**Part 2**

Somehow I managed to walk that five feet to the table and gracefully settle myself in the chair. I poured the contents of my arms in front of him. They made a loud clattering sound and I found myself looking about to see how many people were staring at me. No one was.

His face transformed into a wide grin and he let out a gentle laugh, saying, "So, you're a big RENT fan, eh?"

"I, uh -- that's my -- I'm... my friend..." My God, I was blubbering.

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Hey, relax, okay? Breathe... Breeeaaathheee..."

So of course I laughed at that, which was good, it loosened me up a bit. I realized I wasn't looking him in the face very much. I tried to focus. Deep breath.

"Um, Anthony, I... I hope I don't look like a blathering teenybopper, I'm really more... sophisticated than that. So to speak. I mean, not sophisticated, but intelligent. Wait, maybe I do mean soph-"

"You're blathering." he said.

"Oh no!" I buried my face into my arms on the table. I wished I would just die right there.

I no sooner did that than I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. "Hello?" came Anthony's sweet tender voice. "I was joking."

I looked up at him. I think I would have cried if I weren't in such a state of disbelief..

"One of those is my friend's albums. He couldn't come. He's not old enough to come to clubs. I was hoping, if it didn't seem too juvenile, that you would sign my albums."

"No problem. Hey, I noticed you right off when I came in. You laughed at my bohemian joke," he said opening up one of the CD covers.

"You were looking at me!" I said. "I imagined you were. But I wasn't sure."

"No one got the reference. I wonder if anyone in here has even heard of RENT," he laughed.

"Perhaps not," I said. "And maybe the others figured you were sick of being associated with the show. You know, like, for example, Tim Curry appreciates all the Rocky Horror fans, but he's so moved on and he's said that. Maybe they think you don't want to be connected to one character for the rest of your life."

"Well, normally, I think any actor feels that way. Sure, they recognize that it's the role that got them going, but they want to move forward now. To the next step." He paused and looked down and his hands, playing with the cap of his pen. "But in the case of RENT, Mark was someone who meant so much more to me. The show meant so much more to me... Jonathan meant so much to all of us."

For a brief second I thought he was going to cry. "Jonathan," I said. "I've had my suspicions he was just like Mark. Would you say he was?"

At first I thought this was the wrong thing to say, pursuing the subject of RENT's fabulous, but deceased, writer Jonathan Larson. He seemed to stare through me. But alas, he finally said, "Yes, he was. He was in every character. But he was mostly like Mark."

He smiled again. "You know what else I noticed about you?" he said changing the subject, which I was partially thankful for. "Your glasses. Look at those! Those are Mark Cohen glasses! That's why I smiled after I caught your eye. I was amused by those. Can I see them?"

Not even thinking that this was at all bizarre, I slid them off my nose and handed them over.

"They're exactly like the ones I had for Mark!" he proclaimed. He then... put... them... on.

I thought I was going to die. Again.

"Ahhh! You're Mark Cohen! I'm talking to Mark Cohen!" We both laughed. "Sorry, I don't have a striped scarf." He laughed uncontrollably at that.

"You know, I hated that damn thing. And that jacket. Sure they looked good, but damn it was hot. Stage lights suck."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I've been in a few shows. One show I was wearing a wool skirt and too much make-up. I blame both of those problems on the same person, but damn, it was hot!"

We were both rolling now. To think, I was sharing theater stories with someone who had been on Broadway. It seemed silly for me to be talking about my small town high school shows.

He took off the glasses and handed them back to me.

"I like you. You're different than all the weirdoes that approach me at these things. I mean, I love my fans, and I love being at this small scale level where I can be more personal with my fans, but jeez, you should see them line up to see me! Sheesh, you'd think I was Tom Cruise or something." At least I think that's what he said. I got caught up at "I like you."

"This is probably totally wrong of me to do," he said. "If my publicist finds out, she'll murder me. But..."

I'd like to speculate what he was about to say, but I couldn't.

"I don't get to hang out with people much. After tonight I'm going to Seattle and then Vancouver, B.C. But after that I'm done for a bit," he looked serious but kind still. "If I come back down to Portland will you show me around? Someone told me it was a really fabulous city full of art and atmosphere."

My jaw dropped. In fact, it may have fell off completely. I didn't even stammer. Well, because I couldn't make a sound of any kind.

"Hello?" he said waving his hand in front of my face. "Yes, I really said that. You're not dreaming. Or is it a problem? It's okay if it is, I understand."

"NO!" I said a little too forcefully. "I mean, I'd be totally and completely honored and indebted to you for the rest of my life if I could do that."

That huge friendly grin returned to fill his face. "Then it's a date. I have to get your number though because I'd be definitely terminated if I gave that out. I don't think I know it anyway." More chuckles.

I grabbed a cocktail napkin with a soda glass ring on it. I scribbled down my number for him.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I promise I'll call and we'll hang out, okay?" He stuffed the napkin into his wallet.