DISCLAIMER: hey, wow, i still don't own them, somehow. gotta work on that....
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is mostly pre-RENT, Benny's POV. Oh yeah, and thank you, Will, for unwittingly providing me with Benny's greatest line.

A Girl I Knew
by kaydee falls

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"You still dating her?"

"Last month I was dumped."

"She's in love!"

"She's got a new man?"

"Well, no...."

"What's his name?"

"Joanne."

Ouch. Poor Mark. His longtime girlfriend had gone lesbian on him. I couldn't think of any appropriate response to that juicy piece of information. I mean, I was already alienated from my former best friends. They already thought I was scum. Hell, I'd just been demanding the rent! Why should they listen to anything I say? And what could I say, anyway?

'Tough luck, man.'

'Get over her, she's a bitch.'

So I changed the subject. "Rent, my amigos, is due...." But my mind kept going through things I couldn't have said to Mark.

'There are lots of other girls out there.'

'Gee, that really sucks, doesn't it?'

'Hey Mark, I know how you feel.....'

* * * * *

It was freshman year of college. I don't even like to think about how many years ago that was. I really hate considering how close I'm getting to the big three-oh, age-wise. But anyway. So, I was a freshman at Columbia, in New York City. Campus was way the hell uptown, especially considering that the only affordable nightlife was located down in the Village. In other words, about half an hour's subway ride away.

But hey, no biggie. I mean, I had gotten into Columbia, for chrissakes. And with a full scholarship. My parents had flipped. They thought it was the greatest thing ever. I certainly wasn't gonna send letters home complaining about its location. Besides, I resigned myself, I was eighteen. Not even legal drinking age yet. I'd survive, somehow.

And that's where I met her. Like, Her, with a capital 'H.' We were both stuck in some required class or seminar or some shit, I can't even remember what the course was. What I remember is the first day I walked into that lecture hall. It was the first time I'd realized the significance of my scholarship -- which was only granted to minorities. Like a black kid like me. I looked around at the sea of freshman, and had to swallow hard. I saw a hell of a lot of whites, and a bunch of Asians. A couple of Latino girls were seated together in a corner, laughing raucously as they waited for the class to start.

There were exactly two other African-Americans in the room. One, I recognized as having a dorm down the hall from mine. A skinny, geeky-looking boy named Thomas. Real computer nerd, I remembered. The other was a chocolate-skinned girl I had never met before.

I don't know why I was immediately attracted to Her. It's not like She was gorgeous or anything. I mean, She was good-looking, in Her own way. Comparing Her to other girls I've since dated, She certainly didn't have Mimi's body, or Alison's great eyes. Or Maureen's exuberance, for that matter. But She had her own...something. I could read intelligence in Her dark eyes, behind stylish glasses. She projected a kind of earnest seriousness, that really got to me. And though She wasn't shy, I could tell that She kept herself to herself. She intrigued me.

All right, I kinda fell for Her on the spot.

It was weeks before I worked up the courage to talk to Her, which was weird. I'm usually pretty smooth with girls. Already, I had a small group of white girls following me around and giggling. I was starting to establish a reputation as a flirt. It was fun. I was really enjoying college.

But I was too damn scared to go up to Her and introduce myself. She was so...self-possessed, I guess. Intimidating. Sure of herself. Around guys, She was taciturn and blunt -- not that She ever had that many guys around her. Like I said, She was good-looking in Her own way. Most guys probably didn't quite appreciate that. And around other girls, She seemed oddly uncomfortable. Prickly. Closed off. Hell, maybe She was shy, but didn't know how to show it.

Finally, one day in mid-October, I sat down next to Her for class.

She ignored me, at first. I guess I expected Her to. I watched Her get out a notebook, a number-two pencil, two pens, white-out....

I laughed. "Jeez, we're taking notes, not taking a test. Why all the equipment?"

Oops. She shot me a glare. "I like to be prepared," she said tersely.

I gulped. "Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot here. I'm --"

I was babbling. Amusement glinted in her dark eyes. "You're Benjamin Coffin the Third," she cut me off solemnly. "I've seen you around. Where's your entourage, Benjamin?"

The girls. Ouch. I felt my face grow hot, but fortunately my complexion is dark enough to disguise a blush. "Please," I said. "Call me Benny. My full name is too much of a mouthful even for me."

She smiled a little at this. "I don't much like my given name, either. You can call me Annie."

The professor walked into the room, and everyone fell silent. That was the end of my conversation with Annie.

When class was over, I watched her methodically putting her stuff away into her bag. "Hey, Annie," I said. "When's your next course?"

She glanced at her watch. "Not for an hour or so."

"Great, me neither. You wanna grab lunch, or coffee, or something?" I flashed her my best girl-catching smile. I was feeling more at ease.

She glanced up at me, and a small, curious smile played across her face. "You are a flirt, aren't you, Benny?" she commented, and shook her head. "Sorry." She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away.

Well. There's something about a girl who plays hard to get that thrills me. If I hadn't been really interested in Annie before, I certainly was now.

Well, I kinda had been before, but that's besides the point.

So I began the slow, careful process of seducing Annie. 'Seducing' isn't exactly the greatest word, but you know what I mean. I was extra nice and polite to her. I sat next to her every day. If I happened to bump into her outside of that course, I would drop whatever I was doing to talk to her. I started ignoring the attentions of other girls, so she wouldn't think of me as a flirt. I thought it was working when the aforementioned other girls started glaring at her whenever she walked by.

But she treated me no differently than she had before. The most interesting response I could get was some gentle teasing. Mostly, she was polite and nothing more. It was downright frustrating.

What the hell. I was in love.

One day in November, when I was trying to engage her in conversation, a couple of other guys walked past us. "Hey, Coffin!" one of them called to me. "Give up on that one. You won't get nowhere."

"Yeah," the other one laughed. "She's a real man-hater." They strolled away, snickering.

Annie's lips had gone white, and she looked faintly ill. I realized that she was extremely angry. "See ya, Benny," she said shortly, and strode away. Very quickly.

I was baffled. Those guys were notorious jerks. Why had she let them get to her like that?

But the next day, she agreed to go out to lunch with me. I was ecstatic, and promptly forgot about the two assholes.

From then on, we were a couple. A cute one, too, I might add. Even our names sounded good together: Annie and Benny. Benny and Annie. We were made for each other.

Sometimes, when I get a girl I've been after for a while, I lose interest in her. But not Annie. I was really in love with her. It's not often that you find the one person you were meant to be with. Your true love, your soulmate, whatever you wanna call it. I was sure that I'd found mine in Annie. I lived in a state of euphoria. In my mind, I was already planning everything out. We would finish our four years in Columbia. Then I would go to business school, and she'd go to law school -- I knew she wanted to be a lawyer. After that, when we were able to support ourselves, we would get married, a big gaudy church affair. We'd become rich and successful. We'd have kids who'd be able to have anything they wanted, and go to the best schools the city could offer. It was going to be perfect.

In the meantime, I was busy being the best boyfriend an eighteen-year-old could possibly be. Swallowing my natural impulses -- in other words, flirtatiousness -- I never cheated on my Annie. Not once. I was completely devoted to her. We would stay up all night, helping each other with midterms, papers, last-minute study sessions. We had the same taste in movies, and watched cheesy comedies on her VCR until we were rolling on the floor with hysterical laughter. She helped me find a good part-time job. I helped her plan a quiet rebellion against her strict parents.

"It's not that they don't love me," she explained once. "It's just that they have very set ideas about what they want me to be. My father is a self-made millionaire, and he thinks that means he knows what's best for me. I think he wants me to go into politics, like him. They know where they want me in school -- here -- and how I'm supposed to dress, and what sort of friends I'm supposed to make. And the sort of boy I should date." She glanced sideways at me. "You meet their standards," she added quietly. "Although your family's not quite rich enough."

"Right," I said, then glanced around at my surroundings. "So, tell me again. How exactly does being in this shoe store help you rebel?"

She laughed, and gestured to the pair of shoes she was about to buy. "I've always wanted these," she confided. "We always had enough money to buy them, but they disapproved."

"Of Doc Martens," I said skeptically.

She shrugged. "I guess it was a matter of principle for them. You know. At first it's only Doc Martens, but next, who knows? I could start wearing -- gasp -- miniskirts!"

I grinned. "Rebel away," I said. "This could get interesting." Annie smacked my arm.

Things were going great for that entire year. Annie was more than my girlfriend -- she was also my best friend. It was perfect.

A few days after the semester ended at the very end of May, Annie showed up at my dorm looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Hey Annie," I called to her, from behind the small mountain of junk on my bed. I was getting ready to go home for the summer break. "Care to help me fit this into two suitcases?"

"Not gonna happen," she retorted, but looked distracted. "Um, Benny, we need to talk."

"No prob," I said. Glaring at the stuff on the bed, I shoved enough of it onto the floor for me and Annie to have room to sit. "What's up?" I asked lightly, collapsing comfortably on the space I'd cleared.

She bit her lip, and stayed standing. "Look, I don't know how to tell you this, but...well, I guess I'm...we're breaking up."

"Whaaaat?!" I yelped, jumping to my feet. "Annie...."

"No, listen," she said, still not meeting my eyes. "I'm not coming back to this school next semester. I'm going to -- I got into Harvard."

I hadn't even known she was trying to switch colleges, but I let that slide. "Well, congrats, of course, but I don't get it. Why the hell does this mean we're splitting?" I realized how loud my voice was getting, and forced myself to calm down. In a more reasonable tone, I added, "Just 'cause you're going to a different school doesn't mean that --"

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't. The thing is -- oh, Christ. I can't believe I'm saying this. Benny," she said, finally looking at me. "I'm, um, homosexual. I'm a lesbian."

My mind did not do a good job of processing this information. "You're what?"

"A lesbian," Annie repeated, scarcely whispering. "Look, I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner, I know, but --"

"But what?!" I shouted, forgetting that I was trying to keep my voice down. "Christ, Annie, I've only been dating you for six months, when the fuck were you planning to tell me that you don't even like guys?!"

"You don't know how hard this is!" she shouted back. No tears for my Annie; she just got mad. "Fuck, Benny, do you know what my parents are gonna do to me when they find out?! I've been trying, trying so damn hard all fucking year to pretend I'm straight! To be straight! Why the hell do you think I dated you, huh? Because I liked you! I loved you! I thought you were a great person, Benny! I thought maybe you'd be the guy I could fall in love with! Don't you realize how scared I am to be who I am? How I'm gonna have to listen to my parents screaming at me, when they find out that their precious 'kitten' has gone and turned into a dyke?" She spat the word out, hatefully. I didn't know what to say. "I thought you'd understand, Benny. You're such a nice guy, such a great friend, you've been helping me rebel against them for months, I thought you'd understand...."

She didn't know how much she was hurting me. I was a great friend. That's all. All this time, I was just a great friend. "Annie," I said, willing my voice not to tremble as I reached out for her. "I love you." My voice did not tremble. It cracked instead.

"I love you too, Benny," she whispered, pulling away from me. "But I'm not in love with you. I never was." She turned and headed for the door.

"Annie!" I tried, one last time.

She looked at me over her shoulder. "Don't call me Annie," she murmured. "It's such a childish nickname. What kind of Harvard girl calls herself Annie?"

She was gone.

That night I went to the bar down the block. Legal age be damned, I thought. I needed to get drunk. Flashing my favorite fake I.D., I plopped down and proceeded to imbibe as much alcohol as possible.

That's where Thomas found me. You know, the third black kid in our class. He slid into the stool next to mine. "Okay, Benjamin," he said quietly. "I think you've had enough."

"Yeah," I agreed slurringly. "Prob'ly." I gulped down another glass.

"Come on," he said, standing and tugging on my arm. "I'll get you back to your room."

I resisted, but Thomas had filled out and buffed up over the course of freshman year, and he managed to drag me out of the bar and down the street. Then he kept me upright as I puked into the garbage can on the curb, and got me back up to the dorm.

"Thanks," I muttered, as I fell onto my bed. "Why'd you come looking for me?"

He grinned widely. He didn't look so geeky anymore, I thought. "Lookin' for you? You crazy, boy? I was tryin' to get myself a drink. It's not my fault I found you."

"Oh," I said stupidly.

"But I kinda figured you'd be in trouble tonight," he added. "I heard you and your girlfriend yellin' at each other earlier. What the hell happened, boy?"

"My girl likes chicks," I mumbled. I was still moderately drunk, mind.

"I hear ya. I know the feeling. It's kinda like when I hear my latest fling tell me he digs chicks." I glanced at him sharply. He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm gay. Don't worry, you ain't my type."

"Oh," I said again. Frankly, I didn't give a crap. I was too damn tired, and my head was starting to hurt.

"Go to sleep, Benjamin," he urged, heading for the door.

"Benny," I corrected automatically.

"Fine. Go to sleep, Benny," he repeated, grinning again. "It'll look better in the mornin'."

"Thanks, Thomas," I mumbled, already losing consciousness.

Before my eyes closed, I saw him pause at the door, wincing slightly. "Please don't call me Thomas," he said, his turn to make corrections. "My friends call me by my last name. Collins."

"Collins," I repeated. I was asleep before the door closed.

That fall, Collins invited me to share his apartment, down in the East Village, along with two other friends. Roger and Mark. A year later, Maureen moved in with us, too. And the rest, as they say, is history.

After Annie, I didn't really allow myself to love anyone again. I had other girlfriends, sure. Lots of them. I even got married to one -- and although yes, money was a big factor in that decision, I do like Alison a lot. I married her, after all, not just the Westport estate.

But I never forgot Annie, even though I never heard from her again. I'm still convinced that she was my true love. And I lost her.

* * * * *

"She's got a new man?"

"Well, no...."

"What's his name?"

"Joanne."

Ignore my half-assed response. My first thought when I heard that was, 'Hey Mark, I know how you feel.'

My next thought was an incredulous double-take.

After Maureen's protest, I saw them all at the Life Cafe. All of them. It hurt like hell, to go on with business with my wife's father while my old friends were partying at the next table. Collins. Roger. Mark. Maureen. Even Mimi, with whom I'd spent a couple of weeks about three months ago -- not that Alison knew, of course. And I saw Maureen's new girlfriend, Joanne.

After I stormed out of there, I went straight to the loft and padlocked the door. I don't know why, but I was feeling furious and vengeful. I hated my former buddies, but I hated myself even more. Look at who I've become! Every time I try to help them, I screw it up, somehow. Or they do. And we get absolutely nowhere. It pisses the hell out of me.

After locking up their building -- my building -- I pulled out my cell to call the cops, as I strode back over to the lot. The site of Maureen's protest. But I clicked the phone shut again when I saw Maureen's girlfriend there. I think she had just finished packing up the equipment, and now she was sitting on one of the boxes, staring at her shoes. Her Doc Martens. She looked up, and saw me heading towards her. With a sigh, she stood to greet me.

"Joanne," I said, not quite sourly. "I guess you decided that your given name was good enough for Harvard, even if your 'childish nickname' wasn't."

"Don't, Benny," she said shortly. "I don't want to fight with you."

"No, leave that to your latest lover and her friends," I replied. Okay, I admit it, I was bitter. "So, Joanne, tell me. What have they told you about me?"

"That you somehow became an asshole while I was in Boston," she shot back, then bit her lip. "What happened to you, Benny?" she asked in a softer tone. "You were such a nice guy. I told you that, didn't I?"

"Yes," I sighed. "You told me that, once. I've tried to forget about you, you know," I added reproachfully. "Dammit, why'd you have to come back?"

"I'm sorry," she said helplessly. "I didn't think I'd ever run into you again. I hated the way I left you, with that wiseass pretentious comment about my name. God, I've replayed that scene over and over again in my head a thousand times. I was such a bitch."

"No, you weren't," I replied. "I was an asshole."

"No, not then, you weren't. But now...what I've heard about you.... What happened to you?" she asked again.

I shrugged uselessly. "I don't know," I sighed. "I can't seem to do anything right. I try, but I wind up just screwing myself over. I hate myself, you know." I couldn't meet her eyes. "They're right, everything they say. I am an asshole. I just don't know what to do about it. I just locked them out of their own building," I added, laughing humorlessly. "It's the only thing I know how to do. I've got to assert my authority over them, somehow. I'm their landlord. I need the fucking rent. They think I'm rich as God, but I'm not. This protest could have ruined me. I'm losing all credibility in the eyes of my investors. I guess they think that's a good thing, but dammit, I'm trying to help them! Can't they see that?"

She didn't say anything, for a long moment. "I'm breaking up with Maureen tonight," she said abruptly. "I can't handle her anymore."

"I would say something crude and suggestive," I sighed. "But I'm married. I guess you know that, too."

"Yeah," she replied, noncommittally. "I also hear that that hasn't been stopping you."

I smiled bitterly. "So you've met Mimi. Yeah, she was my fuck-of-the-week, a few months ago. And there've been others."

She looked away. "I'm sorry," she said again, just as helplessly. "I can't go back in time. I can't change who I am."

"I know," I replied. We stood in silence for a few moments. Then I took out my cell phone again. "I'm gonna have to call the cops, now," I told her. "Get them to sweep the lot. I've gotta clear all these bums out. I guess you'd better go warn my -- your friends."

She nodded, and started loading the boxes of Maureen's equipment into a small van. After I placed my call, I helped her pack up the rest. Some police cars pulled up, and I turned to go.

"Goodbye, Benny," she said quietly.

Impulsively, I turned back. "I still love you, Annie," I told her.

She shook her head, sadly. "I'm not Annie, not anymore," she said. "Just -- Joanne. Annie's gone. She was just a girl you knew. That's all."

I understood. We would never mention to the others that we had known each other. Never hint that Joanne Jefferson and Benjamin Coffin the Third had once been the hottest item in Columbia University.

And besides, I thought to myself, as I turned and walked away, this Joanne is someone I've never met before. She's completely different from Annie. She's not scared to reveal her sexual orientation. She's doesn't plan out petty little 'rebellions' against her parents. She isn't an insignificant college freshman. She still dates known flirts, and she still wears Doc Martens, but other than that....

No. She's not the girl I knew.
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