So, here's chapter three. Hope you like it. Criticism welcomed. :)
The next week was a blur for Mark. On Monday he staked out his claim in a corner of the performance space, and he finally started filming his movie. Every night after filming Maureen would drag him somewhere new—drinks, dancing, dinner. By the end of that week, the Well Hungarians had found their own apartment and moved out, and Maureen had moved in, quickly claiming her place in Mark's bed.
Christmas had been crazy. In the two weeks since the show, the usual gang of Mark, Collins, and Benny had somehow quadrupled in size, and Mark almost missed his former boredom.
Maureen insisted on throwing a party in the performance space, featuring… "Me!"
Maureen squealed again. "Oh Mark, you know I can do it. I'm going to do that monologue you wrote, about holidays and family and love. And maybe," she turned to Roger, who was sprawled on the couch in the loft, his favorite place when his own apartment got too hectic, plucking at his Fender, "maybe the Well Hungarians could play a set?"
Roger rolled his eyes. "Would we be your back-up band, then?
"No no no no, honey!" She draped herself over the back of the couch. "It's just, if we have the space for the night, and you're all going to be there anyway, and… pleeeeeeease?"
"Fine, fine, fine. Just stop whining. God, I come over here for quiet, not to be nagged."
Roger put down his guitar and pounced, throwing Maureen onto the couch as she squealed.
"Hey!" Mark threw a pillow. "Hands off my girlfriend!"
"Oh sorry buddy, did you want some too?" Roger leapt up and grabbed Mark, throwing him on top of Maureen.
"Hey!" Maureen yelled, struggling to get up as Mark pinned her to the couch. Roger grinned, throwing pillows as Mark kissed Maureen.
"Ew ew EW. Get a room! You guys are groooooss!" Roger shouted as he threw more pillows.
The door to Collins' and Benny's room swung open and Collins came out, clutching a blanket. "Hey guys, could you maybe be a little quieter? I'm not feeling too well."
"Oh, oh yeah. Sorry, Collins," Mark said, sitting up. Collins shuffled over to grab his AZT as they sat in silence.
"Hey, didn't mean to kill the mood. Don't worry about it. I'm going back to bed—can't wait for the partay tonight!"
After Collins had settled back into his room, Roger shivered. "I know this is gonna sound horrible," he dropped his voice, "but I can't even imagine living with HIV like that. If I were him, I'd track down whoever gave it to me and kill him. And then I'd probably kill myself." Mark and Maureen looked at him stonily. "Whoa, whoa, I'm not saying I don't love the guy—I just know I could never be as strong as him." Roger frowned and swung his legs to the floor. "And with that lovely reaction, I'm off. Be good, kids."
Roger grabbed his guitar and turned as Maureen called frantically. "Wait, wait. Are you coming tonight? Are you still gonna play?"
Roger grinned. "Of course, darling. See you two at 8 for the preparty."
Mark and Maureen…occupied themselves for a few hours, then she left to get ready. "My outfit's at my girlfriends' apartment. Besides, I don't want to spoil the surprise! Now don't forget," she said as she left, "I made a shopping list for the preparty." Mark sighed. "I took care of the party party" she squealed, "the least you can do is take care of the preparty for your friends!"
Mark sighed again as he watched his girlfriend leave. "If you weren't so hot…" he muttered as he picked up the shopping list and left.
Well, Mark reflected from his spot on the couch, she is hot. By 9, the gang had almost all arrived. Collins had emerged from his room, looking much brighter. Benny had brought a case of champagne, the Hungarians three handles of vodka, and Maureen—well,
Maureen had brought a ripped mini-skirt, thigh-high leather boots, a bra, and not much else. Mark presumed there had to be a coat somewhere.
Despite her outfit and his tipsiness, however, Maureen was getting on Mark's nerves. Perched in front of him on the table, she would not stop whining. "Marky, we have to go! I organized this—all my friends'll be there, wondering where I am. And I am soooooo nervous. I've already thrown up twice. Are you trying to make me throw up again? Come on, get your friends together! Roger will come if he comes. Are you implying that he is more important than me? The nerve!"
As Maureen rambled, Mark tried to figure out how his simple question—"Should we wait for Roger?"—had triggered this, if only so he could avoid it at all costs in the future.
And then, thank God, Roger burst in, face flushed, guitar slung behind him. Maureen squealed. "Finally! Now," she stood up on the table, "EVERYBODY WE ARE LEAVING NOW!"
The laughing group fell into a startled silence and people scrambled for their coats. Mark grabbed his camera, eyes widened. He made a silent vow to avoid ever having that screech directed solely at him.
They filed out behind Maureen, whispering. Mark and Roger fell to the back of the group. "Oh my god, Roger. Where the hell were you? Maureen was so freaking annoying."
Roger smiled and ducked his head. "Sorry, sorry… I… oh man, this is dumb. I was gonna be on time…" he grinned and thrust out a wad of newspaper. "And then I saw this, and I thought of how you're always so goddamned cold, and it is Christmas and all… I mean I know you're Jewish, I just…" Mark had stopped walking. "Mark, come on, you can't open a present and walk at the same time?"
Mark ran to catch up, trying to talk himself down from the blush he felt rising on his cheeks. As he ripped open the present, he said quietly, "Wow, wow, Roger. I feel so stupid, I didn't get you anything." The blue and white scarf tumbled out of the paper. Mark barely caught it before it hit the ground.
"Hey man, I know, you're Jewish! No problem. Blue and white are Hanukkah colors, right?" Roger's hopeful grin was infectious, and Mark found himself grinning right back at him as he wound the scarf around his neck. "Come on," Roger said, "you can't wind and walk?" He tugged at Mark's arm. "So anyway, once I got it, I had to go back to my apartment to wrap it. But then I didn't have paper, so I had to find something to put it in." Roger continued to jabber on as they speed walked to catch up to the others. Mark felt the warmth from the scarf travel all the way from his neck to his toes.
Two years ago. Mark sighed. Roger before was something special. Before April, before drugs, before HIV, when he'd been living out his dream and had wanted to share his happiness with anyone who crossed his path.