CHAPTER 3

A/N: So sorry for the delay. I spent a little bit of time figuring out where I want this story to go and I think I have everything pretty well put together.

Thanks to EMI, Daydreamer731, Bearfeetz, Amy, Arch of Wand, and Jan for the reviews. Love you guys.

Enjoy!

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OCTOBER 1989

Roger sat up in his bed and yawned. "Jen?" He looked at the space next to him where she had been last night, and in his sleepy haze, realized that she was no longer there.

"In here!"

He heard footsteps running down the bare hallway and then his girlfriend appeared in the doorway, smiling. She was wearing one of his old jerseys that draped down to right above her knees and a pair of his socks, scrunched up to above her ankles.

"What are you doing?" Roger got out of the bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers.

"Trying to make breakfast with whatever you bought this week. Which isn't much," Jen laughed. She kissed him on the cheek and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Is that sausage?"

She nodded as Roger walked into the kitchen and took a link right off the plate. He ate it and smiled. "It's good. I haven't had sausage in forever."

"Well the box has been sitting in your freezer for a week now. You could have made it yourself," she reminded him.

"Why make it myself when I have you?" he joked.

"Oh thanks," she grimaced.

"Thank you baby," he laughed, kissing her before he could take a bite of the pancakes she had set in front of him. "Hey did Mark call?"

Jen nodded and sat down across from him at the small kitchen table. "Yeah. He called about an hour ago. He said he's leaving Providence around one and should be here around five latest. He mentioned that he was bringing someone with him, but the pay phone started cutting out and he was on his way to class."

"A girl?" Roger smirked as he downed another bite of his pancakes.

"I don't know. Maybe. Oh, and that record store called about your interview today. The person that's interviewing you has to do inventory or something and wants you to come around noon instead of two."

"What time is it now?" He asked her through a mouthful of sausage.

"10:45."

"Shit! I still gotta take a shower and get dressed." Roger quickly scrambled to finish his pancakes, eggs, and sausage, as well as his orange juice.  "What time do you have class?"

"From 2 to 3:30, so hopefully I'll be back before Mark gets here."

"Yeah." Roger carried the empty plate and placed it in the sink, letting some water run over it. "Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Can you make some more pancakes, eggs, and sausage for me?"

Jen raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "You didn't have enough?"

"No, I did. I just—make them for me? Please?" Roger begged her.

"Fine." She pushed him playfully towards the shower. "Go, you'll be late."

"Thanks," he grinned, planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Ugh," Jen wiped at her cheek. "Thanks."

"Welcome."

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Roger had managed to leave the loft somewhat on time after he showered and dressed. Once he stepped out of the apartment building, he was greeted with a warmer blast of early October air and unzipped his leather jacket. It had to be at least sixty five degrees out right now, and weather reports were claiming that it was supposed to reach the upper seventies.  He still had a few minutes before heading over to the record store where his interview would take place, so he made a quick detour into Tompkins Square Park. Roger felt around in his pocket for his wallet with his free hand, while with the other he was carrying a tinfoil covered paper plate.

He didn't know where to find Loretta this morning, so he figured the best place to start would be the park. He knew that she was always there with a few of her friends before they headed over to the homeless shelter on Second Avenue later in the day. Roger scanned the park briefly and found Loretta sitting across from a man at a picnic table, playing chess. He checked his watch. He still had ten minutes before he had to be at the record store.

Loretta seemed to spot him right before he approached the table. She smiled brightly and tapped her companion on the shoulder. "Roger, baby! How are you? Haven't seen you in a few." She stood up and gave him a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. "This is my brother Freddy."

Roger looked down at Freddy and smiled. He was a little taken aback by the business suit and briefcase that was sitting on the bench next to him. He looked like he could easily afford to take Loretta into his home, but perhaps things weren't what they seemed. It wasn't his business why Loretta was homeless and Freddy clearly wasn't.

"Nice to meet you," he greeted the man, shaking his hand.

"Likewise." Freddy cleared his throat and stood up. "Well sis, I've got to get back to the office. My lunch break's almost up. Tomorrow, same time same place?"

"Of course baby. I'll see you then."

Roger sat down next to her and placed the plate in front of Loretta. "My girlfriend was cooking today so I figured I'd have her make some extra. I know how you like sausage."

Loretta laughed as she took off the tinfoil, revealing the pancakes, eggs, and sausage. "Oh Roger, you didn't have to do this for me…"

"But I wanted to," he grinned."

"Well thank you honey, I appreciate it. This was very kind of you. Where are you off to today?"

"Job interview," Roger sighed. "At a record store around the corner."

"Oh," Loretta laughed. "Welcome to the real world."

"Thanks. My interview's around noon, so I guess I better get going."

"You damn well better! I'm not letting you miss an interview because of me, sweetheart. You get goin' and you come and tell me sometime this week how things went, you hear?"

"You got it." Roger stood up and Loretta gave him another hug. "I'll see you soon."

"You better!"

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Benny drummed his fingers on the window of Mark's beat up Celica. "It's the end of the world as we know it…oh fucking perfect, don't tell me we're hitting traffic again," he complained. He stopped singing along to the radio and stuck his head out the window.

Mark sighed and shook his head. "Did I tell you that you're the worst person to take on a car trip, let alone a three hour one?"

"Ah, you don't mean that. Besides, if I wasn't here, you'd be bored."

"Better being bored than listening to you," Mark mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Benny asked him.

"Nothing. Just singing along to the radio." Mark weaved the car into a proper toll booth line and sighed. "At least we're almost out of Connecticut."

"I hate Connecticut."

Mark shrugged and pulled up in the line as cars paid the tolls and passed through. "We're almost out."

"Good. So this friend of yours, Roger, he's turning nineteen?"

"Yup. Nineteen today."

"Now that really makes me feel old," Benny complained. "Man, I'll be twenty-two and graduated this year. You believe that? It felt like just yesterday I had graduated high school."

Mark laughed. "I did just graduate high school yesterday. Or maybe four months ago. You know what I mean."

Finally, they had reached the tollbooth window. "One dollar please," the short, balding man told them in broken English.

Benny pulled a crumpled up dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it over to Mark, who in turn handed it to the man. "There ya go."

"Erm, this here looks a little funky to me. You sure this is a real dollar bill, and none of that fancy European money? Canadian maybe?" The tollbooth man held the bill up to the light.

Mark stared at the man and shook his head. "Uh, no sir. That's an official American dollar, as far as we're concerned."

"Huh. Well I'm gonna have to get this here bill checked out. I'll put in a call to my supervisor and—" the man was cut off as the car behind Mark's started honking profusely. He leaned out the window and waved at the car. "Be quiet! I'm just trying to do my goddamn American job!"

"Is this guy for real or what?" Mark mumbled to Benny.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Now I actually have a reason to hate Connecticut. Before I just didn't like the state." Benny fumbled around in his jeans pocket and counted out four quarters into his hand. "That American enough for you, buddy?"

The man squinted at the change that Mark had just handed to him and shrugged. "Can I see some identification?"

Benny slammed his hands down on the dashboard. "It's a fucking dollar! One dollar! We're just trying to get to New York City. You want a fucking Visa card, or what? Holy shit!"

Mark started laughing and shaking his head. "Hey uh, look, it's just a dollar. It's either the dollar bill or the four quarters. Look, we really don't have time—"

"Oh, so you think I have time to stand here and talk about how you're giving me, Miguel, fake currency for this toll both! No sir, you do not fool Miguel one bit…"

Benny sighed and looked over. "Mark, gun it. Just go. Put the goddamn pedal to the metal and shift this baby into high gear. Now."

"Benny I can't—"

"Dammit Mark, if you won't I will!"

Mark sighed. "See ya, Miguel. Keep the change." He pressed on the gas and sped out of the toll line and onto the parkway.

"Hey! You cannot do that! Oh misters you are in so much trouble! I get the state police on your ass! Yes!"

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Roger heard the ding of a distant bell go off when he pulled open the door to the record store.

"Claire, you want to get those boxes out of the back and actually into the store? Sometime today?"

A brunette with blonde and red streaked hair brushed past Roger and made her way behind the counter. "Sorry Wes. Didn't know you had a stick up your ass today." Claire looked over at Roger and stared at him. "Can I help you with something?"

"Um, yeah. I have an interview with Wes Marcaly at noon," Roger told her nervously.

"Oh okay. Have a look around hon. Wes will be out in a sec." She started playing with the cash register, so Roger started walking up and down the aisles, checking out the various compact discs, videocassettes, and vinyl records. Each was in a separate section by type and genre, and all sections were alphabetized. Roger noted that it wasn't a very professional store, but it had a ton of quality music. He realized that he'd be better off working in an environment like this one, where he didn't have to adhere to a dress code or worry about a boss hovering over his shoulder every five minutes.

Not even two minutes later, a man with jet black spiky hair and a pierced eyebrow walked out from the back room and into the store itself. The tag on his Guns 'N Roses shirt read Wes in graffiti letters. "I'm looking for a Roger Davis?" he called out.

Roger walked over. "That's me."

Wes stuck out his hand. "Hey Roger, I'm Wes. You're here for the interview?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds good. Follow me into the back and we'll get started. It probably won't take that long," Wes told him as he led Roger into a small office. Papers and random cds were scattered across it, and posters of bands lined the walls. Roger sat down in the black chair across from the desk and waited for Wes to sit down across from him.

"So let's keep this casual. I hate getting interviewed for anything, so I know how you probably feel man. Why don't you clue me in on some of your favorite bands?"

Not a very hard question. Roger gave it some brief thought before responding. "Aerosmith, Guns 'N Roses, AC/DC, and Metallica. I guess a few others, too."

Wes grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good bands. You'll fit right in here. Granted you'll probably get a few teenybopper kids from time to time looking for New Kids on the Block, but you sound like you know what you like to listen to. Where are you from?"

"Scarsdale, New York. You?"

"Brooklyn. Born and raised. Then I moved here to try and get some sort of college education. That didn't work out, so I dropped out my freshman year last year. My cousin Troy owns this place, but he took off to Los Angles for the year so things are pretty much in my hands."

Roger was starting to really warm up to this guy. Wes seemed pretty cool for only being twenty years old. He could tell they probably had a lot of things in common. "So basically it's your ass if you fuck it up, right?"

Wes laughed and nodded. "You sound like my mother. Wesley Nicholas, if I catch you with another pack of cigarettes in my house your ass is grounded!" he mimicked. "Well that all changed when I got my own apartment."

"Yeah."

"So what do you say, Roger? I told you it wasn't a very hard interview. You interested in coming and working for me here at Intentions?"

Wow. Roger couldn't believe he had gotten the job so fast. "Yeah. Sounds good to me."

"Great." Wes shook Roger's hand again and stood up. "Basically, you'll be working part time everyday except Fridays and Sundays. I'll sit down and set up your schedule this weekend so you can start on Monday. I usually try to alternate everybody around, so you'll either work opening until mid afternoon, or mid afternoon until closing time. Depends on what I have for you. You could do a nine to three shift, or a three to eight, or a five to eleven. We're open until midnight the whole weekend though."

Roger nodded. "Okay.

"All right Roger, I'll see you Monday. Welcome to Intentions, man."

"Thanks."

Roger left shortly after he filled out a few forms at the desk for Wes. This was somewhat of a good birthday present. He actually had a real job now—something that he could potentially enjoy. Being nineteen and an adult apparently had its perks.

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