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Disclaimer: I love rent, but do not own it. :)

(Narrator's POV)

Cat Scratch Club: 8 pm, Eastern Standard Time

Mimi felt uncomfortable in the tight black garments that she had been instructed to wear. It was her first time to wear anything this revealing, let alone the fishnets. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought twice whether or not to exit the bathroom.

"MARQUEZ! Get the fuck out of there!" someone banged repeatedly on the door.

Afraid to lose her job, Mimi crept out of the bathroom with apologies. The other girls just gave her stone cold glares. None of them were very friendly. One of them, Alexa, seemed to loathe Mimi for no particular reason.

Trying to be optimistic about her job (thinking about the pay), Mimi focused on fixing her make-up. She took great liking to purple eye shadow and glittering pink lip gloss. As she looked at the other girls, nervousness swept over her.

She hadn't been taught any steps, but the manager had told her to dance. Did she have to strip like Roger had said?

"Say Jessica," Mimi stood up and went to a fellow dancer. "Do we have to – er – strip?"

"Sometimes," she answered, applying some mascara.

Mimi gulped and asked, "Sometimes?"

"Chill girl, tips are good," she said rather flippantly.

"Right, tips."

"Okay people!" the stage director boomed through a speaker phone. "5 Minutes, you hear? FIVE MINUTES!"

Girls continued to bustle about, borrowing blush, lip stick and whatnot. Mimi, not concerned much of how she looked anymore, went up to the stage director.

"Sir, I'm new… I…"

"3 MINUTES! HUSTLE PEOPLE! HUSTLE!" he ignored Mimi.

"SIR." She stomped her foot on the ground and waved her hand in front of his face.

The director turned an angry look at Mimi.

"What?" he spat.

"I don't know any moves, steps or…"

"1 minute! Everybody line up here!" he interrupted my sentence.

"Sir!" Mimi whined.

"Look," he said harshly. "We don't care about steps. Just dance, strip whatever!"

"But…"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY, NEWBIE!" he growled, throwing his pencil at his clipboard.

The girls were beginning to line up behind Mimi, making last minute costume adjustments. Mimi tried her hardest not to panic, but instead, ask her co-workers about what was to be done. They were obviously to be of no help.

Before she knew it, Mimi was being pushed out on stage. The blinking stage lights seemed to blind her for a split second, but she was pushed forward by her colleagues. The crowd (which was 90 men) had already begun to yell and shout.

Mimi was frozen still on the spot. The rest had begun to dance to the sexy hip hop type of music. The director waved at Mimi to move.

"Crap, Marquez! MOVE!" he yelled from backstage.

Mimi tried to sway, nod her head to the music or something, but her body seemed rigid and wouldn't let her move it.

"Ow!"

Alexa had deliberately pushed Mimi to center stage, causing her to topple over and fall. The men in the front row roared with laughter. Drunks – obviously. Mimi immediately got up and ran backstage.

"Get back out there, Marquez!" the director ordered, standing firmly in her path.

Mimi's eyes immediately filled with tears. "No…"

"No?" the director raised an eyebrow.

Mimi shook her head and let tears fall.

"Okay then. Get your things and get out of here, NOW."

Mimi looked up, putting on begging eyes and getting down on her knees. She clutched the director's pants in agony.

"No, please sir. I need a job," she pleaded.

"Either this, or you leave," he said, obviously heartless.

Mimi looked towards the stage then back at the heartless man. She slowly got up and reluctantly walked back on the runway, trying to wipe away her tears.

She tried her best to do a sexy dance that would please the audience, but other dancers would just end up knocking her over. One thing was for sure, the crowd had a laugh out of her.

"Hey, sweetie! What are you doing here? This is no place for amateurs!" a bald stubby pig of a man called from the front row, clearly aiming his mean remarks at Mimi.

He took a swig from his huge bottle of beer and added, "You dance like shit!"

Mimi pretended not to hear and continued to dance. She would show that pig. She got down on the floor and did a routine which, even she didn't know where it came from. She grabbed the gorged man by the tie, and pushed him back so hard that he stumbled over his chair.

"Ooooo," the crowd sang in chorus.

"BITCH!" the drunkard yelled.

He surged forward, with a hand raised to hurt her. All Mimi could do was cower on the stage, and hope that the slap wouldn't sting. But the blow never came. She looked up and saw that a tall woman had kept the pig's hand from touching her.

"Keep your fat arm away from her, you slob," she spat, her voice coming out lower than expected.

"Oh? A feisty one," the bald man licked his lips. "I like them feisty."

In his drunken state, the mid-forty's man grabbed the woman by the hips and placed her on a chair. He began to rub his hand against her thigh.

"How's about coming home with a guy like me?" he purred.

The woman swiftly pulled the slob off of her and slapped his face hard. Then, she reached behind her head and pulled off her wig. The pig's mouth dropped in horror.

"You're a drag!"

"Yes, I'm a drag," the woman said, her eyes piercing.

"But I'm more of a man that you'll ever be, and more of a woman than you'll ever get."

The man could utter no curt reply, but slumped down in his seat, traumatized by the fact that he had thought a drag queen a real woman.

The drag queen walked over to Mimi, and placed her hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

"Have you ever done this before, honey?" she asked sweetly.

Mimi decided to lie and shook her head. Though she wanted to thank this cross dressing man for what she had done, she, also, was stunned.

"Well come on, let's get you out of here."

The drag queen spoke to Mimi like she was a long lost friend. Mimi really felt like she was, the woman made her feel that way. Slowly, she took the drag's hand and walked off the stage, ignoring her manager's calls.

Once outside, Mimi's thin garments didn't welcome the cold very well. The drag immediately gave Mimi her very own coat.

"Thank you," Mimi finally found her voice.

"Don't mention it sugar, he was a pig," she said, stroking Mimi's hair.

"Now why'd you go and get a job like that if you knew you couldn't do it?" she asked, putting her wig back on.

"I needed the money," Mimi answered, sniffing and choking back her tears.

"Awww, honey. Come on, I think you could use some dinner," she said, pulling out a tissue and handing it to the young Latina.

"I really haven't got any money," Mimi said, dabbing her eyes.

"Don't worry about that, sweetie. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," was all Mimi could muster.

They slowly walked away from the club, feet crunching against the snow. The drag walked with poise and had a certain skip to her stroll.

"I'm Mimi," Mimi said.

"Angel," the drag queen smiled.

"What were you doing in there anyway?" Mimi asked, finally over what had happened.

"I was spying for my boss," Angel laughed. "Shhh!"

Mimi laughed as well. She had decided many minutes ago that she liked Angel and that they would become very good friends.

"Where do you work?"

"Oh, just a little club downtown called Drags' Palace. It's a cozy little place, people get pretty into it," she smiled and did a little dance step in the air.

"Well I think I'm out of a job," Mimi muttered sadly, but smiled despite her unfortunate plight.

"I think we'll find something for you," Angel reassured optimistically. "A beautiful girl like you? Oh, no doubt."

Mimi couldn't help but grin. "Where are we going?"

They had turned into a brightly lit street full of people, mostly tourists. Mimi couldn't help gazing into shop windows at the lovely but costly clothes she wished she could own.

"People call it the Life Café, but I call it the Life," Angel said, also taking interest in shop displays.

The Life. Mimi liked that.

"So… have you met anyone yet?" she asked, walking so briskly that Mimi had to jog to keep up.

"How'd you even know I was new here?" Mimi asked, surprised.

"Obviously, sweetie. You asked where we were going in Avenue B," Angel shook her head with laughter. "Everyone knows that the Life is the place to go to in Avenue B."

"Oh." Mimi laughed along.

"So? Anyone catch your eye yet?" Angel smiled slyly. "Any guy?"

"Well, there's this guy who lives in the same building as me… but I don't think that'll work," Mimi disclosed sadly, remembering Roger.

"Must be stupid. Doesn't want you? Please, honey!" Angel scoffed.

"Tell me all about it after we order because were here!" she sang, opening a small wooden door that led to a small café. The bell on the upper threshold jingled as a hello.

"Welcome to the Life."

Mark and Roger's loft: 8 pm, Eastern Standard Time

"Oh, I didn't know you'd be up Davis," Mark said sarcastically, just coming home from work.

"Jesus, Mark. Lay off," Roger said, plucking some guitar strings.

"Or what?" Mark sneered, removing his scarf and coat.

"Or I won't tell you were I put your new equipment," Roger said, strumming a G chord then scribbling something in his mini notebook.

"Oh."

"In that case, how's about I buy you a new guitar?" Mark grinned.

"Shut up, Cohen. You know you're dirt broke after buying all that new equipment," Roger accused, as if the money had been flushed down the toilet.

"You just weren't content with one camera. Does your Polaroid know that you're cheating on her, by the way?" Roger snapped, getting up and fixing himself a glass of cider.

"Yes, she does know," Mark replied smartly. "And guess what? She still loves me."

Roger rolled his eyes, frustrated that Mark hadn't been thrown off by his statement.

"The other ladies are in your top closet," Roger finally said, referring to the filming equipment.

"Thank you."

"Well, I have a date with Maureen," Mark informed, making his way to the bathroom.

"And what are you doing tonight?" he leaned coolly on the bathroom door and looked at Roger for an answer.

Roger sipped his cider and pretended not to have heard his roommate's question.

"Oh, right. You're going to try and write a song like you've been doing for 5 months now," Mark tsk-ed and shook his head.

Suddenly, Mark's face scrunched up as a smell drifted toward his nostrils.

"What the fuck is that?" he cursed, looking around the bathroom.

Roger smiled deviously and said, rather innocently, "The toilet wouldn't flush."

"Aw! Jesus, Roger!" Mark ran out of the bathroom and grabbed the Lysol can from the table.

He sprayed around the bathroom wildly, carefully making sure to keep a hand free to pinch his nose. He threw the empty Lysol can at Roger from all the way across the room. Roger just laughed, and stomped his foot on the ground hysterically.

"Crap on the street, Davis! You know how much we can save if we don't have to pay for a plumber to fix this piece of shit each month?" Mark scolded and slammed the bathroom door shut.

Roger finished his cider in triumph and placed the empty glass next to the sink. He heard the shower open and Mark curse very loudly about cold water. Then, the phone rang but he let the machine get it.

SSSPPPEEEAAAKKK.

"Hey guys, it's me Collins. Throw down the key," came the former roommate's voice.

"Look whose home," Roger mumbled, running out to the fire escape.

"Yo, Collins! You better have some money on you!" he called, throwing down the key.

"I've missed you too, Rog," Collins answered sarcastically.

Roger smirked at his buddy before going back inside the loft to wait for him. He grabbed his guitar and played some chords. It sounded all wrong. He set it down on the table in frustration.

"Merry Christmas, bitches!" Collins said, coming in the loft.

Roger got up with a grin and gave his friend a manly hug, which soon turned into a cute scene between two friends who missed each other.

"You look like shit, you know that?" Collins said, punching Roger on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I know. I actually haven't looked better," Roger replied.

"Got that right."

"So Col! Why you here?" Roger started, slapping Collins on the face.

"Got sick of your students?" he joked, leading Collins further in the loft.

"They fired me," Collins said, no trace of regret in his voice.

"So, I came home," he said, sprawling himself on the couch with a satisfied smile.

"You don't mind if I crash here for a while, do you?" Collins lifted his head to look at Roger.

Roger sat down and pretended to act smug.

"Well?" Collins prodded on.

"Do you want me to say no?" Roger warned, smirking.

"Thanks man."

They did a guy handshake, you know, the "guy thing."

"Where's Mark?" Collins asked, suddenly noticing that the blonde wasn't in the room.

"Taking a sho…"

"Holy, Collins!" came a voice from the bathroom.

Mark ran up to Collins, with just a towel around his waist, his hair still dripping wet. He leaned in to give Collins his "manly" hug, but Collins backed away.

"Yo man, put on a shirt!" he complained, looking at Roger with a what-the-hell-was-he-thinking look.

"Right, be right back."

After a few minutes, Mark came out of his bedroom fully dressed for his date. Collins must've noticed his outfit, figuring Mark had a planned excursion.

"You going somewhere?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Dinner with Maureen," Mark declared proudly.

"You're still together?" Collins looked shocked.

Mark shot him a warning look. "Yes," he hissed.

Collins and Roger snickered to themselves.

"Hold up, Cohen. You're actually going to leave me here with Pretty Boy?" Collins asked, earning himself a well earned bloody look from Roger.

"Uhhh, yeah." Mark put on his coat and scarf once more.

"Uh, no. I'm going with you," Collins announced, jumping on his two feet. "After all, I miss my Mo."

"What? NO!" Mark said firmly.

But all Collins had to do was raise an eyebrow to the film-maker, and Mark gave in.

"You come too, Rog," Collins ordered.

"No thanks."

"Yes, let him stay!" Mark said, bewildered of how his date was being ruined.

Collins cast a cold look at Mark and said, "Come on, you need to get out."

"Nah."

"Jesus, Rog! You can't lock yourself in this hell hole forever!"

"I think I can."

The dispute went on and on in the same manner, but eventually (with much persuasion and threatening) Collins and Mark managed to push Roger out the door in a newly washed and well ironed shirt.

"Were going to the Life, right?" Collins asked, pulling the metal door shut behind him.

"Duh."

A/N: Sorry about the language. Heehee. :) Press that review button! Next chappie to come up shortly. Btw: sorry if some of them are a bit out of character. I'm trying to experiment – with Mimi mostly. You know the good girl approach. Is this okay? Tell me by reviews. XD

Ah, well. No flames please:) I need encouragement to write more. Heehee. XD