out his hand and laying it on Mark's wrist, where he quivered. "Punch me? Kick me? What? Do whatever you want, if it'll make you feel better."

            With an exasperated sigh, Mark fell to his knees and Roger fell down beside him, gathering the shivering cameraman in his arms. The camera fell gently to the ground alongside them. "God, Roger…. I didn't want to…. I mean, I could never…I just can't…."

            "I know…." Roger replied softly. "You're gonna be okay, though, Mark…. I promise you. I'll be there for you, always…. We'll get help for you, okay? We'll see another doctor and get another opinion…. That doctor was wrong, and I know it…. Don't believe him…. I'll help you, Mark, I promise…."

            Mark trembled, hugging Roger with all his might. He felt as though he'd lost his mind. Sweeping images of his rape flashed before his eyes until he'd wanted to beat Roger senseless. His mind swirled with pictures of that night and his stomach churned. Suddenly, he felt his body jerk away and he gathered his camera back in his arms, backing away from Roger.

            "I gotta go…." He whispered, breathlessly, tears falling slowly as he started to run off.

            "Hey!" Roger cried before Mark had gotten two steps. "For someone who wants to be a part of society, who's stuck without a sense of true reality?"

            Mark glared, tears dancing in his bright eyes. "For someone who wants to write a song, who's stuck without a sense of what'll matter all along?"

            Roger sneered, turning away. "Fine, Mark! Fuck you…." He folded his arms.

            "Yeah…well, ditto!" Mark retorted, stumbling out of Roger's view.

            Kicking a trashcan over, Roger cursed under his breath, "Shit…."

-----------------More to come soon, in what will probably be the last chapter! wipes a tear --------------

---------Unless, I decide to make this The Neverending Story III ;-) -----------

((whatever happened to those movies?? I thought they "never ended?"))

hahaha….cheap jokes….gotta love 'em