Chapter Three (insert 'baby' at will)
TiggPwns-Thank you. I've just taken a little while to get back in the swing of things.
inara- I was taking points from the Maureens song, where she said he had become a lap dog.
LaBOBuren-I did overreact, mostly because it was my first flame. Thanks for the advice. The red heads an OC, and the girl in the crowd, she's…. hmm. Who knows?
iamari-Thank you. You'll just have to see. Sorry about the lack of privacy though.
tutriceange-The movie does say that Benny was one of the roommates. I think. Oh well. I'm glad you liked it.
By the way-I was just in New York and nearly got a chance to see Rent performed on Broadway. I'm still kicking myself in the head for missing it, and ended up, rather sadly, seeing Mamma Mia instead.
He had said no. There was no way, with all he felt for this place, that he could just pack up and go overseas. That was a pretty big deal, and besides, he was starting to just not feel part of the group. Those guys, they had been performing together for years as part of Queen Mary's Vengeance, cycling through the regular group of singers. I guess he had just been one of the many singers to be a part of such a group. And they certainly hadn't been too heartbroken about him leaving, quickly snapping up a regular bar singer to do his part and heading off to England.
So now, instead of being out at night, singing at disreputable bars, he was sitting back at home, trying to ignore the sounds coming from Mark's bedroom. God, would it never end? On top of that, Collins had popped in for about five minutes to say he was heading off to some slam poetry reading on the streets of Brooklyn, and that he wouldn't be back for a while. If he'd have stayed, Roger would have had someone to talk to instead of listening to those incessant noises.
And Benny was no help. The man was permanently involved with his girlfriend, and right now they were off to some high class dinner, where Benny's mouth would permanently be in a 'pucker up' position for kissing so much…. Never mind. It didn't matter that much.
The noise was reaching a fever pitch, so he just left. It was bad enough having to sit alone on a Saturday night without those too. At least they were in another room. When they were just making out on the couch, it was enough just to endure that, let alone imagine sitting at that spot again.
Roger walked the streets, wrapping his seemingly paper thin denim jacket around himself. He pushed his fingers through his short hair. Maybe he should grow it out? It would help with the cold. Besides, this bleach blonde look was making him look like a lamppost. It might help him get in with a different kind of rock band. Who knows?
Somehow, he found himself a the coffee shop, the one where the red head worked. Curiosity drew him in, though he definitely could've spent his money on something better than a cup of overly priced coffee.
And there she was, the condescending redhead, with an attitude like no other. Did he find her appealing? That would be impossible. Why not just find some rock groupie to cuddle with, before his lead singer sex appeal ran out? At least they were attainable. Because, you're looking for a good lay, he told himself sarcastically.
"If it isn't the amazing lead singer who ditched his touring band to stay in Good Ole' New York. Hail to the man who is now the stupidest on the planet," the two patrons of the coffee shop at this late hour raised their coffee mugs in a half-hearted gesture of compliance.
"Thank you for the grand entrance," Roger shrugged, buying a cup of coffee before she thought up a reason to throw him out.
"Doesn't Murray's have a place for bleach-heads like yourself? Like a crack hole, or an opium den?" she sighed, remembering the reputation of the 'den of sin' that was Murray's.
"Naw, girl, I'm clean. I've always been clean. Got to keep those brownstone parents happy," Roger shrugged. She looked distracted, ill at ease, "everything okay?"
"Yeah," pause, "everything's cool," another pause, "I'm just waiting for someone that's all," she looked annoyed, "And what's it matter to you, bleach-head?"
"Just asking a friendly neighborhood question," he pulled his hands back in a manner tha was to look placating.
"You live in New York, there are no friendly neighborhoods," her sly mark was at the very least, one which was a response in the vein of their old banter.
And that's when an angel stumbled in….
What do you think? Review please. NO FLAMERS! Or I might not write. Again.
