What? SURELY it can't be another chapter so soon...oh, but it is, my friends!
Love to Chris, who gave me WAY too many dirty mental images involving Anthony...
And to Chelsea, who (as always) deserves more credit than I can give her.
Dedicated to my stupid fangirlish post at brodwayworld dot com.
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Life continued in the loft, but the dynamics within were completely changed. Mark was surprised that in most ways, Roger behaved as if nothing at all had changed. He still went to practice, still went home with random girls, still spent long hours on the table with his guitar, scribbling song lyrics furiously. He still smiled at Mark, still stole his glasses mischievously. Mark never saw him high, never saw him crash. He never saw needles, powders, anything.
But everything was different.
The ease of their friendship was gone, replaced by an unspoken strain. Where they used to sit and talk, or laugh, now one or the other of them would have to be doing something. Mark would be fiddling with his camera, Roger would be tuning his guitar, one of them would be watching black-and-white TV on pirated cable, or reading, or a hundred other little things. Something that wasn't enough to consume their attention, but enough to give them a constant reason to look away, to avoid each others' eyes.
Collins had noticed, of course. He didn't know the reason for the tension, but he picked up on it easily enough. He had cornered Mark once when Roger was away.
"What's wrong with you two?" he had asked, concerned.
Mark had avoided his eyes, had shuffled his feet nervously. In many ways, he still felt as if Collins was more Roger's friend than his. "Uh, nothing. It's nothing."
"Come on, anyone can see something's wrong. What did he do this time?"
"I said it's nothing!" He wanted to tell Collins, really wanted to. He didn't know why he didn't just blurt it out...Roger's on drugs! He's an addict! When he disappears with his band those nights, he's out getting high, doing heroin! You're living with a junkie!
But he hadn't said any of those things. He didn't know if it was from a desire to protect Roger or if it was from some stupid craving to solve everything on his own, but he had merely smiled unconvincingly. Collins didn't believe him at all, and Mark had felt guilty. On many levels, Collins had the right to know. Stupid shit happened around drug addicts, Mark knew. Tempers ran high, deals went bad, people got hurt. But this was Roger. Roger would never hurt anyone.
Roger would be careful.
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It never got truly pitch black in the loft, Mark noticed late one night in May. Light streamed in through the window from either the moon, or streetlamps, or a hundred other light sources, and it always seemed to be at the perfect angle to bother him as he slept. After working late on his latest film, he had fallen asleep on the couch. That wasn't so uncommon an occurrence; Mark would overwork and pass out in the living room, Roger would come home late and carry him to bed, and tease him mercilessly about it in the morning.
This night, though, Roger brought company home. Mark frowned to himself in the dark as he heard distinctly feminine giggling from the hallway as Roger fumbled with the key. Roger could screw whoever he wanted, sure, but there was an unspoken rule that with the two of them sharing a room, they would generally go home with the girl. That way there was no awkwardness, and no one was put out.
Roger took what seemed like an eternity to finally shoulder the door open and stumble through. He and the girl were both laughing, but trying to keep it quiet (rather unsuccessfully). Mark decided he didn't care to be a part of this, and feigned sleep with his eyes narrowed to slits.
"Shh!" he heard Roger hiss to his 'friend'. This must be the girl Roger had been talking about for a few days, Mark remembered. He'd said she was really pretty, really smart, blah blah blah. They'd been dating for something like a week, which he supposed bitterly must mean something in Roger's world. Roger walked noisily over to the couch and peered down at Mark. He turned back to the girl. "I think he's alseep!" For some reason, they both found this incredibly funny. With a sinking in the pit of his stomach, Mark realized from the tone of Roger's voice that he was at least drunk, likely high.
Roger stood up unsteadily, grabbing the girl's hand. "This is great!"
"Why?"
Roger opened the door to his and Mark's room. "We've got the room to ourselves!"
As soon as the door shut, Mark pulled a pillow over his head and turned over.
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The next morning, Mark awoke to the completely unfamiliar smell of someone else cooking. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. As soon as his vision cleared, he looked into the kitchen to see a very pretty man without a shirt weilding a spatula. The man (more like boy, really) glanced over at the movement and smiled upon seeing Mark awake. "Morning, sleepyhead!" he chimed brightly. "How d'you take your pancakes?"
Mark stared at him for a moment, then merely shrugged and answered, "Blueberry with peanut butter, if we have it." Mark decided this person could be one of two people: either the man was a very hospitable robber, in which case he'd probably felt sorry for their lack of belongings and took it upon himself to ease their suffering, or the more likely scenario; that he was some new beau of Collins's.
"Right-o, on the double!" Cheerfulness this early, Mark thought, should be illegal in every state but Alaska. They need as much cheer as they can get.
"Uh, I'm just gonna..." he trailed off, getting up and heading for the bathroom.
"They'll be ready when you get out!" the man called, causing Mark to turn around. As he reached for the handle of the door, he collided with someone unexpectedly.
"Oh, sorry!" He turned to see a girl with wet hair clad only in a towel emerging from the bathroom. This was just the day of random people living in his house, he guessed. But there was something about this girl that he--"Oh, my God! April? What are you doing here?"
Her hair was much shorter, cropped into curls around her head. She had dyed it bright red as well. Combined with the drawn look on her face, the difference in her hair made her nearly unrecognizable as the girl he had gone home with nearly three months earlier.
She stared at him, puzzled. "Do I know you?"
"Don't you remember?" His heart sank a little; he had hoped he was somewhat less than instantly forgettable, but...
She frowned, deep in concentration. Finally her eyes lit up, and she asked, "Mark? Is that your name?"
"Hey, you two know each other?" Mark spun around at the sound of Roger's voice from behind him. Shit! How am I supposed to explain this? And she hardly remembers...maybe I should just deny the whole thing ever happened.
April, however, had other ideas. She quirked her head to the side, and asked casually, "Didn't we fuck?"
Roger laughed. "Yeah, baby, don't you remember?"
April shook her head. "No, not you."
Roger's jaw dropped. "What?" He turned to Mark, who could feel his face burning painfully. "Uh," he stuttered, "I'm not...that is, I don't...well, I mean, I do, but...I don't remember?" he finished meekly, shrinking away from Roger.
But April was smiling now. "Oh, yeah, we totally did! Wow, I can't believe I forgot about that. I must've been really fucked up that night. You were really good!"
Mark wondered briefly if he should try to appreciate the compliment, or continue trying to sink into the floor.
Roger made an odd kind of squawking noise in his throat, and April giggled. "Aw, baby, don't be jealous." She reached over and took his head in her hands, placing a firm kiss on his lips. Or rather, his top lip, as his bottom was still hanging open with the rest of his jaw. "This was before I knew you."
They heard a snicker from the kitchen, and turned to see the young man with the spatula dramatically proclaim, "As the Loft turns! The Young and the Slutty!"
Roger's eyes went wide. Obviously, he hadn't realized there was someone else in the apartment. He turned to Mark and whispered, "Who the hell is that?"
Mark shrugged. They both turned to look as they heard a voice say, "Young and slutty? Talking about anyone I know?"
Collins had emerged from his room in the middle of the declaration. Grinning broadly, he headed for the kitchen, sliding his arms around the young man from behind. "Morning."
On cue, Roger, Mark, and April averted their eyes as Collins started kissing his neck. They heard a giggle and a slap, followed by an "Ow!"
"It's your own fault. Keep your hands to yourself, I'm making pancakes. Mark, they're ready!"
Roger turned to him. "Collins, are you just going to let your date prance around half-naked without introducing us?"
Collins snickered. "I could say the same for you, but Mark at least seems to know her pretty well..."
Roger glared at him. "Fuck off."
April laughed. "Watch your fucking language. There's a lady present, after all!"
"Thank you, dear," Collins' date sighed. "Men. What can you do?"
"I meant me!"
Mark shuffled into the kitchen, taking the plate from the man who announced brightly, "Pancakes for all!"
It was an odd breakfast, to say the least. A girl in a towel who had slept with two of the men, one man trying to disappear, one who was glowering at everyone, a shirtless man who was in WAY too good a mood (and had been belatedly introduced as "Edwardo"), and one who was generally amused at the entire situation.
There was a sort of beautiful dysfunction in the way they made conversation.
"Hey, Roger, pass the syrup."
"How the fuck could you sleep with my girlfriend?"
"Leave him alone!"
"Oh, Roger..."
"Is he your type, or am I?"
"Boys..."
"You really want to know the answer?"
"Guys, come on..."
"Fuck off."
"Language!"
"Who are you, again?"
"Behave!"
"Listen..."
Kiss.
Silence.
Sigh.
"Well..."
Chime.
"More pancakes, anyone?"
"NO!"
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"All right, everyone, get your asses into gear. We've got a gig tomorrow, and there's supposed to be some record guy there. If any one of you," Roger fixed each of his band members with a glare in turn, "do anything, ANYTHING, to mess this up..."
"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Let's just play!"
Mark zoomed in on Roger's hands as they strummed the first chord. His fingers held the pick gently, almost lovingly, as he swept it violently over the strings. Zoom out as Roger leaned forward to sing into the microphone, close on his face.
The drums started, at first just a light cymbal. The entire audience (Mark and April) waited with baited breath for that first pop on the snare that signalled the song's true beginning. Zoom out, focus on the band as a whole, then on each band member in turn, then back to rest on Roger. This is going to be great for "Behind the Music" someday...
The song was nearly halfway done when his camera was suddenly snatched out of his hands. Mark looked up wildly to see April, grinning, extending him a hand. "Dance with me!"
Mark shook his head, but April grabbed his hand. "Please?"
Mark looked at her for a moment. She wasn't anyone he'd wanted to share their life; not this way. Things were better with April, he admitted. She was Roger's distraction, the thing that he would focus on instead of Mark. She had put the ease back into the loft, and Mark was grateful for that...but at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if she was bringing him and Roger closer together or if she was stealing his best friend.
He started to refuse, then stopped himself. Isn't this what I wanted? To put down my camera for once and dance? The beat of the music was seductive, and he felt himself accept her hand, stand up, and dance. It wasn't the kind of club dancing he was (mildly) used to; he wasn't trying to fit anyone's ideas of how it should go, or following a pattern. He was doing whatever he wanted, waving his arms around and shaking his head wildly. April was laughing, but not at him.
It was silly, it was fun, it was free.
As the song ended, Mark stopped. He sat down, flushed, but exhilarated. Roger's drummer sniggered, but Roger threw the pick at him. "Shut the hell up, Tom."
"Hey, chill, man."
Roger smiled at Mark, a real sincere smile for the first time since April had joined them for breakfast almost a month earlier. Feeling a wave of relief and contentment, for a moment Mark was almost grateful she was there.
Almost.
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Okay, that was a rather random chapter...full of randomness! For some reason, it was the hardest for me to write. Huh. Weird. Whatever. Stuff happens in the next one, believe me! And I'm rushing off to post that right now! (can you even believe the wonder that is me?)