Author's Notes:

Come on, guys. I know the site's been down for ages, and my posting on the weekend probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but one review? It's rather discouraging.

Okay, end of lecture. On to the legal things. In this chapter, I FINALLY catch up to the events of "Rent". Which also means, the appearance of Roger! He is not mine, and neither are any of the other characters except Kenny, who no one would want anyhow. Also: there are bits of dialogue in here that are not mine. What sounds familiar is Jonathan Larson's. What doesn't, is mine.



The first thing I noticed when I woke up on Christmas Eve was that my heat had been turned off. Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, I thought bitterly to myself as I leapt out of bed and dressed as quickly as I could. Merry Christmas, Mimi Marquez.

I didn't have to work for the next two days--Robbie always closed the club over Christmas, not because of any spiritual reason, but because all the customers spent the holiday with their families. I'd been looking forward to spending my time off curled up at home under a blanket, catching up on the sleep I'd been missing out on for months.

That didn't seem as much fun now that my apartment was a few degrees above freezing.

Finally I threw on my coat and walked six blocks over to the Food Emporium. I still had about twenty dollars left from my last paycheck, and I was just about out of food at my place. I stayed in the supermarket as long as I could, pretending to agonize over whether I wanted a blueberry or cranberry muffin and warming up as best I could. Even so, it was a long, cold walk back to Avenue B.

On my way back, I saw that Kenny had set up operation in the park. It was sad, really, I thought to myself, watching the desperate addicts follow the dealer around like puppies. Heroin had completely consumed their lives, and for what? Standing outside in the freezing cold, on Christmas Eve, unable to think of anyone but themselves or any farther than their next fix.

The saddest thing of all was that I wasn't better than any of them.

"Mimi, sweetheart." Kenny caught my eye and grinned. "Feel like indulging in a little holiday festivity?"

He held up a baggie filled with the familiar white powder. I swallowed, feeling the all too familiar battle rage inside. My addiction won, as always. I reached for the bag. "How much?"

"For you, a little Christmas sale," he answered, holding the bag just out of reach. "Ten bucks."

I handed him a wrinkled bill, took the smack, and fled.

The temperature in my apartment dropped sharply after the sun went down, if that was even possible. I wrapped myself in my blanket, huddled on the sofa, and tried to stay warm. Why the hell would the power company have shut off my heat today, of all days? I quickly realized another effect of having my power shut off. There was almost no light in my apartment, except the bit of moonlight that came in through my tiny window.

This was just ridiculous. Was I really going to spend Christmas Eve sitting in the dark in my unheated apartment, trying desperately to keep warm? I didn't think so.

But first I needed to warm up. There were a couple of newspapers I could burn, as well as some old clothes that had gotten too worn out to wear in public anymore. I threw them into a trash can, then rummaged around in the darkness for my matches.

And couldn't find them. Shit. The best I could find was a candle, which wasn't much use unlit. Just fantastic.

You know, Mimi, my brain told me. You could ask your neighbors for some matches.

Why didn't I think of that before?

I must have knocked on every door on my floor, but no one answered. Figured. Who would want to hang around this place on Christmas unless they had to? Half an hour passed, and I'd had no luck at all. I'll try one more place, I told myself, then I'll give up.

I knocked on a door, then stood back and waited.

Abruptly the door swung open, revealing a man with bleached blond hair and wearing plaid pajama pants. He didn't look at me as he stepped aside and asked "What'd you forget?"

Apparently he was expecting someone else. Unabashed, I stepped inside and held out my candle to him. "Got a light?"

That time he did look at me. "I know you," he remarked quietly. "You're.you're shivering."

I flashed a smile at him and tried to stop trembling. "It's nothing," I assured him. "They turned off my heat, and I'm just a little weak on my feet." I held out my candle again. "Would you light my candle?" He was still gaping at me with that peculiar expression on his face. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing." He looked away quickly. Then he looked back at me. "Your hair in the moonlight...you look familiar." He took a box of matches out of his pocket and lit my candle. I smiled sweetly at him, then started to leave, stumbling on my way out. "Can you make it?"

I was too embarrassed to look at him. "Just haven't eaten much today," I tried to explain. It sounded weak even to me. "At least the room's stopped spinning, anyway." When I finally worked up the nerve to look at him again, I saw he was staring at me. "What?"

It was his turn to look embarrassed. "Nothing. Your smile reminded me of--"

"I always remind people of," I interrupted, smiling again. "Who is she?"

Sadness flickered across his face, and I regretted having asked. "She died. Her name was April."

I could have sworn I'd heard that name before. In any case, I was in over my head, so I blew out the candle when he wasn't looking. "It's out again." Then I realized I should say something, anything. "Sorry about your friend." Better. "Would you light my candle?"

He fished out another match and lit it. He was cute, I thought, watching his face in the candlelight. Sad, though. I wished there was something I could do to make him smile. I'd bet he had a really gorgeous smile.

"Well." he began awkwardly.

I tried a seductive smile this time. "Yeah.ow!"

The wax had dripped down my candle and onto my hand. Damn, that stung. He looked suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh. "Oh, the wax, it's--"

"Dripping!" I interrupted again. If I could convince him I'd done that on purpose, I might not look so stupid. "I like it between my--"

"Fingers!" he exclaimed. I think we both knew that wasn't what I was going to say. "I figured. Oh, well, goodnight."

I didn't get it. Had I said something wrong? Or maybe something was up with him instead. In any case, I knew when I was beaten. I took my candle, which was burning brightly, and made a dignified exit.

It wasn't until I was out in the hall that I realized my little bag of smack was missing. Fuck. I made a search of the hall. Nothing. I knew it wasn't in my apartment because I'd had it when I set out. I must have dropped it inside that guy's apartment. And then I realized the candle had gone out. Great. Just wonderful. I had no choice but to knock on the door again.

He didn't look all that surprised to see me. "It blew out again?"

"No." I scanned the floor for the bag of powder. "I think that I dropped my stash."

He didn't seem that phased by my words. "I know I've seen you out and about, when I used to go out." He glanced over at the candle I was still clutching. "Your candle's out."

"I'm illing, I had it when I walked through the door." I was talking to myself more than to him, but I didn't particularly care. "It was pure.is it on the floor?"

I dropped to all fours and began looking under the table. Even from that position, I could tell he was staring at me. I always knew when guys did that.

He tried to sound surprised. "The floor?"

I whirled around and gave him my most seductive smile. "They say I have the best ass below Fourteenth Street," I informed him. "Is it true?"

He laughed a little at that. God, he had a great laugh. "What?"

I turned back around to find him watching in rapt attention. "You're staring again," I informed him.

"Oh, no," he protested. "I mean, you do. Have a nice, I mean.you look familiar."

"Like your dead girlfriend," I agreed, still searching for the damn smack.

"Only when you smile," he amended. "But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."

Well, it was certainly possible. "Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club?" He already knew I was a junkie, may as well tell him everything, I figured to myself. "That's where I work. I dance." Still no sign of the smack. "Help me look!" I pleaded.

"Yes!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "They used to tie you up--"

I shrugged and tried to pretend I didn't care. "It's a living."

"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs," he continued.

I didn't like the way this conversation was going. "We could light the candle," I pleaded, hoping to change the subject. "Won't you light my candle?"

I held out the candle, and he lit it yet again. He was being a very good sport about this, I thought to myself.

"Why don't you forget that stuff?" he asked. Ah, yes, a lecture on the evils of drugs. Just what I needed. "You look like you're sixteen."

I knew I looked young, but I hated being reminded of it. "I'm nineteen," I informed him. "But I'm old for my age. I'm just born to be bad."

He nodded. "I once was born to be bad." What the hell? "I used to shiver like that--"

"I have no heat, I told you!" I butted in. How was that my fault?

It was like he hadn't even heard me. "I used to sweat--"

"I got a cold!" Okay, maybe not now, but I would if my heat didn't come on soon.

"Uh-huh." He nodded again. God, I hated how nonchalant he was being about this. "I used to be a junkie."

"But now and then I like to." I was aware of how weak that sounded even as I said it.

"Uh-huh."

"Feel good," I finished lamely. Hopefully he'd let it drop now.

"Oh, here--" He bent over and picked up something that had fallen under the table."

I stepped toward him. "What's that?"

He quickly put it behind his back and stuffed it into his pocket. "Candy bar wrapper."

Yeah, right. I had little chance of him admitting it, though, and even less of him actually giving it to me. I'd have to try a different tactic. "Would you light my candle?" In response, he gave a little puff and the tiny flame flickered out. "Oh, what'd you do with my candle?"

He held up his hands helplessly and sat down on the table. "That was my last match."

I sat down next to him. "Our eyes will adjust. Thank God for the moon."

"Maybe it's not the moon at all." He glanced out the window, and back at me. "I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street."

How the hell was I supposed to create a romantic atmosphere with this guy? You're making this rather difficult, I mentally told him. "Bah, humbug."

His hand was resting on his leg. I slipped mine underneath his, pretending it was an accident. "Cold hands."

His weren't exactly warm either. "Yours too," I answered. "Big, like my father's." I hadn't thought of Papa in years, and I found myself wanting to cry. He must be weeping in heaven at the sight of me, I thought miserably.

But I wasn't about to cry. Not in front of this guy. I leapt off the table. "You want to dance?"

I don't know why he looked so surprised. "With you?"

Was there anyone else in the room? I couldn't resist. "No, with my father."

Then he smiled. I was right: it was gorgeous. "I'm Roger."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my body close to his. He was too busy smiling at me to notice my hand going into his pocket. "They call me." Almost got it. "They call me Mimi."

My hand closed on the bag, and I yanked it out, pushing Roger away before I smiled triumphantly at him and ran from the room.