"The club is closed we're up the block
Your hands on me
I'm pressing hard against your jeans
Your tongue in my mouth
Try to keep the words from coming out
You didn't care to know
Who else may have been you before…
I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk,"
-Lover I Don't Have To Love, Bright Eyes
Roger had only been in the bathroom for maybe five minutes but he was clueless to where Mark may've gone. It only proved how little he'd been paying attention to his friend, the fact that he couldn't find him.
But they probably had one acquaintance in common who would know where the hell Mark was.
The Man.
He was outside a seedy men's club, the Cat Scratch. From afar it would look like the cute blond beside him was chatting him up, but Roger didn't miss the sly handshake money/drug exchange.
"Hey Roger. Long time no see. Last time I heard you were quitting." The Man looked the disheveled Roger up and down. "How's that going for you?"
"I'm fucking high on life," he replied harshly. "Where the hell is Mark?"
He let out a laugh. "Roger, you and April were some of the only customers I ever bothered to learn names with. Who is it again you're looking for?"
Roger stepped closer to the Man, invading his personal space in a quietly threatening manner. "Blonde, glasses, wears a blue and white scarf."
"Oh, him. Maybe," the Man looked at Roger again. "What do you want with him?"
"What business is it of yours?" He shot back.
"The business of my clients is my business," the Man said calmly. "Somebody messes with them, they're messing with me."
"Yeah, and the fact that they're paying your bills has nothing to do with your concern. Just tell me where the fuck he is."
The Man jerked his head to indicate the club. "He's in there"
Inside the Cat Scratch? What was Mark doing at a place like that?
"Wouldn't you like to know," the Man murmured, as if reading Roger's mind. Go in and see. Say that I sent you."
Roger stepped into the club and was nearly blinded by the neon lights swirling around in the blue darkness.
"And now, presenting Mimi Marquez!" Roger looked up for a moment at a girl who was handcuffed to a pipe. Her soulful brown eyes bore into his, almost making him forget about the reason he'd come. Shaking his head, he tore his eyes from her and walked away. Last thing he needed was a girl to mess with his mind.
Not knowing who to tell the Man's sentiments to, he walked up to someone who looked to be a bouncer. "I'm looking for…the Man sent me."
The bouncer at once lost his aloof manner. "Right this way," he led Roger through the throngs of horny men and through another door. The room they entered was smaller and filled with men as well. These men however seemed to be the wealthy of the wealthy. Some were half dressed. There were some smoking marijuana, others snorting coke. One or two were paired up with men who seemed to be from a completely different walk of life. They were making out with these young college student wannabes in dark corners, trying desperately not to get caught.
"Enjoy," the bouncer said before closing the door behind him.
This was where the Man sent him. To an orgy?
It took Roger a moment to realize that the walls were lined with doors. Most of them were unmarked, but one stood out to Roger. One that was marked 'Private'.
Roger didn't know why he decided to open it, but once he'd decided there was no turning back. He put his hand on the knob and as discretely as possible, opened the surprisingly unlocked door.
The room was pitch black, but far from silent. Wild, out of control moans were bouncing off the walls.
"Oh shit," Roger realized at last what the rooms were for. Shielding his eyes, he began to walk out. "I'm sorry!"
"It's okay," a masculine voice mumbled. "Isn't it?" The lump Roger supposed the voice belonged to thrusted some part of its body into the other, smaller lump.
"Yeah," a familiar voice whimpered, muffled by blankets.
That voice.
He knew that voice.
It was always bugging him at 4 am to take his damn AZT.
It was always narrating something into a lens.
It had been yelling at him a few hours ago to give him his fucking drugs.
Mark?
"Mark? Is that you?" Roger flicked on the lights.
The bed in the middle of the room had was covered by thin white sheets. Under it, the two lumps Roger had only barely seen in the dark were clearly defined. They stopped moving at the mention of Mark's name. The sheets rustled and a man, maybe forty popped out from under them.
"Mark?" The guy was clearly a little tipsy or high, or maybe both. His naked chest was covered in sweat and he was out of breath as he repeated the name. "Is that your name?" He asked the lump.
"Who's under there with you?" Roger asked with a deadly calm.
"Look man-"
"Who the fuck is under there?"
More rustling and a blonde head revealed itself from under the covers. "Oh fuck Roger, what the hell are you doing here?"
The man looked from Roger to Mark before his mouth dropped slightly open. "Oh, are you the boyfriend? I didn't know…" he sprang up from the bed and pulled on his boxers. "I'll just, leave this here." He put a wad of bills on the bedside table and high tailed it out of the room, but not before giving Roger a wink that clearly said, 'yeah, I know what you've got and I'm jealous.'
Roger's eyes never left the guy. He had been trying to fuck his Mark. Had he succeeded? He felt sick just thinking about it.
Mark looked so little in the big white bed, the fact that he was cowering wasn't helping any. He was holding the sheets close to his chin, hiding something, reminding Roger of how quickly he'd put his scarf on any time Roger noticed him without it.
Roger's eyes were fixed on the money the man had left. "Who was he?" He didn't even have the strength to yell anymore, he just asked.
"He was…I met him…" Mark's eyes were darting around the room, Roger could tell he was looking for a way to escape, but Roger was blocking the only way out.
"You don't know who he was, do you?"
Mark remained silent, which told Roger all he needed to know.
"So this is where you've been. This is how you've been getting the money. I was wondering." Roger sat down on the edge of the bed.
"You've got to believe me Roger, it was only once-"
"Once." Roger's doubt showed through.
"Twice," Mark admitted.
On a whim, Roger whipped the blankets off of Mark. He was naked underneath and Roger could see the veins underneath his translucent skin, could see marks littering his skin, some fresh some faded. Shivering, Mark closed his eyes under Roger's scrutiny.
"You were gonna fuck him. For money. For smack."
Mark winced. Roger supposed that the truth was a lot harder to hear than he'd anticipated. "Could you not say it like that Roger? It's so-"
"Blunt? Honest?"
"Ugly," Mark finished. "Look Roger, no more here. Let's go home and I tell you everything you wanna know, I promise. But let's just get outta here."
"No," Roger said quietly. "I…have to go," he clenched his fists, partly to keep from punching Mark.
"Go?" Mark's voice sounded so weak, so forlorn, but Roger could barely hear him above the sound of blood pounding in his ears. "Go where?"
"Away Mark! I can't…" Roger didn't ever finish his sentence as he walked out the door.