Mark was not enjoying listening to Mimi stomp round downstairs or Roger strumming Musetta's Waltz. He wanted to buy Roger some sheet music, so maybe then he could learn at lest one other song—Musetta's Waltz was one of his most hated sounds. But the songwriter was a stubborn one.
The shrill ring of the phone was his other most loathed sound, and hearing the two at once made his head hurt.
'Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak'
There went that drunken answering machine message again. It's amazing how in sync they got it while under such a heavy influence, and that's the only reason why they left it as it was.
"Oh, Marky? It's your mother! Are you there? I hope you're not screening your calls again. Look, I just got off the phone with Roger's mother. We're worried about the two of you. So give your mother a call sometimes, baby, and tell Roger to do the same. I love you."
His mother and Roger's were chatting? What were they, twelve? In Mark's head, he began to tell his mother all that he had ever wanted to. Newsflash, Mom, I'm all grown up. I'm living on my own…without a job, without a girlfriend, with friends you'd never approve of. What kind of life do you think I have?
It was like she was living in a fantasy…
Just like the rest of them.
0----0
In another New York City apartment the phone was also ringing. It woke Angel up, and she reached out a hand to grope around the coffee table. Her hand slammed down on it, but she barely felt the pain through her groggy haze.
"Hello?"
"Angel? It's Mimi. Did I wake you up or something?"
Angel yawned. "Yeah. You did. Everything okay?"
"Oopps. Sorry."
"Yeah, I know. You had something to tell me, honey?"
"Ummm…right. Could you come over here?"
"Now?" Her word was warped by another yawn.
"Yeah."
Angel peeked through her eyelids out at the clock on the wall. "Give me a few minutes."
Mimi blew her a kiss through the phone. "I love you."
Angel yawned again. "Yeah, yeah."
0----0
Mimi blew her cigarette smoke upwards, it wafted up towards the matching smoky sky. She was perched on the balcony waiting for Angel to show up. There was something that they desperately needed to talk about.
Sure enough, here came Angel, dressed rather simply now. Short black wig, black tights, knee-length skirt, and a long sleeved ruffled shirt.
"Angel, hurry up!" She looked up at her friend on the balcony.
"I'm hurrying as fast as I can in these shoes, Mimi. What's the rush?"
"Just get in here." She slipped from the railing to floor and balanced her way inside. It didn't take long for Angel to make her way up the stairs, despite the shoes. She waltzed in without knocking, just like a best friend does.
"Okay, I'm here. What do you need to tell me?"
Mimi walked up and grabbed her hand. "I need a favor…or three."
Angel raised her eyebrows. "Three? You got me up and over here because you need three favors?"
"Basically. First favor—you get your man to talk to mine and convince him that I'm not on drugs."
"I don't know—"
"Angel!" she whined.
"The second favor?"
"Stay with me for a few days. It will help me keep off the drugs."
"Mimi—"
"One more!"
Angel sighed in exasperation. "What?"
"Go make me lunch."
Angel picked up a throw pillow and hurled it at her.
"I'm serious! Please, I'm afraid that I might do something I'll regret!"
Angel hung her head. "One, I'll talk to him. Two, done. Three…"
"Yes?" Mimi's expression grew hopeful.
"You're learning how to cook."
"Deal."
In all of the seriousness, they could still find humor. That was a good sign.
0----0
Why would Maureen go to bed so early? Joanne massaged her temples. Between that and the work in front of her…she was dying. She hoped that a hot shower could calm her frazzled nerves; it usually did.
She peeked into the bedroom. Maureen had been in bed for about an hour, she was most likely asleep. But what she assumed was wrong. Maureen's chest rose and fell, but with hysteria—not breath.
"Maureen? Are you alright?"
Her face turned in Joanne's pillow. She clenched her eyes, trying to hide the tears. It didn't quite work the way she wanted. Joanne slipped beside her, her gentle hand rubbing circles along Maureen's back. The sobbing woman didn't make a sound different then the ones she'd been making this whole time.
"Honeybear, all you okay?"
"I-I can't," she cried.
"Can't what?" Joanne soothed.
"Noooo," she moaned. She buried herself further into the pillow.
Joanne was at a loss. Usually when Maureen threw a crying fit, she made sure that Joanne could see, that she knew exactly what the problem was. But now she wouldn't say a comprehensible word.
"Maureen, I'm getting worried. What's going on?"
"I can't tell you," she wailed.
"Why not?"
"Because I can't!"
Joanne just rubbed her back. There was something very wrong with Maureen—and it wasn't just her being on her period.
0FIN0
Do you guys know how sorry I am that it's been forever? I'm so sorry! My family was stricken with the flu—twas horrible. And my computer has this habit of freezing randomly. It used to only do it on the internet, but now it does it all the time. So I'll be typing up a chapter, it freezes, and I have to start over again. You can see why that's annoying.
But in about forty days I get a new computer. WOOT!
Have I used a disclaimer yet? I've run out of witty ones…
If I owned RENT then I'd be on a subway car to Santa Fe, where I'd open up a restaurant. And then we'd yell "LA VIE BOHEME" on the tables, and for a whole 525,600 minutes RENT songs would play. And all of this would be in the news.
Alas, it is not so. tear