Sorry about the wait, ya'll. Lets cut to the chase.
"Rog, you're not getting ready for a coronation! Let's go!"
I hammered on the bedroom door and rolled my eyes at Collins, standing behind me. "This is taking forever. All he had to do was change his damn shirt!"
Collins smiled. "I've never known Roger Davis to go anywhere without looking as good as he possibly can." There was a slight pause as we exchanged glances. Great. This was going to take a while…
"Hey Roger!" the anarchist raised his voce and moved past me to the door. "We're not gonna take it easy on you just because its your birthday! Come on man, we don't have all night!"
"Take it easy on him, guys, "Benny intervened from his seat on the couch. 'He's turning twenty-four after all. That's practically dead."
There was a sudden sound a lot like a shoe being thrown at the inside of a bedroom door, in our general direction. "I heard that, you fag, "came Roger's muffled growl.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh. Sorry Collins."
A bout of laughter followed, but there was one person who remained apart from our joviality. April Keane was curled up opposite Benny on the sagging couch, seemingly absorbed in a magazine. Bit I could see her blue-grey eyes regarding us from over the top of the glued binding.
April. I hadn't liked her at first, you know. She just seemed…wrong to me. Roger just thought I was being a snob, of course. I could still hear him, "So she's different then what you're used to. So what? Hate to break it to you Mark, but I don't need your approval in everything I do!" I couldn't find a way to tell him that it wasn't like that. I mean, she was nice enough, and really pretty. She had red hair, a thin yet curvy frame, and a cute little upturned nose that wrinkled when she smiled. I dunno…I guess it was the network of bruises running across her arms that kind of destroyed her appeal. To me at least.
When she and Roger began getting serious, I in turn began getting nervous. I had been terrified that dating her would lead my best friend to experimenting with drugs. Hard stuff. And, lo and behold, though he denied it, I knew she had talked Roger into trying heroin more than a few times. Hence the reason for my not exactly chummy relationship with Miss Keane. However, paradoxically, April seemed to be genuinely fond of me. She would ruffle my hair, offer unsolicited (but painfully accurate) criticism on my screenplays, and ask me to dance with her. Roger had yet to master the art of dance ("Christ, what a waste of time!") but April had taken tango lessons for 9 years. She would always claim, with a teasing smile, that I helped keep her flexible. She had this way of just saying whatever came into her head, something that made me blush more times than I can count. As time went on, I let my guard down a bit and, against my better judgment, found myself becoming much warmer towards her. But sometimes I would lie awake at night, praying to Whoever was up there that Roger would somehow avoid getting hooked on heroin.
I don't think it helped much.
Anyhow, I kept trying to catch her eye over the top of the magazine, but for some reason, she was avoiding my gaze. Puzzled, I was about to go over and sit by her when the bedroom door swung open to reveal my best friend, in all his rockstar glory.
"Ta-da!" he sang. 'The Birthday Boy is ready to go!"
Collins rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I think it's about time for my birthday by now."
"What took you so long?' Benny got up from the couch, which creaked alarmingly, and came over. "Collins' date's probably already gone by now.'
"Nah, Steve's cool. I told him we might be a little late.' The anarchist pulled on his coat as he spoke.
Roger shrugged. "I couldn't find my other black sock." He stuck out one Converse-clad foot for inspection. "You can't expect me to go out sockless on my birthday."
I draped an arm over the shoulders of his leather jacket. "As Earth-shattering as it may seem, socks don't always have to match, buddy."
He laughed and prodded me in the chest. "This is coming from the fashion guru of New York City, right?"
I smiled. "Touché."
As we all grabbed our coats and various wraps, Roger stepped over, took April's hand and, in a move that would have put Sir Galahad to shame, helped her up off the couch. "Hey Princess, are you positive that you don't want me to stay with you?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. "I'm fine, baby. It's just a cold. I'll get some rest and be a hundred percent better by tomorrow."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah…I'm sure."
"Okay then."
They kissed again, April holding the embrace out for a bit longer than necessary. When Roger finally touched her face and went to put on his scarf, it seemed to me that she looked very small.
Once the group was all bundled up against the cold November night, we said goodbye to April and left the apartment. I was the last to go, and was just about to close the door behind me when I heard her call my name.
"Mark?"
I peeked back in. "Yeah?'
She was standing almost directly in front of the door, face to face with me. For a half-second, neither of us moved, then she suddenly stepped forward and pressed her lips against my cheek.
"See you later, Tango Buddy."
With a small smile, she closed the door, leaving a bemused filmmaker to run after his friends, trying to rid himself of the intuitive knot in his stomach.
Like? Hate? Please, please, please review! (I'm not too proud to beg!)