A/N: Yeah, I've written SIX chapters on this story, and haven't been able to post any of them. I'll probably post the first two at first. I don't want to post all of them at once...

P.S. January 9th, 8:00 AM, Central Standard Time. Yeah, as I keep saying, I've actually already FINISHED this story. So you don't need to tell me to write the next chapter soon; I try to post up the chapters one every other day. I think I'm nearly finished with Figuring out My Life, but I'm not sure. Enjoy Chapter Six! Hope you like it!

.-.-.

This chapter rated PG for mild language. (Hell, damn...)

Where Is My Life Going? – Chapter Six

"So, do you want to take the contract to your hotel to review it until the meeting tomorrow on the thirteenth?"

I blink, this being one of the first easily understood things Nancy Moles has said to me all afternoon. "Erm...sure. Now, I'm confused about where I'll be living, you know..."

The woman in her amazingly prim brown suit smiles at me. "It's easy. We'll help you get a reasonable apartment somewhere near to the studio. When you're busy directing involving projects, we have limited living quarters you'll be able to use so that you can get the most work time. Does that make sense?"

I nod, but of course I'm not done. "What will the pay be? And the rent for this apartment?"

"Well, the rent is between you and the landlord." (Goody, I think to myself. Hope it's not as bad as my last one.) "But as for your salary, it will depend on the scale of your project. If we think it's an important enough investment, it'll be higher. If it's a simple television airing, you might not get as much."

"Can you give me even a rough estimate?" (Hardly anything she had said had sunk in.)

"Well..." She thought for a moment. "I suppose around 50k a year, estimate."

I blink. That will be enough to pay necessities. Hell, I might not live such a freaking cheap life any more. Hell, name brand cereals might even be possible, with just one person. "I'll take the contract to the hotel and review it, if that's all right with you."

Nancy nods, smiling. "Of course. It would be wonderful to have your talent with our studio."

I stand up, and she stands at the same moment. For a moment I'm confused, but then I remember vaguely what businessmen usually do when a meeting is over, and I extend my hand for a handshake. She accepts it, and we shake hands. She has a firm grip, I notice vaguely.

About half an hour later, I'm up in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling, dazed. I had spent the first week in this city 'getting acquainted with the members of the staff' for the studio on a private tour led by Ms. Moles herself, and I was moving on to the permanent contract stuff. If my first week in the world of sell-outs is anything, it indicates a life full of downright rude people (which I can handle), confusing contracts (which I hope I can handle), and a whole lotta stress. If Roger could see how hard it was to 'sell-out', he wouldn't be so hard on them...

I'm thinking about him AGAIN...dammit...

I hear a knock on the main door of the hotel, and I get up, blinking. Who could it be? I open the door of my hotel, and the clerk hands me a brown wrapped package. "Mail for you."

I raise an eyebrow at the package. "Who in the world is sending me mail? I haven't been here for a week. I haven't even told anybody this address..."

The clerk shrugs, tipping his hat to me and bidding me a 'good day'. I nod in thanks, not really paying attention, only looking at the package. After turning it over multiple times I can find no return address. But it's clearly addressed to me; my name's on it and everything.

I sit on the couch of the hotel room, setting the box on the floor. It looks about the size to hold a large table lamp...and, after removing the paper, I see with a slight laugh that it actually did hold a table lamp. I open the box, digging through the Styrofoam peanuts to find what's in here.

I find three things. One is an envelope, with the words 'To Our Marky' on it. I stare at this for a while, and then put it aside for a moment. I reach back in and pull out a much softer package, as if it's some sort of clothing wrapped in paper and tied with old strings. The third is something wrapped in newspaper. Who in the world...?

I grab the envelope again, following my impulse at birth to always open the letter than comes with a package first. There is a fold of four sheets of paper in there. I pull them out and begin reading the top one.

To Our Marky...

You left without giving anybody a proper goodbye, mister. So we have to say goodbye to you ourselves.

Oh my God, I think as I continue reading.

Maureen is the one that suggested putting 'Marky' on the envelope. She wanted to address the package to 'Marky Cohen' as well, but I told her you would throw a fit if somebody delivered you a package saying 'Are you Marky?'. ('Good guess', I say with a smirk.) Mark, I was the last person to actually talk to you. ('Collins' I say out loud as I suddenly realize.) You left me saying you were a coward. I was so sad to hear you say that, I didn't know what to say. So I walked out. And when I came back ten minutes later to try and give you a proper goodbye, you were gone. So, I want to tell you what I was going to tell you before you left: You are brave unlike any of us. You stuck with us, stayed our friends, even as many of them gained what most perceive as a death sentence, myself included. You stayed by all of us, and that takes guts, Mark. So if you ever try to tell me that you're a spineless coward again, I'm going to have to slap you upside the head. Your Brother, Collins.

"My brother..." I get a little choked up as I read that signature out-loud. My brother...a part of my family...

To Our Wonderful Marky!

Mark, if I could pick the hardest-working, most determined individual out there, it would be you. Your dedication awes me beyond description. I will always feel a bond with you because of all the little things we share in common, and some other things that shall remain nameless. (I can't help but laugh at that.) Mimi had to wait for ages before she could get the number of the studio you're working for, and then she had to convince them that she was actually your sister and you hadn't seen her since she was a baby and she always wanted to meet her big brother...just to get the address of the hotel you're staying in. (I laugh out loud once again.) I hope you find whatever you're looking for with that studio, and I hope you never forget your family is here to take you home. Your Loving Sister, Joanne.

"Sister..." They must have gotten together and done this.

To my lovely, darling, amazing Marky... ("Wonder who this is," I said out loud with a sneer.)

Do you like the idea for all of us calling you Marky? That was my idea! Collins wouldn't let me address the package to 'Marky Cohen', though. He's such a spoil sport. Well, I'm never good with words like this, so I'll keep it sweet: you better become a famous movie director or something to have left us without saying goodbye! We're expecting at least two Academy Awards. You better make us proud, because God knows there's already so much about you to be so proud of! Love Your Sister, Maureen. P.S. Open the squishy package!

I set down the letters, picking up the package I had been told to open. I rip away the paper, and I feel my throat close up. A long, narrow piece of fabric falls out, worn and stretched from so many uses. My scarf...I had forgotten it when I was packing, and had realized I hadn't packed it when I was on the plane...

I can feel a silent tear trickling down my cheek as I moved on to the last letter, muttering a silent 'thank you' to Maureen.

To Mark

I'm writing this quickly, because Maureen might be coming soon and if she sees I'm actually calling you by a dignified name she might have a grade-A fit. But I want to tell you right off the bat: Roger didn't write you a letter, as you've probably figured out from counting the pieces of paper. Mark, I want to tell you, no matter how stupid Roger is, he's not the same anymore. He's different without you to tell him how he's screwing up his life. Now I'm trying to fill in your shoes, and it's almost impossible. Mark, he won't admit it, but I have to tell you this: he misses you, whether you still are angry at him or not. Roger did, however, want to send you something, and to tell you that you should 'remember us'. That not-so-squishy package is his. He gave it to me already wrapped in newspaper, so I dunno what it is. But Mark...Roger really does miss you. And if you feel the same way, I know that he would feel so much better if you would call him and give him a proper goodbye. Your Sister, Mimi, and (in part) Your Best Friend, Rog.

I set the letter down, my hands shaking for some reason. He missed me? What in the world would he have sent me? I pick up the last package, a rectangular something. My trembling hands rip off the paper, and my heart stops.

Maureen and Joanne in a tight embrace...Collins and Angel holding each other...Mimi making an exotic pose...It was the picture, the picture I had developed and left behind when I left. I had left it on purpose...I look it over again, and see with a pang in my chest two young men, making very silly faces for the cameras, looking like best friends...BEST friends...

I feel my eyes welling up with tears. Roger didn't need to send a letter. He had said it all.

.-.-.

"Good morning, Mr. Cohen!" Nancy holds a hand out for me to shake as I walk into the office room. "Mr. Cohen, I want you to meet one of our producers, Mr. Bloom, and..."

"Nancy, I need to tell you something." I am determined, and I am ready. "I'm not signing the contract."

Nancy blinked. "...Oh. Well, then, you want to just work minor projects? That's perfectly fine. Many of our..."

"No, you misunderstand me." I was smiling weakly, in spite of myself. "I have somewhere else I need to be. I quit." There was a stunned silence. "You agreed that if I decided to you would send me back to New York, correct?"

Ms. Moles stared at me blankly. After quite a while, she said, very quickly and flustered, "Of-of course. That was our agreement, wasn't it?" She laughed nervously. "Well, Mr. Cohen, might I ask why you are leaving us so soon after beginning?"

I gave her another smile. "Family affairs, Ms. Moles."

.-.-.

Riiing. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Joanne?"

"MARK!" I have never heard Joanne so excited as she sounded when she said my name. "Oh my God, it's you! How are you!"

"I'm great, actually. Hey, Joanne, I need you and Maureen's help with something..."

.-.-.

Riiing. "New York University, how may I help you?"

"Could you transfer me to Mr. Thomas Collins?"

"Just a moment, sir." Riiing. "Hello?"

"Collins?" Stunned silence. "...Collins? Hello?" More silence. "Anybody there?"

"MARK!" I jump at the sudden sound of his voice. Suddenly I can hear him dancing around and singing a song he seems to have invented on the spot. "Hahaha! It's YOU!"

"The one and only. Listen, Collins, I need you to fix something up for me this weekend..."

.-.-.

Riiiing. "Welcome to the Cat Scratch Club. How may I help you?"

"Is Mimi Marquez busy?"

"No, sweetie, you caught her on a break. Hold up." Pause. "Hello?"

"Mimi?"

Pause. "Oh...my...GOD! MARK!" She literally squeals into the phone, and I hold the phone about a foot away from my ear as she squeals (and I can still hear her loud and clear). "MARK, IT'S YOU! OH MY GOD! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S YOU, IT'S REALLY YOU!"

"YES, Mimi, It's me." I take a breath before continuing, all these exciting phone calls starting to exhaust me. "Listen...I have something very important I want you to do..."

Pause. "What?"

"It has to do with Roger..."

.-.-.

A/N: So, yeah, the next chapter concludes this part. I'm writing this AN the day I'm publishing it, and reading it over again, I realize how much I love it. I hope you loved it as much! CONSTRUCTIVE reviews are STRONGLY encouraged! I'm glad so many of you like it, but surely there's something you think I can fix. About the Sunday/Saturday school, that could quite possibly be true. I'm going to get to research Judaism now, after researching NYC geography. Wow. Amazing how much research can go into writing a fanfic.