The wedding guests applauded as the final chords of The Bangles' "Eternal Flame," rang out across the brightly-decorated reception hall, and Mike and Tina finished their first dance as a married couple.
"Thank you, everyone," Rachel said softly, stepping delicately from behind her keyboard as the applause quieted down. "Santana and I just want to say that, even though we're devastated to be losing the best drummer our band has ever had, we still wish Tina all the happiness in the world."
"You best treat our girl right, Mike Chang," Santana chimed in. Tina and Mike both blushed and smiled appreciatively as everyone applauded again. "Now let's turn things up a notch, shall we?" Santana continued to the crowd, and with that, the band began their rendition of Bowie's "Let's Dance," as the guests cheered and began singing along.
Later that night, as the girls packed their equipment into the back of Santana's rusted green van, Rachel gave a satisfied smile and said, "That was one of our best gigs ever. Don't you think so, Santana?"
"Yeah, sure," Santana shrugged. "Too bad it's our last."
"Don't say that," Rachel huffed, setting her hands on her hips. "We'll find a new drummer soon enough."
"Sure, Berry, because finding Tina was so easy in the first place. Don't you remember what that was like?" Santana asked as she tossed the last mic stand in the van and shut the doors.
Rachel did remember.
She and Santana had started the band their senior year of college as a way to blow off steam and earn a few extra dollars. Though it wasn't usually Rachel's style to give up the spotlight, she knew Santana's brand of overt, sexualized aggression was more likely to draw paying crowds at the local bars than Rachel's own Broadway bravado. And besides, the band wasn't Rachel's real dream, so she was more than happy to let Santana take the lead, while she slid comfortably into the role of mysterious sidekick with the voice of an angel.
It was a good dynamic; it worked for them. But they needed a drummer, and finding one who could weather the storm of Rachel and Santana's friendship was no easy task. The first few drummers they tried out mistook Rachel and Santana's constant bickering as an opening to divide and conquer, thus taking over control of the band. Of course, each of them had underestimated the depth of Rachel and Santana's bond and how quickly the girls could go from snapping at each other to closing ranks to protect what was theirs.
For a while they settled for letting a rotating group of guys from the music department at the university sit in with them, but more often that not, that ended in disaster as well. Typically, the guys would end up trying to get into one or both of their pants, and finding out that Rachel and Santana were both gay did little to dissuade them.
After a few months of that, the girls were close to giving up, until one night when Rachel was awakened by the sound of her phone ringing. Santana had been "crashing" on Rachel's couch for a couple of months at that point (just until she found a better place, she kept saying), and it wasn't unusual for her to call Rachel to pull her out of the various scuffles and shenanigans she routinely seemed to get into at all hours of the night.
"You've got to get down to Stix now," Santana said urgently.
"What happened?" Rachel asked groggily. "Did you get bounced again? I don't know why you insist on going there all the time when it's so obvious-,"
"That smug little bastard's got his own band now, Berry, and they're coming back on for a second set," Santana interrupted.
"Who?" Rachel asked. "Artie?" Rachel knew Santana had a long-standing and completely inexplicable feud with the regular dj at Stix. Sure, the guy was a bit on the pretentious side, and he seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of Santana, but Rachel never could understand why Santana didn't just ignore him.
"It's an 80s cover band," Santana said pointedly. "He won't book us for a gig, but now he's got his crappy little band up there just wailing away."
"If they're so bad, why don't you just get out of there and come home?" Rachel asked.
"He sucks, but he's got a drummer, a good one, and we're going to steal her," Santana replied. "So, get your ass down here."
Rachel reluctantly pulled herself out of bed and made her way down to Stix, arriving just as Artie's band, the ridiculously-named Suicide Notes, was about to begin its second set of the night. She found Santana in a booth near the back.
"I certainly hope this drummer is worth interrupting my REM-cycle," a beleaguered Rachel said as she slumped into the seat next to Santana. "And even if she is, I don't know how you intend to poach her from Artie's band."
"Just watch," Santana said, as the band went through their sound check. "Think he's got enough eyeliner on?" she asked, nodding toward the stage.
Rachel looked up to see Artie slouching in front of the microphone. He was dressed all in black, his hair mussed, with exaggerated eye makeup on his face. Rachel sighed. "While I appreciate the obvious homage to The Cure's Robert Smith, I suppose I would agree that his look is a bit over-the-top," she conceded.
"You need a drink; you're saying too many words," Santana replied, getting up from the booth and heading toward the bar, pulling her cash from her cleavage as she went. Rachel watched as the band—which consisted of Artie, a tough-looking guy with a mohawk, and a petite Asian girl with bright blue streaks in her hair—made their final adjustments.
"Hi, we're the Suicide Notes," Artie said flatly into the microphone. And with that, he started whining his way through their first number which was, predictably, a Cure song.
"Here," Santana said, placing some pink-colored concoction in front of Rachel and taking her seat.
"They're pretty awful!" Rachel shouted over the din.
"Yeah, but she's not!" Santana replied, gesturing toward the drummer with her beer.
Rachel did her best to drown out Artie's awful singing and focus on the beat. The girl, whoever she was, was an excellent drummer. She kept things moving, adding her own little flourishes here and there, but not over-powering the rest of the band. Rachel took a sip of her drink and felt a sudden, harsh burn as the liquid seared its way down her throat and into her stomach.
"Do I even want to know what this is?" she gasped.
"Just drink it!" Santana commanded with a wave of her hand and a shrug.
An hour or so later, when the set ended and the crowd began to clear out, Santana turned to face Rachel in the booth. "Okay, here's how we're going to play this," she said as quietly as she could, "You're going to wait here while I go talk to her, and then, if she seems cool, I'll bring her over. But don't talk too much, alright?"
"Excuse me, but are you implying that I would somehow make a poor first impression?" Rachel asked.
"You've already hit your word limit for the night, Berry. So please, just let me handle this my way, okay?" Santana growled back.
"And what way is that exactly?" Rachel sneered. Santana just shrugged, glanced down at her chest, and adjusted the top of her dress, making her cleavage even more prominent that it had been before. "You're joking, right?" Rachel asked. "You're going to get this girl to join our band by hitting on her? Santana, that's despicable! I mean, how is that any different from what the guys keep doing to us? I strongly recommend that you-,"
"Excuse me," a timid voice interrupted. Rachel and Santana turned to see the drummer standing in front of them. "You guys are the Bounty Hunters, right?" Rachel and Santana nodded. "I saw you do a show a while back over at The Blue Moon. You kicked ass," the girl smiled.
"Thank you!" Rachel said enthusiastically, "And if you don't mind my saying so, your drumming was fantastic tonight. You only lost the beat that one time, and even then, you covered it quite well. But I have to say, and I hope you won't mind my saying this, but your talents appear to be rather wasted in that dismal group you're with now, and Santana and I happen to be in need of a more permanent drummer-," Santana clamped a hand over Rachel's mouth, thus obstructing her verbal flow.
"Why don't you have a seat?" Santana asked before turning to Rachel and narrowing her eyes at her before removing her hand.
"Thanks," the girl said, "My name's Tina, by the way."