Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

Authoress Note: Thanks again for the reviews, I hope Alexia's family isn't too crazy!

Season of Love,

-VivaLaVieBohemeA

&&&&

Maureen and Joanne were engaged in their daily fight, and they seemed to think that Mark could settle it. "Isn't it enough that I scratch her every itch?" Joanne asked the frightened filmmaker who just sat on the couch, wide eyed.

"I never ask you to scratch my back!" Maureen shouted back. "That's when I call Angel!"

Mark sighed and put his head in his hands, not hearing the phone ringing.

"SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK!"

"Marky, I know you're there, pick up the phone...Mark?" Alexia's voice called into the loft. Mark attempted to jump to his feet, but his sprained ankle prevented that, so

he shouted into the distance, realizing that Maureen and Joanne were way too engrossed in themselves to be of any help.

"Roger, get the phone!"

Mark heard a crash and then a yelp. "Get it yourself!" The musician called from his bedroom.

"Do the words 'sprained ankle' mean anything to you?" Mark shouted back, and Roger unwillingly emerged from his bedroom, setting his guitar down on the stand as he approached the phone.

"Honey, I know you're there, please pick up the phone, Marrrrrrrrrkyyyyyyyyyy?"

Roger scooped up the receiver. "Hey, Alexia."

"Roger, put Mark on."

"Oh, what?" The musician teased, "You don't want to talk to me?"

"No."

"Ouch Alexia." Roger said, "That hurt."

"Roger, please, just let me talk to Mark."

Roger rolled his eyes and tossed the phone to Mark, who, for once, caught it. "Alexia, honey, what's wrong?"

Ducking away from her sister, Alexia whispered "Everything. Stef's here, and my brothers are coming too."

Mark smiled. "Yay, I get to meet your siblings!" Next step, meeting her parents, Mark thought.

Alexia sighed. "If your saying yay, then you clearly have never met them."

&&&&

ALEXIA'S POV

After a few seconds of small talk, arranging to meet for lunch and the like, I hung up my cell phone, and, upon hearing my brother Jon coming, I attempted to take refuge behind my car, hoping that he wouldn't see me.

No such luck.

"ALEXIA!" My brother shouted playfully and picked me up clear off the ground in a hug, before setting me back down embarrassedly. "Sorry." He said, attempting to straighten my coat. I slapped his hand away in true Hemmingway-family fashion.

"Don't worry about it." I hugged my brother. "Jon, oh, it is so good to see you!" I looked around. "Where's Arthur?"

Stef approached behind us. "Oh, our other degenerate brother? He went to rent a car for while we're here, he'll met us at your apartment after lunch.

My eyes grew wide, and I hoped with all I was worth that Roger and Mimi weren't home when Arthur turned up at the Loft. Well, maybe they could be home, but I certainly hoped that they weren't together.

"How does he know where I live?" I asked, wondering if I'd even actually told my brother that I'd moved in with Mark. Come to think of it, I hadn't talked to Arthur in so long, he might not even know who Mark is. Whoops.

Stefanie waved a brightly colored map in front of my face. "Mapquest is a wonderful thing." She paused and bit her lower lip. "We were kind of shocked to see that the address is in the East Village, though."

"The center of Bohemia." I rationalized, and my sister just rolled her eyes.

&&&&

Later, after we had been ushered by my brother into California Pizza Kitchen (who, ironically had restaurants all over the nation, even in New York), and had been seated with exceptional speed, I found myself sitting on one side of the table all by myself and facing the inquisition that was known as Stef and Jon, and hoping that Mark would arrive soon to rescue me from my own siblings.

I twirled a piece of hair around my finger and stared at the table in front of me, wishing that we were at the Life. I know my way around that place, could excuse myself to use the little girl's room, and then slip out on of the back doors before I'd even ordered. No such luck, and they were my family, so I was pretty much stuck at the table.

"So," Jon began, attempting to start conversation, "tell me about this boyfriend."

I glared at Stefanie who smirked and waved a little at me for shear effect. I looked back to my brother. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, like," I could tell that my brother was trying to sound polite. "Where does he work?"

I glanced to the front of the restaurant, hoping that Mark would appear and help me dig myself out of this hole known as lunch with Stef and Jon.

"Alexia?" Jon asked, waving a hand in front of my face. I must have been looking toward the entrance longer that I thought I had.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." I said, blinking my eyes a few times attempting to remember what my brother had asked me. Where Mark works, that's right. (I also noticed how my brother and sister were more concerned about my love life than my Lincoln Center performance, where it should have been the other way around. I was fine, better than fine, in my love life, but my career really had me nail-biting lately. Lincoln Center was bigger than Broadway, almost.) "Well, he's an independent filmmaker, but he does some freelance work for Buzzline."

Jon snapped up straight in his chair. "Buzzline? As in Buzzline hosted by Alexi Darling?" I nodded, being reminded quite harshly how close my name was to that of Mark's boss, also known as Satan. "Oh, she's so HOT!" Jon exclaimed.

I turned away. "You've clearly never seen her without her make-up."

Before Jon could answer, I spotted Mark entering the restaurant on his crutches, so I excused myself from the table, and dashed over to him, greeting my boyfriend with a kiss. "How's you ankle?"

Mark responded with an "Ow."

I kissed him again. "Let's go sit down then."

We walked back to our table, and before I could say anything, Stef spoke up. "SO, this is Mark? We've heard so much about you!"

&&&&

Mark Cohen didn't know wither he should be frightened or relieved that Alexia's sister and her one brother seemed so friendly. On one hand, he was glad. No sister giving him the evil eye, or brother threatening to kill him if he broke his sister's heart.

Mark shook his head slightly. He was only meeting one of Alexia's brothers.

&&&&

Arthur Hemmingway was tapping his Visa on the desk of the car rental service that had been recommended to him by a friend at the casino. He'd demanded a Mustang, something that he wouldn't be ashamed to drive, unlike that blue thing that his sister drove. It was the saddest excuse for a Mercedes Arthur had ever seen, and on many an occasion, he'd suggested that Alexia get rid of it and get a more suitable car, a Lincoln of a Rolls. She'd stubbornly dismissed his best natured intentions and kept her car, polishing it only occasionally. Sure, it wasn't older than five years, but it was small and, in Arthur's opinion, un-pretty. Not so much ugly or unattractive as just not-gorgeous. And Arthur Hemmingway's little sister should be driving something prettier.

She also shouldn't be dating a filmmaker from the East Village, but he apparently didn't have any say in that matter. "And this is your business how?" Arthur's mother had asked when he called her to tell her that he was indeed flying in from Vegas to see Alexia's Lincoln Center performance.

"Well," Arthur said, trying to defend himself. "I'm her big brother! I'm just trying to protect her!"

"And how can you tell that this Mark isn't a perfectly fine, upstanding guy?" His mother retorted.

"I don't." Arthur answered, defeated.

Arthur usually had an answer for everything, and it bothered him the entire time that he drove to the Ritz, and the entire time that he walked up the six flights of stairs to the suite that he had reserved.

&&&&

Roger chuckled as he sat on the couch back at the Loft. He didn't envy Mark (he knew from experience with Mimi's family that big brothers could be very frightening when you were dating their little sister), but he wondered no less what it would be like to be in his shoes, he wondered what would have happened if he had met Alexia at CGBG's instead of April on that night that seemed like a lifetime ago...

Twenty-four year old Roger Davis had missed three chords in the current song alone, watching her like he was.

She sat in the back, at the bar, a Cosmopolitan in her hand, the hot pink of the drink matching her overcoat and sequined scarf. Her attitude seemed flip at best, almost yuppie at worst. She had a look in her dark brown eyes that said that she would rather be anywhere else in the world than where she was, like maybe she'd come here as a last ditch effort to feel artistic again after a day of Corporate America. She looked disinterested in the scene before, just sipping her drink, hoping a buzz might clear her conscious of whatever she'd done during the day, and Roger guessed by the look of her that she was a lawyer. She had the casual I-don't-care-buzz-off air and the expensive handbag slung over her shoulder. Roger mused that she was probably a prosecutor who might have put someone away that she knew in her heart and soul was innocent, but she couldn't have thrown the case, lost on purpose, no, no, no. A loss wouldn't look good on her case record. Her long dark hair that was pulled half-back cascaded over her shoulders with a slight curl in the bottom, as if even her hair was expensive.

Roger's roommate, Mark, sat a few seats over from the girl, talking to another woman who looked a lot less Uptown and who looked a lot like the girls that Roger usually looked at in a place like CGBG'S. She had choppy, reddish hair that stuck out her and there like she could have cut it herself. She wore as much eyeliner as Roger did himself, making her eyes look bigger than they really were, and making her look dangerous all at once, if eye make-up could do that to a person. Mark really seemed to be interested, but Roger knew that wasn't the only reason that he paid no attention to the red head and was staring at the girl in pink.

The song ended, Roger ending on the completely wrong note, and he signaled to the rest of the band that he was going to get a drink, and then he'd be back for another set. He stepped of the stage and crossed to the club, his hands actually shaking. The girl in pink was unapproachable, a bright wisp of color in the manly dark club dominated by Bohemians. She looked out of place and exactly right at the same time.

Roger slid onto the chair next to her with an earnest, "Hi."

"Hello." She answered, not even looking at him.

He extended his hand, "I'm Roger."

She glanced at him for a mere second, not shaking his hand. "I have a boyfriend."

Roger was taken aback. Apparently this girl didn't want to talk. He thought about just taking his beer and going back to the band, not saying another word to her. But, Roger knew if he did, he'd think about her for the rest of the night, and his guitar playing would severely suffer. Roger decided that he had to talk to her, no matter what she said.

In other words, Roger Davis decided to get cocky.

"Do you?" He said, and she did a double take, as if to say, 'What did you just say to me?'

Then, she raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? Were you talking to me?"

"Well, do you?" Roger retorted, raising an eyebrow himself, "I mean, do really have a boyfriend, or are you just saying that so I'll leave you alone with your Cosmo?"

She turned toward him, drumming her perfectly manicured, and surprisingly blue fingernails on the glossy black bar. "Okay, fine, you've caught me. But, sorry, I don't deal with," She made quotation marks in the air, ""Artists"" wearing too much black eyeliner and hair bleach for their own good."

"Well, aren't you lovely."

"I'm just telling you the truth."

Roger loved a challenge, and with each lightning-quick comeback, this girl just became more and more attractive in Roger's olive green eyes. "I bet your a lesbian."

Her eyes grew wide. "What?"

"Am I right? Is that why you're so disinterested?" He asked. "You're either a lesbian or a lawyer. No big deal, really. I know plenty of lesbians, and they don't bother me at all, but lawyers, oh, don't even get me started. If you're a lawyer, then it shouldn't be you shunning me, it should be me walking away from you." Roger nodded a thanks to the bartender as he handed him his drink, and he slowly began to walk away. 1...2...3...

"Wait!" the girl said, the first hint of emotion surfacing in her voice. She quickly got it under control, burying it deep in her icy facade. "For your information," her voice was cold once more. "I'm straight, and I'm an actress. Ever heard of a place called Broadway?"

Roger turned back around with a sly smile. She just couldn't be nice to him, could she? Who was he kidding, she had him completely enamored. "An actress, huh? I don't believe it." Anger flashed in her eyes. "You don't look like an actress."

"I don't?"

"No."

"Fine then." She said as she began pulling off her hot pink overcoat gracefully, revealing a blue halter top that matched her nails perfectly. That explained it.

"Hmm, much better." Roger said, sitting back down next to her. "Who do you play?"

"I'm Val in "A Chorus Line"." She said, once again taking on that I-Don't-Care attitude.

"You seem better suited to play an Ice Queen." Roger stated simply, not letting her know that he had no idea who Val was, or what A Chorus Line was. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but Roger stopped her. "You just don't let anyone in, do you?"

"Not you, at least."

Mark brushed against Roger as he left behind the red head. "Hey Rog, I'm leaving, 'Kay? Her name's April, isn't she hot?"

Roger raised his eyebrows and sighed, watching his roommate leave.

"Who was that?" The girl asked.

"First tell me your name."

"No."

"Fine then, I'm not telling you who that was."

A silence fell for a few seconds. She finished her Cosmo and ordered another one.

"Alexia."

"Huh?"

"Alexia. That's my name. Alexia, Alexia Hemmingway."

"I'm Roger, Roger Davis, and that was my roommate, Mark Cohen, leaving, for what may be for the very first time, a club with a woman that he didn't come in with."

The girl, Alexia, actually laughed a little, and Roger's band mate motioned him back to the stage. "Nice talking to you, Alexia."

She just nodded but didn't say anything.

As Roger took the stage again, an idea struck him full in the face. He stepped to the microphone. "This one's for Alexia the actress sitting at the bar with just her Cosmo for company,

"What is it about her that makes me want her?

What is it about her that turns me pale?"

Later that night, Roger left not only with his guitar, but with a cocktail napkin with Alexia's phone number written on it in fluorescent pink ink.

A few days later, Roger had picked up the phone three times, dialed half of Alexia's number and hung up. He was too nervous to dial a phone number, let alone carry on a coherent conversation.

He was about to try again, but just as he laid his hand on the phone and noticed that his black nail polish had miraculously stayed on for more than a day, the phone rang.

"Screen that!" Mark called from the bathroom. He and April were in there, and Roger just knew that she was introducing him to heroine. He'd found her stash a few days ago. Roger shuddered, but still, it was Mark's life to go ahead and ruin, what kind of a say did Roger have? None.

"SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

There was silence on the end of then line for a few seconds. Roger took his hand off the phone.

"Roger, hi, this is Alexia, Alexia Hemmingway," her voice suddenly sounded through the apartment, "Um, we met a CGBG's a few days ago-"

"H-hello?" Roger said, picking up the receiver.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you were home." Alexia said, laughing a little. "Hey, would you like to meet for coffee somewhere?"

Roger's green eyes grew wide. The Ice Queen had just asked him to get coffee with her. "Uh, sure, what time?"

Four weeks later, they were officially "a thing", or at least that's what Alexia said when Roger asked if they were an item yet. He'd even started referring to her as his girlfriend.

Mark had become absent from the Loft more and more often. He'd leave with April early in the morning and come back late at night (if he came back at all), fresh track marks lining his pale arms.

Roger just pretended not to notice.

He was too busy with his new girlfriend to even care much, anyway. He'd known people that did drugs before. Collins even smoked weed every no and then, no biggie, really. Sooner or Later Mark would get bored and he and April would move on to something else. Maybe booze. Who cared?

Not Roger. It wasn't any of his business.

Roger and Alexia now sat across form each other at some ritzy restaurant uptown that she's brought him to. He'd taken off his nail polish and put on a pair of jeans that didn't have holes in the knees. Alexia looked gorgeous, wearing bright, sunny yellow.

They just sat and talked, like they usually did.

It was actually quite nice.

Four months after that, Roger and Alexia had the Loft all to themselves. Well, they did until Mark and April came bursting in through the steel door. Roger immediately knew that they were both high. April had changed Mark. He no longer wore his glasses, he had contacts. He no longer wore smart, preppy sweaters and scarves, he wore black leather and chains.

"Who was that?" Alexia asked, confused.

Roger hardly recognized his roommate, how could he expect Alexia to?

"Well, that's just my junkie roommate."

Alexia nodded, remembering the blonde from the night that she met Roger. He'd changed.

A lot.

Alexia just shook her head.

"I'd ask you to move in, but those two..." Roger trailed off. Alexia shushed him by putting a finger to his lips.

"Leave then. Move in with me Uptown."

It sounded Perfectly Marvelous.

Eight months later, they were married.

And five years after that, they were getting divorced.

It was a "No Fault" divorce. There were no kids to worry about, and the passion was just gone, so why stay together.

Roger looked at himself in the mirror of the men's room of the courthouse. Well, he was officially, legally single again. He finished washing his hands, straightened his tie and walked back out.

"Roger!" He heard Alexia call. She took his hand in both of hers. "Is there any way we can still be friends?"

Roger looked at his feet and then back up at his wife, no, ex-wife, and paused for a second before speaking. "Of course Lexia."

She kissed him lightly and Roger left.

Walking out of the courthouse a single woman again, Alexia thought she saw someone that she almost recognized out of the corner of her eye. A very handsome blonde guy in thick black glasses was talking to her husband, no ex-husband.

A ghost from long ago. From the night she met Roger. A throw-back to six years ago, to the night when her heart was melted by the man she'd just divorced. Roger shook the blonde's hand, but then pulled him into a hug, and was off.

Alexia walked down a few more steps. "Mark?" She called, "Mark Cohen?"

The blonde turned around. She was right, and Alexia had to blink a few times. Last time she'd seen Mark, he'd been wearing a lot of black, had long hair, and fresh track marks on his arm. She'd assumed he'd be dead by now. But now, he looked like he had that first night at CGBG's, his hair short again, glasses back, and he looked healthy, he must be clean. He was wearing a red sweater with a blue strip across the front, and a brown corduroy jacket over his sweater, a dark blue and gray scarf under the collar. He carried an army green messenger bag that from the looks of it was a make-shift camera bag.

"Alexia, hi." He said quietly, reserved. "So how does it feel to be single again?"

Alexia laughed sadly. "Not nearly as good as I thought it would. It feels crappy to know that I'm a divorced woman now."

"Well, it was nice to see you again." He said.

"You look great." Alexia said, not realizing what she was saying before it was out of her mouth.

Mark smiled. "Yeah, I've been clean for four years."

Alexia smiled herself. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah, I kind of realized what I'd gotten myself into when I O.D.ed one night and woke up in the hospital to the news that April'd killed herself. She thought I was dead and pulled a Juliet. I guess it's a blessing I got out before I caught something, y'know?"

Alexia looked at her feet. "Yeah, um, I'm sorry to hear that she died."

Guilt crossed Mark's electric blue eyes. "What am I doing telling you all of my problems, I'm sorry. You're the one that just got divorced, I've taken up too much of your time." He nodded a goodbye and turned to leave.

But Alexia grabbed his hand, once again not realizing what she was doing before she was already in motion. It just seemed so fated, so right, like they were supposed to be together, but somehow that fate went askew. "Wait, no." She paused, once again saying the words that had started so much so long ago. "Let's go get some coffee."...

...The sound of the closing door snapped Roger out of his what-if. He smiled.

Mark and Alexia were meant to be together, even in Roger's daydreams.

"Hey Hun." Mimi said, throwing her arms around Roger's neck. "So have you been writing?"

Roger thought for a second. "Yeah, kind of. Listen to this." He picked up his guitar and began to wing it.

"The two of us walked into that club,

Why we picked that one over any other pub,

I may never know.

I may never know why I met her,

I may never be sure

Why it was me instead of you that went for the ride of my life

All of the joy and the strife,

In a relationship that never seemed quite right.

I could have talked to the girl in pink that night,

She would have gone with me instead of you,

But instead I cornered the girl with red hair,

But still, you could have snagged her,

Left me there.

She and I would have talked for a while,

Over a Cosmo and Beer.

She would tell me that she didn't care

And never would.

And I get her phone number if I could.

And she'd hand to me on a cocktail napkin,

Written in pink ink."

He put his guitar down. "Well, that's all I've got."

Mimi clapped. "That was excellent!" She stood up, pulling Roger to his feet as well, his back toward the door, and kissed him.

Arthur Hemmingway snapped his Motorola cell phone shut. Stefanie had just told him all about Alexia's boyfriend, blonde, about so-tall.

She'd been calling and when he asked to speak to said sister's boyfriend, she said he wasn't there.

So, Arthur assumed that he'd be at the apartment that he and Arthur's sister shared. Arthur was glad he would have a chance to talk to the guy without his sister around as he climbed the stairs to the top floor and flung open the unlocked steel door.

Stefanie reemerged from the bathroom and sat down. "That was Arthur. He wanted to talk to you Mark, I told him you weren't exactly there. It's not like you would be in the ladies room!"

What Arthur Hemmingway saw when he walked into the Loft was a blonde guy about so tall kissing a Latin girl that was most defiantly not his sister.