Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Mari, because she's awesome and I would've stopped writing a forever ago if it hadn't been for her help and nagging. ^_~. I seriously wish she didn't live over 1,300 miles away from me so we could hang out for real. Much love!

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Chapter 12: Demand

February 5th

1:20 PM

The Life Café

"And so?" Maureen asked as Mimi slid into the booth across from her and Joanne.

Mimi took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"It's official. I am."

"Congratulations!" Maureen squealed, pounding on the table.

Joanne shot her a look of disapproval. Maureen cleared her throat and daintily smoothed her napkin across her lap.

"Sorry."

There was a moment of silence in which they all pretended to read the menus, then Maureen perked up and began to chatter again.

"So what are you gonna do? How are you going to tell Roger? And when?"

"Maureen!" Joanne chided.

"What?!" Maureen asked defensively, "It's a legitimate question!"

"While it *may* be a legitimate question, I don't exactly think it's appropriate—"

"Oh, and so now you're gonna treat me like a little kid? I think I can judge whether or not my questions are appropriate, thank you*very* much anyway!"

"Well, apparently you *can't* judge what is or is not appropriate if you're going to—"

"Guys!" Mimi interrupted, "Can you save the arguing for another time? Preferable one when I'm *not here*?"

Both women instantly looked guilty.

"Sorry," Joanne muttered, "Just trying to help."

Mimi sighed.

"Yeah, I know."

"So. . .?" Maureen tried again.

"Maureen!"

"I didn't say anything, Pookie."

"Forget it," Mimi broke in yet again, "It's not that big a deal. I'll just answer. I don't know, Mo. That's my only answer for you. I don't *know* what I'm going to do. I want to have this baby but—Roger—well, I can't lose him."

"How can you be sure that you would lose him?" Joanne asked.

"I don't know. He's just so. . .busy with his life, the band." She sighed, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just overreacting."

Just then, the waiter arrived with their food. Maureen and Mimi both stared at the food as if it was a bomb about to go off. Joanne looked back and forth between the two of them, then sighed.

"Are you guys actually gonna eat that, or are you just gonna stare at it?"

"I'm just gonna stare at it," Maureen answered snidely.

"I don't know whether I can eat it or not," Mimi said softly, "I don't know anything anymore."

"Okay, guys, breathe," Joanne instructed impatiently, "It's *lettuce*, it's not going to hurt you."

Maureen sighed and began picking at her salad.

"So anyway. . ." she started again.

"Yeah, anyway. . ." Mimi sighed, still staring at her salad.

"Mimi. . .if you want to have this baby, then you should. Don't let Roger make up your mind for you. Especially when you haven't even told him yet."

"I guess you're right but. . .I can't do this alone."

"Well, then it sounds to me like you have to do the first thing first."

"And that would be?"

"Tell Roger."

~~~**~~~

Mark walked through Tompkins Square Park, camera in hand, in search of a shot that would complete his newest documentary and bring him the money he so desperately needed. He'd been searching for the shot for nearly three weeks, always in the park.

He'd told himself that it was because it was nearby, convenient. He'd told himself it was because he found inspiration there. But really he knew it was because he was hoping to run into Aimee again. He'd seen her there nearly every day since she'd been in the hospital, but hadn't yet had the nerve to approach her.

She was there this morning as well, sitting on the bench where he'd first seen her, the same battered black notebook perched on her knee. Every few seconds, she would look down and write a few words, but mostly she just seemed to be looking around. Mark filmed for a few minutes, but then guilt got the best of him and he shut the camera off and just watched her.

Mark walked towards her bench, trying to look casual. He kept his back to her and pretended to be fascinated by a nearby hotdog vendor.

"So, are you going to talk to me, or are you just going to keep pretending you're here to work?"

"What?" Mark jumped and turned around, blushing crimson.

"You heard me."

"But—I—I didn't even know you were here!" Mark lied.

Aimee snorted.

"Right. You just like to walk in the park every afternoon, wasting time, film, and money you don't have."

"I'm working on my documentary!" Mark protested.

"Sure. Whatever you say." She moved over and motioned to the spot on the bench beside her. "Sit."

Mark obeyed, resisting the sudden urge to salute her.

"Okay. . .I'm here. . .I'm talking. . .what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. You're the one who's been following me. It's only logical to think that you must have *something* to say to me."

"I—um. . .well. . .I guess. . .maybe I want to know you?"

"Right."

"No, really. I want to get to know you."

"Why?" she asked, as though it was the strangest thing she'd ever heard.

"Because. . .you seem like an interesting person?" Mark shrugged, "You always have that notebook. Are you a writer?"

"Poet," she answered softly, "Just amateur though. I'm not really any good."

"Hey now, don't judge yourself by how much you sell. Just because there's not a demand for you work doesn't mean it isn't good. People are stupid. They wouldn't know real art if it slapped them in the face."

Aimee shook her head.

"I don't write for other people. I write for myself."

Mark laughed nervously.

"That works too."

"You're a filmmaker?" she asked.

"Yeah. I never sell anything either though. I show people what they don't want to see."

Aimee looked at him thoughtfully.

"In other words, you show them the truth. People hate it when you do that. It makes them think."

"Yeah. People don't do much of that anymore."

Aimee glanced at her watch.

"Look, I have to go. Someone's expecting me."

"Okay," Mark said, watching her get up disappointedly. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Can I. . .take you to dinner sometime—just to talk?" he added hastily.

Aimee looked at him hard for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay. Tomorrow. Meet me at the Life Café at six."

Mark watched her leave, then turned and walked back to the loft, grinning like an idiot.

~~~**~~~

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