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Mimi knew she had already imbibed more than was wise when she heard tumbling from her lips the words, "I'd do it if I could, you know."
Angel, who had been carefully slicing tortillas, asked, "Do what?"
Mimi took another hit from the bottle. "I would give up heroin," she explained. Suddenly the concept seemed almost plausible. "But I can't. Do you know what rehab costs?" she asked, her tone suggesting that she knew the number and it was no small one.
The opportunity, clarified, halted Angel. She preached the value of opportunity, of taking every opportunity, but Mimi was becoming drunk. Influencing a drunk simply felt wrong, even if she was influenced for the better. But Angel knew she was dying. She hadn't much time; she could feel as much, the sickness winning her body as a prize. Going peacefully to death seemed much simpler without considering those left behind.
"Maybe you could do it at home," Angel suggested. "It won't be easy, but if you have Mark and Roger to look after you--"
A deep voice interrupted, "No."
The girls turned their heads. Collins stood by the bedroom door, fixing the collar of his shirt. "I thought you were asleep," Angel said, frowning slightly.
Collins shrugged. "Woke up, I guess," he answered. Then, on their previous topic, "Don't do it, Mimi. Roger tried. He almost died. So did Mark."
Angel's frown deepened, wrinkling her forehead. "Mark used smack?" she asked.
"No. Roger almost killed him. I've seen that done, Mimi, so I know--you can't do that. It's too dangerous." When Mimi nodded and reached again for the bottle, Collins grabbed the wine. "Uh, maybe you should have some coffee and a shower. Sober up a little."
"I'm fine," Mimi lied, and knew she was lying.
Within minutes she had capitulated, leaving Angel and Collins alone in the kitchen. "Is she okay?" he asked, indicating Mimi.
Angel shrugged. "She seems to think she is, but…" Her eyes widened with concern, and although Mimi couldn't possibly hear them over the noise of the shower, she lowered her voice. "I've never seen Mimi drink like that. I think maybe there's more between her and Roger than she's letting on."
Collins knew he was selfish even to think it, but as he wrapped his arms around Angel he whispered, "I'm so glad you found me." Even with that hug, he had an ulterior motive. He needed Angel. Without her, where was the purpose? Everyone knew she made him happy, that his students found their grades higher and his criticisms softer. Now Collins smiled all the time; he caught himself grinning and laughed to have grinned without thinking to. If his best friend and her best friend allowed their small, horrible fights to escalate, could Collins and Angel be separated?
He could not allow that to happen.
Angel continued slicing tortillas, since Collins had caught her from behind, but she responded to his hug, affirming her affection by swaying her hips slightly, like a sapling in a spring breeze. For a long moment, a single moment dragged, unchanging, into eternity, Angel and Collins were happy and nothing else mattered.
Someone knocked at the door. Unwilling to disentangle herself from Collins, Angel called, "It's open!"
Maureen entered first, as was her wont, followed by Joanne with a bright pink box, Mark grinning from ear to ear, and Roger with his shoulders hunched and his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Immediately the room exploded into noise and greeting, the earlier quiet shattered. "Look what the cat dragged in!" Maureen cried. Then, looking around, "It's so hot in here…" She stripped off her coat, her sweater and began to lift her shirt, then turned to Joanne.
Joanne shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "There's no one here for you to flirt with." With a half-smirking smile, Maureen stripped down to her undershirt, making her breasts painfully apparent.
"Hey!" Mark protested Joanne's comment.
Roger lifted one hand and pointed at Mark. "Cat," he said. Then, pointing at himself, "Drag." He stuffed his gloves into his pocket and began unwinding his scarf.
"So, Roger said Mimi was already here," Joanne said, asking without a question mark.
"She's in the shower," Angel explained. At that moment came a squeak as Mimi shut off the water. "She'll be out shortly," Angel added. "Until then everybody sit, chat, drink."
"I'll go for the last," Roger replied. Angel and Collins shared a look; something was definitely not right between him and Mimi.
As Joanne handed the pink box over to Angel and Maureen distracted herself trying to discover how the drapes Angel had concocted hung just so, Collins made his way over to the boys just in time to hear Mark warn Roger, "Just take it slow, okay?"
"I know my limits," Roger replied.
"Sometimes you ignore them," Mark reminded him.
"By choice," Roger insisted.
"Feeling blue?" Collins asked. Mark immediately conveyed his relief. Collins could handle anything concerning Roger.
Roger shot him a sudden glance, a mixture of surprise and alarm. "No," he said defensively, "I'm just looking for some fun."
Did Roger never learn? He had used the same lines with track marks on his arms, and they had been no less pathetic then. "Okay, fine, you're unhappy and so you're gonna fuck with your life, we get it. You're still sixteen. But you know, Mimi and Angel worked really hard on this. Maybe you and Mimi can patch things up if you show that you appreciate her?"
In a hiss, Roger demanded, "Why do you assume it's my fault?"
Pointedly ignoring this, Collins asked Mark, "How are things in the loft?"
"We're managing," Mark replied with the sort of smile that meant a sorrowful joy. "Farshadat freylech," he explained, wounded-happy. It was something he had taken to saying years ago, trying to explain in imagined conversations with Mrs. Cohen--as she had become in his mind--exactly why he continued living in the loft, shivering through the winter. We are happy suffering. Suffering-glad, like masochists.
Collins nodded. "Glad to hear it."
Suddenly Roger nudged Mark. "Look," he said, giggling, "it's Magneto."
Indeed, Mimi had emerged from the bathroom fully clothed, with a towel tied around her neck like a cape. "Shut up, Roger," she said playfully, joining the three of them. "I don't want to soak this shirt."
"I'm not complaining," Roger assured her. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Before pulling away, he whispered, "I think it's sexy." Really kinky, he did not add. Watching this display, Angel wondered if Mimi had forgiven Roger. He hadn't said or done anything…
"Thank God, we can finally eat!" Angel said. She chased everyone to the table, herding the geese, then together with Mimi set out the soup. Using the noise as a cover, Mimi whispered to Angel, "Our issues can wait."
TO BE CONTINUED! And, of course, reviews are always nice...
Farshadat-- wounded, suffering
Freylech-- happy, joyful; a part of the personality
Farshadat-Freylech is something I say, but it's not really a Yiddish phrase. It's just something I use to express something it's tough to say in English.