Author's Note: Well, as noted, I took a few days break but, here's another chapter. It's another part-movie, part-imagination chapter. In this case, we see what Spot really was doing in the strip club (aww, he's not a stalker; shucks). Also, we have the Another Day sequence which, like Tango Maureen, is quick. Seriously, songs like those make this difficult. Can I just say that I can't wait for La Vie Boheme? Now, that will be fun.

PS. I love David. He is now my favorite character in this story ;) Yay for random babbling in your sleep. Oh, and I have not checked this yet. I admit that. I'm lazy tonight and wanted to have this posted on a Wednesday. Any errors will be corrected later... woot.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from Newsies – they are the property of Disney, © 1992. Any other character, when noted, is property of their respective owner and will be noted in the disclaimer. The core idea to this story – the adaptation of the Broadway musical, RENT, is © 1996 to Jonathan Larson.

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How can you connect in an age where strangers, landlords, lovers, your own blood cells betray?
Because one can never be sure if such a moment could be the last...

November 29, 2006

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Looking for romance?
Come back another day…

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Spot shuffled his leather shoes forward, purposely mucking up the beige carpet that led to his apartment door. He had his dark grey suit jacket slung over one shoulder and his blood red tie hanging loosely around his neck. The only things that were missing to make this look like the stereotypical 'I-just-got-laid-and-now-I'm-going-home-to-the-wife' trek back through the plush hallway were the satisfied smirk and a half-smoked cigarette. Oh, and maybe the fact that, despite his minor attempt to get Jess to talk to him again, he had not gotten laid at all.

God, I wish I could have a smoke right now, Spot thought as he made his way to the door. After the day (and night) he had had, a nice dose of lung-blackening nicotine would make it all better.

First, he had had a business meeting with his investor – his father-in-law. That, of course, did not go too well. Spot had told Mr. Kelly that neither David nor Jack was prepared to convince that two-bit twit, Twister, to cancel her show. Mr. Kelly, understandably, was annoyed with him and ordered him to accompany him to her show down at the lot on Tuesday evening. Of course, they would not be alone. Mr. Kelly planned on bringing quite a few policemen with them in order to shut the show down before Twister could start any trouble. He was still very intent on knocking down the small building on the lot and forcing the homeless who set up a small tent city on the grounds to move along so that he could erect another skyscraper – how many does this godforsaken city need? – before another year had passed.

Then it had been up to Spot to find a cemetery to bury Rae's damn dog, 'Sippi. The stupid mutt had committed suicide – if a dog could even do that – by jumping out of the open window in the drawing room. On Christmas Eve, no less. Rae had gotten Maria, their live-in maid who could not speak one word of English, to retrieve the broken body of the Chihuahua from the center of their apartment building's courtyard and place it in a cardboard box.

Spot had wanted to just chuck the box, and the dog, into the nearest trash bin but Rae did not think too highly of his suggestion. She loved 'Sippi and blamed herself for his death – she had left the window open that morning before going out for her weekly manicure and pedicure. When she came home, she found the maid looking for el perrito only to have the landlord himself call her with their discovery.

Of course, there was nothing they could do with the body on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. They left the dog in the box in their spare guest room – Spot was praying the entire time that it did not start to rot – until Monday. Then it was up to Spot to hunt down some sort of pet cemetery; Rae point blank refused to have him baked in an oven.

Strangely enough, it was not that difficult to find one – there was a prominent one in Staten Island at the Church of St. Andrews. He called up the Church and made arrangements for one of his business associates – alright, one of the mail boys who worked in one of Mr. Kelly's buildings – to drop off 'Sippi's box. The funeral would be on Tuesday.

At least he got out of going to that. Rae would be going with the third Mrs. Kelly, Muffy, and Maria as her guests – Spot would be with Mr. Kelly at Twister's show.

A business dinner with a few of Mr. Kelly's business partners – boring as they were, if Spot wanted to get ahead in this world, there were the sort of people he needed to mesh with – had ended a rather unpleasant day. At least, he thought that was the end.

Until one of Mr. Kelly's oldest friends, a dirty old man named Wiesel – Mr. Kelly had confided in him once that most of their associates called him Weasel behind his back due to his rodent-like facial features – thought it would be amusing to leave the ritzy restaurant they were in in favor of a more entertaining venue.

Spot had wanted to decline. Really, he did. But, when the Weasel mentioned a 'quaint' establishment he knew called the Kit Kat Club, he changed his mind. After paying for the dinner with his American Express Gold Card, he agreed to follow the men to the club.

He had brought his car with him to the meeting and offered to drive. Even though Rae's father had not been at that meeting, Spot made a great display of pretending not to know anything about the Kit Kat Club. He asked Weasel for directions and made snide comments as to how men of their caliber would be received by the people in the club. He just hoped that none of the dancers or bartenders he had made acquaintance with during his whirlwind romance with Jess would tip him off to his colleagues. The last thing he needed was to Rae to find out about his infidelities.

Spot was lucky. He was able to sit with the three other men at a table near the back for two hours, drinking sociably and watching the dancers up on stage. They had arrived just before ten o'clock – the bar did not close until half past midnight.

He made a quick phone call (in the bathroom so that she would not exactly where he was) around eleven to let Rae know that he was out with her father's buddies and to expect him home late. She had not sounded happy – she was still mourning the dead dog – but she agreed.

Sipping on only his second rum and coke – he was the designated driver, since it was his car, and did not want to get plastered before getting behind the wheel – Spot watched as the three other men, all at least twenty-five years old than him and all drunk, ogled the young dancers on stage.

He could not help his jealous tendencies when Jess performed shortly after he returned from the bathroom. She was doing a raunchy cowboy routine to David Allen Coe's "The Rodeo Song", complete with tassels attached to her star-shaped bra. He almost wanted to purposely draw the three businessmen's attention away from the stage – their drooling was making him pissed.

It was when Weasel turned around, just as Jess ended her number, and elbowed Spot in the ribs, smirking, "Give me some of that," that Spot lost it. With an overly fake smile, he excused himself and headed straight to the bar. He was tired of the rum and cokes – he needed something a lot stronger to get the image of Weasel screwing the curly-haired girl out of his mind.

He stayed at the bar for the next few songs. At about half past eleven, he watched as Cassie did a dance to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me". Not too much longer after the dance ended, he spied her coming out onto the floor, still clad in her bustier and panties, working the crowd for extra money.

Spot had downed the rest of his tequila shot and made his way over to Cassie before his brain had even registered his feet's movement.

The blonde girl seemed genuinely surprised to see him. However, just because they knew each other, it did not mean she was not going to take advantaged of his tipsy state. She leaned in, pressing her nearly exposed chest against him, as she whispered her greeting.

For a moment, Spot almost forgot what he was doing. But, a bit of sense returned to him and he shook his head. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and, after disentangling a ten from the inner fold, he slipped it in between her cleavage. She was surprised but that surprise turned to understanding when he asked if she would do him a favor by getting Jess to come out and talk with him.

With a bit of liquor in him, he had forgotten the way that she had rebuked him on Christmas Eve.

Cassie said she would try and Spot decided to wait by the bar in case she succeeded. However, not but two songs after that, the opening chords to Quiet Riot's "Cum on Feel the Noize" started and Spot knew that it was time for Jess's final number. She always used that song for her big reveal – and he hated it.

He made his way closer to the front of the stage. As much as he hated it when she went topless at the end of her set when they were dating, he was not about to deny himself a peek now that she had dumped him.

Unfortunately for Spot, he had forgotten that everyone else in the Kit Kat Club was privy to the same sight. And, when some overgrown, middle-aged loser decided to cop a feel on the dancer, Spot got angry.

For the second time that night, his feet moved before his brain did. He was in the face of the man who groped Jess before he knew it.

As the guy stammered his apologies – he either thought that Spot was a bouncer or an incensed boyfriend (which was closer to the truth) – Spot noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Jess had spied him in the crowd. She had a weird expression on her face during those last few lines of the song, like she was annoyed that he was there instead of glad that he was standing up for her, but, at least, she kept her top on.

Therefore, he was not surprised to see that, after the song ended and she fled off of the stage, she never came out to talk to him.

Part of him wanted to go into the back room and explain his appearance – he did not want to come off as a creepy stalker or anything – but the other part, the sober part, knew he had to return to the table where his new business partners were sitting. As much as he wanted to, he could not leave them by themselves when the club closed.

And now, after taking each of the men to their Uptown apartments, he had finally made it to his own home. Not really how he thought he would end the day, coming home at two in the morning with a slight buzz and a pounding headache, but what could he do?

Beside enter his apartment and slip into bed beside his wife, of course?

Spot sighed as he opened the door. He loved Rae. He definitely did and he had no desire to leave her at all. She was beautiful, she was classy, she was rich… but she was not enough for him. He needed excitement, he needed lust.

He needed that stripper as his girl on the (her) side.

But, Jess, it seemed, made it perfectly clear that she did not want him. And Rae did.

He went inside.

Rae was waiting for him.

--

Jess was quite glad to see, when she made her way to Jack's floor, that there was light seeping out from under his door. Whether it was him or not, someone was awake in that apartment.

Here's hoping, she thought to herself as she crossed the fingers on her left hand. Her full lips were formed into a perfect pout as she reached for the door handle. She thought, momentarily, about knocking on the door but then decided that, if the door was open, knocking would ruin the mood she was going for.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she pulled down on it – it moved downward. It was not locked. She let out the breath she was holding and slid the door open. The girl did not even poke her head inside the loft to see if anyone was up – she just sauntered right into the room as if she owned the place. However, her gumption was justified when she saw the back of Jack's head tilted forward.

She waited for him to glance over his shoulder and see whoever it was that just entered into the apartment but he did not. He just sat on his tacky couch, focused on whatever it was he was looking at on his coffee table.

Who knows, Jess thought to herself as she walked over to the couch, maybe he's expecting his roommate home or something, so the door opening up doesn't mean anything. Hmmm… I think I'm going to need a bigger way to catch his attention. A coy smile curved her lips. I know just what to do.

Jack was oblivious to her entrance. Leaning forward, scribbling furiously into his notebook, not even the sound of his door sliding open tore his attention away from his work. But, when a pair of lean arms wrapped themselves around his neck – not even Jack could ignore that.

He tensed under her embrace before his common sense kicked in and he jumped up from the couch. Jack pushed forward and broke through the loose hold she had on him before spinning around to face her. "What the hell?"

Jess had not expected him to freak out and fly off of the couch like that. The force of his upward pull, before he broke through her hold, had yanked her forward. She fell over the back of the couch and, when Jack turned to face her, she was laying face-down on the seat of his couch, her butt (and legs) in the air.

Definitely not the impression she wanted to make.

She scrambled to right herself. Using her hands, Jess pushed against the floral print cushions until her arms were extended and her feet were back on the ground. As soon as she was steady, she lifted her hands to her hair. She fluffed it a couple of times before turning her attention to her clothes – in her fall, one of her spaghetti straps had fallen and one of her boobs was almost hanging out.

"Hey," she managed, finally.

Jack could not believe what he was seeing. The girl – Jessica – from the other night was in his apartment and had, basically, just thrown herself at him.

Now, the Jack of pre-Sarah, pre-AIDS times would have been floored to have a pretty stripper sneak into his apartment at this time of night and throw her arms around him. But, this Jack? Yeah, not so crazy about the idea.

"What are you doing here?"

Jess smiled at him – it would have looked innocent if everything about the petite girl did not scream 'look-at-me-I'm-a-stripper' – and pulled something out of the back pocket of her jeans. She lifted it up so that Jack could see it.

It was a little baggy full of white powder.

"I want to go out tonight," she said simply. As if that was enough for him.

But, it was not. Not for Jack Kelly, ex-heroin addict.

Everything might have been alright – a simple 'No thanks, sorry' – if she had not taken out the powder. But she did. And Jack lost it.

"Who do you think you are? Barging in here like that?" he snapped, throwing his hands up in the air as he spoke. "Get out of her, girlie."

His minor outburst rattled Jess and, as a result, she tucked the baggy back into her pants. She was confused – in all her years, no boy (or man) had ever responded to her like that. "I'm sorry – what?"

"You heard me. The door's right over there. Go."

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just leave me alone." There, that should get her out of here.

"I don't get it. Don't you… don't you want to go out with me?"

She sounded confused. If it was not for the fact that yes, he did want to go out with for but no, he could not, he might have found the scene a bit humorous. The girl must be very self-centered if she thought she could waltz into his apartment and bring him into whatever life of debauchery it was that she had – it was interesting and a bit flattering to Jack but he knew better. She had to go. If not for his sake, then for hers. Jack was not sure that he would be able to resist her if she continued to stare at him with that lost puppy-dog look.

Jack snorted. "It just doesn't work like that."

A look of realization dawned on her face. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I get it. You and that other man… you are gay. Oh, I'm such an idiot."

Huh? "What? No. Me and Dave ain't gay. But that doesn't make it any different. Just take your powder and get out. Besides, isn't it passed your bedtime?"

Jess dropped her hand and flinched. It was almost as if those words he flung at her were objects; they hurt. "I just thought…"

"You thought wrong," he threw back, almost venomously. As they were standing there, facing off, he had that vision of Jess getting struck down by a bus – just like in his dream; just like Sarah – and he knew that he could not give in. Sure, the girl was pretty. And she was interested in him. But, that did not mean anything.

Jack knew he was taking out his own insecurities on the girl but, this late at night, he was not thinking clearly.

Jess was beginning to think trying to convince this man to go out with her was not the best idea she's ever had. Though he was still undeniably handsome, Jack was staring at her, his brown eyes boring holes through her. He seemed furious. Jess crossed her arms over her middle; it made her feel somewhat secure as he was yelling at her.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Jessica? Are you looking for romance?" he sneered before laughing. It was that annoying laugh he had, that ah-Ha, that he used when he did not think something was funny at all – when he was laughing but, at the same time, not laughing. "Come back another day."

Maybe he had gone too far with that last remark. Jess gasped and took a step back.

Jack felt guilty at once. He wanted to say that he did not mean it but he could not. He did mean what he had said.

He could not like this girl; he could not act on this attraction. He was too lost – how could he expect to give himself to anyone if he could not find it first?

There was a few seconds of tense silence when the pair just stared at each other, saying nothing at all. Jack did not want to admit it to himself but he could swear that there were tears glittering in her green eyes. Jess just stared back at him, her mouth slightly open, as if she could not believe how he was treating her. Maybe she wanted to say something but, if she did, she kept silent. Instead, she sniffed once and, as if turning her back on him for good, she turned away from him.

She was across the apartment and out the door before he knew it.

Jack just stood there for a few moments, stunned by what had just transpired between him and the girl. He shook his head and, mumbling a few choice curse words under his breath, followed her path to the door. He grasped the inside door handle and with all the strength he could muster, he flung it closed.

There was a thump that followed the slam and a squeak. Then… "Jack… whazzat?" He had woken David up. His voice was thick with sleep – he must have been startled out his dreams when the door was slammed.

"Nothing, Dave. Go back to sleep," he snapped. A little unnecessary considering he was the one whose rash action brought David out of a very deep sleep but Jack did not care about that. At least David had been sleeping – he was pretty sure he would not catch a wink at all.

A snore came from David's corner of the loft. Jack thought that he had already fallen back asleep before…"Butterscotch… is sticky… and tastes good… on elbows."

And, with that comment from a half-asleep David, Jack sat down and let his head fall into his hands. He was not sure if he should laugh or cry.