Death of a Muse-Chapter 18
Legal Disclaimer- They were crafted, dreamt about, written and rewritten originally by Jonathan Larson. I only take them to play with them; I will put them back when I am done. Thank you.
Author's Note-I owe Sweetie Pie a cookie for this one. Thanks. For my reviewers, well…I have more to come. Muhahaha! Please review, it keeps me sane. And I am glad you like it.
As Mary's disclosure had shocked Mark, she led them to a series of seats that was somewhat private, hidden in the lobby's Christmas decorations.
"Wait a minute," Mark was stunned, "You're inheriting eight million dollars?"
"Like it or not," Mary was bitter, "My mother hates it, because she can't touch it, the way my gram wrote the will. Not until I'm 25, though, she's going to try and try to control me and in turn, control the money."
"Mary, why didn't you tell me?" Mark asked, trying not to let his jaw hang open in shock.
"Mark, it's not everyday you tell someone, 'hey, I'm going to be outrageously wealthy, be my friend'," Mary replied, "Money is an evil that I don't need. All I wanted to do for a very long time is dance, Mark. You and I aren't about money, I hope."
Mark was somewhere between stunned and completely shocked. Mary Blaine had been a penniless ballerina to him until five minutes ago. The attitude she had toward money was warming toward him, he understood her feelings toward her parents, and it was a deep feeling that they had in common, but her not mentioning the money aspect bothered him. His lack of money was embarrassing but he knew that she would pay when she could. They had always been fair when it came to money between them. Family money was something different. Then again, they had never spoken of it.
"Mark?" Mary asked, staring at his reaction, "You okay?"
Mark's stare and silence had gotten to her. Sadly, she looked at him.
"Damn, Money does matter to you," Mary shook her head, "You're mad that I didn't say anything."
Mark snapped out of it. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes.
"No," Mark's reply was soft, "Sorry. It is stunning to hear that your girlfriend is going to be a millionaire, but, it's not you. Hell no, it's not you. Money is one thing, Mary, but it's not everything. I hope to hell you don't think that I am that fucking shallow. But, your mother is worried about you as well. Mary, think about it, you just went through a whole of trauma. Your mom probably just wants to make sure that you are okay."
"Her version of OK," Mary began, "Is me in Boston. Mark, I know you mean well, I do, but, I have had 'People only want you for your money' beaten into you for most of my life. I think that's the main reason I turned to dance. It's a solo profession."
"Hello Paranoia," Mark replied, his eyes meeting hers, "I love you for you, Mary."
Mary's smile was grim, but light was returning to her eyes. It made him feel a little better.
"Thanks," Mary said, "The hard part is proving it to dear old mom."
"That's not your love to prove, Mary," Mark said, "You know that I love you, she needs to see it."
"Mark," Mary took his hand, "God, I hope it's that simple, you know that I love you. Mom, on the other hand is all about what you can provide for me."
"She's all about commitment and money?" Mark asked, "We've only know each other for about a month."
"I know," Mary replied, "She doesn't get that. Not that I have given her much reason to. I'm sorry to put you, the first real boyfriend in my life, through that which is my mother."
"Okay, I can deal with this, you ready to call her?" Mark asked, getting up.
"No need," Mary said, taking Mark's offered hand, "Here she comes."
She nodded to the woman walking across the lobby. The resemblance that Mary held to her mother was obvious. The older woman had the same flame red hair that Mary had, cut short and stylish for a woman in her late forties. The green eyes that lit up when she saw Mary were startling familiar, but she didn't move like Mary. She moved like a woman whose burdens only lightened her frame. Mary literally shook as she approached them, her hand strongly in Mark's. She squeezed his hand again, scared of the consequences. Mark squeezed back, knowing how nervous she was.
Margret Blaine approached them. She stopped in front of Mary.
"I didn't think I would find you here, hello Mary," she said, kissing Mary on the cheek, "And who might this be?"
Mary had stiffened, but let Mark's hand go.
"Mark, Mark Cohen, my boyfriend," Mary said, "He's been fantastic to me the past few weeks. It was his number that you called me at."
Margret took his outstretched hand.
"Hello, Mr. Cohen," she began, "Thank you for watching out for my daughter."
"It's been my pleasure, Mrs. Blaine," Mark said, shaking her hand, "Mary is a very special person."
"Indeed," Margret replied, "Her family finds her to be very special. How are you dear?"
"Actually, I'm fine," Mary replied, "Do you want to sit down Mother, or will we have this fight standing up?"
"Mary, I didn't intend for us to fight," Margret began, "I just want to make sure that you are okay. You didn't call us when Erin..."
"I was a little busy," Mary interrupted, sitting down, Margret and Mark sitting as well, "Talking to cops and making sure that you're legally okay to leave can take up your time."
"You could have called Andrew," Margret continued, taking a second to look at Mark, "The family attorney. He would have been happy to come down and help. It's not like you murdered her, you just found her body. They surely didn't suspect you."
"No, but there are procedures," Mary replied, "Mark got me a fantastic attorney who took care of everything. Her name is Joanne Jefferson, graduate of Harvard Law. She and Mark were even able to take care of the murderer after he threatened me and my friends."
"Mr. McCardle was trash," Margret said, "You think she was positive?"
"The coroner confirmed it, Mother," Mary replied, "She was HIV positive and it's more than likely that she contracted it from him."
"And you're still?" Margret asked.
"A virgin and HIV free mother," Mary answered, annoyed, "Nothing more."
"Sorry to touch a nerve," Margret began, "But there's so much going around these days, I want you to stay safe, sweetheart. So, what do you do for a living Mr. Cohen?"
"I'm a filmmaker," Mark said, "I met Mary when I was doing a movie on Christmas in New York."
"Christmas as seen through the eyes of a Jew?" Margret asked, nodding, "Interesting. Overdone, but interesting."
"Agreed, but Mary and my friends helped me see even more about Christmas and the Holidays than I ever thought I could," Mark continued, letting the religious dig drop, "It will be airing on Buzz Line, Christmas Eve."
"Buzz Line," Margret said, "Oh, that TV show that does stories on what they think is reality."
Mark nodded, giving Mary a sideways glance. She was upset, but she kept the rage set on low.
"Mark's done a film for them already, and it won a local Emmy," Mary added, "He's got a very promising future."
"So do you, I saw the write up on the ballet from last night," Margret said, "You know you're going to have to think past the ABT, Mary. They really don't deserve you."
"Mother, they do, and I don't want to talk about them, why are you here?" Mary cut her short.
"To see how you are," Margret said, "Honey, I am worried about you. When you didn't call about Erin, I knew that you were going to need someone from home to come and get you."
"And what, drag me out of my life and off the stage?" Mary was angry at the thought, "Mother, I'm fine. Yes, it sucks that Erin is dead. She was my friend, my confidant, and my roommate. I found her, yes. I knew that she was having troubles with her boyfriend, yes. That's how I met Mark."
"Really? You thought he was her boyfriend?" Margret asked, "He doesn't look like a murderer."
"I know," Mary smiled slightly, "Mark isn't. I found that out quickly. Mark brought me into his life when I needed a friend, Mother. He thought I was Erin when they mentioned the murder on the news. He dropped everything he was working on and raced down to see me to make sure that I was alive, let alone make sure that I was okay. He and his friends have been looking after me ever since. They are the ones who checked up on me and made sure I didn't fall apart. I stand on my own with them. I'm not someone to crumple."
"Mary's a part of our family now," Mark added, taking Mary's hand, "She is loved by all of us."
"That I can see," Margret said, "But what about her future, Mark? Can you travel with her to make sure that she eats, sleeps and does everything she needs to be perfect on stage? I don't know. Can you make sure that she manages her money correctly so that when this dance thing stops she can still make a living? I know you've already seen her through an emotional time; the fact that she's okay is testament to that. But Mary's got a bright future ahead of her. One I don't want to see clouded by mistakes in judgment."
"Mother, he's my boyfriend," Mary said, "Not my husband. We're not even there yet."
"But he needs to know how bright your future is, Mary," her tone was cold, "Mr. Cohen, are you good enough for her?"
Mark tried his best not to glare at the woman. Mary squeezed his hand and carefully watched his look. While she was mortified that her mother even suggested that Mark wasn't good enough for her, she really didn't want to see how Mark was going to blow.
Mark had a moment between rages, his own fury and realized instantly he had gone from seeing red to deep black. He took a deep breath, let the emotion clear then found the right words, political correctness be damned.
"Yes, Mrs. Blaine, I am," Mark said, his voice ice, "But the only person I have to prove it to is Mary, not you."
Mary smiled. It was the perfect thing to say to her mother. Mrs. Blaine was a bit shocked as she looked at Mary, then at Mark.
"He really is perfect for you," Mrs. Blaine said, "He's just as rude as you are."
Mary looked at Mark. Their eyes met and without speaking, she knew what she had to do. She got up from her chair and read Mark's reaction perfectly.
"There's a ticket at the theater if you want to watch the show Mother, but I do believe," she got up as Mark did, taking his hand, "That we are done here. Expect the messages you leave to be screened. Nice to see you and Merry Christmas."
She kissed her mother on the cheek.
"Nice to meet you Mrs. Blaine," Mark said, as Mary turned to go.
"Same here," Mrs. Blaine said, "Hope to meet you again sometime."
Mark met her eyes and noticed the same fury in them that Mary had. This was something he couldn't get more involved in, and Mary was no where near having a longer discussion about it. They would talk eventually, but not now. She needed to cool off.
She had bolted from the Hilton and was already heading down the street. He knew from the way she walked that she was angry. Her grace had left her. She was already far ahead of him.
"MARY!" he called out, trying to get her to stop speed walking, "Slow down baby."
"Damn that woman," Mary spat, "She had no right to ask you that."
Mark stopped her and put his hands on her shoulders in a vain attempt to calm her down. She looked at him, taking a deep breath as he took her chin in his hands and kissed her. As they broke the kiss, Mary's rage was gone, but she was upset. She looked at him with nearly tear filled eyes.
"You're right," he said, "And you were so calm. I'm impressed."
"I don't tend to scream in public places," she replied after a moment, "Unless I need to. Thank you for being here."
"I aim to please," Mark replied, taking her hand in his as they headed for the subway, "You want to go home or back to the theater?"
"While I shouldn't shirk my duties to the theater, I think home would do me good right now," Mary replied, "You know you were perfect with her."
Mark shook his head.
"No, I wasn't," he replied, "She loves you, that's obvious, but she's not seeing you as a responsible 24 year old. That pissed me off. I lost my temper."
"Mark, you told her more than she wanted to hear," Mary put an arm around his back, "No one has ever done that for me."
Mark stopped.
"Really?" he asked.
Mary sighed.
"Only Gram did, and she did that when they first wanted me at the ABT, I had to wait until I was 20 for my mother to figure it out, I was the ballerina, she was the mother," she began as they got on the subway, "Mark, she was living my life through me. I had to leave; I didn't know who I was anymore. I was so disengaged with my own life; I had forgotten how to live."
"And now you're finally living," Mark settled in next to her as they sat down, "She can't handle it."
"Clarity comes afterward," Mary stated, "I mean it Mark, thank you."
Mark didn't answer; he just pulled her in closer and hugged her. She responded and they enjoyed the quiet of the subway for the ride back to Avenue B.