I'm calling all bars tonight
Pour me a glass, but don't be cheap with the wine
It's time to live until tomorrow ends
Because we don't need rest, we'll sleep when we're dead
The Audition, "Rep Your Clique"

Roger casually ran his finger in circles around and around the rim of his beer glass, trying to produce that pure, high-pitched note that only came from crystal. He glanced at the clock on the wall of the Life Café, fidgeting in his seat at the bar. Mark was late, as usual, and Roger was impatient.

Behind the bar was a girl Roger did not recognize. She was slight, with bleached blonde hair that was streaked with hot pink. She wore jeans and a neon green tee, zebra-striped. She modeled several piercings, including her nose and a Madonna, and a tongue stud that glinted silver when she talked. Roger also spotted a lower-back tattoo (along with a flashy yellow thong) when she bent over to grab a bottle of tequila.

He never really looked at other girls ever since Mimi and it had been some time since he'd been with anyone but her. When she died, he was convinced he would never love another. Not that he was in love with this bartender, but Roger liked the way she looked. Maybe, if he could find his balls, he'd be able to strike up a conversation with her before Mark arrived.

Just as he was about to call her over and ask her about her tattoo (and perhaps show off a few of his), Mark finally stumbled into the Life, as awkward and uncomfortable as ever. Mark hadn't been here in quite a few years, but the place hadn't changed really. He scanned the room for Roger and, when he spotted him, ambled his way over.

"Hey," he said as he slid into a seat at the bar beside Roger.

"You got my message."

"I did."

"Took you long enough," Roger admonished lightly. "Get lost?"

"Not exactly. Hey, Lucien," Mark greeted the girl at the bar, who came over as Mark settled into his seat.

"Hi, Mr. Cohen," she greeted. "What can I get you?"

"Just a beer, please. I didn't know you worked here."

Lucien shrugged casually and filled a chilled glass with Miller. "It pays the bills. And wearing a thong with low-rider jeans makes for good tips." She winked as she slid the glass towards him and shot the boys a small smile as she turned to serve another customer at the other end of the bar.

"You know her?" Roger asked as Lucien sauntered away, his eyes still on her lower back tattoo. It looked like some sort of tribal marking, like he had around his right arm.

"Mmm," Mark said around the rim of his beer glass. "Sort of."

Roger paused. "You're not fucking her, are you?"

Mark gagged on his beer and pulled the glass away from his lips. "No!" he sputtered. "God, no! No! What the hell gave you—no!"

"Well, how do you know her? You told me last week that you haven't been here in at least two years!"

"Lucien's son is one of Stephanie's students. I've met her at a few of those ridiculous family-oriented school functions. Parties and science fairs and Parent's Night and…all that crap."

"Her son?" Roger eyeballed Lucien in her skin-tight jeans, a silver-studded belt slung about her hips. "She doesn't look old enough to have a first-grader. Jesus."

"She's twenty-six."

"No kidding? Married?"

"I guess. I've only met her a few times, never really saw anyone with her, except her son. So…I don't know, maybe not. Anyway," Mark said with a sigh, "I'm sure you didn't call me all the way out here just to discuss the bartender's personal life."

"'All the way out here'? Mark, we used to live here," Roger said with a shake of his head. "And I called you 'all the way out here' to just…you know, talk. Like we used to. Without everyone else."

"Oh. True. How was Las Vegas?"

"Quiet," Roger replied, between sips of beer. "Cal and Layla live in this little cul-de-sac of townhouses about ten, fifteen minutes off the Strip. You can see the lights from their roof."

"Sounds nice," Mark admitted.

"The weather's…weird, though. No snow, lots of rain. Dry heat. Freezing cold nights. The desert, you know."

"Did you gig out there a lot?"

"A few open mic nights here and there. Nothing spectacular. I don't want to talk about me anymore."

"Well…What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. You. You and Stephanie, for starters. How'd you meet her?"

"I hired her. For a film crew," Mark added before Roger could make any snide comments. "Collins helped me put together a film crew for a project, and Stephanie was one of a dozen who volunteered. We just sort of…hit it off."

"Where's she from?"

"West Milford, New Jersey. Small town."

"She seems nice."

Mark ignored the off-handed tone in Roger's voice. "She's pregnant."

It was Roger's turn to sputter. "You're kidding."

"No…why would I kid about that?"

Roger shook his head. "You're going to have a kid!" he exclaimed. "That's pretty cool!"

Cool. "Well, I suppose that's one way to put it—"

"I need to buy you a shot!"

"No, please. Thank you, but no. I can't."

"Punk," Roger accused with a small smile. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's amusing to think that you assumed I had one in the first place. Look, I know it's exciting and all, but could you maybe keep it quiet for now?" Mark asked. "Stephanie wants to keep it on the down low, wait a few weeks before making the news official."

"Oh. Sure. How long does she plan on keeping it under wraps?"

"Until the twelve-week mark."

"Well, either way—you must be stoked, huh?"

"Sure, I guess. It could be fun, having a kid and all that. Passing on the genes into the next generation."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Never mind. Anyway, it is pretty exciting," Mark rambled on.

"You don't sound excited."

"I am."

"Who are you trying to convince, Mark? Really?"

"I'm not trying to convince anyone."

"Bullshit." Lucien the bartender shot Roger a quizzical look when he uttered this profanity, something that did not go unmissed by him.

"Stop it, Roger."

"Whaaaaat? I'm not doing anything—except calling you out."

"I'll leave, I swear, if you don't shut up."

"Okay, okay. But I won't believe it until I see it."

"See what?"

"That you're actually thrilled to death about having a kid. And if you are, I'll mail you a box of cigars when the kid pops out."

"Do you have to be so…graphic?"

Roger only laughed in response.

July smothered New York City with its heat. People found themselves drenched in sweat just from walking from their apartments to the nearest subway station. The subways themselves were so humid it was bordering on unbearable. Everywhere, people looked exhausted, like they'd given up on life and were looking to off themselves on the nearest fire hydrant. No one was sleeping. Tempers were short, and blamed on the heat. Mark Cohen was the first to do so after snapping at Stephanie one too many times.

All Stephanie could really do was nod and accept his apologies when they were offered. Now that it was summer, she was home full time. Her first-graders were on their way to becoming second-graders, and a fresh batch of six-year-olds would be on their way come September. Being home these past three weeks made Stephanie used to Mark's short fuse. She did her best to smooth things over—cooking his favorite foods, doting on him. Despite everything, however, she ended up eating alone more often than not. When Mark wasn't with Collins, he was shut away in his production room. NBC, ABC and CBS kept him busy, calling his office line and handing him productions left and right. On top of his network workload, he took on other customers with their wedding videos, baptisms, communions, bar mitzvahs, etc.

Ever since Stephanie told him she was pregnant, Mark hadn't changed his behavior much. The least he could do was have dinner with her each night and be beside her in bed. But for the most part, he barely managed that.

"Honestly, I don't know how you've stood it for this long," said Lydia, one of Stephanie's best friends. Her blonde hair was styled into a bob, with the bangs hanging over her eyes, which were bright blue and framed with heavy mascara. They were sitting across from one another at the Starbucks on 8th and Broadway, trying to prolong their stay in an air-conditioned environment. They'd gone to NYU together, having met at their freshman orientation and roomed together for two years; and had been bridesmaids at each others' weddings. Lydia now had two little boys, one of which Stephanie was the godmother of. She sipped her frappuccino and tapped her manicured fingernails onto the table. "I would have cut him loose ages ago, babe."

"I just have to be persistent," Stephanie assured her. She stirred her straw around in her iced chai. "He'll come around."

"When? You can't pretend to be pregnant forever, you know," Lydia pointed out.

"Just give it a few more weeks. I want to make this work."

"Okay. I just don't want you ending up hurt, Steph. Mark's not necessarily a bad guy, but he is a tough nut to crack."

"Exactly. He's not a bad guy. Which is why I'm giving him this chance."

"Alright, Steph. I hope you're right."

"Me too, Lyd. Me too."

A/N: Thank you all for being oh-so-patient! Helga is still in the shop. She's taking a lot longer to fix than we originally thought. Apparently the part she needs still hasn't arrived. It's frustrating, but by God, it WILL get done! TTFN.