Chapter 1

After Mimi came around, we took her to the hospital (the 911 dispatcher never answered—they must have it in for the East Village bohos). Normally, NONE of us could afford to pay for a check-up, let alone a week in a hospital bed, but thanks to Collins' technical skills, our private rewired ATM gave us enough flow. Mimi recovered (as much as you CAN recover from that kind of thing) and she went home.

Upon her release, Mimi moved into the loft with Roger and me. Roger had found new meaning in life, love, music and all that bullshit, so his artistic visions were constant. He started up his band again (The Well-Hungarians...oy vey) and began playing in bars. When Mimi felt better, she joined the band as a dancer (no more Cat-Scratch club, and no more jealous Roger). After a while, Roger began to get phone calls offering bigger gigs—mainly as an opening band. Two years ago, Roger would have NEVER thought of doing something like that ("pathetic sell-outs," he'd gruff), but it was both money and publicity, so he couldn't pass it up.

After Mimi moved into the loft, Maureen and Joanne took her old apartment. Joanne had gotten into a bit of trouble with her law firm—see, we promised to only use the rewired ATM for real emergencies (namely medical, but also for necessities). Before Roger's band started getting regular gigs, Mimi used the ATM to take out money to buy them both AZT. That day, the bank was closely monitoring the ATM's transactions, and she was caught. Joanne was there in an instant, and bailed her out (fortunately the bank had no knowledge of any of our previous "withdraws"). The whole matter was settled quietly with, ironically, some money we had taken out earlier. Anyway, the law firm didn't take too highly to Joanne's pro-bono action, and she was fired. She went to work at the local legal aid, so she was still receiving a paycheck, but it was only half as much.

Maureen was still doing her protest shows for whatever action she was for or against each week. That meant she barely broke even after each show, so she and Joanne were forced to move. With a cheaper rent, they managed to live on Joanne's earnings and any money Maureen was able to pick up (if any) after each protest. It wasn't what they once had, but still, they were surviving.

Benny was still with Alison, living in Westport. We didn't talk much, but the events of the previous year had changed him for the better. He still owned the building we lived in, but dropped the rent and turned on the heat from the end of November to February. The vacant lot remained intact, and while Benny wasn't exactly reaching out to the inhabitants with each visit to the East Village, he wasn't driving them away, either. And for Benny, that was saying something.

Collins went back to teach at NYU. He had taken a leave of absence a month before Angel died—when we all knew she was near the end—and returned the following January. Needless to say, they accepted his theory on "actual reality," and he began to enjoy his career as a teacher again.

After I moved to midtown, Collins was the only one I really stayed in touch with. We'd meet for coffee at the Life Cafe, or dinner near Times Square. Once, we took in a play (off-Broadway, of course). He was really the only one who understood my need to leave the East Village.

Oh...I guess I left that part out. I received a call around mid-January from Alexi Darling, of all people. She understood why I didn't want to work for Buzzline, but offered to send in some of my films to other production companies. I was taken aback by her generosity, but she brushed it off.

"That's what we have to do-o in this bus-iness, Marky," she said, in that sing-song voice of hers. "We help each other ou-ut. Promise you'll do the sa-ame when you ma-ke it."

I promised her. A week or so later, a call came in from a local TV station.

"We need technical work, really," the guy said. He sounded young, about my age, and down-to-earth. "But I can give you a thirty-minute slot at midnight once a week, if you want it."

I took it. Two years ago, I might have blown it off, but it was money and time. I needed both.

So I moved out, right before Roger started touring the northeast. They threw me a party (which even Benny came to) and wished me luck, but the only one who really meant it was Collins.

"I understand, Mark," he said as we hugged goodbye. "Don't worry about the others—go find yourself."

Maureen and Joanne each gave me a hug, but I could see the question in their eyes: The studio was only twenty minutes away by train—why didn't I commute? Mimi gave me a brief kiss, but there was a new distance between us, almost as if she resented my leaving. And Roger, who had barely spoken to me since I accepted the job, gave me a half-hearted handshake when I went to hug him. Out of the two of us, I generally was the more apt to touching, but he never blew me off like that before. But I simply shook his hand and promised to stay in touch. That promise was made for all of them.

Funny how promised fall through, even between best friends.

Sure, it started out all well and good. If Roger and Mimi resented my leaving, they covered it up in their phone calls and letters. When they went on the road, I received postcards—first from their every stop, but then none at all. The last one Roger sent me was from Santa Fe, where they opened for a rising band. I knew he only sent it because of the town's meaning to us.

It was about the same with Maureen and Joanne. We'd phone and write at first, and then the communication ebbed. I'd received invitations to Maureen's big protests, but I was living on a fixed budget and couldn't afford the cab ride.

And Benny...well...I only heard from him once. In fact, that's where all this really begins.