Chapter Thirteen

Bliss. Happiness. Passion. Filming. Poetry. Close-up. Pisistratus. Action. Menelaus. Was there any other way to sum up their relationship? Okay, it seemed like a weird combination, like fries and chocolate ice-cream, but it they were a great match. Really, they were... fries and ice-cream, exactly as so. They went wonderfully together... Really! Well, have you ever tried it? Don't look at me that way!

Mark grinned, shaking his head, when he had told Michelle about that comparison. She laughed, and pushed him gently. She couldn't believe how silly that simulation was.

"Is that really how you think our relationship is?" she asked.

He shrugged. "More or less." She laughed again.

They were on their way to the Johansen's. Mark thought it would be nice if he had some company and perhaps a second opinion during the photo shoot. It shouldn't take long, but he wanted to have someone to talk to. Actually, the truth was that Mark just wanted to try to impress her. He wanted to kind of show her around with the magic of filmography, and hopefully get her interested. He loved sharing things with her, and she was always caring about him. They were like cookies and milk... much better.

"Hey you know what?"

"What?" Mark asked, as they crossed the street, holding hands. He pulled his equipment case with the other hand.

"I just thought of a cute way for people to call us," she said dreamily.

"Perfect?"

She giggled and Mark smiled. "Besides that," she said. "M&M."

Mark almost stopped in the middle of their tracks, but tried not to show any impression that something was wrong. Why did that sound so familiar to him?

"M&M?" he repeated. His voice quivered.

"Yeah. Mark and Michelle. M&M." Her eyes sparkled, and she pressed her lips in pure excitement. Mark crinkled his forehead, worried. M&M was what Maureen suggested when they started going out. He thought it was cute then, hell he thought anything and everything she said was cute, but when Michelle said it, a hard blow kicked him in the stomach. He didn't want to upset her by saying that they couldn't use it because his ex-girlfriend used to have everyone call them that. Oh God... what would everybody start thinking when they hear her say that?

"It's cute! I can't get enough of it. M&M." She giggled.

"It's... umm... unoriginal," Mark mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Quite original," Mark saved himself. Woops.

"We can call each other that. I mean, you're sweet like the candy..." Oh brother, Mark thought. It was torture. He loved her cuteness, but now she was getting corny. "...and I melt in your mouth." Off guard, she stopped in front of him, holding his hand, laying another on his face; she placed her lips against his, drawing into a deeper, sensual kiss. He brought himself closer in, but then she pulled away. Why do they always do that? Mark thought.

"So how's that song going?" she asked.

Mark groaned, and she laughed. He had given her a preview of it, but it sounded awful. The melody he got down all right, but the lyrics were atrocious. He didn't even know what the hell he was saying. He tried appealing to what Michelle enjoyed the most, and the only thing he could think of was epic poetry. He was practicing in front of Roger early that morning, but even Roger got irritated.

"You suck," he said, plain as day.

"I don't suck, the lyrics suck," said Mark putting down the guitar.

"And who thought of those lyrics?" asked Roger. Mark glared at him, and sighed hopelessly.

"Give it to me one more time. Maybe if I think happy thoughts," said Roger.

Mark sighed and picked up the guitar, and started strumming a slow melody. He began the lyrics,

"I never longed for anyone

I never asked for more

I never done no wrong

Except to ask for

Your love,

The way you make me feel

My weakness,

Like that dude Achilles' heel

Your beauty,

as strong as the war at Troy

you make me feel like a little boy

I have but four eyes

not one like Cyclopes-"

"Stop, stop, I can't take the madness!" said Roger, covering his ears.

"Arrgg!" Mark moaned, "This is pathetic. Not even close to what I want."

"You're suppose to be writing a song, not epic poetry!" exclaimed Roger, shaking his head. He then laughed. "Though the Cyclopes thing was kind of funny."

"Shut up." Mark put away his guitar, slowly repenting the day he had agreed to learn the guitar with Roger.

Michelle and Mark were now walking in a nice-looking neighborhood, whitewashed with trees, their long leaves and branches acting as an umbrella as it loomed over the houses. They approached a one-story house, small but cozy, with a mailbox standing near their driveway labeled Johansen's. They strode down the pathway, and knocked on the door.

"Hi, I'm Mark Cohen," he introduced himself when a short-haired lady answered the door. She was about his height, blonde, middle-aged, wearing a long-sleeved blue form dress. A little boy, about four, hung onto her leg. He was dressed in a suit.

"Mr. Cohen, come in," she said. She was nice. She allowed them to enter. Mark looked around. It was just like any other house he's entered, well any other picket-fenced house, anyway. "This is Danielle. He's a bit shy. And this is Marianna." Mrs. Johansen picked up a little girl, dressed in a beautiful, long white gown. "Say hi, Marianna."

Mark smiled, waving a bit at the baby. She had gorgeous big river blue eyes. He almost forgot his manners. "Oh, this is Michelle, she's just going to watch."

"I won't be a bother," promised Michelle.

"Not at all," said Mrs. Johansen, smiling. She stuck her hand out toward Mark. "I'm Genevieve Johansen, by the way. Hayden will be out in a minute, he's just getting dressed. Where do you think we'll be taking the photo Mr. Cohen?"

"Call me Mark," he said. It was strange hearing people call him that. "Anywhere's fine, the most popular places are in front of the fireplace, in the dining room. I brought my own setting, if you want something more simple." He began setting up his equipment. Michelle rubbed her palm on the back of his hand.

"Need some help?" she asked.

He grinned. "No thanks, I can do this myself. You relax." As he positioned his tripod, a man came in fiddling with his tie around his neck.

"Genevieve, I can't work these things, help," he said helplessly.

"Men." She shook her head, smiling, and lovingly wrapped the tie neatly around his neck, and looped it perfectly.

"How do you do it?" he asked and kissed her. He looked over at Mark, who was putting the camera on the tripod.

"Mark Cohen?" he asked.

"Mr. Johansen, hi," he said holding a hand out. He shook it firmly. "I see you've met everyone."

"You have a lovely family," said Mark nodding.

"This is Michelle, honey, she's Mark assistant," said Genevieve to her husband. Okay, not exactly, but it's fine, thought Mark. Mark smiled at Michelle who returned it quickly. They decided that they wanted the picture in front of their fireplace, which Mark thought was a great choice because the lighting was beautiful, and their furniture and fireplace was magnetic. He moved one of their tall lamps near their long Chinese designed chair, and it was perfect. Perfect. He told them where to sit- the youngest sitting on her father's lap, and the little boy on his mother's lap. Mark smiled.

"Ready? We're going to put you in a few other positions, but this was seems to be the keeper. Okay, on the count of three I'll be snapping a few, just smile and be happy," said Mark, hiding behind the cover of the camera. "Okay, one, two..." The little boy made a face. Uh-oh. His lips began to quiver, his eyebrows began scrunch up... "Someone's not too happy," said Mark laughing. He peered behind the camera, and smiled at the little boy admiringly. "He's a smart one, pulls it off right when I was getting to three."

"No, no Danielle, all smiles, all smiles," cooed his mother. His father tried to help, but seemed to have made it worse. Mark knew it happened all the time, it was almost foreseeable, that if it didn't happen, something was wrong. He got out a stuffed animal and waved it on the side. It worked on tv, anyway.

"Everyone, up here, don't worry," he said. They all looked up, Danielle still in silent crying. "Look at the bear, big boy..."

"Come on Danielle, smile for me, can you smile?" a new voice entered. Michelle seemed to have been kneeling beside Mark, and getting the kid to stop crying. And like magic, he did, and laughed. Mark quickly took a few shots. Perfect.

After a few more positions, a few more shots, a few laughs, they were finished. A job well done. He told them that he'd have the photo ready in less than a week. They told them that they'd give him more time, and to wait a bit so they could write out a check. Their word was true- they did offer a generous sum.

"That went well. Thanks," Mark said to Michelle, as he packed up, and the Johansen's wrote up the check. "You can make anyone smile, huh?"

"I try my best. I just wanted to help," she said. "I bet the shots you took will turn out wonderful. Although, I hope it doesn't come out too dark."

"I don't think it will," he said locking up. "The lighting was actually beautiful, it extracted the characteristics I wanted to come out."

"I just hope the shadows don't fall on them..."

"No, if anything, the lighting will bring out their greatest features."

"Not from where I was standing."

Mark tried not to stop and look at her. What was she trying to say? He knew more about photography, who was she trying to do his job? No, Mark thought, she was just trying to help. He didn't want to get angry with her. She was merely giving him some constructive criticism- she was studying literature, it was what she did best. Mark understood that. Nothing to get angry about.

"We'll see how it turns out," he said finally. She nodded. Hayden Johansen came up to him and handed him the check.

"I'm sure you do beautiful work. You made this so easy for us," said Mr. Johansen.

"Well, I like my clients to be happy. Your family was a pleasure to work with, and I'll have the photo for you as soon as I can. Thank you."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Johansen, "and we'll be sure to recommend you to all our friends."

"Thank you so much," said Mark. They bid their farewell, and Mark walked Michelle home. It was sort of far, but Mark didn't mind walking. It was the only exercise he ever got. He walked her up the stairs, and to her door. They hugged for a while. Michelle seemed to always love giving long, warm hugs. He teased her by tickling her neck with his lips, and she giggled softly. When they were like this, he had this tremendous feeling inside him. She pulled him closer, as if urging for more, and he didn't disobey. He trailed his kisses to her lips, and they kissed sweetly. After they pulled away, he told her he'd call her soon.

As he walked back home he couldn't help but start thinking about what Michelle had said back at the Johansen's. Was she trying to tell him what to do? He couldn't help think that his little Michelle was bossy, and domineering. No, everyone has that side to them. She's no different. No different...

He entered his loft with Roger fixing up some food on the table. Mark looked at him curiously, and he grinned.

"You're not the only one getting paid," said Roger. "I just got a job with Alex's son."

"Roger... Jacob's four," said Mark.

"I know! It's weird! He wants to learn the guitar... we actually got this guitar his size, it's like the craziest thing. And Alex asked me to be his guitar instructor," he said the last point in a high-fashioned tone, putting his chin up. "Anyway, eat up. It'll be the first real meal in a while."

"I'll be right there," said Mark and headed to his bedroom. He couldn't stop thinking about Michelle. He opened his closet and pulled out the box of memories he kept stored on the top shelf. He lifted the lid, pulled out the letter, and quickly stuffed the box back to its place. He unfolded the letter and read it for the thousandth time.

Dear Mark,

I hope you're doing well. I know things haven't been going too well ever since you left home, but I ask you to reconsider. Work it out with dad. We all just want the best for you, and I'm sure he didn't mean to yell. I just want you to know that you're the most important person in the world to me. I couldn't have asked for a better brother. I love you so much, and I will be behind everything you do. Just as long as you be careful. Truly, I'm sorry for not showing how much I care. You know how it is with mom and dad. It's hard to please them. But I just want you to know...

You will always be my pride and joy. You've always made me proud, and you'll continue to do so. Maureen- she's wonderful. She's feisty, but she has livability. She's vivacious, and laughter is her soul. She's loud, but she has strong emotions. She's may be misguided sometimes, but as long as she has someone solid- someone like you- to fall back on, she's okay. She's sexy, she's different. She's someone I would have never pictured you going out with, but you fit perfectly together. You're like ice and fire. Heaven and earth. And I hope you two will be very happy with one another.

Call me when you can, honey. I love you.

Love, Cindy.

Mark liked looking at this letter when he was feeling doubtful, when he was confused, and needed hope. That letter always gave him hope that everything would be okay. Cindy always gave him that hope, that trust. When Maureen dumped him, he read that letter until he memorized it right to left, left to right. He held onto it, hoping that it would give him that promise, that hope that she'll come back to him. He didn't know exactly why he was looking at it now. He wasn't with Maureen anymore. But maybe it had become habitual with him. Every time he felt doubtful for anything, he looked at that letter. Not just about Maureen. He looked at it when he wasn't sure he should go out, or when he didn't know whether he could trust someone. Knowing that Cindy was out there... well she was the only family he had, that he could depend on. It hurt sometimes looking at it. Sometimes he would realize the reality of everything... but it never failed to give him that love a sister can only give him. The love that Cindy gave him. Thank God there was that.

"Are you okay? Food's getting cold," said Roger knocking on the half-opened door. Mark looked up, quickly folding the note back up and jamming it in his pocket.

"Sorry, I got side-tracked." He got up and followed Roger to the table. On the table was fried chicken, mash potatoes, and carrots and peas. Mark smiled. A hot meal.

"Did you cook this?"

"Of course," said Roger proudly. Then he looked sideways. "Not..."

"I knew it," said Mark taking a seat. Roger sat across from him, and they began helping themselves. This felt a bit odd. It had been a while since they actually had a proper meal together in their own loft. But the hunger pains began as soon as their lips touched the meat, and they devoured the food like dying animals. As they finished, Roger cleared his throat as he poured them some soda.

"So, how's everything with Michelle?"

"Couldn't be better," Mark replied. "She's fantastic."

"I bet she is, you're writing that stupid song for her. But I just have to warn you. No one can beat my song...You're eyes...as we said our goodbyes..." He started singing, as he put his dishes on the sink.

"No stop the madness, stop the madness!" said Mark covering his ears the way Roger did at his song. Roger grinned, and Mark put away his own dishes.

"So what were you reading?"

"What?"

"What were you reading?" asked Roger again.

"Oh... just a letter." Roger had seen the letter before. But he never knew how much Mark depended on it for his sanity... or insanity... whichever it was.

"Letter?" asked Roger.

"From Cindy."

"Oh did she write you?"

"It was a letter from a while ago," he answered. Roger looked at him. Mark smirked. He wanted more info. "It's just something I look at when..." when what?

"When what?"

Ohh gee. "When I feel a bit..." down? You should be the happiest man on earth!

"Are you sure Michelle's okay? I mean, do you really like her?"

"Yeah," said Mark. He meant it. "I really do, she's great. I mean, there's no one else I would rather be with."

Roger raised an eyebrow and nodded. "As long as you're happy."

Mark bit his lip and walked over to their living room. He sat on the couch, thinking silently. He looked up, Roger observing him carefully, but disguising it by cleaning up around the room. That was bull. Roger never cleaned.

"Can I ask you something?" asked Mark resisting at first.

"Anything, man," said Roger.

"How... how did you know Mimi was the one? I mean... April..." he stopped. He thought he had crossed the line. This was a really sensitive issue. When Roger was with April, he said that there was no other girl he'd ever love. They were in deep passion, in lust, in love. Mark thought they were it. And then Mimi came along. Now, Roger said that she was the love of his life. How easily could love move? Could it move at all? Was that how it worked?

Thankfully, Roger didn't look too hurt by the question, but he did have a hard enough time answering.

"I loved April," said Roger softly. "I thought I would never feel that way about another girl. After she died... after she did that to me... I knew, there was another girl out there for me. A better one. But I didn't want to find her. I was still in love with April."

"Then how do you know...? Isn't there just one person..?"

"I don't know anything. This is a weird world- I mean, come on, look at this place. I don't know how the stars align, or whether we have soulmates or not. But, now... only now... is what I care about. I care about now. And now is Mimi, and right now I feel as if she's my forever. You've got to have faith. Then what else is there to live for?"

Mark smiled. "Thanks. Thanks that helped me a lot."

"You're welcome. Not sure what I did, but I'm glad I was able to help."

-------------------------

"Right foot, red, Mark, RED!" said Mimi, struggling.

"I'm trying!" said Mark, trying to find a place to put his foot. They were playing Twister, and they were bent and turned in weird places, in places some didn't think they could reach. Mimi was on the bottom, and Mark toppled over her, while Roger and Michelle balanced on opposite sides.

"RIGHT foot!" said Mimi. It was hard, but it was a lot of fun.

"Well if your hand wasn't in the way, I'd have an easier time with this," said Mark.

"Mimi, don't badger him, he has TWO left feet," said Roger.

"Roger, get your hand off my ass," said Mark.

"Sorry," he said. Michelle raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was Mimi's!"

"I don't have a bony butt like Mark," said Mimi.

"Don't go there Mimi..." warned Mark playfully. "Okay got it. Spin the wheel Mimi."

She spun it. "Okay, Michelle... right hand on yellow."

"Got it," she said.

"That was fast," said Roger. "Mimi, your turn."

"Okay... right foot... right.. foot on... Fuck it!" she slipped away and ran to the bathroom. Mark slipped, and they all fell on top of one another.

"Mimi?" asked Roger.

"Get OFF," said Mark, trying to push him off. Roger scrambled to get up, and stumbled over Mark again. Roger leapt up and ran to the bathroom. Michelle helped Mark up, and they sat themselves on the couch.

"Mimi is everything all right?" they heard Roger call from the hallway.

"Leave me ALONE," she said, and some regurgitating noises were heard. Roger walked from the hallway flinching.

"Hey is Mimi all right? She's been sick like that for a while. Maybe she needs to go to the doctor?" Mark asked.

"I don't know. It's weird. Some days she's totally fine, she's full of life, and then other days she's just... like that."

"Has she been taking her AZT?" asked Mark.

"Yeah, she's been really good about that..."

"Is she pregnant?" asked Michelle.

"That checked out. She just had her period." Roger looked really worried. He was lost in thought. "Maybe it's something she's been eating... or not eating."

"How can she throw up what she didn't eat?" asked Mark.

"I'm not a doctor!" Roger became agitated. Mark knew he didn't mean to spat, so he just became silent. Mimi came in slowly, dragging her feet along the way.

"I'm fine," she said groggily.

"Mimi..." Roger started but Michelle interrupted.

"Mimi, you need to take better care of yourself," she said. "I mean it's bad enough that you have... you have..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, "AIDS," then her voice became regular again, "but you need to eat properly, take your medication, stop going out so much."

"I have been taking care of myself," said Mimi defensively.

"That's not so, because then you wouldn't be in such bad shape," argued Michelle.

"Hey-" Mimi started as Roger said, "Don't talk to her in that tone. Mark? What... Michelle, please have some consideration..."

"I'm just saying, if you truly cared about her, you would make sure she's okay. You're suppose to take care of her," said Michelle.

"I AM taking care of her." He pointed an index finer at her. "Hey, who do-"

"Hey guys chill," said Mark suddenly. What was happening? He stood up. "Enough..."

"Look at her, she's dying. She should have gone to school. Look where life's lead her," said Michelle, gesturing to Mimi who was cowering near Roger's body. Roger wrapped his arms around Mimi.

"Hey, stay out of our business, alright?" said Roger.

"You're the one who did this to her," said Michelle, casually.

"What?" asked Roger. "Mark, you better get your girl on notice, she knows nothing about us." He lead Mimi to the door, and then left, slamming it shut.

"Michelle-" said Mark, but she interrupted.

"How dare they? I was only trying to help," said Michelle. Whenever she tries to help, it's like the death of everyone, thought Mark. Why doesn't she just stop helping? That would help us all!

"Michelle, he didn't do that to her. They both had AIDS when they met," said Mark.

"Oh... well then he above anyone else should know how she's feeling," said Michelle.

"Please, Michelle. This isn't easy for them."

The phone rang. Thank God, saved by the bell. He decided not to screen, and went to answer it. He didn't care who it was, as long as it broke the heat.

"I'm sorry. But it's people like that who make me so mad."

People like that? What was wrong with them? Mark tried not to protest. How could she have thought that way? So far she'd been really cool with all his friends, and they really enjoyed her company. What was she trying to do? Ruin everyone? Life was bad enough as it was. Mark spoke into the receiver.

"Hello?" asked Mark.

"Hello Mark? Collins. Remember the gig I told you about?"

Mark thought for a minute. "Not really."

"Maureen's gig? Remember?"

Oh yeah, that was a while ago and he wasn't really paying attention to the news. He didn't really care. If it had the word Maureen in front of it, he didn't listen to anything afterwards. "What about it?"

"I need you here. The equipment's a piece of shit."

"Her equipment won't work?"

"It's urgent, Mark! The wiring's all screwed up, everyone's yelling, the band's screwing around and complaining that their instruments aren't coming out of the speakers- we need you."

"Me? Call an engineer!"

"We need someone cheap!"

"How much do you think I'll work for?"

"Well I was hoping you'd work for loafs of bread. COME on."

"Okay, all right, I'll go!"