Chapter Fourteen: La Vie Boheme
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT.
Note: Hey, I finally got around to updating! After...14 months...
"Benny got exactly what he wanted," Maureen was complaining, trying to act as though she didn't get exactly what she wanted as well. "He screws up my show, he gets all those people arrested…" Naturally, of course, screwing up her show – which was just about over anyway – ranked higher on Maureen's list of 'things that annoyed her that Benny has done recently' than, say, getting three dozen people thrown in jail. Although starting the riot was really that one police officer's fault, not Benny's but since when have I ever let things like 'logic' and 'facts' get in the way of what I want to believe?
"Cops won't hold them for long," Joanne replies, reminding us, once again, that yes, she is a lawyer. Still, I can't be too annoyed with her for that as she gave me some great legal advice on the walk over to the Life Café. "They'll let them go in a few hours." And with that, we completely absolve ourselves of any responsibility and go to party.
Joanne, Collins, and Angel all introduce themselves and we decide that since the Life Café is an actual business – although how it has managed to remain so when half its patrons don't ever actually pay – it probably has heat and thus we'll wait inside.
"Wait, where's Mark?" I suddenly notice the distinct lack of a camera. And the man attached to it.
Collins, who hasn't been back long enough to get a sixth sense about being filmed, just shrugged. "I don't know, man. Let's wait for him inside. Come on." Hm, I hope he didn't get arrested. Ah, well. I'm sure he'll have some fascinating footage of jail walls and angry protesters to share if he did.
Speak of the devil and he will appear. We were inside for maybe half a minute when Mark comes tearing down the street and into the restaurant. "Hey," he greets, out of breath.
"Hey. Are you alright?" I ask.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine." Silly Mark, that whole 'ask a question three times to get an answer' trick he learned from Austin Powers only works on questions. Undeterred, he makes his way over to the lesbian ex-love-of-his-life and her new girlfriend. "Tonight on the 11:00 news, the lead story is going to be your show," he proclaimed grandly.
Maureen looks thrilled. "How do you know that?" Um, duh? Walking, talking cameraman here? How else?
"They bought my footage of the riot," Mark explained. That doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be the lead story but…whatever. It's unlikely any of us will get back in time to watch it anyway. "They're gonna see the whole thing." Wow, he must have only taped, like, five minutes of the riot or something. I hope he got the part where Angel drop-kicked that cop that was trying to drag her away from Collins.
We all congratulated him, then Maureen said the words Mark's been longing to hear since the breakup: "How can I ever repay you?"
Joanne, sensing danger, quickly answers before Mark manages to. "Let the boy buy us dinner."
Wait, wait…Mark did something good for Maureen, and as a reward he gets to buy Maureen things? God, it's like they're still dating…But still, shouldn't Miss Ivy League Lawyer be more equipped to handle the bill than the perpetually broke Bohemian? I'm just saying. Still, I guess saying 'we'll buy him dinner' is out if Joanne's still pissed at Mark for…I don't know, existing? Being male and Maureen's ex concurrently?
"Please, no. No, not tonight." Strange. It's almost like the host of the Café isn't pleased to see us. "Please leave." He's polite, I'll give him that, but why on Earth is he trying to turn away some of his most regular customers? Must investigate.
"What? Why?" I asked. Personally, I blame Benny.
The host sighs exasperatedly. "You sit here all night and you never order anything." Huh? Surely, between all of us, some of us order something occasionally…right?
Sure enough, Mark speaks up, "That's a lie. Last week I had a tea."
"You couldn't pay," the host pointed out, rolling his eyes. 'Couldn't' or 'didn't feel the need to as they never push the issue'?
"Oh yeah," Mark laughs sheepishly, stepping to the side to allow someone else to try.
"Well…" Angel decides to give it a go and holds up a handful of money. "Tonight, we can. Come on." I sure hope Angel doesn't intend to pay for everything given that Joanne makes thousands of dollars a year (and quite possibly a month) and Angel worked hard killing puppies for that money.
"Fine," the host concedes, resigned. "Just please don't move the tables…"
You know, that's a really great idea. "Let's push these tables together!" I suggested.
"No. No, no, no…" the host moaned helplessly, making no move to either stop us or try to refuse us service.
Suddenly, my Benny-senses started tingling. "Well, if you get back to me, let's say by early next week we can break ground, I'm thinking, mid-January," Benny plotted nefariously. He's probably making plans to tear down an orphanage and replace it with a Starbucks or something. Or I guess he could be talking about all those people he evicted. Whichever, really.
"Benjamin Coffin III," Collins greeted, noticing our traitorous friend's presence as well. And I still haven't gotten around to explaining why we don't like him anymore…ah, well, he should be able to pick up on the blatant hostility on his own.
"The enemy of Avenue A," Maureen adds, in case anyone has forgotten that. Not bloody likely…
"You got a whole lot of nerve showing your face here after what just happened," Collins noted, although whether he sounded disapproving or admiring is anyone guess, really.
"Listen, guys, this was not my fault," Benny insisted, abandoning his investors in favor of annoying his poor plebian friends who clearly want nothing to do with him while the protesters are still sitting in jail.
"Go to hell," Maureen voiced everyone's sentiment. Or, at least, mine.
"Jerk," someone else muttered. Okay, so there were at least some mild anti-Benny feelings going around. That's good.
"You put the cops on standby," Collins pointed out.
"I didn't want it to get out of control," Benny tried to defend himself. And instead he ended up starting a riot. Way to go, Benny. You know what they say about the road to hell…although 'wanting to make lots and lots of money' really isn't a very good intention. And that reminds me.
"Why did Muffy-" I begin.
"Allison," Benny corrected, shooting a nervous look at his father-in-law. Hm, strange.
"Miss the show?" I continue as if I were not so very interrupted.
"There was a death in the family if you must know," Benny replied instead of the 'because she didn't care' that I was expecting. Well. This is awkward.
Finally, Angel bravely stepped up to the plate and asked the question we were all thinking. "Who died?"
"Our Akita," Benny said shortly.
Oh, don't tell me…
"Evita," those of us who had heard all about it from Angel supplied, laughing. Wow, how did Mimi hear about it? Oh well. Small world, huh?
Benny smiled then, like he knew exactly what we were talking about, but didn't care because he'd never liked that dog anyway. Come to think of it, I'm fairly certain he was allergic. "You make fun, yet I'm the one, attempting to do some good. Or do you really want a neighborhood where people piss on your stoop every night?" Um, those aren't people, Benny, those are dogs. And I don't see how building a nicer apartment building will change any of that. Unless, of course, he wants to hire stoop security? Or spray febreze? Because we can really do that last one ourselves. And if it's a choice between having to deal with pee or having to deal with you and your smug 'I-told-you-so's' I would SO pick the pee. Every time.
"Bohemia, Bohemia's a fallacy in your head," Benny declared. Actually, it was a real-live kingdom until 1918 when it became part of Czechoslovakia. But I'm sure he knows what he's talking about. "This is Calcutta," Benny continued, putting his hand on my back. Ah! His touch! It burns! It burns! Not to mention, of course, that he's wrong again. It's New York. God, he really sucks at Geography, doesn't he? "Bohemia is dead." How dare he?!?! Even if it is technically true since the renaming… Urge to kill rising…
With that, Benny heads back to his table, the matter – as far as he is concerned – concluded. Seriously, he totally starts singing, thereby giving all of us tacit permission to start singing, and he doesn't think we'll take him up on that? God, he's been away for a while, hasn't he? Besides, one look at Roger tells me he's about two seconds away from running over there and attempting to strangle Benny himself, but we've got enough people sitting in jail tonight so I may as well try and distract him and defuse the situation.
As I stand up imitate a chicken as I follow Benny to the front of the table, I realize to my surprise that I'm actually going to do something for once. And I left my camera back on my seat. I can't possibly go back for it or it'd totally ruin the awesomeness that is this moment. Here's to hoping I don't have a panic attack without it.
"Dearly beloved," I begin, as naturally we must hold a funeral for our beloved Bohemia. Even if it did die over fifty years before any of us were even born. Better late than never, right? "We gather here to say our goodbyes."
Most people just look confused, but Roger and Collins immediately stand up and start saying something probably funeral-appropriate in what sounds like Latin. I'm not sure, though. They're really great friends. Unless they're secretly insulting me, which is always a possibility. I turned around to face Benny, who was staring at me with a 'crap, this was such a bad idea' expression on his face and his two companions, who merely look confused. Odds of them ever returning to the Alphabet City after this is slim to none, I'd say.
"Here she lies," I continued to eulogize, deciding on the spot to practice an old trust exercise and falling backwards. Fortunately, everyone else seems to have followed Collins and Roger's example and were standing up to catch me. "No one knew her worth. The late, great daughter of Mother Earth." I'm not entirely sure why I'm being passed around the table like a flask, but whatever. It's the day after Christmas and we're all soon to be drunk anyway.
"On these nights when we celebrate the birth in that little town of Bethlehem we raise our glass," I declared, standing up and raising a glass. Maureen proves just how well she knows me but immediately standing on the table as well and pulling down her pants – and she apparently wasn't wearing any underwear – to moon Benny & co. just as I said, "You bet your ass."
Now, to start the toasts. "To La vie Boheme." I clink my glass with Maureen's, but I'm just getting started here. People never pay this much attention to me.
"La vie Boheme," everyone echoes a few times while I brainstorm. With all this hype, it had better be good.
"To days of inspiration, playing hooky, making something out of nothing. The need to express, to communicate." Of course, in order to play hooky properly you really need something you're supposed to be doing that you're avoiding so I'm not very good at that. Collins is, though. And making something out of nothing isn't just a cliché, it's a lifestyle. One, we've rather perfected, I think.
"To going against the grain, going insane, going mad." I'm just going to pretend those last two don't mean exactly the same thing and keep going. "To loving tension, no pension, to more than one dimension." And clearly, despite what you'd think, I MUST love tension to willingly be spending time with Maureen and Joanne and Roger while Benny's present. Not to mention the fact that I'm officially the seventh wheel, here. And there's no way to get a pension unless you have a job, and that is sadly selling out. Maybe in that other dimension I was talking about I might actually have a career. And my friends wouldn't be dying the slowest deaths in the history of mankind.
"To starving for attention, hating convention, hating pretension, not to mention of course: hating dear old mom and dad." Naturally, we're all rather severely attention-starved or else we wouldn't feel the need to make a scene everywhere we go. As conventional wisdom tends to look down on our attention-seeking and freeloading ways, we look down on it. Turnabout's fair play and whatnot. And, well, Benny pretty much defines pretension at this point and if I didn't mention that we hate him, Roger would probably kill me. Or my precious camera that I can totally see him holding. Sure, it looks like he's filming the one time I'm liable to ever do anything, but I know the truth: he's holding it hostage!
"To riding your bike midday past the three piece-suits." That's always awkward and makes me feel slightly like someone who hasn't 'realized their full potential' as my parents consistently tell me whenever they manage to trick me into answering the phone. Is it any wonder I have parent issues? We all do, really. None of our nice middle-class suburban parents approve of our bohemian lifestyle. "To fruits." Whoops. Probably shouldn't have pointed to Angel just then. Please nobody notice, please nobody notice… "To no absolutes, to Absolut, to choice, to the Village Voice." Good, nobody noticed. Nice spin there, Collins.
"To any passing fad." That seems kind of like something a sell-out would do, but whatever. We can be fad-obsessed and still awesome, right? "To be an 'us' for once, instead of a 'them'." Ah! Why is Maureen clinging to my legs?!?! It is making it very difficult to concentrate. Must extract myself from difficult situation. "La vie Boheme!" I reiterate the main theme and jump off the table. Although why we're singing long live Bohemia when we're eulogizing it is a bit beyond me…ah well, I probably just haven't had enough to drink yet.
Now that that's done, I can leave the spotlight to the others while I chase Roger around trying to get my camera back.
Mr. Grey coughs pointedly Joanne's hands on Maureen's ass, and Maureen, unabashed as always, responds with a, "Hey mister, she's my sister," as she puts her hands on Joanne's ass and pulls her closer. Joanne, being a highly respectable lawyer, does not look embarrassed as one would expect but rather starts laughing. Guess one month with Maureen has already rid her of any and all mortification she might have naturally possessed. And yes, I'm still saying one month as I firmly believe they met the day I was dumped and I will not hear otherwise.
It's a sign of how often we come here that when the waiter comes by, he doesn't even feel the need to take our orders, he just lists off, "So that's five miso soup, for seaweed salad, three soy-burger dinner, two tofu-dog platter, and one pasta with meatless balls?" for confirmation. And then he sits on the table. It's a good thing we really don't care that much about sanitation…
"Ew," Roger made a face, probably at the thought of meatless balls as we're all vegetarians so that can't possibly be what's bothering him.
"It tastes the same," Collins defended. And considering that he's only ever hear half the time, it's quite a feat for the waiter to remember him.
"If you close your eyes," Mimi laughed. Although what taste and sight have to do with each other are beyond me.
"And thirteen orders of fries, is that it here?" the waiter asked. It never is.
"Wine and beer!" we all shouted, as non-descriptive as can be.
Mimi and Angel apparently decide that they want to continue toasting while we wait for the food as they get on the table as well and sing, "To handcrafted beers made in local breweries. To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese." Seriously not getting how this has to do with anything. Are we just celebrating things that we like, now? Is Mimi even old enough to drink? Not like that's ever stopped any of us…"To leather, to dildos." Okay, way more than I needed to know about their sex lives, seeing as how I'm not getting any right now. "To curry vindaloo. To huevos rancheros, and Maya Angelou. Emotion, devotion, to causing a commotion. Creation, vacation. "
"Mucho masturbation," I add, proving that I too can speak a foreign language while also simultaneously lamenting my status as 'the only single one here.'
"Compassion to fashion to passion, when it's new." And now Benny is looking amused and scratching his nose to try and hide his smile again! Not, of course, that I'm obsessively watching him or anything. But someone really ought to tell him that that's really not a very effective way to hide his amusement. Not me, of course, seeing as how I hate him right now. Maybe Mark will take pity on him and clue him in.
"To Sontag," Collins calls out.
"To Sondheim," Angel responds automatically. Okay, they've known each other for all of two days by now, what gives with all the inside jokes? I sense a story, but I probably don't want to know so I'll ask Mark about it later.
"To anything taboo," a group of girls whose names I don't actually remember sing, writhing on the table.
Collins saw me just standing around and – most likely afraid that Mark and I were exchanging personalities as he was just standing in the limelight – grabbed my arm and dragged me up onto the table. "Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunningham, and Cage." So we were just listing random people? It sounds profound.
"Lenny Bruce," Collins introduced, pointing to me.
Aw… "Langston Hughes," I returned the favor. I'm not even sure that Collins writes poetry but…whatever. It's the thought that counts, right?
"To the stage!" Maureen adds, doing some nice leg exercise while lying on the table. Well, that's one way to keep fit, I guess.
"To Uta, to Buddha!" some random girl yelled out as Collins and I danced across the table and jumped off. Yes, danced. Don't ask me why, we just did.
"Why Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow…to blow off Auntie Em," Mimi and Mark chorused. Since when do those two know each other? They better not double-team me in their attempts to get me to be a better person…Well, actually Mimi just seems to want me to be more social and as a junkie herself she really can't talk about my issues. And I thought it was because of the tornado, especially as she seemed quite eager to get back home. But maybe that's just in the watered-down sellout version. And – you guessed it – I blame Benny.
Somehow this leads to a rallying cry of "La vie Boheme!" which somehow leads to Joanne and Maureen making out on the table. Can't that girl control her hormones for five minutes?
"Sisters?" one of Benny's minions asks uncertainly. Wait, he actually bought that? But they look nothing alike! Or is he being all progressive by assuming that they could be half-sisters of adopted or something.
"We're close," Joanne and Maureen chorus.
They get off the table followed by a few other people to reveal Angel and Collins doing the exact same thing. "Brothers!" they claim gleefully.
That's it, this calls for a random-word shout-out. "Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens." Yes, yes, we all love our own species. And I'm not entirely sure what a trisexuals is, but it sounds awesome. Maybe someone who likes men, women, AND hermaphrodites? "Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee-wee Herman." Seeing as how half of us are dying of AIDS anyway, little things like Cancer aren't really a concern so bring on the cigarettes. Except for me, Maureen, Joanne, and possibly Mark everyone here likes men and Pee-wee Herman…well, you've got to respect someone that creepy who manages to have a semi-popular kids show. And did Angel just lift her skirt to reveal Collins? Strange…
"German wine, turpentine, Gertrude Stein, Antonioni, Bertolucci, Kurosawa, Carmina Burana." And oh crap, now the manager is shooting us suspicious looks. Just because we mentioned a highly flammable substance does NOT mean we have any plans of torching the establishment, geez. And whatever happened to liking local drinks? Or is that just local beer and foreign wine? Whatever.
Oh, when did Collins get a joint? No fair; I want one! "To apathy, to entropy, to empathy, Ecstasy. Vaclav Havel, the Sex Pistols, 8BC." Although how can you celebrate both apathy and empathy at the same time? Or celebrate apathy at all, really? And why in the world are we celebrating society deteriorating? Is it just like one of those end-of-the-world parties that you see every so often? "To no shame, never playing the fame game." Not that that's a dig on Benny or anything.
"To marijuana," Collins declares happily as he takes a long drag. Oh, feel free to rub it in. And it really says something when you can announce your usage of an illegal substance in a crowded restaurant and no one bats an eyelash.
"To sodomy, it's between God and me," we continue as Angel humps Collins. Looking thoroughly shocked, Benny's fellow demons stand up and practically run for the door. "To S&M!" we call after them, prompting them to run faster, especially when Collins faux-slaps Angel. As IF anyone with even an ounce of humanity in them could do it for real.
"Waiter, waiter, waiter, waiter," Benny yells as he follows his companions towards the door.
"La vie Boheme!" we sing, to celebrate our victory over The Man. No, not that man, the other, not-an-actual-person one.
"In honor of the death of Bohemia, an impromptu salon will commence immediately following dinner," Collins announced, suddenly remembering what, exactly, prompted our celebration of death. "Maureen Johnson," naturally, he starts with her as her attention-hogging was wouldn't stand for anything less, "just back from her spectacular one-night engagement at the 11th street lot will perform tribal chants backwards through her vocoder, accompanying herself on the electric cello…which she ain't never studied." Okay, I get it, we never got much done in our electric cello tutoring but still…why is Maureen doing the Macarena? Was she not listening to what Collins said at all?
Roger, never one to miss a chance to mess with me, goes next, actually drawing attention to himself on purpose. "And Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about his inability to hold an erection on the High Holy Days."
Well, that's not nice. Unfortunately, I can't do Roger's yet as he's yet to gravitate towards the random restaurant electric guitar, so I'll do the next best thing and go after his girlfriend. "And Mimi Marquez, clad only in bubble wrap, will perform her famous lawn-chair handcuff dance to the sounds of ice tea being stirred." No, it's not strange that I know her last name and Roger in all likelihood doesn't. And wow, it looks like she really is pantomiming a lawn-chair handcuff dance, good for her. Ah, there Roger goes. "And Roger will attempt to write a bittersweet, evocative song," I announce, turning everyone's attention to Roger. He defiantly plays a few bars back at me. "That…doesn't remind us of Musetta's Waltz," I qualify.
"Angel Dumott Schunard will model the latest fall fashions from Paris while accompanying herself on the tin-gallon plastic pickle tub," Collins announced, surprising everyone by knowing not just Angel's last name, but her middle name, too. Damn, I don't think I even know Maureen's middle name. This is, naturally, a person failure that must be rectified immediately.
"And Collins will recount his exploits as anarchist, including the tale of his successful reprogramming of the MIT retro-reality equipment to self-destruct as it broadcasts the words…" Angel calls out as Collins quickly writes the words on a chalk-board that just happens to be there. And wait, 'And Collins'? Does that mean we're not doing Joanne? That's not very nice, not to mention that we've known her just as long as we've known Mimi and we did her. Ah, well, she is my ex's girlfriend, so I suppose I'm not actually obligated to do anything about this injustice.
"Actual reality, ACT UP, fight AIDS!" everyone sings. Looking over at the chalkboard, however, I see that Collins only scrawled that last point, so how…never mind.
Mimi glances over at her date, to spot him happily tuning the restaurant guitar and ignoring the world. "Excuse me, did I do something wrong?" she demands, making her way towards him. "I get invited then ignored all night long."
Wow, Roger actually puts the guitar down. This must be serious. "I've been trying, I'm not lying," he insists. You know, it really says something when you feel the need to tack on an 'I'm being truthful, I swear!' to the end of what you're saying. Probably because if how he totally ditched her for a guitar the first chance he got, he really hasn't been trying all that hard. "No one's perfect; I've got baggage," he defended himself further. Right, and we don't?
"Life's too short, babe, time is flying. I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine," Mimi explains earnestly. So…she wants to see if they match? I guess they're a pretty good-looking couple, yeah. Is that her only criteria?
"I should tell you-" Roger starts to confess.
"I've got baggage too," Mimi interrupts, clearly wanting to make out with my best friend more than play confessional.
"Should tell you – baggage," Roger repeats, somewhat helplessly.
"Wine and beer!" everyone shouts as another round of drinks arrive, interrupting the pseudo-love scene.
A little beeper goes off and Roger reaches down to check it, only to discover the noise came from Mimi. "AZT break," she explains, somewhat awkwardly. So wait…they BOTH have AIDS and Roger didn't want to get involved with her because he didn't think she had it and she wanted to get involved with him without even mentioning it? That's…really a shit thing to do, Mimi.
Roger doesn't see it that way, though. "You?" he asks, a dreamy look on his face.
"Me," Mimi admits. "You?"
Roger nods vaguely. "Mimi…"
With that, he pulls her out into the snow. I would follow them as I'm sure the ensuring conversation will be fascinating, but I don't quite think I could find a place to hide out there without them spotting me. Too bad. And I can't believe their romance is getting jumpstarted by the fact that they're both going to die of a fatal disease and already are on their first date without actually telling the other. Oh well, it takes all kinds, I guess.
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