All Wet
By Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com

Fandom: Pre-RENT (movie)
Pairing/characters: Joanne/Maureen, Joanne/Other
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson.

--

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Baby I've been here before
I've seen this room
And I've walked this floor
I used to live alone
Before I knew you

I've seen your flag
On the marble arch
But love is not some victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
-- 'Hallelujah'

--

"You know, I think we've met before," Joanne said to Angel, the night of Maureen's performance, sometime after her official introduction.

The drag queen had a beautiful smile, and he- she- grinned brightly, throwing an arm around her and squeezing her tight. "I knew it! You were with Hector! That one time!"

At the mention of her friend her smile faded somewhat, but she nodded. "Yeah. I didn't recognize you because you"" she smiled bashfully, suddenly feeling awkward. "You were wearing men's clothes."

"Guilty as charged," Angel said, mock horror on his face, palms pressed against his cheeks. "Forgive me, Mami, it happens once in a while."

"Well, you're beautiful in any incarnation."

"THANK you, sweetie! What a nice thing to say!"

Head lowering, she licked her lips and glanced up. "Did you go to Hector's funeral?"

Angel's smile faltered, and she crossed her arms, shrugging. "Wasn't invited," he" she said simply, unashamed, and Joanne nodded, aware of the stir a drag queen could cause among those people. "Though I heard it was the most exclusive social event of the year."

Joanne's smile was pained. "You could say that. I visited his grave, after. I go once a month at least." Angel quirked her head, black wig glossy and shiny in the lights of the café. "You should come with me sometime."

Brown eyes sparkled with life, and Joanne couldn't help but return the bright smile directed at her. "It's a deal, honey."

From the across the room, Joanne caught Maureen's eye, nodding in loving recognition as her girlfriend, in the middle of what was apparently girl talk with the Puerto Rican girl, Mimi, waved and sent a kiss her way.

"Maureen, huh?" Angel asked, and Joanne had to laugh at the wonder in her voice, as if trying to figure out exactly what Joanne was thinking.

"Yeah," she said, in commiseration, catching her eye, before they both erupted into sudden laughter. The laughter died as suddenly as it began, as she glanced around the bar, Mark with his camera, his roommate Roger enamored of his new girl, Maureen now moving onto playing thumb wars with Collins. "He really liked this place."

"Who wouldn't? It's a great place!" Joanne smiled faintly, and took her beer, raising it to drink before she thought better of it, turning to her new friend.

"To Hector," she said.

Angel's eyes were kind, warm, and she clinked their bottles together delicately, always a lady.

"To Hector."

--

That afternoon, she spent at the office, in a shirt and tie she had shrugged on between meetings, suspenders pulled up and tightened, booted heels shined.

In between meetings, phone calls, and her increasing addiction to the new email interface, Joanne had put immersed herself in her work, in the utter hope she would consume herself whole, and drown.

Her promise, extracted from Hector, to drop the case, convince Antonia to let it go, remained forefront in her mind like a coming tidal wave, and still, her weakness would give and she would feel Maureen's searing kisses on her mouth.

Coming home, Joanne was no longer alone. Three weeks into their relationship, Antonia had made herself welcome in Joanne's apartment, despite the startling lesbian cliché of it. Their combined work schedules had left little time for actual dates, and because of that, there was usually only moments, dinner, spending the night.

"You don't think it's too much, do you?" Antonia asked one day, when she had brought over her own shampoo, her own toothbrush.

Thinking of the person who had most recently made herself so at home in her place, Joanne had reassured her it was fine, and pushed Antonia to feel comfortable. She wanted Antonia's scent on every pillow, her lingerie hanging from the towel knob, her lipstick staining the coffee cup. Anything and everything she could do to mask the scent of Maureen that still seemed to linger in her rooms.

Today, she rattled her keys in their keyhole, pushing open her heavy door to be assaulted with the pungent smell of Chinese food, the sound of music floating out of her living room.

Heart in her throat, Joanne stood still, fingers gripped around the door knob, unsure if she had caught herself in some sort of déjà vu, or if her dreams had become reality, both to tease and haunt her.

But it wasn't Maureen that rounded the corner, smiled at her in a business suit and bare feet. The tightness in Joanne's chest twisted somehow, a painful mixture of disappointment and relief, when Antonia greeted her with a kiss, chaste and welcoming.

"Hi," she breathed, a different woman than the one she encountered on the stairs outside of Hector's life group. "I brought Chinese. I hope that's okay."

Reaching up to massage the stiffness out of her neck, Joanne offered a weak smile. "As long as we're eating at the table."

Pausing in the midst of placing two pairs of chopsticks on her small dining room table, Antonia looked befuddled. "Where else would we eat?"

Sliding fists into her pockets, Joanne stared at her lover, the beautiful face, the confused, crooked look, and the immaculate place setting at the table, with real plates and champagne glasses.

"Nowhere," she answered, and came forward, pulling the chilled wine from the iced container that held it, pulling at the cork.

--

"You don't have much of an appetite."

Antonia was an observer. She was attentive to details, and she was sharp. Glancing up, Joanne's attention moved from her lover to the food she was pushing haphazardly around the plate.

"I had a late lunch." Placing down her chopsticks, Joanne knit her fingers together, elbows on the table, forcing a tired smile.

A smirk worked it's way onto Antonia's face. "Did my brother drag you to lunch again?" Joanne quirked an eyebrow in response. "It was that Vegetarian Tree-Hugging Life Café place, wasn't it? In East Village? I have no idea why he likes that place so much."

"The food's decent."

Antonia made a face. "Right. I went there once? They had pasta with meatless balls. I just"" Her girlfriend seemed to gag at the thought. "Just" no. No."

Joanne had to admit, the idea of that special was just wrong. "It's supposed to taste the same." Antonia shot her a look, and she grinned at the snort Antonia threw at her. Smile fading, she took in a deep breath, fingers moving together restlessly. "He actually wanted to talk about the case."

Antonia glanced up, a surprised expression taking over her face. "Oh My God, don't tell me he's finally taking an interest! It's about time! A week before we go into court! What did you tell him?"

"Well"" Hesitating, Joanne smiled awkwardly. "I didn't really –"

"Do you have any idea how amazing you are?" Blinking, Joanne's mouth opened slightly, unsure where Antonia was going, until she noticed the beam on her face. "I mean, not just in the courtroom, but you" you got my brother to trust you. He doesn't trust anyone! He thinks the Internet is the coming of '1984'!"

Joanne had a sudden headache. "Toni, I really need to tell you –"

"I know. We'll talk about whatever he said." Hazel eyes darkening with her pleasure, Antonia pushed away from the table, rounding it. "During work hours."

Turning in her seat, Joanne's throat closed up, tightened with her own guilt and awkwardness as Antonia, gaze smoldering with determination, settled into her lap, palm smoothing against her cheek.

"I just" I think you're amazing." Whispered words, and with them warm lips descended upon her, massaging at her mouth, urging it open. A firm tongue dipped inside of her, and Joanne closed her eyes at the shiver of lust, palms smoothing around Antonia's waist.

The image, the feel, of another woman burst into her brain, and she broke the kiss with a ragged inhalation.

"What?" Moist breath drifted across her lips, and Joanne swallowed, eyes opening to concerned hazel eyes.

"Nothing," she whispered, and lifted her head, determined to bring their lips together once more.

One kiss, and Antonia pulled away, extracting herself from her arms. "Shower," she explained, winking. "How do you feel about cleaning up?"

"You didn't necessarily cook," Joanne reminded her.

"I bought. Same difference. It's as close as you're going to get."

Staying put, she watching as her girlfriend disappeared into the hallway leading toward the bathroom. Alone, she pushed out another deep breath, eyes closing, frustrated at her own weakness.

"Goddammit," she breathed, suddenly lost. "What the hell are you doing, Joanne?"

She had no idea, and so she pushed herself up and began to clear the dishes.

The ringing doorbell distracted her from her task, and at first, Joanne was confused, unsure who it could be. Pulling at the knot of her tie, struggling to loosen it, she headed toward the door, and closed her hand around the knob, flicking her wrist and opening the door to Maureen Johnson.

Her former lover took her breath away, knocked her into stupidity, as Joanne stared at the sight presented before her: Maureen, palms in her back pockets, shoulder against her doorway, staring at her with nothing but pure hunger on her face.

It weakened her, and Joanne held tightly to the door knob, for support if nothing else.

"What are you doing here?"

Maureen's tongue flicked out, moistening her bottom lip, and she shook her head. "I forgot my bra," came the dry response. "What do you think I'm doing here, Joanne?"

The lump in her throat doubled in size, and now Joanne was in literal pain, as she stared at her former lover, desire so naked and open on her face, mixed with something else, deeper and just as appealing.

It battled with her horror, unable to forget the idea of Antonia in her bathroom, in her bedroom.

"You can't be here, Maureen," she snapped, losing control in her speech. "I told you it wasn't going to be like this-"

"Like what?" Maureen asked, smirk fading, eyes narrowing. "Like what happened in the bathroom?" Mouth snapping shut, Joanne glanced away, flushed and sweaty. "That wasn't me that started it, baby. That was all you."

"I didn't ask you to follow me in."

It wasn't the best thing to say, and even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. That action had been well intentioned, however badly it had turned out.

Maureen pushed off the door frame, crossing her arms and staring resolutely in her face. "Are you going to let me in?"

Closing her eyes, Joanne's grip tightened on the door knob, wondering at the quandary that was presented to her now. She felt the brush of fabric against her arm, and when her head lifted, her eyes opened, she discovered Maureen, boots sinking into her carpet. In her living room, her former lover wore a curious expression, eyes moving over the place as if she were marking it, checking to see if everything was still in it's place.

"What's going on?"

Turning, Joanne shivered and rubbed furiously at her neck. "Maureen, you need to go."

"Something is obviously wrong, Joanne, are you going to tell me what it is?" Joanne's mouth was a thin line. "You know, I don't usually make a habit of caring."

"That's not really a surprise, considering you do a piss poor job of it."

Maureen's eyes narrowed, muscles in her jaw flexing in response. "Fuck you, okay? If I had known fucking you would have turned you into a Type A bitch, I wouldn't have bothered."

"Then why are you still here?" Joanne asked, body tight, head buzzing. "Why are you here, Maureen?"

"Because you stuck your tongue down my throat and I wanted to finish what you started."

She hissed, jerking her head as if the words had dug a knife into her chest. "God" DAMMIT. Why the fuck can't I- Why the hell can't I finish with you?"

Cat eyes observed her, arms crossed, brown eyes hooded and unreadable. "Tell me to leave right now, and I will. Just tell me what the hell YOU want."

"I don't"" Frustrated, Joanne's words died in her throat, suddenly lost, unable to do anything but stare at the floor. Frozen, she shivered at the feel of fingers, half covered in motorcycle gloves, suddenly cupping her face. "Maureen," she whispered, and it was an aching plea – but what she was asking, she had no idea.

"Tell me what you want," came the whisper, a haunting statement that floated into her brain, dug itself into her sensibilities.

Joanne's eyelids fluttered, and her heart pulsed with the proximity of Maureen, the soft voice seeping into her like a devil perched on her shoulder. She stood, helplessly, until the soft sound of wood creaking flooded her like a bucket of ice water.

Antonia stood in the living room, wrapped in her towel, hazel eyes bright, mouth turned down.

"Hi," her lover said with cold eyes, breaking into the silence, as Maureen's hands came down, and Antonia stepped forward, always regal, even when naked. "And you are?"

Swallowing, Joanne stared from Antonia to Maureen. The other woman's expression was different than before, tight at first, taking in Antonia. A hawk-eyed glance at her, and suddenly the features relaxed into a smug smirk.

"Maureen."

Joanne's eyes flickered closed, a reaction to the only deafening conclusion that could be made. Antonia was quiet, and when her eyes opened to inspect her lover, the brunette maintained her composure.

"Then we've already met. I'm Antonia."

The tension in the air was palpable, as Maureen's mouth opened, closed, an odd laugh falling from her mouth.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Maureen." Stiff features focused on Joanne. "I know your cousin was very worried about you."

"Well, it was nothing a little TLC couldn't fix. She's great at that."

"Maureen," Joanne croaked, low and pleading.

Her former lover's attention moved from Antonia to herself, as Joanne stared at her with watered, tired eyes. A moment of furious study, and then Maureen shook her head lightly, turning away.

"If you don't mind. I'm just here to get my bra. Joanne?"

Joanne swallowed hard, trapped in her own nightmare. "Third drawer," she whispered thickly.

Maureen held her eyes a beat longer than necessary, and then slid away. "I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Antonia's smile was fake, and Joanne didn't move, heart in a curious, painful place, as Maureen brushed past her and moved past Antonia, boots clomping on the wooden floor, disappearing into the bedroom like she owned it.

Joanne didn't speak in the silence. Antonia's arms remained crossed, and Maureen came back, waving the black garment like a prize. "Found it! Thanks!" Moving forward, she smiled widely, too widely. Heading for the door, her shoulder bumped Joanne's violently, eyes meeting hers in the process.

At the door, Maureen paused, turned back, digging into her pocket. "You know, I've got a performance coming up," she began, unfolding a flier, holding it up for their inspection. "If you two feel like coming." She held it out, but no one took it. Smile almost a grimace, Maureen let it drop to the floor, and closed the door behind her, leaving Joanne to her mess.

In the thickness of her own anxiety, Joanne had nothing she could say.

Antonia, arms crossed, muscle twitching at her jaw, came forward, hazel eyes liquid ice. "That was Maureen."

"Look-"

"Are you done with her?"

The interruption was unexpected, and Joanne blinked back her tears, surprised at the question. "What?"

Antonia's smile was a bitter tainted expression. "Do you think I'm stupid, Joanne? I knew she wasn't your cousin the minute she answered your phone." Joanne sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and unsure.

"What? Why-"

"Because I'm all for people getting their cheap thrills whenever they can find them," Antonia said tensely. "Hell, my brother did it for years until his damned disease kicked the habit for him. But I refuse to be an unknowing fool. You did your slumming, fine. But I'm no one's second choice. Have you had your kicks? Are they out of your system?"

A rush of sudden emotion had her shaking her head, shivering in anger. "That's not what it was-"

"I don't CARE," Antonia snapped. "I don't. I could give a shit about Maureen. All I care about, is knowing whether or not it's over. Because if it's not, I'm walking out that door."

Worlds collided, Joanne was weakened. Her head was ringing, her eyes were stinging, and too lost to make things any harder for herself, she straightened her shoulders and stared at her current lover, her future.

"Yes," she said evenly, as calmly as she could. "It's over."

Antonia stared, testing her sincerity with a scrutinizing glare. Chin lifting, she finally nodded. "Good." Palm moving up, she sighed raggedly. "I'm going to get dressed and I'm going home. Something tells me we both need the night apart." Turning her heel, her lover turned back from where she came, back into her bedroom, back into her life.

Alone, Joanne found herself trembling, heart beating erratically. A splotch of white against her wooden floor caught her attention, and moving forward, Joanne bent down to pick up the piece of paper, focusing on a crudely made flier advertising a performance piece by Maureen Johnson.

"Fuck," she whispered, and crumpled it into her hands, ready to toss it away.

Joanne heard the crackle, felt the wrinkled, hard ball of paper inside her palmed fists.

She lobbed it to the trashcan, and missed.

Staring, Joanne turned away, leaving it where it lay, a blotch against her pristine floor.

- end chapter