Chapter Sixteen

He rushed down the street, then hurried inside the building. He knew he was running late as it was. Somehow, he had always arrived late, even when he was making ginormous efforts not to. Oliver, the coordinator of Life, had constantly teased him about being so busy and important, but he knew he didn't mind it so long as he got there eventually. He just needed to better manage his time. There was always so much he needed to get done. This time it wasn't even his fault, technically. He was waiting for Libby's new bed to be delivered, and the movers were two hours late.

His hasty footsteps echoed down the deserted hallway. He hoped he didn't miss anything important. Meetings took place once a week at a community center in the East Village, several times a week when they were in the middle of big projects. He hoped that by some divine intervention, they would wait for him to get started, but at the same time knew it was highly unlikely. Punctuality was Oliver's strongest suit.

The constant murmur from inside the room was audible now, the buzz of energy becoming more tangible, dashing the last of his hopes. This was the thing he liked most about Life – everyone's enthusiasm for the common purpose. They all put their hearts and souls into each activity. Everyone's absolute devotion for the organization often made his heart swell with emotion; it was an affirmation they were doing something worthwhile. They were helping people in need, and it was the best feeling in the world. He was so proud of their achievements.

As he opened the door, silence fell across the room. A dozen or so faces turned as one to look at him as he stepped inside. It reminded him of his first visit to Life Support where he joined Angel and Collins. Sorry, excuse me, oops... His cheeks burned, both with the memory and with embarrassment at this current disruption, as he waved awkwardly. He flashed Oliver an apologetic grin, hoping it would be enough and that he would be able to slip into a seat without causing any further interruption.

Of course, he should have known better by now.

"If it isn't the man of the hour!" announced Oliver, leaping to his feet. He all but shrank into his seat in mortification. He hated to have any sort of spotlight aimed at him, and Oliver knew it damn well. He was a ginger-headed devil; he loved him dearly. "Glad you could join us, Mark, just in time for introductions."

It was then he noticed the three new faces in the group; two men and a woman who were eyeing him curiously. While he was very much involved in the happenings behind the scenes, he didn't always know in advance when new people were due to join the group. He wondered now if Oliver had mentioned it in a recent conversation, and he was just too distracted for the fact to register. Lord knew he had enough on his plate as it was.

"Mark, these are Curtis, Andrew and Melinda, they're joining our family today. Guys, meet the great Mark Cohen."

He shot Oliver a warning glare which the younger man promptly ignored. He reminded him so much of Tammy at times that often he'd toyed with the idea of setting the two up. It seemed like a match made in heaven; or hell, more like. It was as if they were both born to torture him. Luckily, there was just too much to discuss at the moment, and so Oliver got off his back. There was a benefit coming up, one they had worked for weeks to make possible. Events such as this one were far and few between – it was an opportunity to acquire new donors and tell the world what they were all about, but at the same time they were an administrative nightmare, and a challenge to organized within their meager budget. But now it seemed it was finally happening. Oliver could barely contain his grin as he told them, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

"Other than the usual suspects, there are going to be some important people in attendance that evening, so it's imperative we make a good impression. That means a killer speech," Oliver's eyes fell on Lindsey, the group's unofficial spokesperson, who nodded; "and the best film you can find in your archives," he added, addressing him. Then he looked at the three newbies. "As much as we like making fun of Mark, he also happens to be a brilliant filmmaker. Just last week we watched one of his very first works, Today For You, a documentary he made about his and his friends' life here in the East Village."

Even though in hindsight, it wasn't his best work, it remained the most meaningful one, and it was painful to share with the group. And yet, it was a positive, purifying experience. They had a long discussion afterwards. It turned out that several members lived in the area around the same time. One or two thought they knew Angel and Mimi. Another was a student of Collins' at MIT before he got himself expelled for his theory of Actual Reality. Later that night they went to dinner at the Life Café and just talked about their friends who were no longer with them.

"I'm still finalizing everything with the higher ups as far as catering and a venue, possibly a performance or an auction. As for the when, we're currently thinking early May."

He couldn't help the idiotic smile he could feel curling on his lips. Maureen would be there by then. No more phone calls in the middle of the night, texts at odd hours one of them would always miss. Instead he'd be able to wake up beside her every day for the rest of their lives. As the meeting continued, he was almost ashamed by his distraction; he thought back of the Maureen captured in his first films, the self-absorbed drama queen who got an entire lot to moo with her. He thought of the mature version of her, the one who loved him and asked him to marry her.

The meeting was adjourned and everyone began to leave, still in a festive mood over Oliver's news. He glanced at his phone, but there were no new messages or emails to attend to. With a little luck, he should be able to get back to the gallery before closing time. Maybe he'd even treat Tammy to dinner. Despite the fact she was teasing him mercilessly lately for acting like a love-sick puppy, he was in a good, generous mood. The long-awaited benefit had been green-lighted, Maureen and Libby would be back in Manhattan soon. Life couldn't possibly get any better.

"Excuse me, Mr. Cohen?"

He raised his head to meet the polite smile of a stranger. Well, not a stranger, exactly. He was one of the new members Oliver had introduced to him earlier, only he couldn't remember which of the two men this one was. He was lanky and dark-haired, roughly his age. Something about his eyes felt kind of familiar, which he found odd, since he had never met the guy before. "Call me Mark, please," he said, smiling at the stranger, as they made their way outside. He was still looking over his shoulder when someone addressed him as Mr. Cohen, expecting his dad. Overall he didn't feel old enough to be called Mister.

The man smiled. "Mark. Hi. I just wanted to say that I've seen some of your works before. It's an honor to meet you in person."

As they shook hands, the guy's name suddenly came to him. "Thank you. Andrew, right?"

"Andy. I'm always expecting my dad when someone calls me by my full name," replied Andy, frowning ever so slightly.

"I know, right?" They shared a knowing smile. "It's nice to meet you, Andy. It's always good to have new members. It's nice to see the group grows. Makes us feel like we're really doing something."

"You are doing something. More than you'll ever know."

"That's good to hear. How did you hear about Life?"

"Oh, I've been a long-time member back home. I moved here for work about a month ago, and I've been meaning to check out the group here, but never got around to it."

"Tell me about it; I moved to a new apartment about six months ago, and I finished unpacking literally last weekend."

Andy's eyes widened in horror. "It's a lot to take in. Are you also new in town?"

"No, I lived here most of my adult life. But yeah, Manhattan is a lot to take in, if you're not used to it."

"They do things a little differently on the West Coast," laughed Andy.

"Where are you from?" he asked, his mind momentarily wandering to San Francisco.

"Oh, here and there. I spent a few years in Portland. I'm kind of hoping moving here will put an end to seven years of bad luck."

It took him a second to realize Andy didn't mean it in jest. "That bad?"

"The worst. But I really just want to leave it behind me, so to speak. Besides, I'm sure you've got more interesting places to be in."

"Actually, I'm sort of late for work," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's nearly six."

"Mine is not exactly a nine-to-five job. I have a gallery uptown." He hesitated, then said, "You can come with me if you want."

Something like relief crossed Andy's expression. "Sure, I'd love that."

They chatted some more on the way to the subway station, and found two seats on a train car that was miraculously not crowded. They didn't speak, both of them too conscious of the other passengers. He thought about what he'd known about Andy so far, which was arguably very little. He was a graphic designer, he currently lived in Brooklyn, he had some terrible times out West. But why was he in Life? What was his story? Was he HIV positive, or did they share the grim experience of watching their friends die one by one?

As they were walking side by side back on the street, as if he could feel him wondering, "I was diagnosed with HIV a few years back," said Andy, then smiled sadly as their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," he said, but whether he was expressing the sentiment for Andy's news or for wondering, he wasn't entirely sure.

"It's okay. I'm alright, most of the time. So long as I stick with my meds and therapy sessions. And now, Life," he added. "I'm assuming it isn't your story."

"No. HIV and AIDS were inseparable part of our lives when I lived in the East Village. Many of my friends were sick. They all died eventually. The last one was my best friend. He died last year."

"It must have been tough."

"It was. But I feel it shaped me into the adult I am today. It certainly taught me some important lessons."

"Like what?"

"Like that there's no day but today," he said sadly, his heart twitching as he thought of the friends he'd lost.

"At the beginning, I can't tell you how many times I wished someone would tell me it was just a huge, horrible mistake, a mess-up at the hospital, anything to undo this."

He nodded, thinking of Roger. His friend told him something similar after rehab. For days following his return, he wouldn't speak, and then one night, unable to sleep, he wandered to the living room, only to find Roger staring out the window with tears streaming down his face. It was a long, sad night, but one he would always remember, in hindsight.

"Well, you've come to the right place," he assured Andy. "And if you ever feel the need to talk things through with anyone..."

"Thanks, Mark."

They arrived at the gallery just as Tammy was closing up. When she saw him through the window, she raised her arms to the heavens in wordless desperation. He rolled his eyes and showed Andy inside. Tammy already had that accusing expression plastered on, but he spoke before she managed to scold him.

"Be nice, Horowitz, we've got company," he warned her.

"I'm always nice, Cohen, that's why you love me so much!" she said, smiling sweetly at him.

"Andy, this charming creature is Tammy Horowitz. Tammy, Andy just joined Life today, I invited him to have a look around."

Tammy and Andy shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and then she zeroed in on him with an expression he'd come to know all too well. "You, lover boy. Your better half was looking for you about an hour ago. Call her back at her office, the number is on your notepad by the keyboard." She stopped to let out a dramatic sigh. "I don't know why I'm always so nice to you."

"That's because you know better," he said, trying to glare at her, and failing miserably, if her evil cackle was any indication. He looked apologetically at Andy. "Feel free to look around, I'll be right with you."

Closing the door behind him, he reached for his notepad and found the number in Tammy's handwriting. As he was dialing, he calculated the time in San Francisco, idly wondering what was wrong with her cell. It was nearly four. Would she still be there on her last day?

"Hello?"

He blinked, thrown off-guard by the voice, female and pleasant but definitely not Maureen's. Weird; he assumed it would be her direct line. "Hi, is Maureen there, please?"

"I'm sorry, Maureen is not available right now. Can I take a message?"

"Uhh…" He wasn't sure if he should say he was her fiancé; not only because it still sounded so incredibly strange, but also because when he visited, she mentioned she hadn't told anyone at work about them. "Just that Mark called her back, please. I'll try her on her cell right – "

"Your name is Mark?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, once again caught off-guard. "Is something wrong?" he added, because something was definitely off. He could almost sense it in her hesitation.

"One second, okay?"

"Wait, what – "

She was gone before he could finish his question. He sank into his chair, heart suddenly racing. Something was wrong. He had no idea what, but he didn't like the way the situation was unfolding.

"Hello?" A male voice this time, calmer than the woman's. Only he was losing his patience.

"Hi, I'm calling back for Maureen," he hoped that by providing more information they would miraculously put him through, or put him out of his misery. Anything to end this panic that was suddenly gnawing at him.

"You're Mark?"

"Yes, I already told your colleague," he snapped, and immediately regretted it. Before he managed to apologize, someone knocked on his office's door and Tammy peeked inside. He guessed Andy left already, but didn't have time to ponder over it. He motioned her to hold on for a moment, and brought his attention back to the call. "Is she there?"

"Mark, my name is Kevin, I'm Maureen's replacement. She's here, but I'm afraid she can't talk to you right now. There's been a... situation."

"What? What are you talking about, is she okay?"

"Today's her last day at work as you probably know. She, umm, collapsed during a staff meeting. I guess we should have seen it coming, she's been under the weather for a while now."

Collapsed... Oh shit. "What you do you mean under the weather?" For a while? Why didn't she tell him? "Where is she now?"

"Here in her office, resting. We wanted to call a doctor but she insists it's unnecessary. As soon as she's better I'll make sure she gets home safely."

Already he was reaching for his cell phone, frantically texting, What's going on? You're not feeling well?

"Is she conscious?" He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Tammy's expression shift into concern.

"She's just really drowsy." She did mention she was tired once or twice when they spoke on the phone recently, but she'd always played it down. "Listen, we're doing all we can for her. I'm sure she'll be fine. She just needs to sleep it off."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"I'll tell her you called." Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, "Congratulations. She's wonderful. I know you'll be very happy together."

This was getting too surreal. "Thanks," he said distractedly, deleting the text and already composing a new one, filled with typos. He couldn't stop his fingers from shaking.

He didn't remember hanging up, but he was suddenly aware of the dial tone coming from the phone he still held against his shoulder. He slowly placed the phone back, corrected whatever typos he'd spotted, and hit "send" on the text on his cell phone, then stared emptily at the keyboard.

"What's going on?" It was then when he realized that Tammy was still in the room, watching him curiously.

He looked up at her, his mind everywhere, his heart across the country in San Francisco. He had no idea what to think, how to feel. Helplessness was slowly creeping under his skin. "Something is wrong with Maureen."