13- Will Someone Care?
It was summer again. It was amazing how time flew by, how quickly the seasons shifted, she thought as she made her way home. The whole mess with Roger started just one year ago. It was one hell of a year to all of them. She sighed, kicking an empty bottle of bear that stood on her way. Three months. He was three months into withdrawal. They were three months into withdrawal. It was hell; worse than anything she ever experienced in her life, and she wasn't even allowed to have any contact with Roger. Mark was persistent about that. He didn't want Roger to hurt her too, he said. He was getting more violent as they got along, she knew. She could tell by Mark's bruises. But even if it was Mark who spent all his time with Roger in that room, sometimes listening was enough. She spent so many sleepless nights out on the fire escape, hoping it would make his moans and cries less audible. It never did.
Benny got married in the middle of June. None of them showed up to the wedding. Mark had to stay with Roger, and she didn't want to go alone. She didn't think she should, too. Benny was Mark's friend from college, not hers. She never got along with him anyway. Benny seemed to understand their reasons, when she called to tell him they wouldn't be able to make it. He didn't sound offended; he actually sounded kind of relieved. She knew she was supposed to be at least a little hurt by his reaction, but she really wasn't. She didn't care. He got what he wanted; he married the girl and her money. At least one of them was happy. A month or so after the wedding, she read in the Village Voice that his new father-in-law bought couple of buildings in their block, their building included. When Benny called to personally inform them with this, he said he'd take care of their rent for a while, because things were bad enough for them as it was, with taking care of Roger. In what sounded like a rare moment of care and generosity, he also told her not to hesitate to contact him if they needed anything else. He promised he'd call within a week to ask how things were going. He never did.
Collins called at least once a week to check out on them. She felt like killing Mark whenever she heard him say in his most cheerful tone that they were doing fine, that Roger was improving and that Collins had absolutely nothing to worry about. She wondered if Collins bought it. He probably didn't, but it's not like he could do something about it. So often she wanted to grab that phone before Mark got to it and scream at Collins to get his ass over there on the first train. She never did.
Mark was a whole different person now. He spent every waking hour at Roger's side; even when he didn't have to be there. He suffered Roger's violence silently, never hitting back, probably because he realized how useless it would be, since Roger was so much stronger. He became more aggressive as time passed. His door remained locked during the night, and once or twice she found Mark dozing off on the floor, on the other side of it. She knew what he was trying to do. She knew he felt so guilty for not noticing everything when it started; he was probably trying to make up for it now. Ironically, the very thing that threatened to ruin their friendship before turned up to be just what eventually made their bond stronger. The problem was that it became the only thing on Mark's mind. Everything else, his work, his camera, her, didn't seem to matter anymore. Sure, he wasn't aware of that, but even though he didn't do it intentionally, it still hurt. She felt so damn lonely. She just wanted him to notice her. She needed him to be there for her too, now more than ever. She needed him to hold her when she slept, to tell her that everything would be fine, even if he didn't really mean it. He never did.
Work became her only refuge, but even that didn't last long. Roxanne left the month before. She found a better job uptown. It made her even sadder, not only because Roxanne wasn't around anymore, but also because it reminded her that her own job there was supposed to be temporary. It's been over a year, and she was still there. So it was down to her and Steven, who always knew how to make her laugh, except that recently he got himself a girlfriend, on whom he couldn't stop talking. She wondered if this was how she acted when she and Mark first got together. She hoped she didn't, because it was annoying the hell out of her. Sometimes she felt like shaking Steven. She just wished he'd shut up about it.
She was out a lot. Being in the loft became unbearable. Besides, no one seemed to notice she wasn't around. She probably knew all the bars in the Village area by now, spending each night at a different place. She just sat there by the bar with her drink, thinking of nothing in particular. It was so easy to be tempted by all those handsome guys who frequently walked over to her and suggested to buy her a drink, but she never allowed herself to fall into temptations like that. She always turned them down. She kind of felt proud of herself for being able to resist them, although it didn't really matter. Even if she would have shown up at the loft the day afterwards smelling of another man's aftershave, it was most likely that Mark wouldn't even notice. She didn't feel like going out tonight though. She could use some sleep.
A drumming sound shook her out of her reverie. On the pavement across the street, a boy was sitting and drumming on what looked like a big bucket. Well, not a boy, exactly. He looked her age, maybe couple of years younger, definitely not a boy anymore. But she kind of felt like she was a hundred years old, so everyone looked young in her eyes now. All around him, the passers-by didn't notice him, but he didn't seem to care. He seemed taken by his own music. His eyes were closed in concentration, his head moving slightly at the sounds, the movements of his hands sharp and passionate. He was so into it. She had to smile. And then she realized it was her first smile in months. And this boy she never seen before in her life was responsible for it. She reached for her pocket. She wished she had more than what she found there, but this would have to do. She crossed the street and walked over to him. He stopped playing as she placed the money in a hat that laid on the pavement next to him.
"Thank you," he smiled, looking up at her.
"Thank you," she said, returning his smile.
"I'm not sure what I did, but you're welcome." He looked at her more closely, and his smile faded. Now he looked concerned. "Hey, you okay, honey?"
"I'm afraid so," she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, I have to… I'll see you around, I guess."
"You probably will," the boy said. "Keep that smile on."
"Yeah. I'll try."
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She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her. She reached for another towel and dried her hair with it. The apartment was quiet, but she knew the guys were home because Mark's bike were there, against the wall by the door. She shrugged, closing the bedroom door behind her. She really didn't care anymore. Emptiness and exhaustion filled her to the core. She just wanted to crawl into bed and spend the next five years or so sleeping.
The door opened when she brushed her hair in front of the mirror. She looked up to see Mark walk into the room. He stopped on the threshold, looking a bit surprised to find her there. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes widened slightly at the fact she had nothing but that towel on. Well, at least something managed to catch his attention.
"Hi," he said quietly as he walked in and closed the door.
She put her hair-brush down. "Hey."
"You just got back?"
"A while ago."
He looked tired. She didn't pity him though. It was his problem he didn't want her help in all that. She could have made it easier for him. "Roger's asleep, so I thought I'd take a shower," he said, answering her silent wondering as for what he was doing out of Roger's room.
She nodded and stood up, walking towards the dresser. After she found a new nightshirt, she turned to face him again, and caught him staring at her. She gave him a look. "What?"
He smiled sheepishly. "You're beautiful," he replied softly.
"Thanks," she said, her tone dry and indifferent. He didn't really mean it. Okay, maybe he did, but not in his usual Mark-like way. He had that lustful expression. It was what any normal, straight man would have done if a minimally dressed woman was standing there in front of him. She hated him for it.
He walked over to her and caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes. It was so easy to fall for that touch, but she didn't let herself do that. If anything, it made her even angrier. He didn't even look at her for the past three months and now, when it suited his needs, he suddenly remembered her existence? "I miss you."
"I miss you too," she heard herself echo back in spite of her initial intention not to give in. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. That hateful masculine lust was still there, but there were some other things there now, too, stronger than that, as if he suddenly realized there were other things that mattered except for being there of his best friend through withdrawal. For a moment he seemed to be more like his old self again, and she felt her resistance slipping away as well. "Stay with me tonight," she whispered into his ear, her tone low, seductive, pleading.
He looked away, as if trying to resist her. "Maureen-"
She touched his face, making him face her. "Don't try to fight this. I need it. I know you need it too." She slipped her hands under his T-shirt, running them up and down his middle. Then she let them drift down, her fingers feeling for the top button of his jeans. She stopped there, her gaze locking with his. "I don't wanna be alone tonight."
He said nothing, but then after a moment he leaned towards her, and placed a soft kiss on her neck. She closed her eyes when his lips grazed her skin a second time, and a third, and then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer as his lips crushed against hers in a passionate kiss. It was fierce and urgent and she knew he longed for it just as much as she did. She didn't notice when her towel dropped to the floor. She didn't even know how they got to their bed. Somehow she managed to unbutton his jeans and kick it off with one leg. His shirt was still in her way but he wouldn't let her take it off. She wriggled beneath him as he trailed his kisses from her lips to her chest to her stomach. His hands were everywhere, following the trail his kisses made, touching, caressing, making her moan and cry out his name and beg for more. She really didn't give a damn who'd hear her.
There was a loud banging sound, somewhat muffled as if it was coming from down the hall. Then Roger's voice echoed through the loft, loud and furious. "Mark! Open the goddamn door!" More banging sounds. It was as if he threw himself against the door, trying to get it opened.
Mark sat up, panting. "Shit," he breathed, looking at the closed bedroom door as if he could see through it. She sat up as well and pulled the sheets to wrap it around herself. It was kind of silly; it's not like he never saw her naked before. He just did seconds ago. But suddenly it just felt so wrong. It made her feel so exposed. He looked at her apologetically. "I'd better…" his voice trailed off. She looked away, scorning herself for being so damn naïve. Who was she kidding? Nothing has changed. His priorities remained just the same; babying Roger was still on top of everything else. "Maureen-" he laid his hand over hers. She pulled her hand away abruptly.
"I'm fine, go," she said, voice quivering, not even bothering to look at him. She didn't want him to see the tears that stung the corners of her eyes.
"It's just that… he can hurt himself if he'd keep on doing that, and-"
"Mark, that's fine, go, do what you gotta do."
"I'm sorry," he whispered before he hurried out of the room.
She looked at the closed door, slowly releasing the breath she didn't even know she was holding. Then, not even bothering to put on the shirt that was now on the floor, forgotten, she snuggled into the sheets and cried herself to sleep.
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The week dragged on with no significant change. She got back home later and later, but no one seemed to care. She grew numb and distant at work, and eventually she decided to follow Roxanne and leave. She didn't worry about the money. She had some savings, she'd be okay for a while, until she'd find something else. Steven tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined. She had enough waitressing for a lifetime. It started to bore the hell out of her. Steven was still trying to convince her to stay on her last day, and she got so tired of him that she found herself avoiding him, serving as many tables as possible to keep herself busy. Now she made her way to the farthest corner of the café, where a woman was hunched over a pile of folders while scribbling something on a yellow notepad. She reached for a steaming mug and sipped it absent-mindedly every now and again. She looked really busy. She hated to disturb her, so she approached her and laid her check on the table as quietly as she could. The woman raised her head as she did. Their eyes met. "Your check," she said quietly.
"Thanks," the stranger replied, looking at her more closely. "Do I know you?"
She did look kind of familiar, but she couldn't quite place her, so she shook her head. "I don't think so, no."
"Because you look so familiar. I'm probably mixing you with someone else."
"Probably."
"Wait a second, I do know you! You're Mr. Johnson's daughter, aren't you?" She nodded. The woman did too. "He has a picture of you in his office. We met before, you probably don't remember. I'm Joanne Jefferson."
It rang a bell. And then she remembered the woman in the beautiful ivory dress at her father's den. "Oh. We met at that party on Christmas."
Joanne smiled. "That's right. Maureen, was it?"
"Yeah." She just stood there for a moment as her gaze shifted towards the papers that filled the small table. "You look busy, I don't wanna-"
"Oh no, that's fine. I'm just going over my closing for tomorrow's trial."
The last time they met, she was just an intern. It was really sad to think that Joanne was an actual lawyer by now, whereas she was living in New York for almost two years, and still a waitress. Well, not for long, she told herself.
"Do you want to, maybe…" Joanne started, nodding towards an empty seat next to her.
It took her by surprise. She glanced at her watch. It was almost the end of her shift, thank God. Her last shift, she reminded herself. "I'm off in a couple of minutes, so…" her voice trailed off. Joanne looked kind of disappointed, although it wasn't an actual refusal. Before she could think better of it, she heard herself say, "I thought to stop by for a drink before I'd head home. You can join me if you want. Unless you don't drink while you're working on a case, or… something."
Joanne laughed softly. "I'd love to join you. I'll be here, let me know when you're ready to go."
They went to a bar not far away from the Life. Joanne did most of the talking on the way, telling her a bit about the work in their fathers' firm. Whereas the main firm was in Jersey under her father's supervising, they opened a smaller one in New York City, where Joanne was working side by side with her own father. As if assuming she wanted to hear about her family, Joanne told her how her father and Anthony were doing. She listened silently, her mind elsewhere. She could care less. She was still somewhat hesitant as for why she asked Joanne to join her. Was she that desperate for company and attention? Joanne did look nice, but she was practically a stranger. She decided to drop her hesitations for now though. What's done was done.
"So if I remember correctly, you were supposed to be a great actress by now, weren't you?" Joanne asked lightly as a waitress laid their drinks in front of them and vanished. Her question didn't sound blunt or sarcastic, but it hurt all the same. It made her feel so useless.
"I'm working on it," she said, taking a sip of her martini. Joanne watched her as she did. There was something extremely see-through in that look, as if she could read everything that was on her mind, making her feel uncomfortable and somewhat vulnerable. She wondered if it was a lawyer-kind of thing.
"You know…" Joanne said slowly. "There's one thing that is worse than a woman drinking alone."
It took her a moment to figure the right answer, but then it hit her and she smiled bitterly. "Two women drinking alone," she half said, half asked.
Joanne nodded. They shared a sad smile. There was another short silence. Joanne gave her that look again. "It's probably none of my business, but… do you wanna talk about this?"
"About what?"
"The thing that distracts you."
"It's nothing, I'm just having a really lousy day. Or a week. Or a year." She sighed. She hardly touched her drink, but she felt extremely light-headed already.
"Problems with your boyfriend?"
She wondered if it was something in her tone that gave her away so quickly. "Something like that, yeah."
Joanne nodded. "I just broke up with someone, so I know how that feels."
"Oh, we didn't break up. We're just… not in the best time of our relationship right now, that's all." It wasn't like her, to make such confessions, or talk about things she always felt that were so much bigger than her, like relationships. She blamed it on the alcohol.
"Yeah, that sounds familiar. This is why I told Meredith that it would be best to cut it off."
"Meredith? Isn't it a girl's na-" she stopped herself mid-sentence as realization hit her, and then she felt like crawling into a hole and die. She looked carefully at Joanne, who didn't seem the least offended. She knew she was blushing; she could feel it. Damn it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
Joanne shook her head slightly. Something in that motion implied that she was used to it. "Nah, that's okay. I guess it makes us even after what I said about your parents' party that night."
She laughed nervously. "I guess." She couldn't believe she let such a thing slip. So Joanne was a lesbian; it wasn't a big deal. This was who she was. It was great that she was so open about it.
Luckily, it managed to break the ice, and they spent the next couple of hours talking. She couldn't believe how easy it was to open up to someone she didn't know. Of course, she still didn't tell Joanne everything about Roger's withdrawal or Collins' AIDS, but it was a start. When they paid the check, it felt as if she made herself a new friend.
"I'm sure everything will work out with your boyfriend," Joanne said as they stepped outside. It was really late and suddenly she felt really guilty that she kept Joanne up while she had a big day at court tomorrow, but Joanne didn't seem to care about that. She took something out of her briefcase, and handed it to her. It was a small card with her name and phone number on it. "If you ever feel like talking… I live uptown, so we could…"
She took the care and smiled. "Yeah, that'll be great." She could tell that Joanne was a good listener. And she missed it terribly right now, when Collins was away. Maybe this was what she needed, someone who'd listen to her. Someone who'd care.
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"Where were you?"
She turned, startled, at the sound of his voice. It was nearly 4am by the time she got back to the loft. She wasn't expecting to find him awake, but there he was, getting up from the couch and approaching her. "I was out."
"Yeah, I figured as much," said Mark, his tone cold, his expression serious. She didn't flinch against those. She didn't buy his sudden concern. "It's 4am."
"Yeah, I know. What are you doing up so late?"
He looked at her as if she was crazy. "I was waiting for you to come home."
"Why?"
"Why?" he echoed, giving her an incredulous look. "Maureen, it's fuckin' 4am and you finished your shift hours ago! I was worried sick about you!"
"Well, thanks for suddenly taking interest in me, but you didn't have to. I'm fine. I'm gonna go to bed now," she said. She was about to walk passed him when he stopped her, grabbing her wrist. She looked up, surprised by the force he used.
"What was that supposed to mean?"
"What? Let me go," she said, shaking her arm free.
"Suddenly taking interest in you?" he repeated her words, looking horrified. "What makes you even say-"
"Oh, let's see. Maybe the fact you were completely ignoring my existence for the past three months?" she interjected. She was tired and desperate and frustrated.
Mark looked offended. "I wasn't ignoring your existence, I was-"
"Mark, let's cut the crap, shall we? You don't care. You've got more important things on your mind right now, that's understandable. Really, I understand. But save me this 'I was worried because you should have been home hours ago' shit. Hypocrisy doesn't suit you."
He looked stunned to hear all that. "I don't care? How can you say that?"
"How can I say that? Maybe regarding the fact I was hardly here in the past three months and you didn't even notice? No, Mark, you don't care. You don't care where I'm going after work, you don't care when I come back home, if I bother to come back, you don't even care if I sleep around!"
He watched her for a moment, as if to check if she really meant this last thing she said. Eventually he shook his head and said, "Maureen, this is nonsense."
"Is it? How would you know? Don't you think I would have done it if I felt like it? Because believe me, I could. I had enough opportunities." She didn't even know what made her say that. She never cheated on him. Maybe she thought that if she'd imply she was sleeping around, he'd come back to his senses.
Mark made one step towards her. She stepped back. "I know you're not sleeping around," he said slowly, his tone softening. Even though he tried to look as if he meant it, his voice carried the slightest hint of doubt now. "I trust you. Is that such a bad thing?"
Although it should have made her happy, it pissed the hell out of her. "Yeah, it is!" she blurted out without thinking.
"Maureen, I love you, why would I think that you-"
"You can't solve everything by saying this every time, Mark, it doesn't work that way!" she yelled at him.
Now he looked hurt, and slightly confused. "So, what, you want me to be jealous?"
"Maybe I do! Maybe I wanna make you insanely jealous! Maybe I think it's gonna be the thing that will get you out of that damn room and force you to look around!"
"That's what this is all about?" he asked, giving her an incredulous look. Then he sighed, as if he understood her answer without her having to use words for it. "You know what, I think you're the one who's jealous," he said kind of coldly.
She snorted, momentarily speechless, and yet she couldn't help but wondering if he was right. "I hate you," she whispered, turning away.
"Maureen, wait-"
She didn't look back. She went to their bedroom, closed the door and collapsed against it. She rested her head against her knees and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. She stayed still, asking herself if he'd follow her there, if he'd apologize, if he'd insist to come in and then take her in his arms and whisper in her ear that everything would be better from now on, if he'd say all those things about trust and love again, only this time he'd mean them.
He never did.