Death of a Muse Chapter 25

Legal Disclaimer-This all belongs to Jonathan's Larson's estate. Not me. I have no cash to offer, just my appreciation of his work. It's hard to believe it's been ten years.

Author's Note-Okay. No excuses. I'll just give you the explanation. I took a class, got a little burnt out, and then I got the DVD. I watched it over and over and think that Chris Columbus needs to be beaten for leaving out all of "Goodbye Love". It doesn't lose the emotional impact. Then I had a moment of writer's block. Sigh. Seems to be done though. I'm working on it the best that I can. Thank you Dennis, my dear Rat boy. Your ideas helped. Reviews begged for.

When Mary opened her eyes to the beautiful, yet cold day that New York City offered her, it took everything she had to crawl out of bed. Mark had carried her off to bed that evening, she barely remembered it, but having his body warmth sharing hers was something that she loved. It was almost Christmas, but to her, every day was a present.

Moving slowly, she sat up, making sure that Mark wasn't disturbed. He shifted in his sleep, taking her pillow and curling up with it. He was out. She looked back at him, trying not to rearrange his hair while he slept.

She stretched, her dancer's body instantly working out the rough spots, but feeling like her head was going to explode, she suddenly stopped. She had felt better when she first got up, but the dizziness passed, so she did feel a little better. She headed out of the tiny bedroom and into the hall, knowing from the sounds she heard earlier that Roger was up.

His warm smile greeted her.

"Hey there Sleeping Beauty," he said, sitting at his usual perch by the window, watching the city pass beneath them, "How you feeling?"

"Better," she smiled, "Do I smell coffee?"

"Brewed it a few minutes ago," he said, "So, it's fresh. Mark still out of it?"

"Yeah, what time did he drag me off to bed?" she asked, pouring the steaming brew into a broken cup, making a mental note to get them some real coffee mugs for Christmas.

"About 11, Meems came home after that, she's out too," Roger moved so that she could sit against the window, "How are you really feeling?"

"A little dizzy this morning, but overall okay," Mary watched his gaze, "Don't worry, Rog, I am okay. Besides, I have things to do today."

"Things?"

"I need to check in with the ABT doc and pick up my mail," Mary started, "I should stop in and see what they are up to, you know?"

"How much trouble are you in?"

"Well, thanks to the concussion, I'm out of the show," she continued, "The hand doesn't help, but I can still dance. I should at least show up for a class or two."

"Want company?" Roger asked.

"I can get there, but thank you," Mary said, "Maybe I'll bring dinner home?"

"That could work," Roger laughed, "It's hard to believe it's almost Christmas."

"We need to decorate around here," she stated, "It's a little too bland."

"Let me and Meems work on that," Roger got up, putting a hand out to help her up, "We have a plan for premiere night too."

"A plan?" she asked.

"Not telling you," Roger grinned, "Let's just say it's a present from us to you guys."

The thought of whatRoger and Mimihad planned had Mary thinking all about it as she rode the subway to the ABT. She could have taken a cab, but she wanted the hustle and bustle of New York City. She missed the smell of chalk and resin that you only smelled in a rehearsal hall and the not so gentle comments of the instructors as you tried to perfect your own line as you danced. She needed to go home.

Walking into the building, she knew that she had been missed. Younger dancers were smiling when they saw her, and the instructors were all asking how she felt. She stopped in to see the medic, got her next set of medical instructions, and then headed for her mailbox. She wasn't surprised to see it fully loaded.

The usual Christmas mail was there, along with a note from her brother, and a letter she didn't expect. She opened it, stared at it, and then folded it up in her bag. She would have to think about it. She put it out of her head before she headed to class, though; she needed to dance. The rest would work itself out.

Mark awoke to the sound of the ringing phone. As he opened his eyes and yawned, he waited for the machine to pick up. Ever since their yelling fits with Benny, Mark and Roger knew that the machine was their secretary. If their callers knew them, they would know how to reply after speak.

"MARK!" Mary's voice called out from the machine, "When you get this, meet me for lunch at the Life."

Mark looked at the bed and realized that Mary wasn't there. She had said something about going to the theater today, but she hadn't waited for him.

He got up, walked toward the machine and played the message back. He had been in such a deep sleep he wanted to make sure that he had heard her right. She wanted to meet him for lunch.

A quick glance to his watch made him jump. It was 11:00am. Almost lunch time. He looked around the loft and realized that he was alone. Roger had left a note about practice, Mimi's work schedule kept her busy, and Mary had called. He needed a shower then he would go and see his girlfriend.

Usual lunch crowd at the Life Café, but Mary sat in a booth where she could see the front door. She waited for Mark and reread the letter. It was straightforward and a dream come true. It wasn't the dream that she knew Mark would like. She folded it up and put it in her bag. There was no need to dwell on it.

Mark walked in and stopped. The joy of his new glasses was that he could see clearer, but to look over and see Mary's radiant face was worth the extra cash it took to bring his prescription up to date. He walked over to her, kissed her, and then settled into the seat across from her.

"Hi there, do I know you?" Mary asked, laughing.

"God, I hope so, otherwise there's another beautiful woman walking around who looks like you," Mark said, "How's your day?"

"Did you just wake up?" Mary said, settling back and looking into his eyes.

"Yep, didn't move until the phone rang," he replied, "Might have slept through it until you yelled."

"I've learned that about you and Roger," she said.

"You've learned plenty about us," Mark said, "How's the ABT? Still standing?"

She smiled.

"They missed me," she started, "The doc said I should take it easy, so I only took one class. Picked up my mail, and should be back there when my hand is up to it."

She held up her hand, where the doctor had replaced the hard brace with a softer one.

"The doc even suggested that I take it out of this every once and a while," she continued, "As for the class, it felt so good."

"No dizziness?" Mark asked.

"A little this morning," she admitted, "It cleared though."

They were interrupted by the waiter. They quickly placed an order. As he left, Mark gently grabbed her good hand on the table.

"Honey, it's Christmas, can't you allow yourself some time off?" he asked.

Blue eyes met green.

"Hello Pot, I'm Black," Mary snapped, "You're as big a workaholic as I am, Mark."

"Yeah, I know, but, I don't want you passing out on me," Mark replied quickly, "I love you too much for that."

Mary stopped. He was sincere.

"It's going to take about two weeks till I'm good enough to dance with the company, Mark," she said, "I go mad when I don't dance."

"I've noticed," he continued, "Just don't overdo it. I can't lose you right now. Everything is going well, Mary. It's been two years since I've felt comfortable, don't you get it?"

Mary squeezed his hand.

"I do," her voice was soft, "I have to dance, Mark. It's like if I asked you not to film."

Mark nodded. They understood each other.

They were interrupted by the arrival of lunch. The conversation switched to Mary explaining her day at the theater and how happy she was just to dance. Mark's thoughts turned to the approaching holiday and he asked her advice on what to get Roger and Mimi. They ate and chatted, the stress of their earlier conversation understood, and they planned to go shopping after they ate.

Hand in hand they left, walking toward the subway.