Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson.
Friday could not come soon enough. At nine o'clock, the telephone rang. Collins answered it. "Hey, you've reached Collins, Roger and Mark, leave a message after the beep."
Huddled in a telephone booth near work, Roger chuckled. "Crazy son of a bitch," he said. "Pizza or Thai food?"
"We have this discussion twice a month," Collins reminded him, "and it's always the same outcome."
"Yeah," Roger agreed, "but you know what? Now there's three of us. Where's Mark?"
"Roger, you will not use Mark for your sick, hedonistic pleasures."
Roger laughed. "I want to buy him a curry, Collins. I don't want to tie him to a radiator and spank him."
"What?!"
"Jeez, I said don't."
"It's disconcerting that you can come up with that off the top of your head."
"Candy said it to me last week. She was talking about this model in one of her knitting magazines. Anyway, where is he? I wanna talk to him."
Collins sighed. He glanced over his shoulder. Mark sat at the table, gazing absently at the Village Voice. "He's right here. Mark!" Mark glanced up. "You wanna talk to Roger?" Collins asked, offering the telephone.
"Oh, yeah, sure." Mark headed over and took the phone. "Hey, Roger."
Roger wasted no time: "Mark, you like pizza or Thai food better?"
"Oh, well, I like both, but, um, I like Thai food more." Mark held the telephone away from his ear as Roger howled triumphantly, "I love you and I want to have your babies!" To Collins, Mark said, "Roger says, 'in your face'?"
He said it again when he threw open the loft door and strode in carrying two white plastic bags. "In your face, Collins!" Roger cried. He set the bags on the table. "New boy called it. We got rice, we got curry, we got wontons, we got fuckin' sporks… who's hungry?"
Mark practically bound across the room. "Ooh." Roger patted his cheek. "Were you not fed today?" he teased.
"Is that the joke?" Mark asked. He dug through the plastic bags until he found the wontons, then he popped one in his mouth. "We're dogs, is that the joke?"
"No, I'm the dog," Roger said. "You can be the cat. Hey! Get back here with those wontons, Pussy!"
Mark returned sheepishly and helped Roger set out styrofoam containers and sporks. Roger popped open a beer and chugged some, then grabbed a second and handed it to Collins. When one was offered to Mark, he shook his head. "Come on, end of the week and we don't have enough to get drunk," Roger urged, but Mark refused. "All the more for me, then."
On Saturday, Mark awoke lying on someone else's bed with that someone held in his arms and holding him. There was a thumb in Mark's mouth, and as he regained knowledge of his extremities he realized that it was not his thumb. He blinked. Where were his glasses?
Mark desperately needed his glasses. He couldn't see without his glasses. Colors blurred, lines were unclear. There were no boundaries. Mark needed boundaries. He needed his body to end and someone else's to begin.
"Hm? Ooh. Morning, Mark."
Oh. It was Roger, cuddled up beside Mark in-- Mark could feel-- nothing but a T-shirt and-- Mark hoped-- some underwear. "Roger?" Mark asked. "Ohmigod. We… we didn't… have sex?"
Roger laughed. "Well," he said, "no, but there's always tonight. And if you suck cock like you sucked my thumb last night--"
Mark leapt out of bed. "Where are my glasses?" he demanded. He was shocked and infuriated to discover that he, too, wore nothing but a T-shirt and underpants.
Roger sat up. "What's--"
"Where the fuck are my glasses!" Mark shouted. He didn't remember undressing himself the previous evening. How had his pants come off? His sweater? Who took his glasses off? Where were they? Who put him in the bed with Roger?!
"Here, right here!" Roger picked up the glasses and held them out. "I took them off after you got into bed, I--"
"You took off my glasses?" Mark demanded. He put them on his face. The room snapped into focus: Roger's room, and Roger, looking very confused. "Just stay away from me, Roger, okay? Stay away from me!" He stalked off before Roger had a chance to speak.
To be continued!
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