Eighteen Minutes
Above all else, it is loud. Deafeningly, earth-shatteringly, teeth-grindingly loud. It sounds vaguely like a battle from several blocks down, a mix of booming megaphones and people screaming. They have set out late, yes, Mark is the first one to admit that. But between Maureen super-gluing her fingers together while attempting to make cat ears for her costume, and Roger's last-ditch effort to re-bleach his own hair using a three-year-old bottle of Peroxide, it is a miracle they've gotten out at all. Mark clamps his lips together and tries to keep from voicing all of the ten thousand reasons that have occurred to him why this is a very, very bad idea. Instead, he lifts his camera to one eye and falls back, letting the others get just far enough ahead so that he can capture the back of the group in his viewfinder.
"Close up on New Year's Rockin' Eve, the prequel. Maureen and Mimi's bright idea. Of course."
"Marky! Shut that thing off!" Maureen's face appears in the viewfinder, startlingly large. She plants a lipsticked kiss on the lens and flutters her fake costume eyelashes at him. Mark sighs and obliges her, wiping off the camera with the edge of his scarf.
"What would you like me to do, Maureen?" Mark regards her cautiously. Maureen has that look in her eye, the sort of elfin sparkle that always spells trouble.
She opens her mouth to say a lot of things, but Mark hears none of them. They've finally made it to the edge of Times Square, and the entire world has shattered into kaleidoscopic montage. Here and there are legs and feet in front of him, and arms and hands and elbows all around, poking, prodding, struggling to get to the front. Every now and again he catches sight of an eye, or a pair of lips, wide open. At last, the forward motion stops, but the jostling does not. He is completely walled in, compressed in the middle of a human sea.
"Mark!" It is Roger's voice, and Mark latches onto it, searching the crowd until he finds its origin. Roger is standing a few feet over against a barricade, Mimi attached to his arm. Mark takes a long, calming breath, and begins considering his options. He needs to get over to where they are standing, but he is willing to bet nobody is going to let him through. Finally resolving to simply push his way past, he takes one step forward and bumps into somebody standing beside him.
"Hey!" It's Maureen, he realizes, after a long disoriented moment. She has somehow stayed with him. He motions to Roger and Mimi, and Maureen nods. She grabs one end of Mark's scarf and works her magic, tapping people's shoulders and smiling sweetly until they move.
"Are you having fun yet?" he snaps as soon as they are in earshot.
"Actually…" Roger holds out a bottle of champagne. Mark considers it for a long moment, then takes a swig.
"Time?" asks Mimi. Roger shrugs and gestures to his wrist. Not wearing a watch. Mark unclasps his and hands it to her, watching her struggle to read it. "23: 42…Mark, why is your watch on military time?"
"Because somebody set it that way and then couldn't figure out how to change it back." Mark cocks his head at Maureen, whose mouth is already open in protest.
"It was a joke, Marky! Besides, we needed it to settle our debate."
"Your debate," says Roger grumpily.
Mimi looks back and forth between the three of them, a mixture of amusement and confusion on her face. "Debate? Do I want to know?"
"She wanted to see if it would say 24:00 hours," says Mark, laughing. "She read somewhere that some watches say zero and some say twenty-four. So for about a week after, she went around changing any clock she could find to military time to see which it would say."
Mimi giggles, and shakes her head at Maureen. "And so? What did yours say, Mark?"
Mark takes another swig of the champagne and shakes his head. "You know…I actually don't remember. I haven't looked at it recently."
"Well," says Maureen, "in eighteen minutes, we'll know."
A long silence follows, during which Mark hands the bottle of champagne back to Roger and uncomfortably watches Mimi whisper something in his ear. Someone is making announcements via a loudspeaker, and it seems as though every third person is a reporter for one of the local news stations. Mark starts to turn his camera on again, but the look on Maureen's face says that isn't a good idea.
"So," she says finally. "I'm bored."
Roger groans, and Mimi breaks into a fresh fit of giggles. Mark snatches the champagne bottle back and takes another swig, promising himself that this will be the last. Drunk might be better than frustrated, but at the rate they are going, the others need at least one sane person to guarantee their safe return at the end of the night.
"What do you propose we do, Maureen?" asks Roger. He has always had a very low tolerance for Maureen, particularly when she is looking for mischief. Which is nearly always. "Call in a bomb threat and watch the place empty out?"
"We don't have a phone," says Maureen, apparently taking him seriously.
Mark clears his throat and jumps in, realizing that this is headed in a very bad direction. "We could play a game." He regrets the words instantly as Maureen's eyes light up. Bad move.
"What kind of game?" Maureen has taken Mark's watch from Mimi and is now swinging it around in little circles by one end of the band. He reaches out and catches it as it swings upward, firmly stuffing it into his coat pocket.
"Truth or dare?" They all turn and look at Mimi. Mark feels a fresh wave of dread in his stomach as memories of high school parties come flooding back. Maureen squeals and claps her hands together.
"What are we gonna do for the dares?" asks Roger, looking helplessly at Mark. "We can't move two feet in this."
Maureen's smile turns wicked. "We'll think of something. Marky, you're first. Truth or dare."
Mark swallows hard and looks at Roger, silently pleading for an intervention. He knows whatever is coming won't be pretty; Maureen has never missed an opportunity to torment him, even when they were dating. Roger shrugs.
"Truth?" says Mark.
"Who was your first?" asks Maureen, all too quickly. Roger snorts and takes a long pull from the champagne bottle.
"Oh, come on, Maureen!" protests Mark. "Everybody here already knows that."
"I don't," says Mimi, and smiles sweetly at him.
Mark sighs and scuffs the toe of one shoe along the ground, feeling like a petulant five-year-old. "Youweremyfirst," he mumbles, hoping the noise of the crowd will drown out his answer.
"What was that, Marky?" says Maureen.
"You," says Mark, louder. Roger laughs again, but Mimi just looks sympathetic. Mark turns back to Maureen. "Your turn."
"Dare," says Maureen quickly.
Roger rolls his eyes. Typical Maureen. "Kiss that guy," he says, pointing to a very overweight man sucking the living daylights out of a beer can a few feet to their right.
Maureen sticks her tongue out at Roger, then considers her options. Reaching into the tiny purse she is carrying over one leather-clad shoulder, she pulls out a stick of gum and puts it between her lips. She takes a couple of steps closer to her target, and taps the man on the shoulder. He drops the beer can, curses loudly, and practically passes out when he turns around to find cat-suited Maureen standing a few inches away from him. She smiles prettily for him, then attacks his face as if she intends to eat it rather than kiss it. After a good long moment, she pulls back, pats the man on the head, and trots back over to the others, wiping her mouth.
"Too easy," she says, smiling smugly at Roger. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"
"Truth," says Roger, staring her down.
"Most embarrassing moment," says Mimi, snaking her arms around his waist. Roger looks less than thrilled, but doesn't push her away.
"The time that—"
"You better say what you told me before," interrupts Mark, feeling like a little revenge is in order.
Roger glares daggers at Mark, and opens his mouth to try again. "The time that my mom decided to take us all to Disney. I got sick on the plane and puked all over my brother's Mickey Mouse ears. I swear to god, those flight attendants must've been ready to strangle me by the time we landed."
Mimi laughs and kisses him, muttering something semi-audible about "tough-guy image." Mark laughs to himself. As much as Roger tries to pull off the rock star persona, he'll always be a high school boy at heart. Roger pokes Mimi in the ribs, and she jumps away, shrieking.
"Your turn," says Roger, taking her by the shoulders and placing her squarely in front of Maureen. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," saysMimi, winking at Mark.
An awkward silence follows, during which they all look at one another for a question. It is Roger's turn to ask, but Mark is slightly afraid of what might come out of his mouth. As much as he appears happy with Mimi, he's had a million questions for Mark every time she's left for work during the past week. Something is bothering him, and they all feel it just below the surface.
"Who was your last boyfriend?" askes Maureen at last.
Mimi looks as though she's been slapped in the face. For the first time since Mark has met her, she doesn't have a smile on her face. It is as if all the light has gone out of her eyes. She looks smaller somehow, defeated.
"Maureen…" says Mark, hoping that maybe if she notices it too, she will back down.
"Okay, dare," says Maureen, catching on for the first time all night. She isn't heartless, after all. "How's that sound?"
Mimi nods slowly, but Roger breaks in, holding up a hand. "Wait. I want to hear this."
"I…You don't want to know," says Mimi softly.
"What? You don't have to hide anything from me," insists Roger, but his voice is hard. Mark recognizes the look on his face, jaw clenched and blue eyes dull. Roger is feeling mean.
"You're drunk," says Mark, though he knows it isn't true. Anything to stop Roger from getting into one of the downward spirals he'd been prone to since April's death. All it takes is a few words on the wrong subject, and anyone in the room is a potential target. It is as if Roger feels that he can assuage his own guilt if he just gets angry enough at the rest of the world.
"No, I'm not," says Roger, his voice getting even louder. "I just want to know what Mimi has to say. She knows there's nothing to be afraid of. Why don't you let her talk, Cohen."
Mark has to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out at Roger. He becomes the jock again whenever he wants to make Mark feel inferior. It works, every time.
"Roger—"
"What, Mark?" Roger pushes his way over to Mark, until they are standing just inches apart. "You gonna play Mom now? It's what you do best, you know. Butt into other people's business."
"Roger, babe, don't do this!" pleads Mimi, trying to put a hand on his shoulder. Maureen stands off to one side, looking shell-shocked at the havoc her question has caused.
"Get off me," spits Roger, pushing Mimi off his back. "Answer the question or get away from me."
Mark takes one more look at Roger and makes a decision. He takes Mimi by the arm and leads her a few feet away, making sure not to lose the others in the crowd. He knows it must be only a few minutes before midnight now, and he is determined not to let the new year start on a sour note.
"Tell me," he says gently. "I won't tell Roger. Just tell me and I'll help you figure out a way to deal with him. He gets like this sometimes, he just…he has a hard time dealing with the idea that he could maybe lose everything again."
"Benny," says Mimi weakly. "Benny was my last boyfriend. It was a year ago, Mark. A whole year. I went to see him about an apartment and things just…" She shakes her head.
"Oh, Christ," groans Mark. There is no way they can ever tell Roger. At least, not while he's in this state. "Okay. Umm…just tell him that you haven't had a boyfriend recently. Not since you found out about…you know. He'll buy it."
"But Mark—"
"Mimi, trust me on this. Do not tell Roger about Benny." Mark locks eyes with her, waits until he is sure she understands the gravity of his point. She nods after a long moment, then turns away and pushes back through the crowd to where Roger is glaring at Maureen.
"Roger?" She sounds weak still, but resolved. "Babe, I'm sorry I got upset. It's just that I haven't…I haven't had a boyfriend since I found out that I'm sick. It's kind of…" She breaks off, shrugs.
Slowly, something in Roger's eyes changes. The lines that have etched themselves into his face in his anger soften. For a moment Mark wonders if he will buy it, but then Roger gently takes Mimi's hand and presses it palm-up to his lips. A silent apology. Mark takes a breath and tries to swallow the sick feeling in his stomach. He knows that this will spell disaster in the future, but the crisis has been averted for the moment.
"Time?" asks Maureen. Mark starts to get his watch out, but people all around him burst into cheers, counting down. The noise obscures all else, creating a sort of strobe effect in his perception.
"Ten!"
Mark takes a step back and looks up at the sky. It is clear. He can see the stars.
"Nine!"
The ball glitters above their heads.
"Eight!"
All around, people are jostling, jittering, bumping into one another. For the only ten seconds of the year, it does not matter. They are simply happy to be where they are.
"Seven!"
A few feet over, the fat man Maureen has kissed is smiling like this is the best night of his life.
"Six!"
Behind them, a middle-aged couple is standing with their arms wrapped around each other. Their eyes reflect the lights.
"Five!"
A little way off, Mark suddenly catches sight of Collins, Angel, and Joanne waving at them. He waves back.
"Four!"
Suddenly, Maureen leans over and gives Mark a kiss on the cheek. He can't help but blush.
"Three!"
Mark begins to count along with them.
"Two!"
In front of him, Roger and Mimi are kissing. Mark silently wonders at how the world can be turned upside down and right again in eighteen short minutes.
"One!"
The ball hits bottom. Mark wonders how long before things come crashing down around him again.
"Hey, Marky!" Maureen's voice jars Mark out of his reverie, and he jumps just a bit. She plants a kiss on his lips and uses his shoulders to launch herself into the air.
"What, Maureen?" asks Mark, for what feels like the thousandth time.
"What does your watch say?"
Mark pulls it out and looks. "Zero," he says. Zero. Neither positive nor negative. A clean slate. A fresh start. "Happy New Year, Maureen."