A/N: My personal take on the long-term impact of what we know about the last three episodes of season 5. It's a longish one-shot. And yes, this is a Finchel story at its very heart, which will become clear as the story unfolds. I own neither Glee nor its characters. Reviews are welcome!
XXXXxxxx
Jacob Ben-Israel was used to weird assignments by now. The last five years working for Rolling Stone had led him to expect them. After NYU and nearly starving as a freelancer, the job had been a godsend. Of course, he was very low on the totem pole, and no Cameron Crow, so any hopes of hanging out with Dylan or The Stones were immediately dashed. But he did get to write about interesting, little-known artists, and had acquired a reputation for tenacity in getting the story.
"I have something for you," Gil Dubcek, his editor, said, handing him a folder.
"Great." Jacob didn't open it, waiting instead for his boss to fill him in first.
"We've been hearing rumors for a while now about an album about to come out. It's by an artist nobody has heard from for nine years. She used to be a Broadway and TV star, but seems to have dropped off the planet." He paused for effect. "People tell me you went to high school with her. Did you really know Rachel Berry?"
Whoah. He found himself thinking, of all the artists in all the world…
"Uh, yeah, I knew her, but not in a good way." Maybe he could be assigned something else.
"What do you mean?"
"She hated me."
Gil leaned back in his chair. He might have been smiling; Jacob couldn't tell. He raised an eyebrow.
"A seventeen-years-out-of-high-school level of hate?"
"I don't know. But I treated her badly. Very badly." He cringed inwardly remembering how hurt and shocked she was when he extorted panties from her for that story. God, he had been a dick back then.
"Surely she has forgiven you by now. Besides, you seem to be a nice enough guy."
That might be true; Jacob Ben-Israel wasn't the dick he had been in high school. At all. He had grown taller and filled out, with short hair and a thick, dark beard. NYU had burned the nastiness out of him; he was a serious writer now. And the love of a sweet Jewish woman named Eliana, whom he had met there, inspired him to grow up and become a man. They married right out of college, and had a son, Ishmael.
"I hope so," he said.
"I hope so, too." Gil handed over an envelope. "Tickets to California. We know she used to live in LA, but that's about it. You can start there."
"So…what do you want? An article on the album?"
"Well, that would be nice," Gil replied with a sarcastic edge, "But maybe there's more: a story on why she walked away from everything. And what she was doing during those missing years. And why she decided to come back with an album." Then he winked. "And whether or not she forgave you." At Jacob's panicked look, Gil reached over and patted his hand. "Who knows? It could turn into a cover story, son."
"Are you serious?"
"Go get the story and bring it back. Then we'll talk."
He met Eliana at her Village Voice office, as he always did, so they could ride the train home to Brooklyn together.
"I'm going to California for a week on a story," he said as they walked to the station.
"What obscure garage band is it this time?" Eliana joked. She was dark and pretty, with coal-black eyes.
"It's an artist that I happened to know back in high school."
"Really? Who? " His wife looked excited.
"Rachel Berry."
That drew a blank from Eliana. "Who?"
Jacob smiled. "She was a Broadway and Television star about nine years ago."
"Wait… I think I remember her. Dark hair, Jewish, I think. Married her co-star…what's–his-name?"
"Clint Steele." Jacob hadn't actually thought about Rachel Berry in a very long time. He remembered her face on benches and buses in New York when she was on Broadway for that short period. And he had wondered why she didn't show up for their ten-year high school reunion, but several people there told him she had walked away from everything two years earlier, after that messy, oh-so-public divorce. If even half of that fiasco was true, then he couldn't blame her for wanting to stay away.
"Yeah, that's him. Wasn't he caught cheating on her with a Senator or something? The married Senator? I remember it being a huge deal."
"Yep."
"So you knew her?" Eliana's face had a sly grin. "She looked a lot like me, come to think of it…Did you have a crush on her, Jake?"
"Yeah, but she hated me." He told her the story about the Celibacy Club, and the panties, and being in Glee Club that one brief moment because, well, he told his wife everything, and she had this wonderful sense of humor. Besides, describing what he had done was like talking about another person, because her steadfast love had changed him completely.
"Do you want me to write her a note, attesting to how you're a changed man? 'Cause I'll do it, you know." And he kissed her, because he did know what she would do for him.
"Thanks, baby, but no need. I plan on apologizing to her because I'll have to win her trust, first. Gil wants more than just an article on her album: he wants me to basically tell the story of why she left all that fame behind, and why she's decided to come back with the album. Maybe she'll take pity on me. Or maybe see a chance to get on the cover of Rolling Stone." He waited for that remark to sink in.
"This could be a cover story?" Eliana's eyes were wide. "Jake, this could be your big break…Oh my God… " She stopped suddenly, looking at him. "Do you know how proud of you I am?"
Eliana always made him feel as if he could do anything. Strength and confidence in him flowed from her, from those bottomless, dark eyes. He, in turn, adored her. And as they stood on that Manhattan sidewalk, the rush-hour throng flowing around and past them, it struck him: she looked at him the same way Rachel Berry used to look at Finn Hudson in the halls of McKinley, all those years ago.
XXXxxxx
"I need the tickets changed, Gil," Jacob said the next day. His editor looked surprised.
"To where? So you found her already?"
"San Francisco. She lives just south of there, on the Central California coast, near Carmel. I'll need to rent a car and drive down. It's just a few hours."
"Did you talk to her?"
"Well, first I spoke to her agent, Saul Meyer, in LA. He still represents her. I don't know why everybody thought she was hiding."
Gil sipped his coffee.
"And she agreed to talk to you?" He raised an eyebrow. "After your…history?"
"Yes—well, not at first. I told him who I was, and he checked with her right away." Jacob grinned. "He called me back and said her reaction was, 'No way in hell.'"
"Wow. You must have been fucking charming in high school, kid."
"You have no idea, boss. Anyway, about twenty minutes later, my phone rang again."
Jacob didn't recognize the number.
"This is Jacob," he answered.
"Oh my God. Is this really the Jacob Ben-Israel?" The voice hadn't changed one iota.
"Uh…Rachel." He was flustered."How are you?"
"Feeling kinda bad right now. I shouldn't have blown you off like that. It was rude."
Now was his chance.
"Well, it's not like I didn't have that totally coming." A giggle on the other end.
"Yeah, I suppose you totally did. But I got to thinking, it's your job, right? And it's for Rolling Stone! Somebody I used to know writes for Rolling Stone! Then I thought, I'm getting all fangirly over Jacob Ben-Israel!" More giggling. "How could I not do an interview?" She hadn't changed much.
"So, if you can forgive my rudeness, I'd love to be interviewed!"
"She said 'yes', just like that?" Gil was incredulous.
Jacob nodded, grinning. "It's that old Rolling Stone mystique. And it's Rachel Berry."
XXXxxxx
He'd never seen scenery as beautiful his entire life: the rocky coast, bathed in crashing, creamy surf; endless blue water; forest giving way to brownish hills dotted with dark-green scrub oaks; sun placed in an impossibly clear, azure sky. It was one of those perfect California September days, making Jacob wish he had rented a convertible. He passed south through Santa Cruz, then Monterey, and as he came up to Carmel-By-the-Sea, turned left on Carmel Valley Road. She had invited him to lunch; it was 12:30. Perfect. The road wound up the shallow valley, along the glittering Carmel River. He passed horses grazing peacefully in paddocks bordered by neat white fences. Jacob couldn't believe there were people fortunate enough to actually live here.
After a few miles, he found the street. Another left and he was climbing a steep hill, seeing small but elegant homes tucked away behind vegetation on either side. Her house was on the left, 1403. He pulled onto the gravel driveway and parked behind the black Range Rover and white Mustang GT. He marveled: the house was a low-slung ranch style, jutting out the back over a steep, eucalyptus- filled ravine, supported by massive redwood beams. In fact, the entire house seemed constructed of these beams. A second, somewhat smaller outbuilding, sat slightly further up the hill, made of the same materials. The dry wind rustled softly in the trees, to the tunes of birds. Idyllic.
He rang the doorbell, wondering what she looked like now. The door was flung open, and Jacob found himself face-to-face with what appeared to be a miniature Rachel: a little girl of about four, with the signature Rachel Berry bangs, deep brown eyes, and distinctive nose, dressed in adorable denim overalls over a red paisley flannel shirt.
She regarded him solemnly.
"Nell!" A man's voice inside. "Is that Mister Jacob?"
"I don't know, Daddy. I haven't asked him yet."
A good-looking, dark-haired man in a white shirt and jeans appeared behind her.
"Hi! Please forgive our daughter's manners…You must be Jacob Ben-Israel, right? Welcome! I'm Dan Segal." He shook Jacob's hand in a firm, friendly grip. "And this is Nell." She remained aloof, but extended her hand, and Jacob shook it.
"Nice to meet you, Nell. I'm Jake."
"Mommy says you're a friend of hers."
"That's right. We went to high school together."
"I'm in pre-school, but I should be in kindergarten."
"Why don't you go tell mommy Mister Jacob is here, okay?" Dan beckoned Jacob inside as Nell disappeared. It was dark-paneled and cozy, with comfortable stuffed furniture, deep carpeting, and a large stone fireplace. A framed poster from Funny Girl was up over the mantle.
"Rachel's in the kitchen, still. We were in there, making lunch when you arrived. Would you like something to drink? A beer, maybe?"
"I'd love one, thanks," Jacob said.
Before Dan could get one, Nell emerged from the kitchen, dragging her mother by the hand. The first thing Jacob noticed was unbelievably sweet: mother and daughter wore matching shirts.
She looked different than he remembered. The soft shirt was out, untucked, over comfortable, faded jeans, and he didn't think he had ever seen Rachel barefooted. Her tan looked natural now. She wore her hair in a loose braid and had obviously lost weight since high school, with a lean body and planed cheeks that complimented the signature nose; however, her eyes, deep-brown and with a few fine lines, remained warm, as always. There was no effort to hide her age.
The eyes took him in with surprise at first, then approval.
"Jacob Ben-Israel, is that really you?" The patented Rachel Berry beam, before she let go of Nell's hand and hugged him, as she would a long-lost friend, instead of a once-semi-perverted stalker. Dan stood by, politely. If he knew anything about his and Rachel's past, it didn't show.
"Hi Rachel," was all Jacob could get out. "Yes, it's me." She let go and stood back, marveling.
"You look great!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.
"And you look…fantastic" he replied, quite honestly. Thirty-five-year-old Rachel Berry was not only beautiful, but also calmer. She didn't project that overwhelmingly driven aura that put so many off in high school. She appeared to have traded it in for a mature, transcendent peace, something she hadn't displayed in high school, except for those rare moments with Finn when she didn't know they were being observed. Finn always seemed to soften Rachel's edges. Oh, how he had envied that guy, but grudgingly accepted the fact that she had loved him.
"Welcome!"
He followed them out to a deck and a wooden table set with bowls of salad, plates with potato salad, and what looked like fixings for hamburgers. Dan went to a grill and brought over a plate with patties, while Rachel poured a glass of milk for Nell.
"We have veggie burgers if you like," he said, cocking his head towards Rachel, who pretended to shush him. Nell noticed.
"I like veggie burgers, just like Mommy does. " Rachel winked at him.
"I'll take the beef, if that's okay," Jacob said, and Dan flipped a patty on his plate, then added veggie patties to Nell's and Rachel's.
Rachel assembled Nell's burger: lettuce and tomato, with mustard on one side of the bun and mayonnaise on the other. Ishmael hated mayonnaise, he thought with a grin. The little girl watched her mother intently, then sat still as everyone else made theirs. Dan handed Jacob the beer he had been promised, Pilsner Urquell, and surprised him by handing one to Rachel as well.
"So, what's it like writing for Rolling Stone?" Rachel asked, while keeping an eye on Nell's progress at the same time.
"It's great. I get to write about mostly unknown, but up-and-coming bands and artists." He stopped, wondering if she might be offended at that characterization, but relaxed seeing Rachel grinning at him. "But the main reason I was assigned this story was the fact we knew each other."
Dan couldn't contain a snort at that, and Jacob paused. He apparently did know about them. "Yeah, I know. Our relationship in high school was bitterly hostile at best."
"Jacob," Rachel said gently, "You had this ridiculous crush on me. Everyone knew that. And you were a gossip mongerer. So yeah, we didn't have much of a relationship. But you seem to have made something positive out of your life, and I respect that." He saw her looking at his left hand. "And you're married?"
"Yes, my wife's name is Eliana." He fished out his wallet, handing her two pictures. "And we have a twelve-year-old son, Ishmael."
Rachel stared at Eliana's picture, then looked up at him. "She looks like me," she said, softly, with a smile. She showed it to Dan, who just nodded.
"What can I say?" Jacob shrugged with a grin.
"And you had your son young."
"Right. We met at NYU and got married after graduation. Ishmael came along a year later."
They chatted about New York, and Jacob admitted he hadn't seen Funny Girl, but remembered seeing her picture on billboards, buses, and benches.
"Mommy's picture was on a bus?" Nell looked impressed.
Jacob went on to describe how he had tried freelancing, and how frustrating it was to get nowhere.
"I even resorted to blogging about music for free to try and get readership that could lead to employment, and was about to give up when my editor at Rolling Stone read an entry by chance and liked it so much he read the entire blog."
"You see?" Rachel raised her beer bottle. "All that work paid off."
Lunch was about over, and Dan got up.
"Look, let me clean up and you two can get started. Nell? Can you help me while Mommy and Mister Jacob talk business? Then you and I can go to the studio and help set up for them."
Nell nodded furiously. "Can I write a song?"
Rachel had tears in her eyes. "Sure honey," she said. "Then later we can play it for Mister Jacob."
"Thanks for the great lunch!" Jacob said. "And I'll see you later, young lady. I want to hear your song."
"Our pleasure," said Dan.
Rachel led Jacob to the end of the deck, which jutted out over the ravine. They sat with their beers in two comfortable chairs. Sunlight filtered down through the eucalyptus leaves. Jacob reached into his bag.
"You don't mind if I record this, do you? I don't like losing focus writing down notes."
"Go ahead. But if it goes viral, I want a cut." Then, more seriously, "I'm going to be as honest with you as I can, so I also want the right to approve anything that goes out."
Jacob thought of his editor never agreeing to something that broad.
"Listen, Rachel. I promise this article, if it gets published, will not be anything like an exposé. I will run it by you first, of course, and if you have any objections, we'll work together with my editor to try and accommodate your concerns. Does that sound fair?"
Rachel looked dubious for a moment. Jacob had no doubt she had a problem trusting him with something so personal. But he was patient; other artists had been wary of him before, but to be honest, he had never done a hatchet job on anybody. NYU had drilled some lessons into him about journalistic integrity that he took very seriously now, as opposed to his irresponsible high school years, which by comparison were a complete joke. He wanted his wife and son to be proud of his work. And he wanted Rachel to be proud of his portrayal of her life.
She was sitting up in the chair, knees pressed together, hands clasped tightly, eyes fixed on his, as if she was searching for the truth within them. He felt calm, because he had nothing to hide from her, because he wanted her to see the truth, that he was deeply and completely in love with his wife; absolutely devoted to Ishmael; committed to doing Rachel's story justice. He wanted her to see the truth. He wanted the redemption of her seeing the better man he had become.
And she did.
A cool, dry breeze swept up the ravine from the river, rustling the leaves of the trees, making the dappled light dance across her face as it began to relax, as her trust in him began to grow.
"That sounds fair, yes." She settled back in the chair. "Where do you want to start?"
He smiled. "As someone who never imagined you in Hollywood, I'd appreciate knowing how you came to wind up there, after being on Broadway for only a short while."
"Surely all the gossip magazines could tell you that."
That remarktold him the true story would be far more interesting.
"Humor me. But first, let me tell you what I know about you after high school, okay?"
"Sure." She settled back to listen.
"I know you and Finn didn't get married after graduation, like everyone thought would happen. He joined the Army, right, but was discharged after only a few days. And you broke up and he returned to Lima to coach the Glee club, but eventually went to college to get a teaching degree, and was doing that when he died. You won some competition at NYADA, and then auditioned for Funny Girl, won the part, but dropped out of school to do the show. Is that in the right ballpark?"
"Yes, pretty close. However, I need to point out that Finn and I reconciled before he died. We eventually intended to end up together."
Jacob could see, even now, how just mentioning Finn seemed to bring a twinge of pain.
"And he has everything to do with what happened to me in New York."
"What do you mean?"
Rachel looked over her shoulder—Nell was giggling hysterically over something her father was doing in the kitchen.
"He's probably doing impressions of her grandfathers."
A warmth came over her expression, masking, for a moment, the previous sadness.
"Sorry," she said. He just smiled.
"All of my life, I have tended to make very poor decisions when under stress." She almost caught herself, still maybe debating whether or not to trust him, but she continued. "Deciding to use Puck to make Finn jealous; running for class president when I knew my best friend was running; stuffing the ballot box; dropping out of NYADA…"
"You think dropping out of NYADA was a bad decision? "
"I know, I know. Most people think I had to choose Fanny over NYADA. But deep in my heart, I think I could have tried to make arrangements with the school. I certainly could have been more gracious about it. Instead, I burned a bridge." A look of regret. "And I burned another bridge when I jumped to television so quickly after all Sydney Greene did for me with Funny Girl. Again, another rash decision."
"But again, not necessarily a bad one." Jacob couldn't believe what he was hearing. "After all, you became a pretty big star."
She looked away for a moment, up the ravine, wrestling with memory.
"Only until I decided to divorce my husband after the scandal, and he used his powerful friends to keep me from getting work. Then all my burned bridges came back to haunt me." Her words were bitter.
"So you didn't…"
"No, I didn't 'walk away from it'. That is what you were going to say, right?"
"Well, that's the story I heard." His instincts had been right: the real story was far more interesting.
"Anyway, to get back to how I came to Hollywood…" They could hear Dan rattling some dishes. "Soon after the show opened, I signed with a big-name agent, who, frankly, didn't seem to see my career the same way I did."
"How did you see it?"
She gave a short laugh. "Well, I didn't see myself leaving Broadway before my first show was even done, that's for sure. My dream was to first make it big on Broadway, and by big, I mean with a few Tony's, you know? And then move into television or films. But my agent ruled out almost everything. He had this ridiculous vision of me playing Fanny Brice for fifteen years. Then this Hollywood producer comes along and wants to do a pilot for a television show about my life. My life!" She snorted. "Can you imagine? I had been mentally writing my autobiography since I was five, and here was someone telling me I hadn't been deluded, that I hadn't been narcissistic, that my life was worth an autobiography, even at age nineteen, and not only that, it was worth adapting for national television! My God, he couldn't have found a more perfect button to push with me. And he sealed the deal with these magic words: 'once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.' She sighed, then took a breath, and Jacob saw tears welling up.
"There was no time to think, no time to deliberate—I had to make a decision, and, looking back, I made the wrong one."
"You don't agree that it was a 'once-in-a-lifetime' opportunity? "
She looked grim.
"Please. Playing Fanny Brice was a 'once-in-a-lifetime' opportunity, and I never regret going for it. But describing that television pilot the same way, as if it were my only chance at Hollywood? That was bullshit. But it catered to my ego, and resulted in me screwing my producers and staining my reputation." Her voice lowered, and he could see her lower lip trembling. "Nobody on Broadway trusted me after the truth came out. And for good reason." She shrank in the chair, wrapping her arms around herself. "I am so ashamed for pulling that stunt."
He was going to say something, but she surprised him by abruptly sitting up and hugging her knees.
"None of this would have happened had Finn been alive," she declared.
"Why do you think that?" Jacob felt as if he was on the verge of getting the crux of the story.
"Because he gave the best advice of anyone I've ever known. We talked about almost everything, and the only times everything went to hell in a handbasket, were when I didn't consult him first."
Rachel changed before his eyes. That transcendent calm was less evident now. He could see that she was still deeply wounded, seventeen years after Finn's death.
"I just know he would have talked me out of dropping out of NYADA, and going to that television audition behind my producer's backs—Lord, I know he would have disapproved of that. And, of course, I would never have married Clint. " Her voice became nasal from tears. "Everything would have been different."
"You would also never have had Nell," Jacob pointed out gently, and that brought a sad smile to her face.
"I know," she said, wiping her eyes. "I know 'what if' games aren't productive. But there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss him, or a night where I don't pray for his soul, and I often find myself wondering about what that life together we dreamed about would have been like..." She looked over her shoulder at the house. "I also know I'm grateful for having met Dan. He was damaged like me—he lost his wife a few months after they were married, to an undiagnosed heart ailment. We love each other, and have built a good life around our daughter, but we do also live to honor Finn and Grace."
He felt he needed to fill in some gaps, but wanted to make sure Rachel would be okay with it first.
"Do you mind talking about your marriage? The immensity of the scandal, and the aftereffects of the divorce must have been overwhelming. I promise nothing salacious will appear in the article about that, but it was a turning point for you, obviously."
She didn't even hesitate, and it seemed to bring her spirits up, oddly enough, as if she fed on the anger. A small smile appeared.
"Sure. But let me get you another beer, or at least, one for me."
While he waited for her to return, Jacob watched Dan and Nell walking hand-in-hand across the small gap to the other building. He thought about Ishmael at that age, and how he loved the idea of helping both his mother and father. After what Rachel had said, he was glad she had managed to make this life with Dan, and have a chance at some sense of normality.
"There you go," she said, handing him one. "How are we doing so far?"
"Pretty good…Again, thank you for letting me get this personal."
"Sure." She crossed her legs and sipped her beer. "Did you ever see any of my television work?"
He shook his head. "Not then. I did manage to find watch some dvd's of your second series, Curtains, before coming here. It was actually pretty good. I loved the weird idea of two married Broadway actors, singing by night and solving mysteries by day." He laughed. "I think you nailed that Myrna Loy vibe." A pause. "I even liked Clint Steele. Sorry."
She laughed gaily. "I never said the sonofabitch wasn't talented!"
"And he was your costar on Berry's World."
"Yeah. You know, Jacob, its funny, but even though I knew that first show was going to be about my life, I was so hung up on the stardom that I brushed aside the fact that there would be a Finn-like character in it. I thought of myself as a professional, even after screwing Sydney Greene's show, and believed I could handle it. I even rationalized it away as honoring Finn's memory."
"You seemed to handle it okay. I mean, it did last three seasons."
"Yeah, and part of that was due to Clint, I have to say. I never expected us to make it through the second season, especially since Clint wasn't even in the first year."
Jacob remembered from his research that the original actor that played Bobby, the Finn character, was replaced by Clint when he was critically injured in a car accident, and couldn't work.
"I remember him walking into the production offices to audition. The scene was with me, and—well—you know what he looks like. A combination of Jesse St James and a young George Clooney. And he's as tall as Finn was. Jacob, that scene with him brought back so many memories—the chemistry was immediate. That, and his star power revived interest in the show."
"So, did you start dating him right away?"
"Oh, no…it was purely friendship and professionalism at first. He had a steady girlfriend then, but they broke up towards the end of the second season, and…" Rachel slowed down. "I was lonely, and we had such a good relationship, and we spent so much time together, that it just evolved into love over the hiatus." She sighed. "We felt like such a good team, and little things like the height difference brought back comfortable memories. But the third season couldn't compete with the competition and didn't get renewed, which was a godsend for us, because Clint came up with the idea for Curtains, and started pitching it, while I was getting high-profile guest spots on some top-rated shows. It just seemed right to get married. I was caught up in the making of art with him. That had always been sacred to Finn and me, when we sang together, you know? I don't know, maybe I was trying to recreate what Finn and I had. Anyway, we became the 'It' couple for awhile, especially when our chemistry onscreen appeared to be reflected in our personal lives. I mean, for a while it was amazing. The glamour, and Lord, the money. We had a house in Malibu, threw huge parties, and rode the series into the sunset. "
She looked out over the ravine. The sun was lower in the sky, giving the air a golden, particulate quality. With a hint of coolness, as if whispering a promise of autumn.
"It wasn't long after the series finale that the scandal hit, full force."
Marian Gilbertson was the newly-elected junior senator from California , who was married to a successful software mogul.
"My God, we even contributed to her fucking campaign," Rachel spat, then sat back wearily in her chair. "Standing next to Clint as he publically made the denials, I remember having this sinking feeling it was all going to unravel. Both of them made very public denials of the affair, but then the tape came out. A sex tape. Can you believe that? A sitting US Senator with a sex tape? It didn't help that she was tall, blonde and gorgeous. I was relegated to being the oblivious, big-nosed wife."
"But you were his co-star."
"His fandom hated me, did you know that?"
"I read a few articles about it on the plane, yeah."
"I was expected to forgive him, take him back after he apologized. Marian's husband forgave her, after all. At least at first. They divorced after she failed to get re-elected, but by then everything was forgotten. But I couldn't take him back. Not after the steadfast denials, especially the private ones to me. Not after the humiliation of supporting him publically. He came home a few days after the tape was released, all apologetic, but I could tell he wasn't being sincere. Maybe he loved her." A shrug. "My bags were packed. I was sitting at the piano. 'What's this?' he asked. I sang him a verse from Peter Gabriel's "Secret World":
Seeing things that were not there
On a wing, on a prayer
In this state of disrepair
Did you think you didn't have to choose it
That I alone could win or lose it
In all the places we were hiding love
What was it we were thinking of?
"And I left."
She sounded as if relieved. "Divorcing him is one decision I don't regret making, especially when he turned out to be such a petty, vindictive bastard."
"So what happened next?"
"I said he could keep the house, and to be fair, he was fairly generous with the settlement. I rented a small house in the Silver Lake district and looked for work. That was when I found out the actual price I would have to pay for divorcing him. After about six months of not getting jobs that I knew I should have gotten, it became clear to me that I was being blacklisted. So, it was time to do something different. I couldn't go back to Broadway or NYADA. All I had was a high school diploma. So I decided to go back to school. Not some fancy Ivy-League school like Brown or Yale, even though I had plenty of money. I got into UC Santa Cruz, moved up there, rented a tiny house near the beach, and studied music."
Jacob nodded. "So that's why it seemed you had disappeared."
"I guess." She shrugged. "I needed some time to think about my life again. You came through Santa Cruz getting here, right? Isn't it beautiful?"
"It sure is."
"I lived the life of a student hermit. Even though I was older than most of them, , I still looked like I was barely out of high school, so few people recognized me. I already knew how to play piano, so I took up guitar and songwriting. And I thought about Finn. A lot. Once he told me I was his muse, and that when making a decision he would always ask, 'What would Rachel do?'" Tears welled up behind her soft smile. "So I decided to ask what he would do in certain situations. And I begged his forgiveness in my prayers for making decisions that dishonored his memory."
She looked down at her lap.
"I was his last love. And he died thinking I was determined to justify his belief in me by achieving my dreams. The fact was, I let him down. I should have been a better steward of his memory."
They sat quietly for a few moments. Jacob let her set the pace, stunned at how haunted Rachel was by her lost love. He sipped his beer and waited.
"This is where Dan comes in."
At the mention of his name her voice began to regain its warmth, and he could see a return to the serenity she displayed when he had arrived. Then she surprised him by giggling.
"We met in a bar in Santa Cruz my junior year," she said, with a twinkle. "How cliché is that?" Jacob laughed with her. "Well, actually, he was sitting in for the bass player of a band that a few girlfriends from class told me about."
Her friends, Mary and Eva, were juniors and music majors, like her. She liked them because they weren't intimidated by who she was.
"They treated me like anyone else, and respected my wishes to remain just another student. Like I said, I could pass for a twenty-year-old. Anyway, one night they dragged me to this place because the band would often let audience members sing numbers with them. It was like having a live karaoke machine."
She had been getting into Linda Ronstadt records lately. There was something about her mighty voice, that loud, honking tone she used when really belting one out, that appealed to Rachel.
"I had especially been listening to her version of Warren Zevon's 'Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me' earlier that day, and, after a couple of drinks, when they asked for requests, I went right up and asked if they knew it."
The band was called Smack Dab, with two guitarists, a bass player, someone on keyboards, and a drummer. Her friends said the bassist was just sitting in for the regular member; she liked his dark looks.
"You guys know 'Poor Poor Pitiful Me'? "
The bass player answered.
"The original or the Linda Ronstadt version?" He gave her a friendly look. "Let me suggest the Linda Ronstadt."
"Why?" He had her curiosity now.
"Oh, something just tells me you could kill it," he replied mysteriously. The other members agreed they knew the song, so she strutted up on stage and took the mike.
"My hair was down, and I was wearing jeans and a black leather jacket, with suede desert boots. Nothing fancy."
Everything changed, though, when the mike was in her hand. The casual student attitude disappeared, replaced by the confident, professional singer. The drummer counted out, and she ripped into the lyrics:
Well I lay my head on the railroad track
Waitin' on the Double E
But the train don't run by here no more
Poor poor pitiful me
The bass player joined her on the chorus:
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these boys won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me
The crowd was warmed up now, so she licked her lips and grinned, wickedly, thinking of Clint in better times:
Well I met a man out in Hollywood
Now I ain't naming names
Well he really worked me over good
Just like Jesse James
Yes he really worked me over good
He was a credit to his gender
Put me through some changes Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender
This time, she sidled up to the bass player and they shared her mike:
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these boys won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me
Now Rachel paced the stage restlessly, up and down, as the lead guitarist wailed on his solo. She caught the bass player's eye and winked.
Well I met a boy in the Vieux Carres
Down in Yokohama
He picked me up and he threw me down
He said "Please don't hurt me Mama"
Everyone joined in on the final chorus:
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these boys won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me
Then she belted outthe finale, still sharing the mike with the good-looking bassist:
Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor poor me
Poor poor pitiful me
And as the guitarist roared out to the rocking ending, getting louder and louder, Rachel danced sinuously, holding the mike over her head, to a revved-up crowd. Afterwards, she was about to walk off the stage when the bassist leaned close and said:
"I know who you are, but your secret is safe with me."
Rachel stared at him, liking his looks: tall, maybe six feet, with a nice build, dark hair and stubble. She smiled.
"Thanks."
Rachel was sitting with her friends when the band took a break, and he appeared at their table, holding a beer. Off stage he seemed shy, as if internally debating whether or not he should approach them.
"Hi ladies," he said, finally, but looked mainly at Rachel. "Mind if I join you?" All three nodded their heads.
"It's okay," Rachel said immediately, "They know who I am, too." She turned to her friends. "He recognized me when I was on stage."
"Oh, good. I'm Dan Segal."
He was a year older than her, originally from Los Angeles, where he had done session work on Berry's World. (Ah!" Rachel exclaimed, clapping her hands) He has also produced records, and moved to Santa Cruz two years before, after the death of his wife, to take over a small, independent recording studio that was acquiring a very good reputation among musicians from both LA and San Francisco.
"I went out for coffee with him later that night after my friends left," she told Jacob. "I found out he also played guitar, keyboards, and even some drums ('I'm no Keith Moon', he told me)."
They talked long into the night and early morning, catching the sunrise on the beach near her house. The connection was immediate, especially with what they had in common.
"Still, we took it very slow. Dan says a little voice told him to introduce himself to me that night, and swears it was Grace telling him that. And I remember thinking about Finn, and wondering if Dan was the kind of man with whom I could honor his memory. My experience with Clint kept screaming at me to make sure, and Dan was still fragile, so taking it slow was a relief to both of us."
She was older and wiser now. And there was time: time to deliberate; time to feel Finn's blessing before she leaped; time to allow herself to love again for the right reasons. There was time to spend in his studio late at night, singing to his accompaniment and playing it back; laughing over dinner and wine about the craziness of LA; hanging out at student parties like kids. And when the time was right that summer, tenderly making love in her bed as the surf whispered past the fluttering curtains and filled the room.
"We lived together in my little house my senior year, and Dan moved his studio into bigger and better facilities in Monterey, a short distance further south. And when I graduated, we found this house." She smiled at Jacob. "And we also found out, a few months after moving in, that we were having Nell."
"May I ask a personal question, that I promise will not appear in the article?"
"Yes, of course, though I bet I know what it is."
"Go ahead." He was curious if she knew.
"You want to know why we aren't married, right?"
"Yes. But at the risk of being bold, I think I know the answer."
She stared at him, trying to read the answer in his eyes.
"Tell me, then."
"No. You deserve that honor."
"Since when did you become such a lovely man, Jacob Ben-Israel?" There were happy tears in her eyes.
"When I met somebody that made me want to be a better person. Like Finn and Dan and Nell make you feel."
Rachel nodded slowly and touched Jacob's arm.
"We will get married, eventually," she said, her voice strong and warm, "but I have some unfinished business, a promise I made to Finn that I broke, over and over."
"The album."
"Yeah," she said softly, eyes shining now. "The album."
They got up and went into the house. Rachel put on some ballet flats, and they walked across the gravel drive to the other building. Inside was a very small, but well-appointed recording studio, all polished redwood and glass.
"Dan did all the work himself," she said, proudly. He was sitting at a baby grand piano with Nell, working on a melody. The little girl was humming a tune, and her father was writing it down. She jumped up when Rachel entered the room.
"Mommy! I'm writing a song!"
Jacob watched the three of them, and missed being home. Nell said the song was about her friend Fuzzy, the otter.
"We've taken her to Point Lobos, a few miles south of here, where you can watch the sea otters playing in the water," Rachel explained. Nell sang a little and everyone, Jacob included, clapped.
"Okay, Nell, let's go into the control booth and let Mommy sit with Mister Jacob and play some of her songs. You can help me on the board."
She sat at the piano and played a little melody.
"Does the album have a title?"
A little more noodling on the keyboard.
"Yeah. It's called "The Last Bridge."
As she spoke, Jacob could see what it meant, just by the look on her face.
"The last unburnt bridge?"
"The bridge to Finn," she said, nodding. "It's my way of showing him I'm worthy of his love and sacrifice. That I'm ready to love again the right way. The way I loved him."
She played another little melody.
"But it's more than that. I'm dedicating it to Finn and Grace. Dan plays on it and is the producer. And there's a song for him and a song for Nell. I wanted my new life, not just the album, to be a love letter to Finn, and to Grace, as well. I'll play the whole record for you, but here's a live taste of the first song, called "Empty Glass". It's about how loss colors the way you look at everything, at first". The melody was soft and haunting.
There's the space between the bed and door
The spandrel above my head
An upturned box upon the floor
The things we left unsaid
It's hollow underneath these stairs
That wine glass isn't full
Our hopes, our dreams, our unborn cares
The wisdom of a fool.
It's everything, this emptiness
That fills my broken heart
Like cobwebs of the love you left
An unattempted start
She stopped. "It's not all sad music, however."
She played Nell's song, called "Fireflies", which she said was inspired by a trip back to Lima, and Nell chasing them in delight around her grandfathers' garden at twilight:
You chase the lights out in the yard
Just like I did so long ago
The twilight was so soft and warm
Like you first felt in my arms, you know
Giggling, running, jumping, happy
The purest joy I've ever known
Your face uplifted, eyes so bright
Like stars that could not be outshone
Fireflies live for our delight
We chase them like we chase our dreams
So hold them, please, don't crush them,
Let them dance by the twilight gleam.
Later, they all gathered in the control room to play back the entire album. It was a poignant, deeply personal collection of songs chronicling a journey, through loss and despair, and ending on notes of love, hope, and redemption. Unlike many records he had heard lately, this one was a true album, he thought.
And as Jacob watched Rachel sitting close to Dan, her future husband, with Nell on her lap, listening, eyes closed, a smile on her face, he couldn't help but think back to her before she had achieved this hard-won peace. He wished he had understood what Finn had actually meant to her then. Maybe he could have spared her at least some of the pain.
The record forced him to think about his own journey, and at that moment the article mapped itself out before him.
XXXxxx
He took home many copies of the issue with a beautiful, serene Rachel gazing out from the cover, so that Eliana could send them to relatives and give them to friends. And he kept the card Rachel had sent, thanking him for the article, especially for giving Finn his due (and praising the album, of course), with the gold star sticker next to her name, and the enclosed little drawing Nell made of him.
He thought of Finn as he walked to Eliana's office. He hoped he was proud of Rachel for keeping the bridge intact. He hoped Finn forgave him.
He hoped he was that better man.
A/N 2: Lyrics are: "Secret World", by Peter Gabriel, and "Poor,Poor, Pitiful Me', by Warren Zevon. Rachel's lyrics for "Empty Glass" and "Fireflies", are my own.