Categories > Theatre > Rent > The Emotions of Mark Cohen
Everything seemed to go downhill after Maureen left. Mark didn't like to leave the Loft for worry of Roger. However after a couple weeks, he just had to get out. And the few bucks he had in his pocket were screaming to be spent. What the hell. He hadn't done anything in ages. So, fifteen minutes, camera-in-bag, he was outside of the Cat Scratch Club. Roger had mentioned going there every so often, so it was the first place that came into his mind. Paying the cover charge, he flashes his ID at the guy at the door.
"Hold up, kid. Let me see that again." The man held out his hand for the ID, which Mark handed over with a sigh. "You sure this thing's legit, kid?" The rather burly man eyed it, turning it over a few times.
"Yes, sir. I got it a couple years ago in Scarsdale." Mark sighed, wearily. "I am twenty-two. If you really want, you can call my mother." He pauses. "But then again, my mother would probably not appreciate it." He mutters a bit, but the the bouncer shrugged and let him in.
Going in, Mark could just about feel the excitement in the place. The patrons were mostly male, with a few women sprinkled around, some waitresses, some off-duty dancers, some obviously there for the scenery, which, in Mark's none-too-expert opinion was pretty good. The dancers paused for a moment, leaving the stage clear. Mark leaned against a pole, making sure first that it wasn't one which could be used for dancing.
Before long, one curly-haired Hispanic dancer came out on the stage, dancing with an odd passion, and bright grin. Mark just stared. It wasn't her lack of clothing, or the rhythms she danced to, it was her smile. Strange, it felt familiar in a way, but Mark couldn't place it. he kept watching, intently, then, almost without realizing it, he pulled out his camera and started to film her. Sure, the light was shit, sure she moved everywhere, almost without reason, but she was so exuberant, Mark had to get a shot.
Before he could truly frame anything, he was caught from behind. "Hey! Pervert! No cameras in here! Who the fuck do you think you are, filming our girls. Get the hell out of here before we break that thing."
Stuttering, Mark stashed the camera back in his bag, and paled. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even realize I was... er, sorry. I'll leave now."
The man followed Mark to the door. "I'll be nice to you this time, kid. I'm not throwing you out for good. Just don't bring that thing back in." Still flourescent red, Mark left.
It wasn't long before he heard a voice behind him, from the alley next to the club. "Hey, um. Guy with camera?" he turned around to see the dancer, shivering in, well, not much more than a wrap. Blinking, he opened his mouth to speak, before she cut him off. "I don't have time right now, but listen. I don't think you're a perv. Don't worry about it." And before he could say anything in return, she was gone, back inside. That was a night that Mark really really didn't want to remember.
A few more weeks went by before Christmas Eve. Mark got caught up in all of the hullabaloo before Maureen's protest, but as everyone was bopping around on the street, Roger introduced him to Mimi. He couldn't place her, but she looked damned familiar. What -was- it? He shrugged it off as she did.
Her exuberance didn't die, as she drug Roger out of the apartment, as they grew closer. Even in breaking up with Roger, she was so full of life. Mark watched, almost stunned. She was so light-hearted. There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. I live each day as my last. She truly tried to live what she said.
It was just the drugs. Mark wished with all of his heart that he could say something to her, to tell her that she didn't need that shit. But, hell. If Roger had told her that she didn't need it, and she still did it, he didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell.
And then, she was gone. She left around the same time Roger did. Totally and completely gone. For a while, Mark thought of attempting to find her. But, everything hurt. It was as if everything Roger had accused him of was actually coming true. He withdrew, throwing things at the answering machine whenever it rang.
It wasn't right. When Maureen and Joanne actually found her, and carried her, shivering, into the Loft, it wasn't right. Seeing her there, so pale, so weak, so sick. And he hadn't gone after her. He could have. He could have done more. So, staring at her, watching Roger's grief, he couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything.
Just a finger, that's all. And Mark's heart jumped. Mimi was alive. As she and Roger looked into each other's eyes and smiled, Mark cracked a smile himself. Mimi was back. Perhaps everything would turn around somehow. There is no future, there is no past. Thank God this moment's not the last.
"Hold up, kid. Let me see that again." The man held out his hand for the ID, which Mark handed over with a sigh. "You sure this thing's legit, kid?" The rather burly man eyed it, turning it over a few times.
"Yes, sir. I got it a couple years ago in Scarsdale." Mark sighed, wearily. "I am twenty-two. If you really want, you can call my mother." He pauses. "But then again, my mother would probably not appreciate it." He mutters a bit, but the the bouncer shrugged and let him in.
Going in, Mark could just about feel the excitement in the place. The patrons were mostly male, with a few women sprinkled around, some waitresses, some off-duty dancers, some obviously there for the scenery, which, in Mark's none-too-expert opinion was pretty good. The dancers paused for a moment, leaving the stage clear. Mark leaned against a pole, making sure first that it wasn't one which could be used for dancing.
Before long, one curly-haired Hispanic dancer came out on the stage, dancing with an odd passion, and bright grin. Mark just stared. It wasn't her lack of clothing, or the rhythms she danced to, it was her smile. Strange, it felt familiar in a way, but Mark couldn't place it. he kept watching, intently, then, almost without realizing it, he pulled out his camera and started to film her. Sure, the light was shit, sure she moved everywhere, almost without reason, but she was so exuberant, Mark had to get a shot.
Before he could truly frame anything, he was caught from behind. "Hey! Pervert! No cameras in here! Who the fuck do you think you are, filming our girls. Get the hell out of here before we break that thing."
Stuttering, Mark stashed the camera back in his bag, and paled. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even realize I was... er, sorry. I'll leave now."
The man followed Mark to the door. "I'll be nice to you this time, kid. I'm not throwing you out for good. Just don't bring that thing back in." Still flourescent red, Mark left.
It wasn't long before he heard a voice behind him, from the alley next to the club. "Hey, um. Guy with camera?" he turned around to see the dancer, shivering in, well, not much more than a wrap. Blinking, he opened his mouth to speak, before she cut him off. "I don't have time right now, but listen. I don't think you're a perv. Don't worry about it." And before he could say anything in return, she was gone, back inside. That was a night that Mark really really didn't want to remember.
A few more weeks went by before Christmas Eve. Mark got caught up in all of the hullabaloo before Maureen's protest, but as everyone was bopping around on the street, Roger introduced him to Mimi. He couldn't place her, but she looked damned familiar. What -was- it? He shrugged it off as she did.
Her exuberance didn't die, as she drug Roger out of the apartment, as they grew closer. Even in breaking up with Roger, she was so full of life. Mark watched, almost stunned. She was so light-hearted. There's only us, there's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. I live each day as my last. She truly tried to live what she said.
It was just the drugs. Mark wished with all of his heart that he could say something to her, to tell her that she didn't need that shit. But, hell. If Roger had told her that she didn't need it, and she still did it, he didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell.
And then, she was gone. She left around the same time Roger did. Totally and completely gone. For a while, Mark thought of attempting to find her. But, everything hurt. It was as if everything Roger had accused him of was actually coming true. He withdrew, throwing things at the answering machine whenever it rang.
It wasn't right. When Maureen and Joanne actually found her, and carried her, shivering, into the Loft, it wasn't right. Seeing her there, so pale, so weak, so sick. And he hadn't gone after her. He could have. He could have done more. So, staring at her, watching Roger's grief, he couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything.
Just a finger, that's all. And Mark's heart jumped. Mimi was alive. As she and Roger looked into each other's eyes and smiled, Mark cracked a smile himself. Mimi was back. Perhaps everything would turn around somehow. There is no future, there is no past. Thank God this moment's not the last.
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