Chapter Five: Today 4 You

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT.

Note: Okay, I'm using an internet script for the dialogue, and it doesn't mention who says what, so I may mix some of it up, but oh well. Oh, and thanks for all the kind reviews!

Wow. I can't believe I was out all NIGHT and found no trace of Collins. I mean, geez. He could've at least called if he had other plans.

"We got power," Roger informed me as I finally returned to the apartment.

"Merry Christmas," I mumble. NEED CAFFEINE!

I was about to go grab a cup when all of a sudden, the phone rang. Roger was too emo and I was too exhausted to bother answering it. Besides, no one we actually like ever bothers calling us, they just come over, so, considering Collins rigged the pay phone to dispense quarters when you typed the right numbers (26559, although he said he's not sure why he picked that) for whatever calls we'd need to make, I'm not entirely sure why we even still have a phone at all.

"SPEAK," my voice and Roger's say simultaneously. Oh, that's why: our kickass answering machine message.

"Mark, are you there?" Eek! My mother! Hide me, hide me, I will not grow a beard! Roger would laugh himself to death and thus ruin all of my hard work reminding him to take his AZT five times a day!

"Are you screening your calls?" It's sad that that's the first thing that she thinks of when we don't answer. Of course, we totally are, but still, she can't know that…can she? Oh God, I hope she doesn't hire another detective to 'check up on' me. Honestly, I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself! Most muggers just get freaked out when I start filming their attempt to mug me and just end up leaving anyway. "It's mom." I know; hence the reason I'm screening my calls. That and our message never gets old.

"I just wanted to call and say we love you. We'll miss you today. Cindy and the kids are here." Yeah, yeah, just rub it in how CINDY found a nice Jewish boy to go and marry. I just bet she says something stupid and tacky about the whole mess with Maureen. I mean, I get that she's my only girlfriend, like, ever and that we'd been dating since before my bar mitzvah, but still. STILL! I'll meet someone eventually. They say that it takes about a third of the time you dated someone to get over them so in five or so years, I should be set.

"They send their love." Bloodthirsty brats always short-sheet me…"Hope you like the hot plate. Don't leave it on when you leave the house." Hm, considering that I recently found out that they put a lucrative insurance policy on my flat, I wonder if she really means that, or if it's supposed to be reverse psychology. I wouldn't know, but if I were still dating Maureen, I could ask her. She's always been much better than I am at messing with people's heads and manipulating them into doing her bidding. But my God, does she look hot doing it…What? I still have 4 years and 11 months to get over her!

"Honey, give me the phone," a man's voice said. Either my mother is now having a very public affair, or that's my father. Crap, he has even less tact than she does! "Listen, Mark, I'm sorry to hear that Maureen dumped you." Translation: Will I live to see grandkids to carry on the family name?

"I say, c'est la vie. Let her be a lesbian." Wow, thanks dad. Thanks a lot. I feel SO much better now after that obviously well-thought-out grain of wisdom. "She doesn't know what she's missing." Well, uh, considering we've been dating for half of our lives, I'd say that this is one case where she knows EXACTLY what she's missing. Thanks for playing, dad. "Happy holidays." And on that cheery note, they hang up.

I walk over to Roger, who is still recovering from nearly choking after what dad said. "You know…there are times when we're dirt broke. "Such as all the time, "And hungry. And freezing." I could go on, but Roger shoots me a look that clearly says, 'I get it already, and we've totally already done a song where we complain about how miserable our living conditions are and trust me, lighting trashcans on fire is SO much cooler in the dark.'

"And I ask myself, 'Why the hell am I still living here?'" I mean, honestly, considering my mad rent-evading skills, all I really need to do is bother to find a free apartment. Er, open apartment. Which we'd totally stay in for free. But nicer apartments have annoying neighbors who complain when you pour flaming paper on them, and stay up all night singing loudly, and give out keys to the building to anyone who asks, and it's full of restaurants who actually expect you to order food and then, when you do, actually pay for it, and not move the tables together and dance on them.

Oh, that and I promised Roger than I'd stay with him so as to try to start a rumor that he's gay so as to deter any potential fangirls. When I agreed to this, I was still dating Maureen, but now that I'm single the arrangement works well, too. Considering how many girls think that gay guys are hot (Collins is living proof of this), my chances of getting laid just totally increased tenfold. But apparently Roger hasn't realized this yet.

"And then they call. And I remember." I notice that Roger is not looking at me. Now, granted this may very well be from years of me yelling at him to stop looking at the camera ingrained into him, but since I'm not actually holding a camera right now, I turn to look at whatever in our apartment has joined the ever-growing list of Things Roger Finds More Interesting That Me. It turns out that this time it's a window. Or rather, a message written on a window. 'Brunch just us? –Mimi.'

"What's that?" I asked. Has Roger been getting some action while I was out searching for Collins and filming homeless people? Typical. I bet he and Collins arranged the whole thing. And then Collins got some action. Ah well, at least at this rate I'll never get AIDS.

"The girl downstairs," is all Roger has to say about it. The girl downstairs WHAT, Roger dearest? That sentence lacks a verb! How the hell does he expect to be able to write songs that don't have any verbs? God, between this and his tendency to not finish sentences, it's no wonder his song's not done!

"Oh, the dancer from the Cat Scratch Club?" HOW DOES HE KNOW? HOW DOES HE ALWAYS KNOW? I swear, Mark chose the wrong profession. He should have been a private detective. I can just picture it now:

Man: I think that my wife is cheating on me.

Mark: Don't worry she's not.

Man: How do you know?

Mark: I know EVERYTHING.

Man: Than why is she acting so secretive?
Mark: She's secretly bisexual and has been going to strip clubs.

Man: My wife is into women as well as men?

Mark: Correct.

Man: Sweet! I smell a threesome!

"Well, you are going, right?" Mark asks. I consider, this is technically in the apartment, so I could do with a change of scenery. On the other hand, she does drugs and I have AIDS, so perhaps now's not the best time for a relationship. Not to mention that I just did rehab, she's clearly a self-centered fangirl, and being in love tends to kill any emo-ness you might naturally possess. And I've finally perfected my Hot Emo haircut!

"No."

"Oh, come on, Roger."

"No." She's scary. And I don't even want to know how she incorporates her candle and father fetish together…

Fortunately I was saved any further answering by Collins, of all people, who threw open the door, and entered with a smile and a container that appeared to have food in it. "Merry Christmas, bitches."

"Hey, Collins," Mark said neutrally. While that may be an awesomely tee-shirt worthy line, nothing quite beats the time he ran naked through the Parthenon.

"Your keys," he tossed them back.

"Yeah, 14 hours later," Mark laughed as Collins staggered slightly. Well, that is, Mark laughed and then Collins staggered, not that Mark laughed at Collins staggering. Mostly because Collins would totally kick his ass. "What the hell happened to you? Are you all right?"

"I've never been better. Here." Oh God, Collins is in love again. I hope this one doesn't insist on describing to us, in detail, mind you, just how great sex with Collins is. I mean, we're close, but not quite THAT close. Though now that Mark isn't getting any, he might be interested. Granted, I'm not getting any either, but if Mimi has her way, that'll change within the week.

While I was musing, Collins looked expectantly at me and I realize I've actually been thinking about Collins having sex, though not in that way, and there's no way I can explain that without Mark somehow managing to get me on film looking like an idiot. "Oh, hi."

But apparently I look like an idiot anyway as Collins just stares at me. " 'Oh, hi,'" he mocked. "After seven months?" He gives me a manly hug, sans manly back-pat.

"I'm sorry." On SO many levels…

"You know what you need?" Collins asked me. You mean OTHER than therapy to get rid of the unpleasant mental images? But since I'm still not leaving the house I guess another trip to the hypnotist who lives upstairs is in order. Without waiting for an answer though, Collins rushed to the container and pulled something out, saying, "This boy could use some Stoli!"

Yay! Alcohol! It's the proven cause and solution to all of life's problems, you know. And since I already have issues, I figure it can only solve my problems! And if not, well, the emoer I am the hotter I get, so that's cool, too.

"This is a complete Christmas feast," Mark remarked, awed. No it's not, it's alcohol and some Ramon. While that is always nice, it's not exactly feast material. But then, what would he know about Christmas feasts, he's Jewish? And come to think of it, why would his Jewish parents wish him a Merry Christmas? Sigh. I guess this is just another sign that Christmas is now nothing more than a Hallmark Holiday. I swear, can I GET any more disillusioned?

"Thank you…" Collins said, just as confused by Mark's statement as I am.

"You struck gold at MIT," I said hurriedly in an attempt to change the subject to something less awkward.

Apparently my attempt was a dismal failure, however, as Collins paused. "Ah, no. They expelled me for my theory of actual reality." Actual reality? How do you fire a professor for a theory? There must be more to it than that! And, knowing Collins, he probably painted the words 'Actual Reality' on his chest before running through the halls naked. And what is that theory even about? I want to ask him, but I'm afraid that his explanation will go right over my head.

"One for you, one for you, for me…" Collins passed out the drinks. "So I came back home. Merry Christmas. Cheers."

"Welcome home," Mark said. Oh great, don't get me wrong, I love Collins and all, but we simply do not have enough room for Mark to invite every single person we talk to to stay with us!

"I got a teaching gig at NYU," Collins said, looking at me like 'Dude, come on, I can chip in with the rent.' Obviously seven months is longer than I thought if he forgot that we don't actually pay rent. Like, ever. Collins never was very good at rent evasion, though. Something about how all his arguments tend to go right over landlords' heads. Not to mention that losing his temper and calling them all 'capitalist pigs', like he usually does, tends to get him arrested. First Amendment or not, everyone still hates Communism.

"Oh, so that's how you can afford to splurge on us," Mark said naively. First off, I'd like to comment that it's a sad reflection on our lives if he considers this splurging. Secondly, just because Collins has to pay for things like a normal person is no reason to make fun of him. Save in for Benny, the root of all evil. And finally, he hasn't even started teaching so, giving his reputation as vagabond anarchist, they probably haven't given him an advance. Come to think of it, why do people keep hiring him, given his tendency to get kicked out of his places of employment?

"No. Sit down." Uh-oh. No one ever tells us to sit down unless they're outing themselves or revealing they have AIDS. Since Collins has already done both, I can only imagine what unspeakable horror he's about to reveal to us.

To my surprise though, he started grinning. God, don't tell me he's sadistic now, too; Benny the Yuppie Scum is already more than I can take. "Gentlemen, our benefactor on the Christmas day, whose charity is only matched by talent I must say." So…now he's singing? Okay. It's a bit early for that, but since he's clearly been up all night it must not seem so to him. "A new member of the Alphabet City Avant-garde: Angel Dumott Schunard!" Then he ran to the door and pulled it open to reveal…

A drag queen? This is a new one. Hey, wait, was Angel standing out there waiting this whole time we were talking? My God, such dedication to making a dramatic entrance! If Angel was born a girl and still homosexual, she'd totally end up with Maureen…

"Today for you, tomorrow for me!" She's singing too? My God, what is wrong with these people? Oh look, but she has money! And…she's giving ME money! I now worship the ground Angel walks on.

"Today for you, Tomorrow for me," and she repeated the process with Mark.

"And you should hear her beat," Collins said proudly, sounding strangely like a production manager.

"You earned this on the street?" Mark asked incredulously. I know what he's thinking, but I think that Collins draws the line on dating whores. Unlike Mark.

"It was my lucky day today on Avenue A, when a lady in a limousine drove my way. She said, 'Darling, be a dear, haven't slept in a year. I need your help to make my neighbor's yappy dog disappear.'" That's awful! Angel helped kill a doggy? That's oddly cruel. Why does no one else think it's oddly cruel? Hey…that beat's kinda catchy…

"'This Akita, Evita, just won't shut up.'" …But…But…Akitas don't bark excessively. Is this lady an idiot or does she really hate her neighbors? "I believe if you play nonstop that pup will breath its very last high-strung breath." AND IT WAS A PUPPY? Someone ought to notify PETA. And how does insulting Angel's playing persuade her to help you? "I'm certain that cur will bark itself to death." Um…I don't think you can literally BARK yourself to death. Exert yourself so much that you have a heart attack, yes, but not literally barking yourself to death. And this lady just randomly drove by a drum-playing drag queen with an offer to murder a poor innocent puppy? I thought rich people were scared of drag queens. Perhaps Angel just wasn't in drag at the time. But still! The puppy! That's not very charitable, killing someone's dog on Christmas.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me. Today for you, tomorrow for me. We agreed on a fee, $1000 guarantee, tax free, and a bonus if I trim her tree." Wait, so she's waiting until Christmas to decorate? I must be missing something here. And is that $1000 total, or $1000 as a guarantee?

"Now who could foretell that it would go so well?" Well? WELL? She calls killing a poor innocent puppy WELL? "But sure as I am here that dog is now in doggy hell." I don't believe that. People consider it evil to just KICK innocent puppies, never mind about KILLING them, and besides, didn't she see that movie All Dogs Go To Heaven

"After an hour, Evita, in all her glory…" Wait, wait, wait…She was playing for an HOUR? Was she honestly not going to stop until that poor dog died? That monster! "On the window ledge of that 23rd story. Like Thelma and Louise did when they got the blues, swan-dove into the courtyard of the Gracie Mews. Today for you, tomorrow for me, today for you, tomorrow for me." Okay, just because Angel's now doing an incredible dance number and drum solo on the pipes doesn't mean that I'm just going to forget about poor Evita-Oh, my, wow. That is FLEXIBLE. Collins looks thrilled beyond compare. I sure hope those pipes don't burst, because I'm not going to be the one not paying for it if it does.

"Back on the street where I met my sweet," Angel continues. Wait, she met Collins after this? Seeing as how I looked all around the neighborhood last night and couldn't find Collins, I cleverly deduce that all of this actually took place YESTERDAY. Why couldn't she have just said that? (A/N: Perhaps because Tune Up #1-La Vie Boheme B all takes place on Christmas Eve in the Broadway Musical which the song was written for?)

"Where he was moaning and groaning on the cold concrete." At this, Collins makes a face at Roger and I and shakes his head while Roger makes use of his laughing-at-the-misery-of-his-close-friends privileges.

"The nurse took him home for some Mercurochrome." Okay, I don't entirely know what that means, and so I will assume it means wild sex. And is Angel the nurse? Why is she referring to herself in the third person if that is the case?

"Then I dressed his wounds and got him back on his feet." So, that totally makes it sound like the nurse and Angel are not the same person, but in that case who is the nurse and what happened to him/her?

"Sing it! Today for you, tomorrow for me!" Angel doesn't seem to notice the three of us completely ignoring her instructions, so focused is she on being awesome. Though a puppy-killer.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me. I say, today for you, tomorrow for me. Today for you, tomorrow for me!" Angel finishes with a flourish.

"That was dope." Poor Roger, withdrawals' over and done with, and he's still got drugs on his mind.

"That was fresh," I say, clearly having laundry detergent on mine.

Before Collins could question this (or make out with Angel, whichever), the phone rang. You know, we should probably leave a longer time to pick up the phone, but since we never answer it anyway, why bother?

"SPEAK."

"Mark. Hi." Oh crap, it's Maureen! Does that mean we have to add her to our list of people we don't like who call us? It's me. Maureen." I know. I dated you for a bloody half a lifetime. "Look I have a bit of a problem. I really need your help. I hired Joanne as my production manager…" I know. I read the article. Don't rub it in. "And I don't think she knows what the hell she's doing." Then why did you hire her? And what did you want me to do about it? You fired me, remember? Wait…YOU'RE PAYING HER?

"If you could just-Please, baby, come to the performance space." Oh, I'm 'baby', again, am I? Don't answer the phone, don't answer the phone, don't answer the-

"Hey, Maureen. Hi."

"Hi, baby." This is awkward.

"Sure, I'll be there."

"Thank you." Wow, she's being polite. She must feel REALLY awkward. And, if I believed her capable of the emotion, I'd say she felt guilty, too.

"Okay."

"…Thank you." Maureen tried again. You're welcome, just say you're welcome!

"Okay, see you soon," I hang up. "Can you believe her? I mean, first she just dumps

me-"

"Maureen dumped you?" Collins asked, confused. Wait, so the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD doesn't know this by now? Wow, I should really put up some flyers.

"Yes, she dumped me. For a lawyer named Joanne." At this Collins tries his best not to crack up, but fails miserably. Ah well, he hasn't backstabbed us recently and is GIVING us things instead of trying to take them, so he can do that. "Now she wants me to help her fix her sound equipment."

"Well, Mark, you could've said no," Collins pointed out. Right. Like ANYONE can say no to Maureen. Not to mention Roger keeps insisting he needs legal protection and several restraining orders and thus I have to go and meet Joanne. He'd do it himself, but he doesn't leave the house and inviting your ex-girlfriend's girlfriend over to your place is kind of weird.

"I know, but…"

"That's cute. You still love her." How is that cute? That is sad and will most likely have me angsting for the next 59 months!

"Yeah, right."

"You do." Didn't deny that, denied the cuteness of that.

Luckily Angel, who's really not so bad once you get past the whole puppy-murderer thing, intervenes. "We have to go."

Collins nods. "Wanna go to this gathering?" he asked Roger.

"Where?" Roger asks, like he'd actually consider it.

"Life Support."

"On Christmas?" Um, Roger, hate to break it to you but the holidays have the highest suicide rate of all year.

"Some people don't have anywhere else to go today," Angel says. I mean, just because we all do, doesn't mean everyone else does. "You should come."

"Knock yourselves out."

Angel looks up at me. "Mark, everyone's welcome, it's not just for people with AIDS." Did I ever introduce myself? And wait, Collins met this guy, er, girl last night and already told her about Roger? There goes any progress I might have made on getting him to leave the apartment building! I mean, God! I got him on the roof and right outside the building and everything! Now, it is all for naught. Way to go, Collins. Go back to MIT. Besides, he should really know how paranoid Roger is that everyone will automatically be able to tell he has AIDS just by looking at him. And that horrified look on his face means that he is totally taking this as a confirmation of his beliefs.

"Okay, yeah, I'll be there, but first I got a protest to save," I say, putting my handy-dandy scarf on. Can't leave home without it! Though it does attract some odd looks in July…Ah well, they're just jealous that they don't have such a manly scarf.

"See? Told you." Collins pantomimes a whip and, my God, that has got to be the best whip impression I have ever seen. But he's still mean! "I'm just playing with you, boy." Ah, no fair, he knows I'm white and thus never know if he means that or not! Not to mention, as a Caucasian, I can't ever do that to him.

"Well, it's Christmas," I tell Roger. "Don't stay in the house all day."

Honestly, I'm not sure why I even bother.

"Bye," Angel pops back to say to Roger.

And I sincerely hope I'm not suddenly turning gay, like Maureen did, when I say that she is so cute! And I love her outfit! And why doesn't Maureen have her legs?

Note: Review, please! Oh, and I don't think I'll be able to do 'I'll Cover You' because neither Mark nor Roger are there. I'll still do 'Out Tonight,' though. Unless anyone has any ideas?