Billy Collins (
heroeswork) wrote2015-08-12 05:57 pm
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I'm screaming from outside in, Tell me where I've been
Billy stepped out of his building hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even without anyone really knowing his face, he still wore sunglasses and kept his head down. If it weren't the middle of a hot summer day, he would have added a hat and a high-collared jacket as was demanded of him.
He wasn't happy. Far from it. They were in the heart of New York City. Just like he'd always dreamed. He was selling records like crazy. He had droves of fans. Always top of the charts. More than most people could ever achieve at the young age of 22. But it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. Because he only ever saw the studio or his home. Even after moving to New York a few months ago, he still didn't actually see anyone who liked his music. Because he was forbidden from performing. From even having his photo on his albums. Not even his real name appeared anywhere. He was billed as "CHAOS" and nothing more.
He wasn't supposed to even be outside. His manager forbid it unless he was present as well. But he was off dealing with some business for the day and Billy couldn't stand staying cooped up another moment. He bought a copy of Rolling Stone off the news vendor and ducked into a coffee shop. He found a dim corner away from everyone else as he sipped at his drink. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as he flipped opened the magazine. He was after a specific article, listed on the cover.
"True CHAOS" the headline yelled in bold, red letters. The subheading added "Fans and journalists alike demand 'Who is He?!'" The article went on to detail the mystery surrounding his own career. Statements from fans. Attempts to stalk the studio. Pleas for information. An analysis of his music trying to guess at what his accent when when he wasn't singing.
Billy scrubbed at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.
He wasn't happy. Far from it. They were in the heart of New York City. Just like he'd always dreamed. He was selling records like crazy. He had droves of fans. Always top of the charts. More than most people could ever achieve at the young age of 22. But it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. Because he only ever saw the studio or his home. Even after moving to New York a few months ago, he still didn't actually see anyone who liked his music. Because he was forbidden from performing. From even having his photo on his albums. Not even his real name appeared anywhere. He was billed as "CHAOS" and nothing more.
He wasn't supposed to even be outside. His manager forbid it unless he was present as well. But he was off dealing with some business for the day and Billy couldn't stand staying cooped up another moment. He bought a copy of Rolling Stone off the news vendor and ducked into a coffee shop. He found a dim corner away from everyone else as he sipped at his drink. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as he flipped opened the magazine. He was after a specific article, listed on the cover.
"True CHAOS" the headline yelled in bold, red letters. The subheading added "Fans and journalists alike demand 'Who is He?!'" The article went on to detail the mystery surrounding his own career. Statements from fans. Attempts to stalk the studio. Pleas for information. An analysis of his music trying to guess at what his accent when when he wasn't singing.
Billy scrubbed at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.
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At least, that's how Billy reasoned it. It had nothing to do with his own feelings. How could it? He'd only meet Mark twice, and both encounters were incredibly brief. Even with that bike ride with his arms wrapped around the man's chest...
"We can wait for him if you want. I've got all afternoon. But..." His mind was working a little slower than his mouth. Did Mark really doubt that Billy wanted to hang out with HIM? "...I'm totally fine with it being just you and me."
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So Billy really did want to hang out with him. Mark tries to hide the fact that he's floored but fails miserably. And he knows they should wait for Roger--it would be the nice thing to do--but...
...But couldn't he be selfish? Just this once? Because Billy is looking straight at him. Straight at Mark and not Mark's camera, and it gives him a weird sort of fluttering feeling, like the first time he laid eyes on Maureen.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck no. That was not happening.
"We'll get a doggy bag or something," he states. There, see? He could be nice as well as selfish. He clears his throat. "You've got the money, so you get to decide the type of food. We'll go from there." Because he felt like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. Probably hasn't. In the distance, he can hear Angel's drum.
Idly, Mark wonders if Angel is cupid in disguise.
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"But we're gonna decide together. Cause all I know is that I'm completely sick of pizza."
He tried to hide excitement, but he couldn't contain himself. He was able to hang out with someone. Someone close to his own age. Without a bodyguard present. Outside of the apartment. Someone that wasn't part of the company. Someone he actually liked. It was a dream come true.
"Hey, I'll do you one better!" he said suddenly, turning toward Mark before opening the door. "After we get something to eat, we'll hit up the store. What better way to stick it to those fat cats than stocking you and Roger up for the week?" Positively beaming at this idea, he twisted to yank the door open.
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Today for you, Tomorrow for me. Wasn't that Angel's theme? Shouldn't he just go for it? He opens the door and locks it up, figuring they can get whatever they want in alphabet city. Even if part of him is tempted to order something ridiculously expensive just because it's from a record company he doesn't like. Just because it's sleaze.
He doesn't want to get Billy in trouble, though.
"You know," He says carefully, "Roger and I aren't charity cases, right?"
He's grateful, but there's a strange sense of pride. Especially for him--he hasn't known Billy for that long, after all. Who's to say he's just not feeding his guilt? Then again, isn't that what Mark is doing? Feeding his guilt by filming the homeless?
Shit.
Well, no one said Mark wasn't a hypocrite.
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Billy just wanted to repay that some how. He couldn't outright tell them both who he really was. Notes from himself veiled as though they were from someone else was completely empty gestures. They were both such talented and wonderful people. They deserved better. And Billy wanted to give them that.
"The way I see it, we could blow a couple hundred bucks living it up for one evening. OR we could spend that money on stuff we bring back so you and Roger can live it up until I can come back. Completely selfish," he said with a grin. "I swear. Not for a single charitable reason I could ever think of." He winked at Mark before racing down the stairs.
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They open the door and the drumming gets louder. Mark grins and starts heading towards it, touching the other's wrist for him to follow.
"Like, when did someone like CHAOS become schlok? He didn't start out that way. You evolve over time as an artist, but at one point did that guy decide to be chained up by corporate america and Valkyrie records? He didn't raise a hand and say 'hey, I'm going to sell my soul' obviously, but when was the big push? You know? Do you mind if we stop by and say hi to someone for a second?"
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"You really think that's how it is?" Billy asked, sounding rather defeated. "That all of this is his choice? What I've heard, just you know, through rumors and internal gossip, is that he's not all that happy. That the reason they moved him here, so far from HQ is that he was getting restless and not giving the big wigs what they wanted." That wasn't exactly the truth. It was also a move to help keep him hidden since people were sniffing around and trying to dig out his identity. As far as company records showed, Billy really was just a personal assistant to Higgins, and they were out here to recruit new talent.
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He's so casual, so confident, and as usual, he's started to lollygag as he winds up the old fashioned camera and shoots the couple.
"Maybe they even orchestrated his moving here, I dunno. All I know is that there's still something that and it's frustrating to hear an artist suffer like that. You can't compromise in art, not under the guise of collaborating. It's all bullshit." He's done, putting the camera away, and continues walking.
"You met Angel yet?"
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He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the camera finally got put away. He'd been as silent as humanly possible the entire time.
"You and Roger are actually the only people I've really talked to outside of the company," he offered with a a shrug. "This is the first real day I've had to myself since we relocated."
He wanted to tell Mark so bad. The truth about everything. About him. About his stupid contact. About his awful manager. That the only choice that was made was not reading his contract better. And ever since then he'd been trying to fight it. That he knew exactly how manipulative they were, but there was nothing he could do.
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"He's a regular fixture in Alphabet City. It's..." How does he even begin to describe Angel? "When I first met him, Collins--our roommate--dragged him over and we ate like kings and drank like fish, all because he shared the wealth. Hey, a bit like you, I guess--you're my Angel, huh?"
It's cheesy and corny and a terrible joke but Mark still thinks it's at least a little funny. Enough to laugh, anyway. "That was winter... Hey, Billy, do you ever just want to start over in your life, sometimes?"
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He made up his mind to do all he could to comfort Mark. To make sure he felt at ease.
"Sure," he responded, letting the rest slide off. "I'd pick a different company to work for, that's for sure. What about you? If you could go back and do it all over, what would you do different?"
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A little further down the street, though, there's someone on the curb near an old phone booth that no one's used in ages. There's a plastic bucket from home depot and a pair of well used but well cared drumsticks drumming. They're in the hands of a dark skinned, possibly mixed man with short black hair and extremely pouty lips, but he doesn't seem to notice anything or anyone. All he's doing is drumming.
He's good, too. Extremely. And all he cares about is the music and the rythm and it seems Mark is sidetracked yet again. He doesn't have any coin to give Angel, obviously, but he pulls our his camera. Shoots the other and the street drummer doesn't even realize it.
Mark is directly behind Angel when Angel opens his eyes, looks up at Billy. He grins a wide, easy smile. "Honest living?" He asks. Spare some change?
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It wasn't until Angel looked up that Billy realized Mark had pulled it out. Like a startled animal, he suddenly jolted back. Making sure he was behind the thing. He just gave Angel a tight smile, and looked to Mark. Did an old thing like that even record sound? He didn't want to risk it.
Did he even have any cash on him? While he waited for Mark to be done with his camera, Billy dug out his wallet. He did indeed have some cash. Which if and when Mark finally shut the damn camera off, he intended to give it to the incredibly talented drummer.
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"Mark Cohen you should really learn to say hello, darling, instead of just filming."
"The power of art compels me," Mark says simply, and Angel gets up and wraps long, toned arms around the blonde and gives a huge smack of a kiss right on the lips. Mark only laughs and hugs him back, completely used to it.
"What brings you to Avenue B?"
"Grabbing a bite. Thought I'd say hi--Angel, this is Billy."
No judgement, no need for introductions, just love: Angel, smiling, wraps his arms around Billy's neck and kisses him on the cheek in greeting.
"You okay honey?" Angel asks. "Drumming too loud? Tired of Mark filming you?"
"I wasn't!"
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He managed to put on a friendly smile when attention was turned back to him. And there were arms wrapped around him. He returned the hug, if a little hesitantly.
"He's not allowed to," Billy announces, putting on a smug face. "But I know how artists can get. Speaking of which," he opened his wallet again. He'd almost hesitated in giving over the money. His reasons to refuse it dripped with jealousy. All the more reason to push passed it. He pulled out two twenties, twice what he'd planned to give at first, and offered them to Angel. "Consider it a gift from the fat cats at Valkyrie."
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And Mark absolutely beams at Billy since Angel, it seems, is at a loss for words. Mark feels stupidly proud, now. Like he's showing off Billy. Billy, who dresses like a shark but swims with the fish. Billy, who has alarmingly blue eyes and an amazing smile. Billy, who is still learning about Bohemia and is excited about every new thing.
Billy. Mark is showing off Billy.
Angel picks his jaw off the floor, grabs the pickle drum, and takes the money with well manicured, pink-painted nails.
"Today for you, tomorrow for me," he promises, and Mark smiles even wider, leaning in towards Billy.
"I'm bringing Stoli to Mark and Roger's tonight and you can't skip, Billy. Not when you're mysterious aloofness and kind generosity as made Mark so curious. That makes me curious."
"Where are you going?"
"Grocery shopping," Angel announces, but not before moving to kiss Billy on the cheek a second time. Mark laughs.
"I think you're just starting to buy your way into everyone's hearts," Mark remarks.
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"Afraid I gotta get back to the slave drivers by sundown. But have a drink for me, would you?" This time, he actually returns the cheek kiss, trying to hide the feeling rising at the back of his throat. All of them drinking together. Without him. Roger, Mark, Angel, and god knows who else. Getting drunk...
He pushed it down before he could think on it enough for it to show on his face. He gives an innocent shrug to the jab. "It works, doesn't it?"
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"There's a great deli nearby--unless you wanted something fancier? I figure the best way to stiff it to the man is support more local artists. And since Life Cafe is off the books for the time being--I don't really feel like dealing with Maureen today--I figure that would do? I think Alfonso and a few other people are working, anyway, and he's got a great artistic skill with yarn, you should see, man! I thought about filming him, but I got... Sidetracked. Which reminds me."
He turns around, walking backwards. "You're not leaving the house until I sent you back with some of Roger's stuff I've filmed. Even if I still think you should just blow off the big-guys and hang out with us for the night."
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Once Mark turned around Billy reached out to stop him. Both of his hands reaching for the other's shoulders. "We can go where ever you're most comfortable." That's all he said, with a small, warm smile. He was starting to worry that if Mark got any more tightly wound, something might snap. He honestly hadn't seen anyone ramble so much since Martinez' first attempt to talk to the press.
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Why the fuck, exactly, is Mark acting like a girl all of the sudden? He's driven Billy around, for god's sake. And yet... That smile, though. It was nice and Mark fumbles to give his own smile, suddenly shy and worried and feeling like he's at his Bar Mitzvah all over again, trying to talk to Caitlyn Goldstein.
"Actual conversation isn't my strong suit," He manages. "That awkward, huh?"
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"Just breathe," Billy said, tilting his head forward. "It's just you and me, nothin' to get nervous about. Just talk to me like..." he hesitated, trying to come up with a good example. "...like Roger. I know you've not known me very long, but I want you to be comfortable." Okay, maybe now he was starting to ramble a bit. Was it contagious?
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"And anyway," He says quickly, "I doubt you want my level of sincerity with Roger." Because Mark can be a catty, pretentious asshole. More so than when he kept knocking CHAOS.
Part of him thinks Billy has to be straight and this is why it's all too good to be true. Maybe Billy just wants to be nice and help someone out, and while that would normally raise his hackles he finds himself unable to do so.
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"Of course I want that," Billy said to the latter part. "I want to see the true and honest Mark Cohen. Not the mask he hides behind while around strangers." He tilted his head with a knowing sort of smile. He might not have a full grasp of reading people, but he had the start of a natural gift. "I get enough of that at the studio, anyway."
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Mark is an equal opportunity emotions-hider, apparently. But what Billy said had helped as he navigates the street--figures he'll go to local people to do the best damage to Billy's company credit card and pay the community back. It isn't long before he winds up at the East End Kitchen.
He's known by name not because he eats here a lot--he doesn't--but because the waitress is a spunk blonde with dreadlocks who asks him about Maureen's next spoken word at the Life Cafe. She immediately chitchats to Billy, too, because anyone around Mark has to be an alright person in her book.
"One of these days, you really should come to the cafe with us. Even Roger goes now that he has Mimi. He, uh. He used to not leave the house for a while, it was pretty bad."
Talking about other people is easier than talking about yourself, after all.
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As much as Billy wanted to know about Roger, that wasn't his concern right now. He settled across the table from Mark, being polite and not dismissing the words outright. Because he wasn't going to let this thing go, and he'd had time to consider what he wanted to say.
"I'd love to go with you," he said with that easy smile of his. "But." Okay, maybe he wasn't so good with transitions. "You said outside you don't wear masks. Yet you hide behind that camera of yours at every possible chance."
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