Roger meets Collins this time around. This is all basically in the same time period, maybe a few months after Benny and Mark meet. I'm still a little unsure about the time frame, but it's not terribly important. By far, this is my favorite chapter.(Of course, I'm writing Roger and Collins over here, so it's bound to be good.)Dedicated to GayApparel and her Rogerness!
Disclaimer: I may own the sleazy bartender. Everything else is Jonathan Larson's.
The lights dimmed down in a small club in New Jersey. Dim candlelight.
Roger Davis clicked his guitar case shut. His bandmates went on ahead without him, probably in the process of getting totally drunk off their asses right now. They liked to do that after a gig, usually forgetting the tremendous hangover they would have the next morning. Usually Roger went with, but this time he stayed behind. He didn't feel like getting totally drunk off his ass at the moment (which could be labeled unusual or not); he liked the club's soft atmosphere, that gentle silence that set one at ease. It was amazing that a place like this could rock just as hard as his band's music. The owners had asked him if they could do at least two more gigs after this, and Roger jumped at the chance. They could take anything they could get right now, and two solid performances was extremely lucky.
Placing the guitar case beside the stool, Roger sat down at the bar. The bartender walked up to him, a middle-aged man with gray-speckled hair. He seemed a little worn out; the bar was still somewhat crowded with people, a big group on the other side of the circular bar. "What can I get you?" he asked, his voice a little gravely but still had a pleasant sound to it.
"Something with alcohol in it," Roger said, and a half-smile played on his face. Ah, why the hell not? He was in the mood for a drink. Something relaxing. Roger had been playing and partying non-stop lately. He needed a breather from that life.
"Alright," the barman said, grinning slightly. A girl yelled out something slurred, and he sighed. "It might take a few minutes." Roger nodded. He was in no rush, which was something unusual to him. Roger Davis, skipping out on a wild party to drink by himself at a bar? What the fuck was that about, huh? The musician sighed, looking around the place. It was nice; it wasn't the place Roger would usually go for some fun, but this wasn't bad...not bad at al—
"He'll probably slip you water, you know," Roger heard a deep voice say. He glanced down the bar, and a few seats over was a guy with a large overcoat and a knitted white cap. The white stood out especially, since the rest of him was dark, practically blending in with the surroundings. The guy smiled, lifting his drink a little. "The barkeep likes to pull that kind of shit."
Roger looked at him. "I know the difference between water and alcohol," he said, his voice having an almost childish pout to it.
"Oh, he puts in just enough vodka to taste like it," the stranger said, gently moving his own drink so the ice clinked against the glass. "And then he'll make you pay for it. I used to fall for it when I first came here." Roger opened his mouth to respond, and it was at this moment that the bartender decided to come with Roger's drink.
The rocker gazed at the beverage. Ice and a clear liquid. Roger pushed the glass slightly away from him. "Vodka's not my thing."
"You said something alcoholic, didn't you?" the man behind the bar said, giving Roger a strange look.
"Give me something on tap," Roger persisted, again pushing the glass slightly towards the other man, a cocky grin on his face. Sure, he didn't mind vodka, but he wasn't going to get cheated out of good beer money, that was for sure. The bartender gave him a hard glare, then roughly grabbed the glass as the group on the other side started to holler and whoop.
"Good call," the stranger in the overcoat said, smiling. Roger returned the smile.
"Goddamn if you weren't right," he replied, shaking his head. "What's your name?" Roger wasn't one to make friends easily. He didn't like too many connections, too many loose ends hanging about to tangle him up. But this guy was different. There was something profoundly interesting about this man; he felt drawn to him.
The guy's grin grew wider. "Tom Collins."
"Mind if I just call you Collins?" Roger said, beaming back. His drummer was named Tom...and was a stupid ass. Plus, Collins just seemed to fit this guy better than the name Tom ever would.
"Not at all," Collins responded, and got up, taking the empty chair to the right of the blond. "Mind if I sit next to you so we can have an actual conversation instead of talking loudly over that?" he asked, motioning to the loud, rowdy crowd on the other side.
Roger laughed, "Not at all." He held out his hand. "Name's Roger Davis."
"Heard you play tonight," Collins said, taking Roger's hand and giving it a good shake. "Pretty damn good for a rock band."
Roger grinned. "Ya think?" He picked up the beer the bartender had quickly placed beside him before trying to control the other bunch yet again. He raised an eyebrow. "We're okay." He took a swig of his beer, leaving a foam mustache on his upper lip.
"'We're okay'," Collins repeated, leaning on the bar and giving Roger a disbelieving look. "You say that like your band sucks. Elaborate on that, if you will, Roger Davis."
"Well, it's just my bandmates," Roger said, his jaw clenching just a tad. "They're not that good."
"Why do you stay with them then?"
"I can't do it alone," the blond said, giving Collins a quick look. "I just...can't. I need someone there to back me up."
Collins gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't feel pathetic that you need people around you. No man's an island, you know." Roger smiled into the reflection of the amber liquid.
"Yeah, that's true, isn't it?" A comfortable silence then fell between them, something Roger was relieved to discover. It had been a long time since he had that with anybody, that ability to sit with someone and not have to talk, not have to fill the space between them with empty words. He wiped his lip, and smiled at Collins. "So what do you do, Collins?"
"I'm currently a professor at NYU," Collins said conversationally, and smiled sadly into his glass. "It's all right. Pays the bills." Collins couldn't help but grin. That's one thing that drew Collins to Roger, that smile of his. Yes, Roger was extremely attractive, but Collins didn't see him like that. But that smile...there was something in that smile that made you want to do the same. And at the same time it was infectious...there was something sad underneath it...something dark and undiscovered, something...hidden. It was enchanting. And later Collins would attribute this bewitching grin of Roger's to his ability to get women to fall for him so hard. "Doing anything other than playing?"
"Nah," Roger replied, shrugging. "Tried college. Didn't work. A regular job's too boring for me. And I'm cocky enough to say I think I have some musical talent in me, so that's why I decided to create a band." Roger was always one to speak his mind. Always.
Collins cocked his head slightly to the side. "What's it called?"
"You know, I'm not sure," Roger mused. "Actually, I don't want to name this band. One of the others can name it. I'll create another band, a better one." He smiled wistfully into the bottom of his glass. "A much better one."
"I'm sure it'll kick ass," Collins remarked, smiling. Roger looked at him, a little surprised, a little sad, and a little excited all at the same time.
"You know, I think you're the first one to ever encourage me and mean it." He pushed his empty glass aside. "Even my girlfriends didn't egg me on. All they really wanted was sex." A short pause. "Not like they could resist a hot bod like mine, but..."
Collins couldn't help but laugh. "You're a trip, Roger," he chuckled, and Roger just smiled and shrugged.
"Girlfriends? I pegged you as a straight guy."
"Eh, I guess I could swing either way," Roger replied. Amazing how he was saying shit like this around someone he just met. But Roger just felt so comfortable...maybe it was the way Collins was so laid-back. He admired that. "I mean, sure, I've messed around with some guys before, but I really like the girls." Roger's grin curled mischievously on his lips. "What about you, Collins? Are you a babe magnet like me?"
Collins could tell Roger was starting to get used to him. The boy was a little nervous at first, being as polite as possible and seemed to have some genuine interest in getting to know the philosopher. But now he was showing his true colours, making smart quips left and right. "I'm afraid my door swings the other way completely," Collins remarked, smiling a little bit uncomfortably. "It's true, I'm queer. Gay. Homosexual. However you prefer to put it."
"That's cool," Roger said, nodding his head slightly. "I mean, whatever floats your boat, right?" Collins let out relieved laughter and Roger joined in. "Think I'm sexy?" Roger added, giving him a suave look, raising his eyebrow suggestively.
Collins laughed again. "Yeah, why not? But I don't think you have to worry about me hitting on you, Roger," he said, and Roger put on a pout.
"Oh, I see. Hating on the white guy, huh?" Before Collins responded, Roger continued. "No, no, I get it! Go ahead! But vanilla is the best flavor of all, bitch." The professor couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably at this, and inwardly Roger exhaled with relief. He was afraid Collins would take offence, but Roger couldn't help but let his mouth get away from him.
"Vanilla's the best flavor of all, huh?" Collins chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Well, no. I lie. Strawberry's the best flavor of all. Vanilla's a very close second."
Collins wrapped his arm around Roger's shoulder. "You know, Roger, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Roger beamed, and put his arm around Collins's shoulder as well. "Collins, I believe you're right."
"You know, I kinda like that," Collins remarked. "Collins. I think I want everybody to call me that now."
"Fuck yeah!" Roger added. "It's better than fucking Tom!"
The philosopher laughed, standing from the stool. He took out his wallet, and dropped a few bills on the counter. "It is better than Tom. Has more personality." Roger would look back on this whenever somebody new met Collins, and a little voice would murmur proudly in the back of his head, "That was me. I created that nickname." "Aren't you going to pay for your drink, Roger?"
"Ah, I'll catch it next time," he replied, waving his hand at the bar. "I mean, I'm coming back again." Roger glanced around. "Alright, Collins. Time for a quick getaway. Luckily, the band went to the place across the street, so I don't have too far to walk in this freezing hell." An idea popped into Collins's head.
"Actually, Roger, I was just thinking...I have an apartment that I need help paying rent for..."
flamboyance et savoir.
Time to sell your soul.
Thank you all for reviewing, even if the first chapter wasn't as good.