Pookie, I'm going out tonight. Don't wait up.

Love always, your Honeybear.

God, sometimes I just can't stand her! She could have at least called me from work if she wasn't going to be home by now! Joanne needs to commit to me. I'm not the one with the problem here! It's 1:30 in the morning, and I haven't even heard from her since seven this morning—or, technically, yesterday morning, when she woke me up to tell me that she was leaving. That's why I left the note. I needed to drink away the loneliness, the dull ache. And I needed intimacy. So she could just deal with me showing her how it feels. So what if I cheat on her? It's her fault anyway. So I put on some tight black leather pants with a tank top that revealed just a bit too much (over the bra that Roger had commented made me look "buoyant"), slipped on my boots, grabbed my bag and went out the door.

"Fuck it's cold." I muttered under my breath. It was only early September, but unusually cold, which made me realize that I hadn't grabbed my coat, and against my better judgment, I continued walking, not wanting to go back up there. I also realized that I had no idea where I was going. I didn't really feel like drinking by myself, or picking up some sleazebag at one of the bars, nor did I want to go to the loft and be forced to talk to Mark and Roger. Collins was out of town, so I couldn't bother him…so I went to the Cat Scratch, and watched. Mimi was off at two anyway, so it would only be about a half an hour, or really only twenty minutes, considering the time I had taken to get dressed and the time in transit…make that fifteen minutes, then. I watched her from a dark corner, so she wouldn't see me. She was gorgeous, though I didn't understand why she wasted her otherwise plentiful talents for this degrading job that she hated. She needed to pay the bills—especially being as sick as she was, she needed to keep the heat on if it was at all possible. Benny had been compliant so far, though personally I was unsure of his reasoning, since in the past their love affairs tended to make her life easier. But still, I doubted that she would cheat on Roger, or that he would be stupid enough to allow it, or not realize it. But they loved each other. And Mimi wasn't stupid like me. I always ruined my relationships because I cheated, although I was still usually the dumper, not the dumped, even though I had been the unfaithful one. I also flirted mercilessly (with both men and women). I wouldn't cheat if my lover would just pay attention to me! If I were telling this to someone, I would be reprimanded and teased, "That's just the way you are, Maureen the Drama Queen!"

I was entranced by Mimi's dancing. While being a stripper wasn't an esteemed profession, she looked amazing, and I sort of began to regret my judgment of her job choice. At least she had a steady income, which was more than the rest of us could say (save for Joanne, of course), even poor Collins never knew when a paycheck was coming in, since nobody would accept his theory of Actual Reality. Oh, to be a revolutionary. Such is the curse of la vie Bohème. Joanne could never understand that way of life, though, which frustrated me to no end, but I least I knew that if I stayed with her I would have food and heat, which was more than the boho boys could offer, even with three of them living together. So the question is: the easy, icky, corporate life, or the hard, honest life of the starving artist? I had to say that the artist's life was the life for me. But how can I put up with my life with Joanne, who lived at her boring job, who stood for everything that I was against? She loved me, plain and simple. Could it work if she loved me more than I loved her? Could I really submit to a lifetime of sacrifices and less than desirable amounts of attentions? Because she loves me? And is it possible that I only love her because she loves me? I don't want my life to be so lacking in the passion that characterizes my personality. And I don't mean the cheating. I mean, they always say that it is better to be loved than to love, but how does one live with that? Without the heart dying?

"Hey Maureen! What're you doing here?" The younger woman smiled at me with all the happiness of love and youth. I used to be like that. I plastered a huge smile on my face.

"You wanna go somewhere with me? Wherever. I just can't go back to the apartment. It makes me nervous when I'm there alone at night."

"Joanne hasn't come back yet?" Mimi looked shocked.

"Nope. Hasn't even called all day. I tried calling her, and she didn't pick up."

"Are you worried about her?"

"I don't know. I think she loves that damn job more than she loves me sometimes. It's like it was with Mark and his camera. I guess I always go for the taken ones." I laughed, trying to disguise my pain. Mimi laughed lightly, and then looked at me for a moment.

"Yeah. I'd love to spend time with you. But I'd kind of like to go to my loft, if that's all right. The only other real options are cheap gross bars, the life, or the parks. All of which are especially sketchy at night." She smiled. "Let's go, chica!" I accidentally let my disguise slip, sighing in relief,

"Thank you so much, Mimi! I don't know what I would do without you!" Jump off a bridge, maybe? She looked at me, puzzled.

"Maureen Johnson, what is going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Okay. Fine. I'll tell you—when we get to your apartment." She linked her arm with mine, muttering something in Spanish, presumably about my silly desire to keep up appearances.