We're getting somewhere
"Mark, help me!" Maureen's voice dwindled in the empty café. Mark look up nonchalantly from his seat by the window and stared into Maureen's probing eyes.
"It's already set up." He said heavily. Tiredness consumed him. Maureen jumped giddily around the cylinder amplifiers and various microphones.
"It looks ugly." She said, frowning. "Please, Marky?" She thrust her hands on her hips and faced him from the stage, tresses of brown hair coveting her face.
"There's no other way to set it up." Mark repeated. Still, he pushed himself off the seat and ambled over to the stage. "And don't call me Marky."
"Mark. Please."
He groaned inwardly. Maureen's voice had taken on a softer edge, less whiny. She always knew how to break him down, inside out. Being her ex-boyfriend had made him feeble, and he heated it.
"Fine." He gritted his teeth, and began to assemble the equipment in a more 'decorative' order.
"Thanks, Marky." Maureen giggled behind him. He looked at her - she was twirling a silken lock of her hair around her finger. She knew she had complete control over him, and she was enjoying her power.
"Maureen." Clipped tones interrupted them. Joanne stood in the doorway, radiating with professional finish.
"Pookie!" Maureen leap of the stage with boundless energy and bundled herself in Joanne's arms. Mark desperately tried to ignore them as he set up the equipment again. Their relationship twisted him, coiled him like a damp cloth. Roger had Mimi. Maureen had Joanne. He knew he should be embracing his solitude, like Collins, but he was simply not one to seek isolation. Even as a youngster, he generally felt less awkward in the presence of his friends and community.
"When does the show start?" Joanne inquired.
"In about ten minutes." Maureen replied excitedly. She seemed not to acknowledge Mark's existence any longer.
"The first stage show at the Life Café - and they picked you." Joanne said proudly. She took Maureen's lily white hands in her own, soft as butter. Maureen simply smiled, a dazzling gesture.
"Chosen by force." Mark muttered under his breath, so soft only he could hear it. Maureen was not a favourite with the Life Café - after she had infamously mooned several times in the presence of other guests. Yet with persistence she had convinced Mark, Roger and Collins to speak for her.
"Uh, Mark, the little yellow wires are showing." Maureen commented, her tone deadpan. She was locked in Joanne's embrace. Mark impatiently stuffed the wires behind the stage and threw up his hands.
"I'm all finished here." He stated, and carefully picked his way through the tables to retrieve his camera.
"Oh," Maureen sounded shocked. "No, you can't go! Everyone's coming to see the show!"
"I can't." He sighed and rolled his scarf twice round his neck.
"Why not?" Joanne entered the conversation. Her voice was undeniably protective, as if she were afraid to Mark criticising Maureen's talent.
"Because..." He trailed off. There was no actual valid reason. He was simply emotionally exhausted.
"Hey! Where're all the people?" Mimi burst in, followed by Roger. She sashayed to the bar.
"Hi, everybody."
"Good to see you here."
Mark stepped back from the speaker.
"You invited Benny?" He hissed at Maureen. She shrugged at him and ran through the growing crowds.
Benny. Benny. Great. What the fuck was Maureen thinking? Mark looked on as he sipped his glass, his hands smoothly gripping the surface of the bar. There was a woman standing near him, her eyes focused with disdain. Allison Grey of Westport?
"Hey, Mark." Collins appeared beside him. He looked resigned.
"Hi," Mark said, taken aback. He hadn't seen Collins outside since Angel passed away. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm doing okay. Maureen's big night, you know. I had to come." He displayed a wry smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Maureen took centre stage, her face shiny with anticipation. "Thank you for joining me tonight. I hope you enjoy the show!" She clasped her hands over the microphone. A steady rendition of 'We are the champions' bleated out from the speakers, and Maureen began to sing along.
Mark and Collins stared wide-eyed.
"Are you coming in or going out?" A new voice. Mark's head was beginning to spin from all the different voices that filled his head. He noticed that him and Collins were standing awkwardly close to the doorway - the breeze slipped inside as he pushed open the door.
"We're staying." Collins finalised. He looked at Mark. "Aren't we?"
"Well-"
"You again." The new voice tunnelled from a girl. She stood opposite them, with a tray balanced on her hip. Her hair was piled high on her head. "Don't bother answering. No need to waste your breath on me." Mark realised she was the same girl from Chinatown - she looked different. Somehow her face had hardened, and she looked bitter instead of furious.
"What the hell is your problem?" Collins looked down at the girl.
"My problem is me." She said simply, accepting it as if it were the least complex statement in the world. "I'm everyone's problem, yet they don't see me." She rolled her eyes drastically and turned herself around, walking back towards the kitchen.
"What?" Collins shook his head in disbelief. For Mark, comprehension dawned. The girl looked different because her eyes had changed. They were no longer naked, vulnerable. He had noticed her defiance.
"Mark! Sit down." Roger pushed his way through the crowds and called to him. He gesticulated for Mark to come over. Dazed, Mark ignored him and clicked on him camera. After a few shots of Maureen (who had now began to sing 'Like a Virgin'), he left Collins and strode with purpose towards the kitchen.
"Joe! Joe!" The girl's frustrated shouts were captured by Mark's camera. She was lifting a tray of food and obviously needed help.
"Here, let me." Mark felt the urge to help. He slid his camera carefully on the tabletop and helped her lift the heavy tray.
"Thanks, I-" She looked up. "Piss off."
"Why do you hate me so much?" They carried the tray slowly across the kitchen.
"I never said I hated you."
"You didn't need to say it."
"Chloe! The customers are waiting!" The manager screamed through the door.
"Coming!" Chloe yelled back, hurriedly settling the tray down on the table.
"I thought you worked at Chinatown." Mark stepped back from the table and fidgeted with his scarf. He was intrigued by her behaviour, mystified by her spite.
"I thought you were going to get out." She fired back, skimming pastries off the tray onto clean plates. A shaft of hair fell down from her bun and she hastily pinned it back with a hairclip stuck in her apron. Mark noticed a spreading bruise on her hairline. It was deep prune purple in colour, with wearing green edges.
"Hey, what's that?" He wanted to touch her head, but couldn't. Instead, he pointed, feeling like a ten year old.
"What are you, an interrogator?" She snapped. "I don't even know who you are."
"I'm Mark." He said in a lively voice, to deliberately oppose her sombre one.
"Why are you so persistent?" She looked straight at him. "Are you doing a project on declining Chinese culture or something? On your camera?" She placed sprigs of rosemary on the plates. Her eyes rolled upwards for the second time that evening.
"No." Mark said, smiling to himself. He picked up his camera and studied it. "But you did notice that I had a camera. We're getting somewhere." He waved at her, infuriatingly, and walked through the kitchen doors back to his friends.
"Fucking asshole." Chloe said, but she was smiling a little. A half smile, lips curving.
"Chloe! For god's sake, woman, what is taking you so long?" The manager entered the doors, looking flustered.
"Sorry." She muttered, picking up the tray. She sighed half amusedly as she walked through the double doors into the Life Café.
