Chapter Three: Barns and Troughs and Performance Spaces
"Cross a man and you struggle, one of you wins, you adjust and go on—or you lie there dead. Cross a woman and the universe is changed, once again…"—Wicked, Gregory Maguire

The first day Maureen came over to the loft, she'd noticed the empty lot across the street. Roger could not for the life of him understand what about it excited her so much.

"It's a lot. An empty lot."

"It is not," Maureen retorted, staring thoughtfully out the large windows of the loft. "It's a performance space." Her tone clearly indicated that this was something special, that there was a vast difference between an empty lot and a "performance space", but whatever it was, Roger couldn't grasp it. "If we just set up a stage and brought in some equipment…"

Roger gave her a suspicious look from his position sprawled on the couch. "What kind of equipment?"

She turned away from the window and waved one hand in the air in a vague gesture Roger didn't quite know how to interpret. "I don't know, a sound system, lights… Oh, it'll be wonderful! I don't suppose you know how to set up that sort of equipment, Roger-baby?"

The pet name made him wince a little; he ignored the mocking grin he could see Benny giving him out of the corner of his eye. "No, I don't. Sorry." Actually, he wasn't so much sorry as hoping that would discourage her, and it showed. From what he'd seen of Maureen's whims, she should give over the idea if it proved too difficult to manage.

From across the room, Benny mentioned off-handedly, "You know, Mark's good with that sort of technical stuff…"

Mark looked up upon hearing his name. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, I could help… that is… if you…" He trailed off as he noticed Roger's death glare that plainly said, You are not helping the situation.

But Maureen had already seized on the idea, and flashed a dazzling smile in Mark's direction. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Mark, you're the best!" Roger noted with some annoyance that Mark's pale cheeks flushed a little at that, but he didn't have long to worry about it. Maureen bounded away from the windows to the couch and sat down, practically on top of Roger. "And you can help too," she said brightly, getting more enthusiastic by the minute. Roger wondered where she got the impression that he even wanted to help.

"Help how?" he asked, beginning to become a little concerned as to what she was dragging him into.

"You could do the music and… oh! I know just what to do! I'll tell you what I need for later, just please promise you'll help…"

"You want me to agree to help when you haven't even told me what you expect me to do?" Roger asked incredulously.

"Well… yes. Come on, please say you will…" When Roger hesitated, she pouted at him and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss. "Please?"

He sighed, resigning himself to Maureen's manipulation. He met her eyes reluctantly and finally asked, "You're not going to give up, are you?"

Maureen considered for a moment, then smiled a little and shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Fine, fine. You win, I'll help you." He mostly said it to make her stop pouting at him, but the grateful smile she gave him made him happy that he had, despite his annoyance and the far too amused looks from Mark and Benny.

"Thank you!" Maureen squeaked and threw her arms around his neck, giving him another enthusiastic kiss. Roger closed his eyes and leaned in to her, not breaking the kiss until Mark picked one of the stray pillows that had fallen off the couch and threw it at Roger's head. Roger jerked back with a start.

"What was tha—"

Mark cut him off with a grin. "Get a room."

She is going to kill me, Roger thought as he picked up the phone. She will murder me. But then again, he was not going to be intimidated by Maureen, and he would have to tell her… Maybe she'd give him some credit for that? He doubted it. She would murder him alright. He braced himself and dialed her number anyway.

In the past week, Maureen had spent most of her time planning this performance of hers and dragging everyone she could into it, though she had managed to keep the details secret from almost everyone—even Roger. Mark had helped her set up a stage of sorts, a sound system, lights, and the performance had been scheduled for tonight. And now Roger had to tell Maureen that he was going to bail out.

Someone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"April! Um… hi, its Roger. Is—is Maureen there?"

"Yeah… hang on, I'll go get her." A rustling sound followed as she set the phone down, a long silence with some almost inaudible sounds of conversation in the background, and then…

"Hey, Roger-baby!" Chipper as always… Roger was almost too reluctant to bring up why he was calling. Almost.

"Hi Maureen," he said, decidedly less cheerful than her. "Listen—"

"Are you ready for the performance tonight? You've practiced the music and everything?"

Well, if she had to get to it right off the bat… "About that, Maur… I can't go."

Dead silence. Not a good sign. And then, after half a minute or so, "What?"

And here came the difficult part. "The band got a gig tonight, and it's scheduled at the same time as your thing. I'm sorry, but they do need me."

Coldly, Maureen said, "You agreed to help a week ago, Roger. Remember? And when did you find out about this?"

Roger sighed quietly, seeing clearly where this was going. "This afternoon."

"Damn it, Roger, you—You know what? Just… stay right where you are, okay? Don't go anywhere." There was an odd thumping, clattering sound as if she'd dropped the phone, and he thought he heard a door slam somewhere on the other end of the line. After a second or two, he heard April's voice. "What did you say to her?"

"Tell you later. What happened?"

"She dropped the phone, grabbed her coat and walked out the door. I would assume she's going to your place."

"Crap." Without another word, Roger hung up the phone.

As he had expected, Maureen marched into the loft not long after. "What the fuck, Roger?"

He looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "Well hello, Maureen, I love you too," he said sarcastically.

She stalked across the room towards him, and Roger got to his feet slowly. "You really think you can just leave after this has been planned for a week, just because this afternoon you—"

"Maureen. The band has a gig." He spoke calmly in the face of her obvious fury, as if stating the mere facts would make her back down. Later, looking back on that, he would wonder what the hell he had been thinking, but for now he didn't notice the idiocy of it.

"So tell them you can't go!"

"Maureen," Roger said, struggling to remain composed. "I can't. This is important. This is my career."

"And this is mine!" Maureen snapped. For several seconds the two of them stood there, silent, glaring eye-to-eye, Maureen's brown and Roger's blue, each daring the other to back down first.

At last, Roger growled, "The difference there, Maureen, is that people actually want to see me perform." The instant he said it, he knew he'd crossed a line, but he was too annoyed to apologize, and she probably too angry to accept it if he had. She stared at him for a second, wordless, and then took a half step back, looking down at her feet. For a moment, Roger thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. It would be the first time he'd ever seen her even close to crying.

"You selfish bastard." She only whispered it, her voice shaking a little, but it was loud enough for Roger to hear in the empty loft, as utterly silent as it was. "All I ask you is one thing, and you can't even do that, and then you just…"

She drew a slow breath and spun around quickly, stalking towards the door. Roger wondered for a second if he should stop her, but too late—the door slammed loudly behind her on her way out, the loft echoing with the sound. He watched the door for a moment, then shook his head and turned away. Immediately, he noticed Mark standing in the doorway of their bedroom, just watching him.

Roger glared at him, irritated by the accusing look Mark gave him. "How long have you been there?" He hadn't even known there was anyone else home, or he probably would have been more careful about what he said. No, scratch that, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. But he certainly would have been able to preempt this.

"Long enough," Mark said simply. "You shouldn't have said that to her. She's really excited about this, you know. And she really wanted you to help."

Not in the mood to hear a lecture, Roger shook his head and walked towards the bedroom to grab his guitar and a change of clothes for the club tonight, shouldering roughly past Mark as he passed him in the doorway. "And you shouldn't have been listening to us."

"I could hardly help it," Mark muttered. "I was taking a nap and you woke me up. Both of you."

Well, that would explain why Roger hadn't known he was home, and now that Roger glanced at him again, he realized that Mark did look like he'd been asleep, his clothes rumpled and hair sticking up oddly, so it wasn't a lie. Sometimes Roger doubted Mark could lie… He shook his head and searched through the closet for a clean shirt to wear. "Fine. I still don't want your advice." Or need it. "You sound like your mother."

Mark winced. "I'm not trying to tell you… I mean… Look, just… You should apologize to her, okay? That's all I'm saying."

Roger didn't even look at him, and didn't answer. The advice itself was annoying. Even more irritating was the fact that he knew Mark was right.