Incongruity

Summary: PostRENT. When Mark’s film goes wrong with Maureen along for the ride, Roger and Mark face each other’s worst fears. Joanne and Benny are torn between families; Mimi’s a jump ahead of her addiction; and Collins is a jump ahead of the law.

Disclaimer: Rent and its characters and situations were created by the late, lamented Jonathan Larson. I’m just playing, not making a profit.

Note on the Timeline: I realize that the movie version of RENT was set to end in December 1990. Nonetheless, the lyrics contain a reference to the Oklahoma City Bombing (“yellow rental truck packed with fertilizer and fuel oil”), which occurred on April 19, 1995. So I feel comfortable in saying that for this fic’s purposes, RENT took place in 1996 (incidentally, the year the play opened on Broadway) and this postRENT story takes place in 1997. The date is relevant to one plot twist midway through the story if you happen to be anal about certain things, like I am.

Part 1 of 12: Reenter Benny

Benjamin Coffin III—Benny to his friends, when he had some—squinted out his twenty-third story window at the city below. Blinking holiday decorations sent flashes of reflected light off of every surface. Nonetheless, the city looked calmer than usual.

“Baby?” he called. His wife didn’t answer, but he knew that she had heard him. She was in the next room; they were probably separated by less than ten feet. Benny had once lived in an uninsulated loft with multiple roommates (one with a penchant for amplified guitar music) and their assorted significant others. He knew perfectly well how sounds did and didn’t carry when no one was deliberately ignoring anyone else.

“Baby, I think we should take the Range Rover to Westport. There’s practically no traffic—”

“No.” Benny hadn’t moved or raised his voice, yet suddenly Alison could hear him. “They’re sending the limo for us. You don’t want to drive all the way to my parents’ house.” Her sarcasm was almost imperceptible. Benny rolled his eyes anyway. Of course he wanted to drive; that would leave them free to leave at any time. Of course Alison didn’t want him to drive; that would leave them free to leave at any time.

A year ago, Alison would have indulged his every whim. She had become much less compliant since learning that he had cheated on her before their first anniversary. It probably did not help matters that “the other woman” had been an exotic dancer infected with HIV. So even as Benny rolled his eyes, he could understand where Alison was coming from.

His thoughts did not stay with Alison for long. Instead, they flew across the city to the East Village and Mimi. At least, he hoped Mimi was in the East Village. If she was, Roger or Mark or one of the others would find her. That way, even if she had gone back to heroin, she would be among friends and not dead in a gutter.

He passed his cell phone from one hand to the other and wondered if he should call the loft in case the holiday spirit had seized the Bohemians and they decided to talk to him. He wanted to smack the sanctimonious sneers off of Mark and Roger’s faces as much as they wanted to see him publicly stoned as a sellout, but everyone was united in worry over Mimi.

As if on cue, the cell phone buzzed softly at Benny.

“Hello?”

“Benny, it’s Mark.”

A chill ran down Benny’s spine. He was under no illusion that he was one of Mark’s favorite people. If Mark deigned to call him, someone was probably dead, and that someone was probably Mimi. He thought about the last time he had seen Roger and Collins. Neither one of them had shown any hint of illness, but HIV became AIDS in the blink of an eye, and AIDS made short work of its task. “Mark. What can I do for you?” Benny was pleased that his voice sounded smooth and confident.

“I thought you would want to know—Mimi thought you should—”

“Mimi’s there?” His voice was a whisper now, and he doubted that it was smooth or confident any longer.

“Maureen and Joanne found her last night.” Mark was whispering, too.

“Found her where?”

“In the park.”

“How is she?” Benny’s question was met with silence. He craned anxiously around, looking for any sign of Alison. “Mark? How is Mimi?” he demanded again.

“Not good.” Mark’s voice was barely audible. “Five minutes after we got her into the loft, she closed her eyes and I didn’t think she was going to open them. We couldn’t get through to the paramedics, and she was shaking and then she just stopped.” He gulped. “She opened her eyes and swore Angel told her to come back to us. She’s more . . . lucid now, but she’s refusing to go to the hospital.”

“Why does she get a choice? Tell Roger to tell her to go. She’ll listen. She thinks the sun rises and sets on him.”

“Roger’s not in the most rational mood.”

“So call an ambulance and hold Roger back. I’ll pay the ambulance fee.”

To Benny’s annoyance, Mark laughed. “I didn’t think that you or your wife’s money was allowed in Alphabet City anymore.”

“Make fun all you want. A doctor would do her more good than all the songs Roger can sing her. You shouldn’t say no to something that could help her just because I’m the one suggesting it. I care about Mimi.”

Apparently Benny’s declaration of affection for Mimi struck a chord in Mark, because the mocking stopped instantly. “She wanted me to thank you for offering to pay for her rehab and for encouraging her to go. And for taking care of Angel’s funeral. That’s why I called.”

A lump rose unbidden in Benny’s throat as he remembered not the times that he had been Mimi’s friend but the times that he had deliberately humiliated her just to watch Roger fume. (Well, perhaps not just to watch Roger fume. Watching Roger fume was one of the great under-rated pleasures in the world.) “Tell her that she’s more than welcome, that the offer still stands, and that she should go to the damn hosp—”

“Who are you talking to?” Alison stood posed beside the Christmas tree. She looked beautiful, but her eyes were glinting with anger.

Benny froze. On the other end of the line, Mark laughed again. “Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah,” Benny told him viciously just before Mark hung up in his ear, still laughing harder than Benny thought could possibly be necessary.

X

Maureen eyed Mark quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

He pulled off his glasses and swiped at his eyes, pleased to be wiping away tears of mirth rather than tears of grief. “Your little bulldog Benny on a very short leash,” he informed her.

“He’s not my little bulldog,” she retorted, but she began to laugh, too, staggering and grabbing at Mark for support. Groundless laughter had always had a way of being contagious between them.

Collins and Joanne exchanged a look which was actually a somewhat detailed debate as to whether Mark and Maureen had in fact taken leave of their senses.

Roger steadfastly ignored anything other than Mimi.

Mimi shifted in Roger’s arms and beckoned Mark closer. At some point that night, they had dragged a dilapidated mattress from one of the bedrooms and deposited it in front of the illegal wood-burning stove, which was now well-stocked with firewood. Every blanket in the loft had been piled on or around Mimi, who lay half on the mattress and half on Roger.

“Did you?” Mimi asked when Mark was kneeling by her side. Her words didn’t take quite the effort that they had hours before, but her voice was still weak.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Roger wanted to know.

“Yes, I still think Mimi should see a doctor,” Mark covered. “We need to call an ambulance. Again. We can’t take her on the subway like this.”

“No!” Her answer came instantly. “Don’t waste your money.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste.” It also wouldn’t be Mark’s money, but that was hardly something he needed to share with Roger immediately. Mark sighed. For the past two years, he had believed in disagreeing with anything Benny said on principle. But Benny was right this time; the shock of Mimi’s appearance, fading, and revival had knocked the common sense out of them all. “You’re going.”

Maureen dropped to her knees beside Mark with a kind of plunk that only Maureen could make graceful. “I agree with Mark, sweetie.” She brushed the back of her hand against Mimi’s hair.

“Me too,” put in Joanne.

Mark smiled. “There you go. Maureen, Joanne, and I agree. Either it’s the apocalypse or we’re right.”

Mimi started to protest, but instead she sneezed. Roger’s arms involuntarily tightened around her. “You’re going,” he decreed.

“No ambulance.”

Roger looked at Mark, a silent question in his eyes. Mark nodded. “All right, it’s a deal,” Roger told Mimi. “No ambulance, but we’re leaving right now.”

As Christmas Day group outings to the emergency room went, the trip was quite successful. Some of the patients did not especially appreciate the Bohemian family’s decision to play truth or dare while they awaited Mimi’s turn to see the doctor, but most others looked amused. A few were almost certainly disappointed when Joanne forbade Maureen to dare Collins to try to sneak through the door that separated the waiting room from the treatment area . . . naked.

Why stripping in an inner-city hospital waiting room was supposed to be considered a challenge by someone who had long since run naked through the Parthenon, Mark was not certain. He suspected that Maureen was in the throes of one of her rare bouts of sensitivity and had wanted to make Collins smile. Two months had passed since he had lost Angel to the same disease in this same hospital. None of their number liked hospitals, but it was Collins who had been uncharacteristically quiet all day.

Roger went to join Mimi in the treatment area about forty-five minutes after the receptionist called her name. The game of truth or dare descended into bickering because, according to Maureen, no one ever wanted to let her have any fun. Mark was grateful for the interruption when an unfamiliar voice approached the group and called his name.

“Mark Cohen?”

“That’s me.” Mark stood and shook the stranger’s hand.

“You’re here with Mimi Marquez?”

The other three stiffened at the mention of Mimi’s name, and behind Mark, Collins climbed to his feet. “Mimi is with the doctor,” Mark explained.

The man nodded crisply and pressed an envelope into Mark’s hand. “This is to cover her treatment.”

Startled, Mark noted that the envelope was filled with a thick stack of bills. “Thank you,” he told the stranger.

The stranger nodded. “I’ve been told to let you know that this is a gift in honor of the memory of Evita.”

The smallest of smiles forced its way past Mark’s worry at the mention of Evita. “Tell Benny thank you. Or, I guess I will myself.”

“Merry Christmas.” The man left as quickly as he had come.

Mark sat down again, idly slapping the envelope of money against his leg.

“Put that away,” Joanne suggested sharply. Various eyes around the room were staring hungrily at more cash than they were likely to see all year. Mark obediently shoved the envelope into his coat.

“He has a lot of nerve,” muttered Maureen.

“Why?” asked Mark. “For going out of his way to send us money we desperately need? To pay for something that might save Mimi’s life?”

Maureen rolled her eyes. “You were just laughing at him this morning.”

“And he still did this. He cares about Mimi.”

“He does not. It’s just easy for him to throw money at a problem, and pretend that he cares to confuse you. Then, when he builds Cyberarts, you can work for him and—”

“This has nothing to do with Cyberarts.”

“We could call you Muffy II.”

Mark ignored Maureen. This was a difficult feat for anyone to achieve, and an especially difficult feat for Mark, but sometimes he managed it for upwards of four seconds. “I wonder how he sent this without Alison knowing? It’s Christmas. He must be performing for his father-in-law in Westport today.”

“Whenever Benny wants something, he finds a way,” Collins observed.

The conversation alternately flickered and died until Mimi and Roger re-appeared. “How do you want to pay?” the receptionist was asking by the time Mark and the others reached them.

“Cash.”

The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Mark and named a figure. With a smirk, Mark counted off the bills. Mimi looked a question at Mark, and Mark responded with a nod. Roger ignored the exchange entirely, either because he refused to entertain the idea that this was not Collins’ Food Emporium money or because he was too busy being delighted at Mimi’s prognosis.

“ . . . Malnourishment. Frostbite. Withdrawal. And a cold.” Roger reported this last with some trepidation. A cold was considerably more than a mere annoyance to someone whose immune system was severely compromised. But at least a cold wasn’t the dreaded pneumonia. And Mimi’s fever had broken of its own accord; no one could deny that that was a good sign.

They clambered back onto the subway together. Roger was loath to let Mimi move an inch from his arms. Maureen and Joanne followed suit, cuddling each other close. That left Mark effectively alone with Collins. That was fine. He’d wanted that anyway.

“Are you all right?” Mark asked, deciding to get right to the point. He didn’t know how much time he had. The loving quartet nearby seldom remained entirely loving for long.

“Why do you ask?” Collins straightened the collar of the coat that Angel had given him.

“You’re a little . . . quieter than usual.” Mark decided that that was a tactful enough way of saying “Angel’s been dead two months and you just had to revisit the scene of the crime.”

“You don’t have your camera.”

“So?”

“That’s a lot more unusual than me shutting up. I should ask if you’re all right.” Before Mark was able to respond, Collins seemed to change tactics in mid-thought. His voice softened. “I’m fine. I wish Angel was here, but I don’t wish that any more in a hospital than I do in your loft or than I would in Tahiti.”

“Tahiti?”

“It’s warm there.”

“Lucky sons of bitches.”

“Amen.”

“Why do you always come back here where it’s cold? You were lecturing down south, weren’t you?”

“I come back here because I consider myself lucky that I have people I want to see on Christmas. Not everyone has that.”

Mark hadn’t expected a genuine answer, and adopted a puzzled expression. If he took Collins’ obvious sentimental meaning after the roller-coaster day, he would probably start crying again on the spot. “So, if you have people you want to see on Christmas, why don’t you ever go see them?”

Unexpected laughter exploded in Collins’ throat, and he gave Mark a playful shove. Mark shoved back. “Where is your camera?” Collins asked a moment later.

“Forgot it.”

There was no way he was going to tell Collins the real reason, whether or not this was a miraculous day for their “family.”

There was no way that he was going to admit aloud that now that his documentary was not lacking in footage, he had no excuse film his friends constantly.

There was no way that he was going to reveal that he intended to limit his use of the camera to special occasions and artistic purposes that actually were artistic rather than cowardice dressed up as art.

There was no way that he was going to suggest that he didn’t feel like being one-upped by Roger, who had managed to stare Mimi’s imminent demise in the face.

“Good for you.”

Mark did not want to know if Collins thought it was good that Mark was supposedly becoming senile and forgetting things or if he thought it was good that Mark had made an unstated early new year’s resolution. Mark’s gift for fading into the background was matched only by his gift for finding the perfect shot. Collins should have had no way of knowing that his camera was a crutch and that abandoning it frightened Mark as much as watching Mimi’s crash-and-burn cycle frightened Roger. But Roger should have had no way of knowing, yet Roger knew. Roger knew and in one heated moment he hadn’t been shy about saying so.

All had long since been forgiven, but that didn’t change the fact that Roger had been right. The words of the argument were marked indelibly on Mark’s brain:

“Who, Mark, are you? ‘Mark has got his work,’ they say ‘Mark lives for his work’ and ‘Mark’s in love with his work.’ Mark hides in his work.”

“From what?”

“From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie. Yes, you live a lie-- tell you why. You’re always preaching not to be numb when that’s how you thrive. You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive . . .”

One month into the new year, Mark questioned his decision. A friend of Mimi’s from that Cat Scratch Club came to visit, and Roger, who had managed to catch Mimi’s cold, insisted that Mark “entertain” the girl. The two of them had no lasting connection, but Mark enjoyed their handful of meetings more than he had expected. It was true that the male heterosexual population of the world might have expelled Mark from their ranks had they discovered that he was less than deliriously happy to spend time in the company of a Cat Scratch girl. If the subject had come up, Mark supposed he could have explained that the girl had often made out with Mimi on stage, and that kissing her meant that he was twice-removed from kissing Roger, and that that was weird.

Two months into the new year, Mark was thrilled with his decision. Today 4 U: Proof Positive had been shown at two film festivals, and while it had won no awards it had given him hope. It had also given him contacts that felt much more acceptable than Alexi Darling. And while it might have been nice to film his friends’ reaction to the small article the Village Voice about the genius-level intellect which must have contributed to the rewiring of the Food Emporium’s ATM, it was still more fun to take full part in the vain attempts to embarrass Collins.

Three months into the new year, Mark deeply regretted his decision. A little numbness would have been more than welcome when he was finally forced to admit that, while Mimi’s recovery was remarkable, Roger wasn’t recovering at all.

Roger was too weak and sick to protest when he was checked into the hospital on the fifteenth of March.

To be continued.