Disclaimer: I do not own RENT.

"Damn Akita, always chewing up my shoes and peeing on my suits," Benny grumbled. He leaned back in his Range Rover. "Alison loves the thing, though. Can't afford to have her mad at me and Mark and Roger, too."

He pulled into the Dry Cleaner's and walked up to the man on duty. "Benjamin Coffin III," Benny said smoothly, handing over the dry cleaning slip.

The man merely nodded and examined the ticket. A minute later, he handed Benny a bag of clothes. Benny barely glanced at them and headed to the door. Right before he reached it, he paused and glanced at the bag again.

"This isn't mine."

"Let me see," the man behind the counter said. Benny showed it to him. "Benjamin Coffin III, is this your address?" Benny nodded. "Are you sure this isn't yours?"

"Yes I'm sure. I don't routinely wear dresses."

"Your wife's, perhaps?"

"She does her own dry-cleaning."

The man shrugged. "Sorry, man. Christmas is kind of busy for us."

Frustrated, Benny got back to his car and threw the dry-cleaning on the seat next to him. He started to drive home when he spotted a street performer banging on a pickle tub. It was very annoying and was starting to give him a headache.

He rolled his window down to yell at him when he stopped as an idea came to him of how to solve the Evita problem and get some use out of the dry-cleaning mix-up.

He quickly drove home and ran upstairs to Alison's closet. He grabbed the shoes he'd gotten her for her birthday (shoes he'd guessed horribly wrong on the size and so had been forced to sleep on the couch for a week) and a wig that his mother-in-law insisted on keeping at their house in case of emergencies. He put the dress from the cleaners on, as well as the wig and the shoes. It was a tight fit, but he'd manage.

He then went to the bathroom and pulled out the makeup. Alison, being white, had the complete opposite makeup than what some with his skin tone would look good in, but he applied some liberally anyway and had just reached his wife's limousine when he stopped. He couldn't drive it himself, that wouldn't be believable. And he couldn't use a chauffer, then he'd never be able to keep what he was about to do from his wife.

He had to call someone. But who? Mark and Roger were understandable pissed about the eviction, not to mention that Mark would undoubtedly crash the limo while attempting to drive while filming things and Roger hadn't left the flat since April's funeral.

Collins was out of town and he was trying to stop Maureen's protest, so she wouldn't…Then again, while that would certainly be enough to annoy a normal person, this was Maureen he was talking about. His opposition to her protest got her in the Village Voice and almost guaranteed her more publicity.

"Maureen?" Benny said when she picked up the phone.

"Benny? Is that you?" Maureen was understandably surprised. "What do you want?"

"To see if you'd like to drive a limo for me."

"Depends," Maureen said. "What's in it for me?"

"You'd get to see me in a dress."

Maureen thought about it for maybe half a second. "Sweet. Give me twenty minutes, I'll be there." With that, she hung up.

"Well, that was easy," Benny said as he went outside to wait for her. Eighteen minutes and seven seconds later, Maureen showed up with a Polaroid. He really should have known.

After snapping fifteen pictures and laughing herself hoarse, Maureen finally consented to follow Benny to the limousine.

"So, uh, is there any particular reason you're in drag?" Maureen asked as she started to drive.

"Yes, I-turn here, please-I'm trying to kill my dog without my wife finding out," Benny explained.

"Wouldn't she notice her dog is missing?" Maureen questioned.

"I'm not trying to hide the dog's death, just my involvement."

"And how do you plan to do that"

"You'll see, Mo," Benny told her. "Pull up here," he instructed.

Maureen did, and Benny stepped out of the car. "Darlin'," he began.

No response from the street performer. Maureen, however, looked like she was having difficulty breathing, she was laughing so hard. Was his girl impression really that humorous? Ah, well, nothing for it.

"Darlin'," Benny tried again. This time, the young Hispanic drummer looked up.

"You talking to me?" he inquired.

Benny nodded. "Be a dear. Haven't slept in a year." Ever since he'd married Alison and met that damn Akita.

"Oh," the drummer said. "That's too bad. Is there anything I can do?"

Benny nodded. "I need your help to make my neighbors yappy dog disappear. This Akita, Evita, just won't shut up."

"So you want me to do what, exactly?" the drummer asked.

"I believe if you play nonstop that pup will breathe its very last high-strung breath," Benny smiled, imagining the scene. His potential dog-killer looked confused, though. "I'm certain that cur will bark itself to death," he clarified. "Or something like that."

"Killing a puppy isn't very nice. And it would ruin these people's Christmas!" the drummer protested.

"Listen, um…What did you say your name was?"

"Angel," he said.

"Right, Angel. Between us, the husband isn't too fond of that mangy mutt, either. And it'd certainly make my Christmas. Plus, I'll give you $1,000 guarantee, tax free." He paused. Alison couldn't know what he'd been up to and he was supposed to do this anyway. "And a bonus if you trim my tree."

"Is that $1000 as a guarantee or $1000 total?" Angel asked, taking Benny aback.

"What?"

"Well, it seems to me that you're pretty desperate for some peace and quiet or else you wouldn't have come to me," Angel said, smiling innocently.

"I…"

"He's right, you know," came Maureen's voice from inside the limo.

One of Alison's friends, who was stopped at a red light, had rolled her window down and was peering intently at him.

"Fine, fine. I'll give you the $1000 as a guarantee, $5000 for the dog, and another $2000 for the decorations. What do you say?" Benny asked, somewhat desperately.

Angel smiled sweetly. "For $8000, I'm your girl."

This got Benny's attention. "Uh, what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Now, if you'll just give me that address…"

R&R!