"I'm sorry," Mimi murmured helplessly as Benny wrapped her in blankets and mopped her forehead with a cool cloth. She closed her eyes. "I just didn't know who else to call…I don't want to get you in trouble with Alison again…"
"Shhh," Benny crooned softly, wiping the sweat off her brow and handing her a glass of water. "You didn't get me in trouble…and don't worry about Alison. My main concern is that you get better…and you will, Mimi." He grinned confidently and handed her some of her medicine. "Take your AZT…"
Mimi gulped down her pills and nodded her thank-you. "I owe you my life," she said earnestly. "You saved me…and you didn't write a stupid, world-famous song about it," she couldn't help adding bitterly.
"I can't believe Roger would do that to you…" Benny shook his head as he got up, pacing angrily around the loft. "He was so lucky to get you for keeps, Mimi. And he does this when his song hits the charts? Does he even remember that YOU were the inspiration for the song?" Benny clenched his fists and growled audibly.
She couldn't help but smile. "You're getting so worked up over this…"
"How could I not?" he cried. "I can't stand to see you treated this way…you deserve so much better. Not some rock and roll snot-nosed punk who thinks he's Tommy Lee or James Hetfield!"
Mimi folded her hands neatly in her lap and stared at her fingers. She knew this was all Roger's fault and she should hate him. "I know…he was wrong…but I love him Benny…"
Benny shook his head, enraged. "Mimi, snap out of it! You're a beautiful, sexy, intelligent, charming girl who can have whatever she wants…you've got pretty eyes, a wonderful smile, a great complexion…" He blinked. "A great complexion that's getting pale…Mimi, are you alright?"
But before Benny could get his final inquiry out, Mimi's eyes had shut…and her arm fallen helplessly over the couch, pointing to the floor.
Your
eyes…as we said our goodbyes…
* * * * * *
"Did you get in touch with him?" Benny demanded, slamming his coffee down on the hospital's weak coffee table.
Mark winced at his being yelled at. "No, he's not at CBGB's and he's not at the loft. I even tried his new cell phone. Either he doesn't have it on, or he doesn't know how to work it." Mark nervously fiddled with his camera. "And my guess is that he doesn't know how to work it."
Benny stood up. "That bastard…" he muttered, making a fist with his right hand and clawing the wall with the left. "He just up…up and LEFT HER. AGAIN! And this time, no freaking one-hit wonder is going to bring her back…"
"Easy, easy," soothed Collins, placing his hands on Benny's shoulders and easing him down into his seat again. "Roger will come…"
* * * * * *
But Roger never came.
He never returned Mark's messages. He never returned Collins' phone calls. He never responded to letter after letter Benny sent him. And he never came back to he and Mimi's loft.
Newspapers and television reports were the only way they could see him. The great Roger Davis, with his hit "Your Eyes" climbing the national charts to #1. Playing on the Late Show with David Letterman. Appearances on radio shows and Howard Stern.
Sometimes he called Mark to ask him about something he left in the loft.
He called Collins when he was appearing on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire". (He lost at $500).
He even called Maureen and Joanne to ask for legal advice.
But he hadn't spoken to Mimi since their last fight four months before.
Not that he could have reached her in the loft, anyhow. Mimi was getting weaker and weaker. The disease was winning the battle. She had to quit her job at the club; she was too weak to dance. Her diet consisted of anything that would stay in her stomach. Her weight dropped to less than 100 pounds, and her limbs were so thin she looked like a Holocaust victim. She was so weak that she had to move in with Benny in a small apartment near Fifth Avenue. She was miserable all the time. Except when she saw Roger or heard his song. Then a tiny smile would cover her face and those eyes that Roger had sung so beautifully about turned from dull to shining.
She had six months, at the max.
.
But Roger never called her back. He had forgotten her.
