Author's Notes:
Sorry for the lack of updates with this. I got a little stuck in terms of ideas. I'm on more solid ground now, so I should be a little quicker. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, believe me, it's deeply appreciated. And thanks to Lola for insisting that this didn't suck, and I should post.
I held my coat around me tightly as I followed Angel into the loft. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Men and women sat on overstuffed couches, talking easily. One man was laughing freely at something his partner had said, his head tilted back and letting his booming voice fill the room. I was surprised, that he could still laugh like that, and that life could still be that good for him.
Everyone greeted Angel warmly, and smiled their greetings to me as she pulled me out from where I had been hiding behind her. "This is Mimi," she introduced me. "And it's her first visit to Life Support."
I gave everyone a nervous smile. "Hi."
"Mimi, this is Paul," Angel continued. "He's our group leader."
Paul had dark hair and wire rim glasses. His handshake was firm and his smile was friendly. "Welcome, Mimi. We're glad to have you."
"Thank you," I whispered, sitting down next to Angel on a couch and playing with the ring on my right hand. Angel put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"If we're all here, then let's get started," Paul began. "Why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves to Mimi?"
Everyone smiled and waved to me as they said their names. Gordon was a banker, and he'd lost his job after ten years when his boss found out he was HIV positive. Pam was twenty-three, and she'd contracted the virus two years ago. When they got to me, I stared helplessly at Angel, hoping she'd give me some clue as to what to do. I knew I was supposed to introduce myself to the group, and say a little something about how I was coping with HIV, but I just couldn't. It was one thing to talk about it with Angel, who was my friend, but blurting out my past to a roomful of virtual strangers was a different story.
"It's all right, Mimi," Paul assured me. "You can just listen for now." He glanced around the room. "Does anyone want to talk?"
"I do," Angel answered. She smiled at me, and turned back to the group. "I was a nervous wreck my first time too. But it helps to talk with people who understand." She paused for a moment. "I was nineteen when I got HIV. I got it from my dance instructor."
I was listening intently. Angel had never talked about how she'd gotten the virus, and I hadn't wanted to pry.
"Ever since I was a boy, I wanted to be a ballet dancer," she continued. "My father didn't like it, but my mother always managed to scrape up enough money to pay for lessons. Then she died when I was ten. My father wouldn't pay for lessons--he said they were a waste of time. But I kept dancing on my own, and when I was sixteen, I won a scholarship to a ballet school."
She went on to talk about how she'd moved away from home, and how her dance teacher Julian became the father figure in her life. "Things happened slowly between us. I was young, yes, but I never felt taken advantage of. Julian made me feel like I could be anything I wanted to be. I loved him for that.
"Then he started to get sick," she continued. "He kept saying he was fine, and wouldn't go see the doctor. By the time he finally went, he was so sick he had to go into the hospital right away. He died a week later."
Angel paused for a moment, wiping away a single tear that was trickling down her cheek. "I stopped dancing when Julian died. I know he would have been disappointed, but ballet had always come from the heart for me, and it died with Julian. I was angry for a long time after that. I'd lost my friend, my lover, the rest of my life…" She cleared her throat. "But then I came here, and began to realize that there can be life after HIV, if you're brave enough to accept it."
I hugged Angel, not caring that the rest of the room saw me. I whispered how worry I was about Julian. Then I turned back to the rest of the group, and began my story.
When I got home that night, I took my AZT for the first time.
*************
It was a cold day in March when I found the lock on my door. I'd been fighting off another cold, and was returning from a pilgrimage to the grocery store for vitamin C and cough drops. I saw the white paper posted to the door before I noticed the large, ugly padlock.
To the resident in Apartment #3C,
It has come to our attention that you have not paid the required rent for two months. You have three days to come up with the required amount, plus a ten percent late fee. If we have not received the rent by that time, your belongings will be seized in lieu of payment.
Sincerely,
Benjamin Coffin III
Founder, Cyberarts Industries
I slumped against the wall and burst into tears. There was no way in hell I could make enough money in three nights. I'd be homeless by week's end, and considering how cold it had been lately, I'd probably be dead by the end of the month. I'd never lived on the streets, but Angel had told me stories that terrified me, tales of thugs who'd beat you and leave you for dead just to steal your coat, and of eating garbage just to survive. Maybe I could have made it a year ago, but not with HIV. What would I do when my AZT ran out?
God, Mimi, get a grip on yourself, I thought furiously, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. Crying your eyes out isn't going to do a whole lot of good. I sniffed, and searched my purse for a Kleenex to blow my nose. Ironic, wasn't it? Not two months ago I'd longed to be dead, and now here I was, fighting to stay alive.
And I would fight. Dammit, I'd been through far worse than this. There were homeless shelters after all, or I'm sure Angel would let me stay with her until I got back on my feet again. That brought me to the realization that I didn't actually know where Angel lived, but wherever that was, I was sure she'd know somewhere I could go.
But first, before I imposed on my friends or gave this up as a lost cause, I would fight. Whoever this Benjamin Coffin III was, he had to be human. He had to have people he loved and cared about. Maybe he had a daughter or sister my age. Would he really turn an eighteen year old girl out into the streets to die? If he was, then damn it, he'd have to look me in the face as he did so.
I snatched the paper off the door. The address was printed right there in the letterhead, Cyberarts Studios, 35 Avenue A, Suite #300. I folded the paper and slipped it into my purse, grabbing my groceries before I left. They were all I owned at this point, and I'd be damned if I'd give those up too. I squared my shoulders and started downstairs, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the coughing fit that seized my body and made me gasp for air when it was over.
I was going to fix this. There was no other option.
*****************
I found the building with little trouble. It was located in a dingy grey building, and the carpet in the office was stained and dirty. I found it hard to believe that someone who worked in a place like this could hold the power to turn me out of my home. Either this business had to be very new, or very broke.
There was a desk for a secretary, but no one in sight. Just as well, I thought to myself. I continued on back to the offices. I found the one I was looking for almost right away. The name Benjamin Coffin III, Founder was stenciled in a shiny brass plaque by the door, which was slightly ajar. I raised my hand and knocked.
"Alison, honey, I'll be done in a minute," a deep male voice answered. "I'm just waiting for a phone call from my builder."
"Uh…" I couldn't think of any way to reply to this, so I pushed the door open a bit more and slipped into the room.
The man was staring transfixed at the computer screen, his fingers racing across the keyboard. It gave me the perfect opportunity to study him, and it hit me about three seconds into it.
I knew him.
He had been a regular at the club for quite awhile. I'd given him several lap dances, and he liked to tuck the money into my top, instead of the bottom like most guys did. Then he disappeared for awhile, then suddenly he was back with a slew of guys. His bachelor party, one of the other girls had told me. Most of the guys got drunk and rowdy by midnight. I'd had a couple of shots myself, thanks to the men who insisted on buying them from me. Somehow this guy and I ended up in one of the back rooms, my hands under his shirt, his fumbling with the clasp on my bra.
I had been the one to pull away, coming to my senses and realizing that this wasn't a good idea on so many levels. I'd given him the excuse that he was getting married soon, and I didn't want to cause trouble between his wife and him. He agreed somewhat reluctantly, we returned to the party, and that was the end of it.
"There." He finished typing with a flourish, then turned to me, a broad smile on his face. "All--" The smile dropped off his face, replaced by a tight, formal one. "How may I help you?"
I swallowed, fingering the letter in my purse with my right hand. Well, now, wasn't I making a spectacular case?
"Uh, my name is Mimi Marquez," I began, finally regaining control over my voice. "I got this today."
I shoved the letter at him, and he scanned it briefly before looking back up at me. "Well, Miss Marquez, what do you propose we do?"
"I know you must hear this a lot," I plunged ahead. "I'm normally very good at paying my rent. It's just that I've been sick a lot, and I haven't been able to work. If you could give me a little longer, just a week, I could have that money for you, I promise."
He frowned. "Miss Marquez, I'm the owner of a business. My employees depend on me, and I can't exactly tell them I can't pay them because my tenants won't pay their rent. That doesn't sound very fair, does it?"
"Please," I begged. "I'll pay whatever you want. I just need a little more time."
"You've already had two months," he pointed out. "How much more time do you need?"
"You don't understand," I insisted. "I've had a lot going on in the last few months. I need this apartment. I couldn't make it on the streets in the condition I'm in now."
He shrugged. "You look perfectly healthy to me. I'm terribly sorry, Miss Marquez, but I do have a reputation to uphold, and people who depend on me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."
At that point, I had two options. I could either burst into tears again, or storm out in a huff. I decided on the latter. It would be a cold day in hell before I'd cry in front of this heartless bastard.
"All right, fine," I spat, snatching my purse up from his desk. "Just know that if I die, my blood will be on your hands."
"Excuse me?"
"You're about to evict an eighteen year old with HIV from the only home she has," I continued. "Like my mother used to say, honra y dinero se ganan despacio y se pierden ligero." I spun on my heel and stormed toward the door.
"What did you say?" he asked, standing up.
I shot him a withering glare. "I said, reputation and money are earned slowly and lost quickly."
"No, about HIV," he continued. It might have been my imagination, but his face looked somehow softer. "You have AIDS?"
"Don't worry, it's not contagious," I said bitterly. "You won't catch any germs from screwing me over."
He walked over to me and put a hand on my arm. "Have a seat, Mimi. Let's see if we can work this out."
Sorry for the lack of updates with this. I got a little stuck in terms of ideas. I'm on more solid ground now, so I should be a little quicker. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, believe me, it's deeply appreciated. And thanks to Lola for insisting that this didn't suck, and I should post.
I held my coat around me tightly as I followed Angel into the loft. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Men and women sat on overstuffed couches, talking easily. One man was laughing freely at something his partner had said, his head tilted back and letting his booming voice fill the room. I was surprised, that he could still laugh like that, and that life could still be that good for him.
Everyone greeted Angel warmly, and smiled their greetings to me as she pulled me out from where I had been hiding behind her. "This is Mimi," she introduced me. "And it's her first visit to Life Support."
I gave everyone a nervous smile. "Hi."
"Mimi, this is Paul," Angel continued. "He's our group leader."
Paul had dark hair and wire rim glasses. His handshake was firm and his smile was friendly. "Welcome, Mimi. We're glad to have you."
"Thank you," I whispered, sitting down next to Angel on a couch and playing with the ring on my right hand. Angel put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"If we're all here, then let's get started," Paul began. "Why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves to Mimi?"
Everyone smiled and waved to me as they said their names. Gordon was a banker, and he'd lost his job after ten years when his boss found out he was HIV positive. Pam was twenty-three, and she'd contracted the virus two years ago. When they got to me, I stared helplessly at Angel, hoping she'd give me some clue as to what to do. I knew I was supposed to introduce myself to the group, and say a little something about how I was coping with HIV, but I just couldn't. It was one thing to talk about it with Angel, who was my friend, but blurting out my past to a roomful of virtual strangers was a different story.
"It's all right, Mimi," Paul assured me. "You can just listen for now." He glanced around the room. "Does anyone want to talk?"
"I do," Angel answered. She smiled at me, and turned back to the group. "I was a nervous wreck my first time too. But it helps to talk with people who understand." She paused for a moment. "I was nineteen when I got HIV. I got it from my dance instructor."
I was listening intently. Angel had never talked about how she'd gotten the virus, and I hadn't wanted to pry.
"Ever since I was a boy, I wanted to be a ballet dancer," she continued. "My father didn't like it, but my mother always managed to scrape up enough money to pay for lessons. Then she died when I was ten. My father wouldn't pay for lessons--he said they were a waste of time. But I kept dancing on my own, and when I was sixteen, I won a scholarship to a ballet school."
She went on to talk about how she'd moved away from home, and how her dance teacher Julian became the father figure in her life. "Things happened slowly between us. I was young, yes, but I never felt taken advantage of. Julian made me feel like I could be anything I wanted to be. I loved him for that.
"Then he started to get sick," she continued. "He kept saying he was fine, and wouldn't go see the doctor. By the time he finally went, he was so sick he had to go into the hospital right away. He died a week later."
Angel paused for a moment, wiping away a single tear that was trickling down her cheek. "I stopped dancing when Julian died. I know he would have been disappointed, but ballet had always come from the heart for me, and it died with Julian. I was angry for a long time after that. I'd lost my friend, my lover, the rest of my life…" She cleared her throat. "But then I came here, and began to realize that there can be life after HIV, if you're brave enough to accept it."
I hugged Angel, not caring that the rest of the room saw me. I whispered how worry I was about Julian. Then I turned back to the rest of the group, and began my story.
When I got home that night, I took my AZT for the first time.
*************
It was a cold day in March when I found the lock on my door. I'd been fighting off another cold, and was returning from a pilgrimage to the grocery store for vitamin C and cough drops. I saw the white paper posted to the door before I noticed the large, ugly padlock.
To the resident in Apartment #3C,
It has come to our attention that you have not paid the required rent for two months. You have three days to come up with the required amount, plus a ten percent late fee. If we have not received the rent by that time, your belongings will be seized in lieu of payment.
Sincerely,
Benjamin Coffin III
Founder, Cyberarts Industries
I slumped against the wall and burst into tears. There was no way in hell I could make enough money in three nights. I'd be homeless by week's end, and considering how cold it had been lately, I'd probably be dead by the end of the month. I'd never lived on the streets, but Angel had told me stories that terrified me, tales of thugs who'd beat you and leave you for dead just to steal your coat, and of eating garbage just to survive. Maybe I could have made it a year ago, but not with HIV. What would I do when my AZT ran out?
God, Mimi, get a grip on yourself, I thought furiously, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. Crying your eyes out isn't going to do a whole lot of good. I sniffed, and searched my purse for a Kleenex to blow my nose. Ironic, wasn't it? Not two months ago I'd longed to be dead, and now here I was, fighting to stay alive.
And I would fight. Dammit, I'd been through far worse than this. There were homeless shelters after all, or I'm sure Angel would let me stay with her until I got back on my feet again. That brought me to the realization that I didn't actually know where Angel lived, but wherever that was, I was sure she'd know somewhere I could go.
But first, before I imposed on my friends or gave this up as a lost cause, I would fight. Whoever this Benjamin Coffin III was, he had to be human. He had to have people he loved and cared about. Maybe he had a daughter or sister my age. Would he really turn an eighteen year old girl out into the streets to die? If he was, then damn it, he'd have to look me in the face as he did so.
I snatched the paper off the door. The address was printed right there in the letterhead, Cyberarts Studios, 35 Avenue A, Suite #300. I folded the paper and slipped it into my purse, grabbing my groceries before I left. They were all I owned at this point, and I'd be damned if I'd give those up too. I squared my shoulders and started downstairs, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the coughing fit that seized my body and made me gasp for air when it was over.
I was going to fix this. There was no other option.
*****************
I found the building with little trouble. It was located in a dingy grey building, and the carpet in the office was stained and dirty. I found it hard to believe that someone who worked in a place like this could hold the power to turn me out of my home. Either this business had to be very new, or very broke.
There was a desk for a secretary, but no one in sight. Just as well, I thought to myself. I continued on back to the offices. I found the one I was looking for almost right away. The name Benjamin Coffin III, Founder was stenciled in a shiny brass plaque by the door, which was slightly ajar. I raised my hand and knocked.
"Alison, honey, I'll be done in a minute," a deep male voice answered. "I'm just waiting for a phone call from my builder."
"Uh…" I couldn't think of any way to reply to this, so I pushed the door open a bit more and slipped into the room.
The man was staring transfixed at the computer screen, his fingers racing across the keyboard. It gave me the perfect opportunity to study him, and it hit me about three seconds into it.
I knew him.
He had been a regular at the club for quite awhile. I'd given him several lap dances, and he liked to tuck the money into my top, instead of the bottom like most guys did. Then he disappeared for awhile, then suddenly he was back with a slew of guys. His bachelor party, one of the other girls had told me. Most of the guys got drunk and rowdy by midnight. I'd had a couple of shots myself, thanks to the men who insisted on buying them from me. Somehow this guy and I ended up in one of the back rooms, my hands under his shirt, his fumbling with the clasp on my bra.
I had been the one to pull away, coming to my senses and realizing that this wasn't a good idea on so many levels. I'd given him the excuse that he was getting married soon, and I didn't want to cause trouble between his wife and him. He agreed somewhat reluctantly, we returned to the party, and that was the end of it.
"There." He finished typing with a flourish, then turned to me, a broad smile on his face. "All--" The smile dropped off his face, replaced by a tight, formal one. "How may I help you?"
I swallowed, fingering the letter in my purse with my right hand. Well, now, wasn't I making a spectacular case?
"Uh, my name is Mimi Marquez," I began, finally regaining control over my voice. "I got this today."
I shoved the letter at him, and he scanned it briefly before looking back up at me. "Well, Miss Marquez, what do you propose we do?"
"I know you must hear this a lot," I plunged ahead. "I'm normally very good at paying my rent. It's just that I've been sick a lot, and I haven't been able to work. If you could give me a little longer, just a week, I could have that money for you, I promise."
He frowned. "Miss Marquez, I'm the owner of a business. My employees depend on me, and I can't exactly tell them I can't pay them because my tenants won't pay their rent. That doesn't sound very fair, does it?"
"Please," I begged. "I'll pay whatever you want. I just need a little more time."
"You've already had two months," he pointed out. "How much more time do you need?"
"You don't understand," I insisted. "I've had a lot going on in the last few months. I need this apartment. I couldn't make it on the streets in the condition I'm in now."
He shrugged. "You look perfectly healthy to me. I'm terribly sorry, Miss Marquez, but I do have a reputation to uphold, and people who depend on me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."
At that point, I had two options. I could either burst into tears again, or storm out in a huff. I decided on the latter. It would be a cold day in hell before I'd cry in front of this heartless bastard.
"All right, fine," I spat, snatching my purse up from his desk. "Just know that if I die, my blood will be on your hands."
"Excuse me?"
"You're about to evict an eighteen year old with HIV from the only home she has," I continued. "Like my mother used to say, honra y dinero se ganan despacio y se pierden ligero." I spun on my heel and stormed toward the door.
"What did you say?" he asked, standing up.
I shot him a withering glare. "I said, reputation and money are earned slowly and lost quickly."
"No, about HIV," he continued. It might have been my imagination, but his face looked somehow softer. "You have AIDS?"
"Don't worry, it's not contagious," I said bitterly. "You won't catch any germs from screwing me over."
He walked over to me and put a hand on my arm. "Have a seat, Mimi. Let's see if we can work this out."