| �I tell you the same thing every night, Jenny,� he replied softly. �I still need him. He�s a bastard and I hate him, but I still can�t go on without seeing him again. I just want him to tell me he�s proud of me. That�s all. I want to know he�s alive. Now will you give me some more tea?� The bartender sighed and pulled the kettle off of a hot plate, pouring him some more water. �You�re going to drive me to drink, Mark,� she murmured. �You need to realize what you could have out in LA. You could go places.� Mark didn�t reply, only sipped his tea, continuing to brood. It wasn�t until he felt a jolt in his side that he looked up again. �Oh, I�m sorry!� a young woman said quickly. And she was very sorry. Very sorry and frustrated. Lyric had been standing at the bar for almost five minutes and she still could not attract the attention of the waitress who had taken her order. Immediately afterwards, as she made her way to the coffeepot, she had picked up a ringing phone and gotten into a deep conversation with the person on the other end. She had tried to signal for several minutes and was getting more and more agitated as time passed. In frustration, she had tried to wave her over, and hit the small blonde man sitting next to her. Upon second glance, she realized exactly why she had hit him. He was more than small, he was well hidden. Sitting on a worn bar stool up against a wall, it seemed almost as if he were trying to block out the rest of the world. He seemed almost distantly familiar. His face...his face displayed a simple innocence that she remembered seeing somewhere before. Somewhere recently. �It�s okay,� he said softly in reply to her apology. �It happens.� Just as he was about to turn back to his tea, she touched his shoulder, on pure impulse. �I know this is going to sound really odd...but, do I know you from somewhere?� She felt foolish saying it. It sounded so blatantly like a come on or something else just as childish and superficial. From the look on his face, it didn�t make a much better impression on him. �I�m telling you right now that I�m gay,� he said in the same quiet tone. Lyric�s eyes widened for a moment. Not a good impression at all... �And I am too,� she replied. �So, with that settled, where the hell do I know you from?� The stranger�s eyes took on a curious glow, and she smiled to herself. She had piqued his interest. �I�m Lyric DeRossi,� she said, offering him her hand. He smiled just slightly, and shook it. �Mark Cohen,� he murmured. �Nice to meet you.� Lyric pondered over his name for a moment. Mark Cohen. Mark Cohen...where did she hear that name before? As it clicked into place, her eyes widened and she gasped. �Mark Cohen...not Today 4 U Mark Cohen...� At the surprised blush that Mark gave her, she almost squealed. �Oh my god! I loved that film! I saw it...like, probably five times! It�s an amazing piece of work!� Mark�s blush deepened. �Apparently not many people agreed,� he said ruefully. �It more than paid for itself...but it was less than stellar with critics...and American movie goers...and everyone but me and my constituents...� It was true. His first and only film released to a major audience had almost...but not quite...flopped. It was easy and cheap to make, so the meager box office earnings paid him for his time, adding a nice bonus to let him step up a little in life. Still, the public generally didn�t appreciate the years of pain that were in that film. He had never met anyone so enthusiastic about it before today. �Oh, it hit home with me,� she insisted. �My manager...one of my best friends...he has...well, had AIDS. And that was a few years before they released that treatment pill. That H-27 stuff? He was looking sick and we went to see that film together a few times. He cried every time. I cried a few times too. It was so moving....� Speaking of which, Roger was probably wondering where she was... *Let him wait,* she thought hastily. *It�s not everyday you get to meet a real celebrity....* �I had a lot of friends with AIDS,� Mark replied softly. �A lot. Most of them...most of them died. And this was the only way I could think to remember them. The only thing I was able to do that would make sure that they wouldn�t be lost forever.� But they still were lost forever. If Roger had seen the film, it hadn�t effected him at all. Sure, it was recast for general release. The images were no longer of him or Roger or Collins or Maureen or Angel or Mimi, but the name...the story...he should have recognized them. Maybe that proved that he was really gone. Roger was getting tired of waiting. He had been sitting at the table, waiting for Lyric to reappear for almost ten minutes. Her presence was very much missed, for he couldn�t seem to shake the feeling of abandonment that this place brought back to him. At least if she were here, she could distract him in some way. But no. He was left with the shadowy fear that he had run from a decade before. The feeling that all wasn�t perfect back here in NYC, as he had tried to convince himself on the long drive to Santa Fe. The feeling that his friends...especially someone...were not content to complete their lives without him. He hated that feeling. He wanted to be able to live guilt free. He didn�t want to have to face this torment of wondering where everyone was, how they were doing. That�s why he left in the first place, to escape the constant worry that surrounded everything in the city. To leave it all behind and start a new life, in a new city, with new people. He glanced back down at his watch. It had been ten minutes since Lyric left the table. He finally stood up with a sigh, glancing over towards the bar. He recognized her dark hair with the wild red streak immediately. She was deep in conversation with someone seated on a barstool against the wall. He was about to march over to her and pull her away when she moved to the side and he caught a glimpse of her newfound friend. He froze. The other man was exactly as Roger had remembered him. His cool and bright blue-grey eyes widened as they stopped on the guitarist. Exactly the same. His unruly hair stuck out in both gelled spikes and casually messy licks and curls. His skin was still a delicate pale, as clear and perfect as it has always been, every nuance still there, still the same. His childlike innocence was still displayed charmingly through his posture and expression, an expression directed solely at him. He was still the same Mark, the same introspective and lonely and loving filmmaker. *Christ, he�s just as beautiful as he was when I left him,* he thought, his heart soaring. Mark found himself gaping. As soon as Roger stepped into view, his heart stopped. Even with black hair, even with the nice clothes, even with the shadow of a goatee, he recognized him. He had dreamed of this day, dreamed of it, and also feared it. After this, he would be unable to invent reasons for his friend�s departure. He would know the real motivations that sent him running and hiding for ten years. He felt his breath catch in his throat as Roger slowly looked him up and down. The woman, Lyric, called his name several times. She wasn�t important anymore. Lyric wasn�t important, Jenny at the bar wasn�t important, Mike, the waiter wasn�t important, Sherie who was sitting on his other side wasn�t important. The whole caf� and all of its inhabitants lost all meaning. All he cared about, the only thing that mattered to him, his whole *world* was suddenly the man in front of him. One word. One word and all the hate and contempt he had ever felt for Roger would melt away. One word and his world would shift. *Say my name...say my name and I�m yours...for god�s sake, say my name...* he thought frantically. Page 3 |