Author's Note: I'm gonna be out of town the end of this week, so I may not get an update out until mid next week. Happy holidays.
A New Deal
The Life Café is completely deserted, though it's both lunchtime and a Friday. Mark arrives at 12:01, unsurprised to find that the 'other party' is late for their meeting. Typical. By five after, he is seated with a sickeningly expensive veggie burger steaming in front of him. It has gotten cold by the time Benjamin Coffin III waltzes in the door, walking as though he has all the time in the world. Mark grimaces into his plate and waves Benny over.
"What the hell is this about?" If Mark's learned anything in the past year, it's how to show a little backbone.
"What, I can't have lunch with my old buddy Mark without getting interrogated anymore?" Benny winks, eliciting giggles from several waitresses who are standing behind the counter. If nothing else, he has always been the spitting image of 'tall, dark, and handsome.' "I thought we could get together, you know, shoot the breeze. Like old times."
"Cut the crap, Benny. Old times are old times. Gone." Mark pauses as a waitress brings Benny a menu and a glass of water. "I have to be back at work in fifteen minutes. Now why are you here?"
"Well, well, Marky's gotten tough. My, the Food Emporium's taught you a lot. Maybe I should've ignored my mother when she laughed at me for playing with a cash register when I was a kid." Another waitress appears and Benny leans up to whisper in her ear, making sure she's got his order just right.
Mark taps his fingers impatiently. "Look, I've got a job to do. I've got food to earn and meds to pay for. Now either you tell me what you're doing here, or I'm walking out and getting back to my life."
"All right. Fair enough." Benny smiles, but it isn't nice. "I've come for a little celebration. Cyber Arts will be a reality yet."
"What?" Mark's stomach tightens. This is the last thing they need. "I thought Muffy tightened your leash, pulled you out."
"I got new investors. Alison and I…let's just say things didn't work out." Benny's food arrives and he grins at the waitress.
"You're divorced?" Mark pauses, takes a bite of burger and nearly chokes. "So then what, this whole crapshoot starts all over again?" Really the last thing they need.
"Not exactly. Not if you make the right decision." Benny picks the lemon off the edge of his glass and puts it straight into his mouth. An appropriate enough habit.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Listen, Cohen, here's the deal. I've bought back the lot, but not you're building. Yet. Either you all agree to keep your noses out of the project, or that's next on my agenda. I'm kinda thinking Cyber Arts would be nicer with two buildings. You know, tear down the ugly apartment building next door."
"You can't do that!" Mark says, nearly shouting now. "You'd have to pay us if you did."
"Just keep your friends quiet and I shouldn't have to." Benny grins again and gets up, slapping a wad of bills on the table without even looking at the check. "That should cover it. Don't say I never did anything for you."
Mimi rested her forehead on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat and tried to catch her breath. Her stomach was rolling dangerously and her throat burned with bile. Her head was spinning from lack of oxygen and sleep deprivation. There hadn't been a single night for the past two weeks when she hadn't been jolted from sleep, drenched in sweat, her stomach tied in knots.
She took a deep breath and cautiously sat up on her heels, shivering. She had hardly eaten anything since she'd been sick, and suddenly Mimi felt that she barely had the energy to move. She pushed herself up slowly against the toilet bowl and staggered over to the sink, wincing as she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her father had followed through on his thread, keeping her home for the past two weeks and withdrawing her from school. Each day faded into the next, time crawling along, a hellish march toward the end with no sign of mercy or relief. It had to be close to the holidays, she knew, but she had no concept of how much time had gone by. The sickness, the panic, the pain faded into a cloud of absolute misery that pervaded all.
Mimi leaned forward and turned the water on, running her hands through its icy cold relief. She splashed it on her face, the cold hitting her with a jolt, and allowed herself a few sips before turning it off again and stumbling back toward her bedroom. The floorboards in the hall creaked, and she drew a deep breath, half expecting to hear his angry footsteps in the hall.
She made it back to the bedroom and closed and locked the door, then sat down on the bed, one hand on her stomach, an awful thought turning itself over and over in her mind.
What if there was a reason she was sick?
She pulled up her shirt and slowly ran her fingers over the flat expanse of skin, imagining for a moment that she could feel something there. His child, growing inside her, taking nourishment from her body like a parasite from its host. The idea sickened her, and she tried to force it out of her mind, getting shakily back to her feet and going over to stand by the window.
It was dark outside, but the blinds were broken and rays of blue moonlight were streaming in. Mimi closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, imagining herself in a love story from one of the romance novels she sometimes read in the corner used bookstore while she was passing time, waiting for it to be safe to go home. She smiled a little, secretly, to herself, the scene forming in her mind's eye.
It would be night. The lights would be out and the room would be lit in the soft blue moonlight alone. There would be a man there, and he would love her. He would be quiet and gentle. There would be no yelling, no struggling, no pain…For once, it wouldn't have to hurt.
The last thought brought the memories flooding back, and Mimi opened her eyes, the daydream broken. The calendar on the little bedside table caught her eye. She had lost track of time entirely.
It was Christmas Eve, she realized suddenly. No wonder he was out. He must be at some bar party, drinking himself into an alcohol induced stupor and fucking every girl in sight who could bear to look at him. Mimi shuddered, despite herself. The very thought of him made her sick. In the Marquez household, holidays only meant more alcohol, more shouting, more violence.
She laid down on the bed and tried to get some much-needed sleep, but her mind was already too far awake. Suddenly the numbness was beginning to fade, beginning to lift. The daydream she had allowed in had made a hole in her defenses, and now they were being ripped away. She rolled over, wrapping the thin, threadbare blanket around her as tightly as she could, shivering. She always slept with the door locked and the sheets bundled around her. If she didn't, he might come in in the middle of the night. She rolled over again, then sat up, her head clearing with a sudden burst of energy. He was gone. It was after one o'clock, and he still wasn't home. He wouldn't be home that night.
Mimi swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The change in position was a little too quick, though, and she had to grab the edge of the bedside table to steady herself and keep from falling. Silently cursing her own weakness, Mimi went over to stand by the window again, looking out. There weren't many lights around. Her house was in one of the still-rundown and inexpensive Bronx neighborhoods, far away from just about anything worthwhile. It would be hard to get anywhere on foot. But this was a once in a lifetime chance. He didn't go out often, and when he got back, he was likely to be even worse than usual. Mimi put a hand to her stomach again and took a deep breath.
She wasn't going to take it anymore.
She went to the closet and opened the doors quietly, but then couldn't think what to take. She didn't have anything that would do her much good. Mimi went to the bed and knelt down beside it, then ran her fingers through the space under the mattress, pulling out a handful of small bills. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. For now.
She dressed quickly in a pair of old jeans, a black sweater, and a heavier jacket, quickly stuffing the money into the side of her boot.
Mimi crept out to the front door and opened it slowly, wincing as it creaked. Her heart was pounding and her head felt like it was about to explode. She thought for a moment of her mother, lying in bed, her stomach growing with each passing day. Mimi felt a pang of guilt at leaving her and the new baby with him, but she told herself that it would be better this way. He never fought with her mother anyway. Wouldn't lay a hand on her. Maybe the new baby would be luckier.
Forcing all other thoughts out of her mind, Mimi stepped out into the cold and shut the door behind her, hoping to god that her old life would stay locked within.
"Hey."
Mimi jumps a bit as she registers Roger's hand on her shoulder. She realizes she doesn't know what time or day it is, but these things are not so unusual now. His hand feels heavy against her skin, and it burns a bit.
"Hi." She coughs a little as she speaks, also not unusual.
"You were having a nightmare." Roger sits on the edge of the bed, but he's obviously not happy. His voice is practically accusatory.
"Yeah. I guess I was." Mimi sits up a little, decides that perhaps that isn't the best idea when the room starts to spin again. "Thanks for waking me up." She isn't about to tell him she can't remember the last time she did something other than sleep.
"I think you're running a fever." He runs a hand across her forehead and Mimi swats it away.
"I'm fine, Rog. It's winter. I've got a cold." Suddenly she wishes he would leave. Or at least stop talking.
"I want to take you to the hospital."
"I'm not going anywhere, Roger. Let me sleep. I'll be fine."
He stares for a minute, then walks off angrily. Once he's gone, she almost feels lonely.
There was a thin layer of ice on the streets, but thankfully it was a clear evening, and there was no more snow falling. Perhaps it would not be a white Christmas this year. Mimi quickened her step and tried to keep her breathing steady. She had been walking for what must have been an hour, starting out in the direction of the abandoned house, and then just continuing on. The panic had started a few minutes ago, coming on with the realization that she had absolutely no idea where she was or where she was going. There was no one she could go to for help; he'd always made sure she didn't have any friends. The precious little money she had wasn't going to last long, and she couldn't afford to spend too much of it until she knew where she could get more. The adrenaline had faded, and the sickness was coming back, twisting her stomach and making her vision swim.
Mimi caught sight of a small park ahead, the streetlights casting an eerie yellow glow on the bushes in the dark. She made her way over to a small bench, holding onto the fake-looking fence around the perimeter of the garden. It wasn't until she was already there that she noticed there was someone else sitting on the bench. She drew back, surprised and a little scared.
It was a man, she realized, squinting. Or, not really—he couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was. He was thin, she could see that even through his heavy coat, his face pointed and angular. He had chin length black hair, slicked to a shine with some sort of grease. His eyes were dark, almost black, and shining in the yellow glare of the streetlights. He was looking at her.
"Sit," he ordered suddenly, motioning to the space beside him on the bench.
Mimi tensed at the sound of his voice, almost commanding, but she didn't have the energy to run, and she couldn't keep standing there forever. She made her way slowly over to the other side of the bench and sat on the edge, as far away as she could get from him.
"You run away?" he asked with an easy nonchalance that made her anxiety grow.
"No," lied Mimi, unconvincingly.
He nodded.
"'Course not." He paused for a moment, looking her up and down slowly, meticulously. "What from?"
"Told you. I didn't."
He laughed a little at that.
"Stubborn. Good, you're gonna need it." He thrust one rough-palmed hand at her from under his beaten leather jacket. "I'm Rusty."
Mimi shook his hand, but didn't say anything. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't want him to know her name.
"Don't got a name?"
She glared at him.
"'Course I do. Don't mean I gotta tell you it."
Rusty laughed again, shaking his head at her. His laugh was slightly hoarse, but it wasn't a bad sound. It sounded genuine enough. It had been such a long time since Mimi had heard anyone really laugh that it was almost a shock to her ears.
"Okay, No Name. Listen, you got a job?"
Mimi glared at him. She didn't like all his questions, but she had nowhere better to go, and his company was almost welcome.
"Okay, I heard enough," said Rusty, before Mimi could come up with another lie. "Look, I seen enough like you finished in a couple days. You don't wanna be alone on the street."
Mimi felt her heart speed up again. Had he seen through her that easily? Was this all a terrible mistake?
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned over, fighting a new wave of nausea.
"Okay, what you suggest?" She shot back, lapsing more and more into the street talk she'd been trying so hard to banish recently.
"Look, there's some people, an old building, a few blocks away over there." He gestured with his head, then stood up, making it clear he intended to leave. "I gotta go. But listen, No Name, come find us. Won't last a day alone." He turned and walked off.
Mimi forced herself not to watch. She turned straight forward, looking at the sky instead.
It was almost dawn.
Mark finds Roger sitting on the couch playing angry chords on his guitar when he enters the loft. "Hi honey. I'm home."
"Fuck off," says Roger, by way of greeting.
Mark goes into the kitchen and starts unloading the groceries he's brought home from work. He can already tell something is very wrong. "What do you want for dinner?" he asks, trying to ignore the feeling that he's turning into a housewife.
"Nothing," mutters Roger.
Mark shrugs and gets out a jar of peanut butter. "All right, suit yourself. Starve." He's had more than enough of Roger's sulking lately.
"Fuck off," says Roger again.
"Where's Mimi?" Mark asks, trying to change the subject.
"Asleep," says Roger sullenly.
Mark gives him an odd look. "Since when—"
"It's none of your fucking business if she wants to sleep!" he shouts, and Mark realizes suddenly that this is what has him so upset.
"Okay, okay," he says, throwing up his hands in surrender. "I just thought she might want dinner since you don't."
"Sorry to disappoint," says Roger. "I know you get a kick out of playing mom."
Mark goes back to the peanut butter, realizing that has forgotten bread. He pulls out a box of crackers instead and begins to spread it on them. The crackers are slightly stale and they keep breaking as he spreads the peanut butter. Finally, he gives up, gets a bowl, and dumps the whole mess into it. It will still taste the same if he has to eat it with a spoon.
"Mark?"
He jumps. Roger has somehow put down his guitar and made his way over to stand in the kitchen without Mark noticing.
"What?"
"Do we have any money?"
Mark narrows his eyes at him. "Why?"
"Nothing," he says, too quickly. "Just, the doctor wants me to get some new meds. And I need money."
"Oh." Mark's mind starts racing with possible solutions. He knows Roger wouldn't ask unless it was serious. "I'm sure we can work something out."
His mind is already playing and replaying the conversation with Benny.
Review please!