Chapter Five

"You don't have to tell me twice, I'm out of here!" yelled Mark, as he swept away the sheets and blankets to look for his long sleeved shirt he was wearing under his flannel one. He was so annoyed with her; he just wanted to get away. He didn't know how the hell he got there, and he didn't even want to think how he could ever fall for her again. Why do I love when she's mean, Mark asked himself resentfully. A recurring ache pulsated in his head, and he couldn't help but get agitated easily. He could get quite irritable when he was hurting so.

"Good!" she shouted back from the living room. Mark knew she wanted to get the last word, so he responded angrily.

"And keep that stupid shirt!"

Mark growled, frustrated that he couldn't seem to find his clothes. Well, since she's wearing my shirt, he started off wondering and went into her closet. He grabbed a black shirt, and forced his arms through the sleeves. It was a bit too tight, but he didn't care. He had it only buttoned halfway when he heard a familiar voice on the other side.

"Maureen, stop acting weird, I'm not in the mood! I have a very important hearing in about an hour-" the bedroom doorknob turned and opened, "-so I want to fini-"

Joanne stopped dead in her tracks. Mark looked at her as she froze in front of the doorway, Maureen looking fretfully from behind.

"Well, look who's joined the party," he remarked grinning. "Did you remember to bring the stripper?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Joanne at the same time Maureen exclaimed, "Mark, shut the fuck up!"

Mark grabbed his glasses, determined to leave. "I was just leaving. Maureen- have a nice time in hell." Finally, he was to have the last word. He headed toward the living room.

"Hey!" called Joanne. "Who says you can walk out of here without explaining all of this?"

"Go ask your tramp of a lover!" advised Mark.

"Mark, I told you to shut up!"

He opened the door, looking down, trying to fight the sudden urge of tearing up, then realized he had forgotten something. He slammed the door, and waltzed back toward her bedroom. Joanne was standing in the middle of the hallway, hands on her hips, but Mark didn't mind her. He simply went inside the bedroom and locked it.

Why, oh why, did I forget to put on my pants? thought Mark miserably, and he kicked the sheets to look for them. Someone banged on the door.

"You don't leave this apartment until I get an explanation!" said Joanne enraged. "Do you hear me?"

"Will you please let me put my pants on in peace!" demanded Mark. All the shouting heated him into shouting too. He picked up his jeans and tried to slip into them as quickly as he could.

"Sorry," she said sighing and the knocking stopped. But her voice didn't soften. "And you . . . Why am I not surprised? Of course, I thought it would be some random stranger from the club, but getting your ex into bed was much easier, huh? You see Maureen, you are so predictable, so fucking predictable! This is why I left! I can't take it anymore!"

Mark listened intently, as he buttoned up his jeans. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but now he understood. He understood why Maureen drank that bottle of vodka... because Joanne had finally left her. And she was so broken up about it, and he didn't do anything but throw shots at her because he was so angry. But... how could she lead him on like that? Right after their break up? To sleep with him? It was disgusting.

"Fine," Maureen responded in sobs. Mark listened as he zipped up his pants. "Leave. I don't care. I don't give a damn. Oh and by the way, some Tracy or Daisy or whatever the hell her name is called yesterday night, looking for you. Should I be surprised?"

Mark raised his eyebrows and eavesdropped on Joanne's reply. "Two can play your game Maureen... and might I add? It takes two to tango!" A bang on the door. "Are you quite finished?"

He tugged on his pants for a good fit, and opened the door. He looked at Joanne blankly, and then gave Maureen a sorrowful look. He really did feel sorry for her. He knew exactly how she felt. He turned back to Joanne.

"It's all yours," said Mark. Joanne gave Mark the most unruly look, and strode in the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. He wanted to stick his tongue out like a six-year-old, but contained himself, and stomped to the front door. Maureen followed absent-mindedly.

"Can you believe this?" she asked.

"It's happening isn't it?"

She chuckled a bit. "Yeah I guess." Mark gave her a wild look. How could she be laughing through all this, and pretend their battle never happened?

"How can you find humor in that sadistic mind of yours?" He patted his pocket out of force of habit, and hated himself. "Shit. I forgot my wallet in your bedroom." He went back to the bedroom door and knocked. "I need something!"

The door opened violently, as if it were to fall out of their hinges. "What?" Joanne demanded.

"Give me a second, Joanne, I just forgot something," he said trying to collect his calmness at last. He was out of breath, and a bit afraid of what Joanne might do. She threw him a murderous glare, but allowed him in. Mark quickly grabbed his wallet from the dresser and went out the door for the umpteenth time.

"Hey smartass, isn't that my shirt you're wearing?" asked Joanne.

He stopped and looked at the shirt. He couldn't help but take a shot at her. "You want it back?"

She gave him a look as if he was stupid, and Mark unbuttoned it hastily. He threw the shirt at her. "Take it." He finally found his white shirt sticking from under the bed, and he slid into it. He shook his head at Joanne. "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I warn you?"

"But you're still here after all that?" asked Joanne bitterly. She cast a lipstick at him and he ducked. "I knew all along, even when you and Maureen didn't. I watched the two of you ever since I met you, ever since the time at Christmas. I knew it would end up like this. And now I just feel sorry for you."

"For ME?" asked Mark exasperated. Was the whole world blaming him? "If you knew all along, why did you keeping leading her on? I feel sorry for YOU. Wasting your time on a hopeless case." He nodded to Maureen.

"If that's what you think of her, how is it that you're back here? How is it that I find you in her bedroom minimally dressed? She is wearing YOUR shirt for heaven's sake! Not that it's any of my goddamn business anyway, I'm done with her."

"I don't know how the hell I got here, but no doubt that she had something to do with it! Wait..." It finally hit him. He knew that Maureen and Joanne had split up numerous times among the year, but this time it was really serious. Joanne was actually packing her bags, and Maureen was really devastated. Maureen was sincerely feeling the way he felt the day she left him for another woman. God, how he would do anything to erase that day. "It's really over between you two?"

A devilish smile crept up on Joanne's face. "She's all yours Mark. Take her if you want her. I'm sure she won't mind at all, you're all she ever talks-" she stopped.

Mark looked at her carefully. He didn't think about getting Maureen back now, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Maureen actually still have feelings for him? Was there a bit of ignited flame that he could fan?

"What?" Mark looked at Maureen. "What?" He had always longed for another chance. He tried to figure out the expression on her face, then wiped out the thought. She looked pitiful, and he just couldn't go through it. She didn't want him. She wanted Joanne more than she wanted him. An image of Maureen and Joanne together gave him a revolting feeling in his stomach. "You are unbelievable." He turned to Joanne. "I don't want her."

"Really, you don't?" asked Joanne skeptically. "You're not a good liar Mark, and I'm a lawyer, remember? You don't fool me."

He glared at her. "You're right up there with the rest of them. Lawyers, crooks, and snakes. Go screw yourself Joanne, I tried to help you from the start." He began to leave.

"Tried to help her from the start?" asked Maureen madly. "What the hell is that Mark? Hey, don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you." She grabbed his shoulder, and he was forced to look at her.

"Nothing, Maureen...nothing. Look, my condolences to the next person you screw." He didn't want to swipe her hand away, but he got a hold of the knob.

"Mark, look," she said. He looked at her and realized that she was awfully close to him. He waited for a reply. "I..." she paused. "I'll...bring your shirt back tomorrow, okay?"

He looked at her with sorry eyes. Then he looked at her with eyes of stone. His emotions moved around like crazy, and he was tired of it. "Burn it." He could care less now.

"Mark wait, let me explain, I-"

"No more excuses Maureen, I'm sick of iridescent."

"Fine...if you wanna go, then go...go...leave me alone. I don't need you or her or anyone else. And I will burn this shirt Mark, along with other things I still have."

Mark had had enough. "Fine. Burn the past. Burn us. Maybe it's better that way." This was it. He couldn't see her again.

"I'm sorry. I know you think this is bullshit, but I AM sorry, Mark. And whatever happened last night... this... you and me... shouldn't have happened."

Last night? He didn't even know how the fuck he got there! Nonetheless he was hurt for her saying that. "No. It never happened. I was never here."

"Don't lie, not now. I don't remember much, but you were here."

"Look Maureen, I just want to forget this ever happened." He stepped out of the apartment. "So how does it feel being... alone?" And he closed the door on her.

Brokenheartedness thwarting is mind, he didn't even notice bumping into a woman coming out of her apartment.

"Hey- watch it," she warned.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Hey... are you all right?"

He didn't answer her, but continued to walk down the stairs. He bursted out of the building, the iridescent sun blinding him as he stumbled onto the sidewalk. If his mind wasn't clouded enough, now his vision was hazed over by light. What happened, what happened, why can't I figure it out? thought Mark angrily. He wished that he didn't get wasted yesterday, he wished that he remembered!

Stop yourself, he told himself. He couldn't start over again, not now when he's promised to forget everything. He just had to. He didn't want anything to do with Maureen and her life. Angel wouldn't have liked this, but she deceived him, she deceived everyone. I can't look at her anymore, he thought hoplessly. But what about everyone else? He knew there would be a time where he'd meet her again. Collins and her were like glue, and he couldn't stay away from Collins. Mimi and Maureen were close as well. It was unavoidable! Everywhere he turned- Maureen! Maureen! Maureen!

I just want my camera, thought Mark. There has to be something else exciting going on around here that he could film. Maybe if he shot a few scenes somewhere, he could take his mind off her. His emotions were running wild, up and down, panning left, panning right, he couldn't feel anything steady. He couldn't get a solid feeling for a solid moment, he felt so confused. He recognized his apartment building. Thank God, he thought relieved.

Once he got passed the torn wallpaper, rickety stairs, and cigarette smoke-filled hallways, he was glad to have stepped into their loft, which had the new, refreshing smell of alcohol, but at least it was home. As he closed the door, he spotted Roger kneeling on one knee on the floor, picking up empty bottles of beer. Roger looked up as he heard the lock click.

"You must have had some party last night," said Roger, though Mark suspected that Roger was just giving him a chance to explain. "Why wasn't I invited?"

"Don't," said Mark and a sudden churn twisted in his stomach. The smell of beer had hit stomach. "I'll clean it up," he managed to finish.

"It's all right," said Roger standing. "You look wrecked. What happened?"

"That seems to be the question of the day," said Mark. He wasn't sure if he should tell him where he had ended up. "I really don't know."

Roger came up to him attentively. He was close enough to him that Mark was afraid that he was going to strangle him out of nowhere.

"We need to talk later," muttered Roger.

"I don't feel like talking later," said Mark truthfully. Later, he just wanted to be snugged in his bed, asleep.

"Mark, don't avoid it," said Roger. "I use to be a drug addict, alcohol is a drug."

"I have it under control..." he said, slightly doubtful.

"Mark-"

"I have to do some thinking, if you don't mind Roger, I have to find my camera."

"You can't think and look into that camera of yours at the same time."

Mark raised his voice. "I- I..." He came to a halt. Roger was just trying to be a good friend. But he didn't want him to help. He had a sudden thought. This was just how it was when Mimi and Roger fought that one New Year's. Mark was trying to point out what was wrong, and Roger told him to back off. That was when Mark was a witness to everything, seeing the world through his lenses, his glasses, his eyes. Now... had he possibly fell into the role as the victim? Where was his camera, anyway?

"Shit," cursed Mark a bit too loudly. Roger shushed him.

"Mark, I didn't tell you-"

"Hi Mark."

Pushing up his glasses, Mark jerked his head to see where that familiar voice was coming from. Coming out of the hallway was Cindy, his older sister, carrying her two-year-old in one arm, and holding her four-year-old with the other hand. She was a beautiful mom, with carrot top hair and blonde highlights, shining in waves down her shoulders. She was smiling, but she had a bit of worry in her voice.

"Cindy... I didn't know you were here," apologized Mark.

Well... we had a little potty break," she said laughing a bit, pointing to her oldest son. "Say hi to Uncle Mark, Adam."

Adam walked shyly to Mark. He was dark-haired with green eyes from his mother. He smiled meakly as he hugged Mark's leg, and said, "hello." Mark smiled, and fussed with Adam's hair.

"Hey big guy," said Mark as he looked down at the kid who was no more than two feet tall. "How's it going?"

"Good," he replied bashfully, and ran back to his mother.

"He doesn't know me too well," said Mark, reading her mind.

"You don't visit that often," she said softly, yet she was still smiling. She walked over to him and brushed away the little girl's hair from her face. She had her mother's hair, but brown eyes, and the most beautiful dimples.

"And this is your uncle...say hi," she cooed at her, and the little girl smiled broadly.

"Hello Rebecca...I haven't seen you since you were born," said Mark tickling her. He looked at Cindy. "What are you doing here?" He was sort of embarassed. This wasn't exactly the right time for a family reunion.

"I was... worried," she said gently. "I thought maybe we could talk... while Roger babysits."

"What?" he said surprised.

"Oh yeah, they're angels, no problem at all," she assured him. "I mean, you would't let us pass the opportunity of catching up, brother and sister and all?"

"Oh well you see, I'm not very good with kids..." started Roger.

"Sure you are," she said, and gave Rebecca to him. She hugged his neck immediately, and Roger sighed hopelessly.

"That's not fair, I'm a New Yorker!" he said.

"Have fun," said Cindy taking Mark's arm. "Let's go."

"Wait...I have to get my camera-"

"Do you still play with that thing? Mark, I don't have much time." Before he knew it, he was pulled away by his older sister and dragged to a small coffee house where they caught up. Cindy was living happily with her husband, and her life seemed to have been a romantic fairytale. Mark felt even more depressed because he could have had a happy life like Cindy's if he had listened to his parents like she did.

"You don't call anymore," remarked Cindy softly, as she stirred her cup of java.

"I know..." said Mark guiltily. "I know I should... but..."

"You've still got issues with dad..." she finished. He didn't say anything. She sighed. "But... you're not going out with Maureen anymore. There's no reason why you two-"

"That's the thing," complained Mark.

"What?"

"He's right. He's always right. I want to do things for myself. He already hates it that I didn't become a high-classed surgeon or something, but he had to be right about... about her." She looked at him, frowning. He continued. "I want to show him that I can be as happy as him, as happy as you, but by following my own dream."

"You still love her, don't you?"

"No... no, what gave you that idea?"

"Because you're afraid you'd blush or think about her if you ever say her name."

"Cindy-"

"Mark, you don't talk much. I'm the only person who's ever actually gotten you to talk without censorship. You don't even talk to Roger this way, and you've known him forever."

"It's because I love you," he said quietly. "I trust you."

"And Roger?"

"I can't... talk to him about these things. He's got his own baggage."

"And there's only been one other person who could get you to show them how you really feel, what you really think."

And although he didn't say her name, a faint tinge of red appeared on his cheeks, as he crossed his arms resentfully, and turned away. No more. I've danced the tango, he thought, I'm through.