Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Davis called from the payphone on the corner. She'd only been to the loft once, but she remembered needing to call for keys. It took her a few minutes to make it up the three flights of stairs, during which time Roger nearly locked himself in the bathroom.

"I can't, Mark. I can't tell her," he said, trying to shove the door closed.

Mark pushed back, keeping the door open and his foot in the slight space. Normally, Roger was much stronger than Mark but the withdrawals had weakened him.

"Roger, your mom's on her way upstairs. You can either get your ass out here and act like an adult or you can lock yourself in there like a five year old and undoubtedly panic her when she finds you there."

Roger hesitated but stepped back out into the living room. He'd just settled on the couch when the loft door slid open.

"Roger! Honey, how are you?"

"Hi, Mom," he mumbled, standing to hug her.

She squeezed him tightly, kissing his cheek. When he'd wrenched free, Mrs. Davis turned her attentions to Mark.

"Oh, Mark, there you are! Give me a hug," she said, wrapping her arms around him.

Mark smiled. "Hey, Mrs. Davis. Nice to see you again."

"Now what's this that you couldn't tell your mother on the phone?"

"Mom, I think you need to sit down," Roger said.

She frowned but did as he'd asked, taking a seat beside her son on the couch. Mark sat on the rocking chair, close enough for Roger's comfort but not so close that he was invading their privacy.

"What is it? Did you and April break up?"

"Mom, April's dead," he said softly.

"What?" she looked to Mark, who could only nod. "What happened? When?"

"She…she killed herself. It was, um, a couple months ago?"

Mark nods.

"Oh my…honey, you poor thing. And Mark, you too…I'm so sorry, boys."

"Mom, that's not all…"

She looked back and forth between them. Roger blinked back tears and looked to Mark. The filmmaker nodded to him. "Go ahead, Rog. It's okay."

"Mom, I have to tell you some stuff and you're not gonna like it. I, um…just…I was really messed up when I was with the band, you know? And then I met April and she, um, she…."

"Honey, whatever it is, please just tell me. You're worrying me," Mrs. Davis said, reaching over to hold one of his hands.

"April was a drug addict. And I started doing it with her."

"Doing what with her?"

Roger bit his lip and took a shaky breath. "Drugs. Heroin, mostly."

Mrs. Davis's free hand went to her mouth. Her eyes shot over to Mark. "Do you do that too?"

Mark shook his head.

"Did you know about it?"

"No, not until after April died."

"Do you still do it?" she asked, her gaze shooting back to Roger.

"N-no, no…Mark helped me get clean. He's helping me get clean."

"Good. Good. That's good. Thank you, Mark."

She reached over and touched Roger's cheek.

"Honey, it's…you know how I feel about that sort of thing—"

"I know, Ma, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I'm glad, but what I was going to say is that I'm very proud of you for stopping. Especially after such a loss—"

"I have HIV," he blurted.

Mrs. Davis's eyes widened. "You what?"

"I have HIV."

"HIV? Isn't that AIDS?" she asked, looking to Mark.

"Same virus, but AIDS is more progressed. People with HIV are usually still relatively healthy."

"But that means you'll…no…no, you don't have HIV. What in the world would make you even think such a thing?"

"Mom, I got a test done—"

"Why? Why in the world would you have that test done?"

"Because April had it too."

"What?"

"That's why she killed herself. She went and got tested and when the results came in positive, she left me a note that said 'Baby, we got AIDS' and killed herself."

"You just said it's not AIDS."

"The difference between HIV and AIDS is the T-Cell count in your blood cells. April, by the time she was diagnosed, had a really low count, which is considered full-blown AIDS. When we had Roger tested, his T-Cell count was actually very high so he's still diagnosed as HIV-positive but not AIDS," Mark said calmly.

"So she said you had AIDS because she did?"

"She had no way of knowing my T-Cell count. She figured that if she had AIDS, so did I."

"Why would she think that? How did you even get it? I thought only gay people get that."

Roger shook his head, calming with every answer. "No, no, a lot of people think it's only gay people but, um, it's not. I'm not sure how I got it. And I'm not sure if I gave it to April or if she gave it to me. It was either drugs or sex."

"Drugs or sex?"

"Yeah. April and I shared needles, which means we could've given it to each other. And, um, we didn't always use condoms," he blushed as he said the last part.

Mrs. Davis shook her head and stood up. Mark thought she was going to leave, but she paced the loft, one hand on her hip, shaking her head. "I don't understand it. I don't. You're a young man. A young heterosexual man. Why? Why on earth…And drugs? Roger, I thought I raised you better than that."

"You did, Ma. You did. This isn't because of anything you did."

"Then why?"

Roger shrugged. "I don't know…I just…I don't know."

Mrs. Davis turned back to him, tears in trickling down her cheeks. She sat beside him and pulled him into her arms. Roger let go of the tears he'd been holding back.

"My baby…"

Mark gave a sympathetic smile and slipped into his room. Roger had asked him to be there for reassurance. He didn't need that from Mark now.

--LINE BREAK--LINE BREAK--

At the Cat Scratch Club, Benny shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was so stupid. He shouldn't even be here. He was married. Happily married. Well, sort of happily. His eyes swept the club again and again. The girl probably hadn't even meant it. It was probably just a joke. Benny debated about getting up and leaving when the lights onstage dimmed.

"Okay, gentlemen, let's put our hands together for Mimi and her famous lawn-chair handcuff dance!"

Benny hesitated, intrigued. What the hell was a lawn-chair handcuff dance? His jaw nearly dropped at the woman onstage. It was her. The girl from the loft. She swiveled and pranced across the stage. He sat back, wondering if she'd remember him. They'd seated him near enough to the stage that he knew she'd see him.

A minute later, the girl dropped into a chair. He watched in awe as another dancer slipped a pair of shining silver handcuffs on. The girl writhed on the chair, feigning struggle before sliding to the floor. She rose up to her knees, flipping her hair over one shoulder. Benny locked eyes with her. She grinned and winked at him. He blushed. What am I doing here? Allie would kill me…

--LINE BREAK--LINE BREAK--

Mark looked up from his notebook. "Come in."

The bedroom door opened and Mrs. Davis slipped in. "Mark, can I speak with you for a minute?"

"Sure, is Roger—"

Roger poked his head in. Mark noted the dried tears staining his cheeks, but also a faint smile. "I'm okay, Mark. I'll be in my room. Not goin' anywhere."

Mark nodded and Roger disappeared. Mrs. Davis came into the room and sat on the end of Mark's bed.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Davis?"

She nodded slowly. Her green eyes, the eyes she'd given Roger, gazed up at him tearfully. "Just a lot to handle on one day."

Mark nodded. "I didn't realize that Roger hadn't told you."

"Roger doesn't always know how to talk about things like that…"

"Noticed that," he said with a light laugh.

"I just wanted to see if you're okay."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. April was one of your friends too. Between that and my son's problems and then the troubles he told me about with Maureen, you certainly haven't had an easy time."

Mark shrugged, blushing. Nobody ever asked if he was doing okay. "I'm…I'm fine. Really."

"Mark…"

He smiled. "I'm fine, Mrs. Davis. I promise."

"Okay then. Well I need to be going, but I wanted to give you something first. For all of you kids."

Mark frowned, looking confused. Mrs. Davis reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook. He shook his head.

"Oh, Mrs. Davis, we don't—"

"Mark, I'm not asking if you'd like help, I'm giving it to you. Besides, I looked in the cupboards and they're not nearly full enough for grown men to be living off of."

Mark shrugged, knowing she was right. The cabinets and fridge were what the Boho boys considered stocked, meaning as full as they could afford. Unfortunately that translated to a couple boxes of cereal, some packages of noodles, and maybe even something other than alcohol to drink.

"Now, I don't have much cash on me. Do you have a bank where you could cash a check?"

Mark nodded. "But you really don't have to—"

Mrs. Davis set down the checkbook and grabbed Mark's hand. "Listen to me, young man. I know I don't have to do anything. However, I want to help my son and his friends. Whether they want that help or not. Now no arguing. Understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Davis…and thanks."

She wrote out a check and folded it in half before slipping it into Mark's hand. "Now, you use that and get whatever you boys need. Or Maureen, of course, if she needs anything. I mean anything, Mark. Food, rent, heat…I can't imagine my son's medications are cheap. You spend it how you think is best."

Mark nodded, slipping it into his pocket without daring to unfold it. He knew that any amount she'd written on it would seem extravagant and that arguing would do no good. Mrs. Davis smiled and stood up. Mark walked her to the door. She hugged him tightly.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For taking care of my son."

Mark blushed. "It's—it's not something you need to thank me for."

She smiled and nodded, patting his back. "You call me if you kids need anything at all, all right?"

"Okay…and thanks. Really."

"You take care of yourself, Mark."

"You too, Mrs. Davis," he said.

When she'd disappeared down the stairs, Mark turned and went to Roger's room.