First Impressions Aren't Everything
Chapter Three
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Collins had taken an interest in following Mark to work at CBGB's on the nights that he shot bands. So here Mark was in the early days of spring, trying to finish editing the tape for the latest band he'd taped. Meanwhile Collins sat on Joe's desk, swinging the one leg he allowed to drop over the edge and chatting idly.
"… So you see Mark, there really is no way to know if there is a higher power. I mean, if he doesn't exist every person on Earth could believe in him and it still wouldn't make him exist."
Mark just grinned to himself. The conversation had come from the band's name, Higher Power, which had started Collins off on a philosophical discussion about God.
Mark's mother would have been scandalized. This was, of course, one of the many reasons Mark liked living with Collins so much.
Mark could listen to Collins for hours. Even if he had nothing to say his deep voice was comforting. Most often Mark listened, but it was days like this where he let his mind wander. If he paid attention to Collins he would never get all of his work done. Besides, Collins' theories and stories tended to twist back upon themselves enough to make Mark's head spin. At least Collins was helping him out, having learned over consecutive visits how to load the film into the club's camera.
"…I mean, a faggot is a bunch of sticks rolled together to make a torch. I know how the term evolved but still, I don't think it makes much sense."
"Whoa, what?" Mark looked up from the film strip in his hands, "Sorry, I think I missed where we moved from talking about a higher power to the evolution of derogatory terms."
Collins sighed, and shook his head. He was laughing.
"What?"
"Wanted to see how many subject changes I could get in before you realized I knew you weren't listening."
Mark blushed, "Sorry."
Collins just shrugged and closed the camera in his hands.
"So Cohen," he asked, "Which end of the sexuality spectrum are you at? Are you straight as a fucking arrow like Benny or a bit crooked like myself?"
Mark hesitated. Home and school hadn't been places to talk about his sexuality. Work didn't seem the place either, but it was Collins that was asking him and if anyone would understand it would be Collins.
"I'm kind of right down the middle of that particular decision." He finally said.
Collins raised an eyebrow, "Really?"
"What'd you expect?"
"I wasn't all that sure what to expect actually. Most of the time you've got me convinced you're straight but there are times…"
"I don't know if I should be offended or not."
"So is there a preference?"
"Are you interested?" Mark shot back. Two could play this game of implying things.
"You're not my type. Sorry." And Collins would shoot it right back.
"I don't know. I've dated about an even amount I guess."
"So your last crush was…"
"Male."
"Anyone I know?"
Mark opened his mouth but then realized what was going to spill out. He bit his tongue and stood up, pushing the chair back in.
"No. No you don't." As he looked up again he found Collins giving him a slow, calculating look.
"You want me to help you set up?" he asked finally, dropping the subject.
"Uhh… yeah," Mark stuttered, "Can you grab the tripod from the store room and set it up on the balcony. I'll meet you up there in ten minutes."
"Yeah," Collins headed out the door.
Mark picked up the finished film strip and began loading it into the canister. Roger was an asshole. He treated Mark like shit and in all respects Mark was entitled to hate him. But Mark couldn't. In fact, Mark couldn't bring himself to completely dislike Roger either. He still found the other man attractive and on occasion seeing him still stole Mark's breath away.
"Fuck," Mark brought his fist down with a frustrated blow, ripping open his knuckle against the thin edge of the film canister. He hissed in pain, sucking the bloodied area into his mouth as he began opening drawers, searching for something to wrap around his hand.
Once he located a bandage and wrapped gauze tightly over his knuckles he picked up the camera and started out to the balcony where Collins was waiting for him. People were starting to flood into the building.
"What the hell did you do to yourself?" Collins asked, noting the bandage immediately.
"Sliced myself on the film reel," he explained. "I'm fine. I can worry about it later."
Collins helped him secure the camera to the tripod and then disappeared into the crowds. He knew better than to stay and distract Mark while he was supposed to be working. And tonight, of all nights, Mark was glad for the solitude. Without Collins around he was free to let his mind wander back to a certain green-eyed rocker and the very real problem this had the potential of becoming.
- - -
Collins met someone at the club that night and as happened when Collins did not stay at home Mark got a real bed to sleep in for the night. It had been so long since he'd had an actual mattress to sleep on that, regardless of how lumpy and old Collins' mattress was, he slept until well past noon the next day.
He stumbled into the brightly lit loft to find Roger stretched across the couch, a cup of coffee on the table, and his hands occupied with a pen and paper.
"Any coffee left?" Mark asked. It was a simple enough question. No implications.
"Last cup," Roger muttered distractedly, motioning to his cup on the table.
Of course.
Mark did not dignify the situation with a comment, just set about putting hot water on the burner to make himself some tea instead. He dumped a generous amount of cereal into a chipped bowl and snacked on it as he waited for the water to boil.
He kept glancing back at Roger who, thus far, was paying him absolutely no attention, much more focused on the notebook in front of him than tormenting Mark. Maybe things were going okay for once.
As Mark poured hot water into a mug the phone rang, followed by the obnoxious machine message of three young men, Mark's voice had yet to be added, saying simultaneously, "Speak!"
And then Mark's mother's voice echoed through the otherwise silent loft.
Then again things were never okay for Mark.
"Mark," Mrs. Cohen's nasal voice echoed through the room, the volume only magnified by the size and sheer emptiness which it filled. "Mark, honey, are you screening your calls? Are you there? Mark, pick up the phone. It's Mom. Oh well, just wanted to say that we miss you. I thought you were coming home for break and you never even called. You're still staying with Benjamin, right? Oh Mark, you know I worry. Cindy's bringing the kids up next month. You should come home for a visit. I love you. Call me back."
Mark closed his eyes, dropping his head so that his chin rested on his chest. His mother was certainly gifted, if at nothing else, at making her son sound and feel like he was six years old again.
And he felt oh-so-much better when Roger's laughter rang through the loft.
"Oh, is poor little Marky's mommy worried about him," he laughed. "Christ, what kind of mother still calls her kids like that?"
"Shut up Roger," Mark mumbled.
"Cohen's Jewish, isn't it?" Roger continued, "She's one of those stereotypical Jewish, hen-mothers?"
"Cohen is my father's name. He's Jewish."
"So you're Jewish?"
"Does it matter? What are you some kind of Nazi?"
"Davis is German," Roger replied with a smirk.
Mark sighed, "My mom's Catholic, so I'm half Jewish and it's the wrong half?"
"The wrong half? What the fuck are you talking about?"
He sighed again, "Judaism traces back through the mother's family, so in order for me to be Jewish my mother would have had to be Jewish or have converted but she-"
"Hey," Roger interrupted sharply, "I didn't ask for a fucking history lesson."
He stood up and picked up his mug, walking into the kitchen and dumping the nearly full cup of coffee into the sink. He spoke again as he approached Mark.
"Maybe you should do what she says, Marky. Maybe you should go back to Hicksville-"
"Scarsdale."
"Wherever. Maybe you should go back and stay there." He shouldered his way by Mark and crossed the loft, slamming his bedroom door closed behind him.
Mark stared at the door for a minute. It seemed that every conversation he had managed with Roger ended with that door slamming shut.
He wondered how long it would be before the door came off its hinges.
He needed to call his mother back. Great. If he wanted conversation he had two choices, his overprotective mother or his rage-driven roommate. Almost as though on cue the sound of guitar chords rang from the next room and the answering machine beeped to remind him there were messages to be checked.
"Fuck." He muttered.
"Boy, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Collins' voice made him jump. He certainly hadn't heard his friend enter.
"Not lately."
Collins laughed, observing the emptiness of the loft. It went without saying that Benny was at work but Roger's door was closed and the guitar licks were harsher than usual. And then there was Mark, standing dejected in the middle of the room looking a bit lost.
"What's up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.
Mark sighed, "My mother called."
"Oh." Collins shrugged, "That's not so bad."
Mark looked at Collins for a moment before leaning over and pressing the play button. He watched Collins as his mother's voice filled the loft again. Collins was watching the machine as though Mrs. Cohen were going to climb out of it.
When the message ended and Mark deleted it he finally spoke.
"Well no wonder you're so fucked up."
"Gee, thanks."
"Hey man, at least you've got a reason. What excuse do the rest of us have?"
Not waiting for Mark's reply he dashed across the room, pounding on Roger's door and yelling, "Davis! Get your crazy ass dressed and out here. I got my first paycheck so we need to celebrate!"
He turned back to Mark with a wide grin.
Mark just shook his head and went to sit down on the couch.
"Nuh uh, you too. Go shower and shit. Once Benny gets home we are all getting drunk as hell."
Mark shook his head, "I can't really hold my liquor."
Collins strode over and took a seat on the coffee table, looking Mark right in the eyes.
"Do you think you have a choice? You've only been twenty-one for what, four months? Trust me; before the year is out we'll have your tolerance built up." He smirked and continued, "Now get your scrawny white ass in that shower."
Even at being insulted Mark could not make himself mad at Collins. He grinned at his friend before getting up and heading into the bathroom, praying for three minutes of hot water.
He cursed loudly when the water turned cold halfway through his shower and got out as quickly as he could. Peeling the soaked bandage off his hand he threw it into the trashcan and toweled himself off. Once he was dressed he looked over the cut on his hand. All of his mother's lectures about medical treatment came back to him and he set about finding some antibacterial lotion to put on it, as well as some more bandages.
He found them in the kitchen and washed his hand carefully in the sink. It really didn't look that bad but it was better to be safe than sorry. He managed to wrap the bandage around it but when he tried to tie the two ends together he found doing so with one hand too difficult.
"Hey Collins, come here a minute!" he yelled.
Collins got up off the couch and wandered slowly into the kitchen.
"What?"
"Can you help me- shit!" Mark pulled the bandage too tight and ripped open the cut, blood oozing out once again. He shook his head; the bandage would stop the bleeding.
"Can you just tie this for me?" he asked beginning to wrap the cloth over his knuckles again.
Collins had suddenly gone very somber. The jovial glint behind his eyes had disappeared.
"No." he said simply.
"What? Come on, I can't do it myself."
"Roger!" Collins yelled, 'Rog, get out here!"
"No," Mark tried to shush him. "I don't want his help."
Collins ignored him and by this time Roger had appeared in the doorway, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head.
"Yeah, what? I'm not ready to go yet."
"Mark needs help tying a bandage around his hand. He cut himself."
Roger sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"Roger." Collins sounded like he was begging.
Roger nodded and crossed the room. Before Mark could form a protest Roger had grabbed his hand and pulled the bandage tight, tying it quickly and snugly around his hand. He turned on his heel and headed back to his room, patting Collins on the shoulder as he passed.
"Collins?" Mark asked. He was beyond confused now.
Collins sighed, turning back to face Mark. He pulled a dilapidated stool up to the table and motioned for Mark to do the same.
Mark sat down, immediately concerned, "What's wrong?"
"Listen, I know it's going to sound like I was keeping this from you but I swear I wasn't doing it intentionally. It's just kind of a strictly need-to-know basis, you know?"
"You're not making any sense."
Collins bit his lip. When he spoke he sounded years older than he was.
"Mark, I'm HIV positive."
Mark was a bit taken aback. In all he knew about the disease it was something caught by drug addicts and gay men, something that was fatal and would kill someone rather quickly.
"Collins…" He couldn't find the words.
"Listen, I know it sounds really bad. I kind of flipped out when I found out myself, but I'm healthy, my T-cell count hasn't dropped too much. I probably could have tied that for you, but you were bleeding and I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"I, uh, I don't really know too much about-"
"I've got some pamphlets and stuff. You can borrow them if you want. When I found out Benny and Roger both read up on it." He cleared his throat, "I'm not dying. You can ask me whatever you want."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well I didn't know how long you'd be staying in the loft for. If it was just a couple of weeks I wouldn't have bothered. Then I didn't know how you would react. A few people absolutely flipped out when I told them so I was worried."
Mark nodded.
"You're sure you're okay?"
The spark suddenly returned to Collins' eyes. "If I wasn't okay would I be dragging you out to a bar to get drunk with me?"
Despite how worried he had been Mark started to laugh. "No I guess not."
"All right then, stop dwelling on it and think about how wonderfully carefree you are going to be in just a few short hours."
A few short hours later Mark was seated at a bar, watching Collins and Roger down shot after shot after shot. Benny was nursing his second beer trying to deal with his two roommates whom he'd guaranteed Mark would be absolutely gone before they left the bar.
Mark had yet to drink anything. His only real past experience had been a night at a frat party at which he'd ended up kneeling by the toilet for half the night.
The lesson learned: never drink the punch.
"Mark!" Collins' voice was deep and booming as he pushed a shot glass filled with clear liquid in front of Mark.
Mark looked at it for a moment and shook his head.
"I'll just get a beer."
"I am teaching you to drink. The rules of drinking beer are simple enough but I am going to teach you to drink real alcohol."
Roger snorted into his current drink before downing it.
"He's just going to get sick later," he pointed out slightly slurring his words.
After the six shots he'd taken Mark wasn't surprised but he narrowed his eyes at the rocker before turning to Collins.
"What is it?"
"Tequila."
"Christ," he heard Benny mutter from behind him.
Mark picked up the shot glass off the bar and Collins mimicked the action with his own drink.
"Bottoms up," he toasted before downing the drink.
Mark looked at his drink warily before copying Collins' actions.
Fuck it burned. The liquid just burned all the way down and he felt like he was choking. He coughed heavily a hand going to his chest and throat as he tried to suck in air and it took him a moment to get over the feeling that he wanted to throw up. Roger was laughing at him, not surprised at all as he signaled the bartender for a beer. Collins was roaring with laughter, slapping his knees and swiveling on his stool. Even Benny was chuckling at his expense.
"My God," he managed to gasp out, earning another round of laughter.
Collins placed another shot on the counter between himself and Mark who looked quickly between the drink and his friend.
"Are you kidding?"
A wide grin showed off dazzling white teeth and he pushed the drink across the counter at Mark.
"Alright." He downed the drink with less apprehension, knowing what to expect this time. It still burned but he caught himself this time managing to choke down the coughing.
"Another?" Collins asked.
Mark nodded.
"Ronnie!" Collins yelled down the bar, "Another round."
The bartender signaled back that he would be there in a minute.
"Hey man."
Everyone turned back to Roger who now had a tiny brunette standing between his legs fingering the choker around his neck while her other hand wandered under his jacket.
"Congratulations on the job man. Really." He said to Collins, "But I will see you back at the loft."
The girl was starting to kiss his neck and he turned his head to whisper something in her ear. She laughed that bubbly little laugh that Roger caused girls to dissolve into.
"In the morning." He continued.
Collins shook his head, a knowing grin on his face.
"I got the tab, get your ass out of here," Collins waved him off before turning back to Mark and Benny.
Benny sighed. "I think I'm going to stay with Alison tonight."
"Stay and have a few more drinks with us first," Collins ordered, "now, back to getting Mark drunk."
Timing could not have been better. The bartender slammed down three shots in front of them. Even Benny picked up a shot glass, abandoning his beer. They all lifted their glasses.
"To getting some," Benny said in monotone as they watched Roger walk out the door with the brunette.
Mark and Collins repeated his sentiments with a bit more vigor and downed their shot. Each one got easier for Mark.
Three drinks and forty-five minute later Mark was stumbling back in the direction of the loft with Collins, both of them yelling and slurring to a certain degree. The stairs to the loft were a bit of a challenge for Mark but every time he started to stumble Collins was there laughing and helping him back up.
"So, how d'you feel?" Collins asked him as he pushed open the door to the loft. "You going to get sick?"
"I don't think so. I'm not sure." Mark shook his head.
"Crash in Benny's room. Make sure you find the trash can so you don't puke on his sheets if you do get sick."
"Thanks for the vow of confidence," Mark grumbled good-naturedly.
He stumbled into Benny's room and slammed the door shut, Collins' laughter echoing behind him. He peeled the sweater over his head, dropping it to the floor, and kicked off his dilapidated sneakers before dropping into Benny's bed. All he needed was a solid twelve or so hours of sleep. The alcohol was getting to him now. He could hear Collins moving around but even bombs dropping could not have kept him awake at this point.
- - -
Mark awoke to the sound of that damned guitar. The shades in Benny's room were open and the notes were high. The lights and sound did not make a good combination and Mark pulled a pillow to cover his face. There wasn't even anything he could do to stop it. If he went out and yelled for Roger to be quiet he would only play louder.
Luckily he wasn't the only one who wanted to sleep in.
"Boy, you had better have a damned good reason for playing that guitar when people are still sleeping." Collins boomed.
Mark didn't hear the rest of their conversation. Despite his headache he chuckled, pressing his face into the mattress. He heard doors slamming and it quickly turned into a groan.
Benny's door squeaked open moments later and Mark couldn't bring himself to move.
"Mark?"
"Yeah." He rolled over and struggled through trying to sit up.
Collins held up a glass, "Headache?"
"Uh huh."
He handed over two aspirin and the glass of water. Mark downed them and fumbled for his glasses where they laid on a small table.
"So how'd you get rid of Roger?"
"Reminded him that he had practice, to which he threw back we should all be up by three pm."
"It's three o'clock?"
"Well past. You working Friday night?"
"Uhh…" Mark tried to grasp his schedule. "What day is today?"
"Sunday."
Mark did the math, mentally going through his schedule."
"No, the house band is playing. Why?"
"Roger's playing Club Voodoo again. It was his dream place for about three years and he asked me to show up and see him play."
"I doubt he wants me to come."
"Are you kidding me, Roger lives for attention. Frickin' Maureen Johnson could show up and he'd be happy?"
"Who?"
Collins grinned, "This girl Roger saw for a few months last year. She drives him absolutely crazy. She's the only person on the face of this planet who is a bigger attention hog than our dear Mr. Davis."
Mark laughed, "Is that even possible?"
Collins' eyebrows shot up, "Wait until you meet her."
"Okay," now he was kind of wary in regards to the whole thing.
"So you'll go?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Ha!" Collins jumped up and headed for the door yelling back, "Mark Cohen, we shall make a bohemian out of you yet."
"I thought I was bohemian?"
Collins grinned back at him from the doorway, "You do not have nearly enough alcohol permanently flowing through your system."
With that he disappeared and Mark flopped back onto the bed. His head was still throbbing a little and he was exhausted. It was tempting to go to bed but he realized very quickly that he needed to be at CBGB's before five.
Oh, filming was not going to be fun tonight.
A/N: I think I did much better with this chapter in terms of time. However, I don't really like this character all that much. Sure, the scenes are necessary to establish some facts about certain characters but I feel like my characterization of Collins was a bit off and I just don't like it all that much. Oh well, the next chapter is certainly going to be much more exciting. April will appear soon, as, obviously, will Maureen. I'm in the middle of midterms and nano starts up in about a week and a half so I make no promises but I will work on getting the next chapter out. Again, if anyone wants to beta… well, just get ahold of me. Leave some love via the little purple button
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