Part 1 of an indefinite number right now. I would post a time frame of when you can expect the next installment, but you know how I am at deadlines (crap, basically). I'm not used to writing from Rachel's perspective (or to going with the slow and steady approach), so feedback would be ever so dandy.
Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine, just like The Beatles, and neither is Finn; bummer.
i. The day Rachel Berry first set foot in New York City, she knew she was home. It didn't matter that she was a small town girl from Ohio, because she knew New York was her destiny, knew it from the very beginning, and despite only being four years old at the time, everything seemed to fall into place around her. She would work her way to the top to make her dreams a reality, and she refused to stop at anything until she got there.
Unfortunately, her life wasn't an inspirational movie or soppy romance novel. She made it to New York, alright, but by the time she'd graduated from NYADA, she... You see...
Fine.
Not a lot happened.
The auditions came thick and fast, at first, and she was confident that she was going to get somewhere. She was up against fellow classmates, but she was Rachel Berry, which meant all she had to do was wait patiently for her call back.
Except she didn't get any. The auditions began to slip through her fingers like fine sand until she realised, with a deep pang of regret and pain in her stomach, that she hadn't made it at all.
Still, that didn't mean she was going to give up (those two words weren't in her vocabulary). She promised herself to keep scouring the city for any kind of audition she could find, whether it was for the lead role, or chorus girl number six, and her initial struggle would be a good conversation point for her inevitable talk show interviews of the future.
She just needed a job to keep her head above the water, that was all. Something simple, respectable.
ii. Rachel downed another shot as she gazed across the dance floor, bleary-eyed. Usually she avoided drinking for fear it would damage her voice, but after another week of unsuccessful attempts at making it big, she'd decided to go crazy. And by crazy, she meant spending her time at a bar where it was happy hour all night long.
God though, she really wasn't one for drinking, especially for drinking alone. The curse of her determination was that she hadn't exactly hit it off in the friend department, not when she'd stabbed most of her classmates in the back to try and better them in every way possible. Occupational hazard, you know? It was a little sad to dance to the music by herself while she downed shot after shot, but it wasn't as if Rachel had a lot of options. She was broke, she was lonely, and even though one guy in particular kept giving her a 'I want to fuck you in a bathroom stall' vibe, she definitely wasn't going to be going home with any strangers.
"Another!" she yapped at the barmaid, who kept shooting her playful smirks.
"You wanna slow down, Doc, this stuff's gonna knock you out." Despite her warning, the Latina girl poured Rachel another drink, only to watch as she swallowed it in one gulp.
"Doc," she said loudly over the pounding bass of the numbing techno music, "is that supposed to be a jibe at my height? Because I've heard much worse than that, and much more creative, too."
The girl rested her elbows on the bar counter while she grinned at an already tipsy Rachel. She was so tipsy, in fact, that she failed to notice that the barmaid was unashamedly checking her out.
"Yeah, like the dwarf, since none of them were called Firecracker." She cocked her head, fingers clinging to the bottle in her grasp. "You drinking your worries away, Snow White?"
Rachel smiled widely as she shook her behind to the music. "Snow White, I like that one much more." She thrust her arms in the air in a carefree manner (she was definitely much more reserved when she was sober) before sitting herself down on a stool. After her third attempt, she was seated comfortably, ready to pour her heart and soul out to anyone that would listen. "As a matter of fact, I am, though I can't really afford to drink them completely away." She hiccupped. "I need a job."
"Doesn't everyone?" The girl poured herself a drink, knocking her head back with a hiss and a slap of her lips before she once again let her eyes roam Rachel's body. "How tall are you? Four foot? Three and a half?"
"Five foot two!" Rachel admonished with a tut. "I'm taller when I wear my dangerous shoes." Leaning forward, she looked around like she was conspiring to kill the President, before biting her lip with a small giggle. "I like to call them my hooker heels because they make me feel like a slut." As if she'd just told a ridiculously clever joke, Rachel hung her head back and let out a bark of a laugh that was fuelled by alcohol and a horrid realisation that she was about to hit rock bottom.
"You wanna make some easy money?"
Rachel blinked a few times. "Are you offering to pay me for sex? Because I've never been with a girl before, and while I've been told that I'm a quick learner, I'd be worried about the lack of satisfaction on your end."
"Oh my God," cackled the girl, and she shook her head as she wiped at her eyes. "That's the funniest shit I've heard in a long time. No, as much as I like to get down and dirty with boobs now and again, you ain't my type." She stuck her hand out as her eyes twinkled. "Santana Lopez. When you're sober, give me a call, 'cause I might just have a job for you."
Like some suave James Bond character, she shook Rachel's hand while slipping her a business card, and the small brunette marvelled at the professional look of the thing. If she was offering her a job at the bar, who was she to say no? It wasn't ideal, but she needed the money.
She was about to say thank you, truly, but the vomit in the back of the throat put a dampener on that idea.
iii. Miraculously, Rachel woke up in her own bed, alone, and as far as she could tell, she hadn't be robbed during her drunken expedition back to her apartment (someone had drawn a rather comical moustache on her face at some point, but it could have been much worse; she couldn't have rocked a goatee).
She groaned and held her head. She was never drinking again, though that wouldn't be an issue, since she was down to her last few dollars. She knew her dads were only a phone call away, but the point of being in New York was to make it big on her own two feet, and she couldn't exactly rely on dad and daddy to bail her out every time things got a little rough. Heck, Madonna had made it in the city with barely a penny to her name, and so could Rachel Berry!
Yes, she could do it.
Once she'd sobbed hysterically in her bathtub for twenty three minutes.
It was only when she was peeling off her damp pyjamas that she noticed the business card that, for whatever reason, had been stashed away in her panties.
Santana Lopez, professional escort.
Rachel blanched as she stared down at the silver lettering. How drunk had she gotten last night? She definitely did not remember enquiring about the services of a prostitute, for goodness sake, because while she was lonely, she wasn't that desperate.
Besides, while she was all for gay happiness and everything, she didn't swing that way, and Santana sounded like a girl.
Then it clicked. Santana, Santana, she'd been the barmaid, right? She vaguely remembered something about a job offer, but she'd been too out of it to really take much notice.
Rachel bit her lip as she stared down at the card, not paying any attention when the tangy taste of blood hit her tongue. Professional escort; that had to be a euphemism for prostitute.
Laughing to herself that she would even consider it, Rachel threw the card in the trash and set about making herself look and feel slightly more acceptable.
Rachel as an escort? And pigs might fly.
iv. Ten minutes later, she looked out of the window in expectation of seeing a piglet with angel wings and a little halo, because pressed against her ear was her cell phone as Santana's phone began to ring.
Sue her, okay? She was desperate and in need of some kind of financial stability, and there was still the chance that Miss Lopez was offering her a job at the bar (it wasn't exactly any of Rachel's business to know what the girl did in her free time).
"You're go for Santana."
"Um... hi." Rachel cursed herself for being so unprepared. She'd made a list of queries she wanted to ask about, but any kind of coherency had flown out of the window (no doubt with the pig) at the sound of Santana's voice. Her memories were slowly starting to return, including one that involved grinding up against a trash can.
Yes, she'd definitely done a few embarrassing dances the night before.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Rachel Berry. You gave me your card last night but I must inform you that I have more self decency and worth than to become a prostitute. I don't judge you for being in that line of work because I'm sure the pay is rewarding and there's a certain freedom in sleeping with rich men but that is not who I am and I definitely don't have the body for that kind of thing since my boobs are non-existent and I tend to ramble on during sex when I'm nervous which doesn't contribute to a very romantic atmosphere though it's-"
"Hold up." Rachel snapped her mouth shut, the tips of her ears pinking. "Firstly, shut the hell up because it's not even ten and I'm still trying to adjust to the damn sunlight." A lot of cursing in Spanish followed, and though Rachel didn't understand it, she felt embarrassed at the no doubt vulgar words she was listening to. "You talk way too fast and way too much, so can it for now. I'm not a prostitute, I'm an escort."
Rachel waited for the punch line, but when there was only silence, she laughed a little breathlessly. "Okay, but everyone knows what that means."
"Clearly you don't, Doc. Prostitutes put out, escorts don't. Capeesh?"
"Excuse me?"
Santana sighed loudly. "You pay a prostitute for sex-"
"I know that, I'm not completely-"
"-but you pay an escort for friendship."
"A friend, are you serious?"
"Stop being so narrow minded! God, look, here's the deal. As an escort, you escort people to wherever they need to go. Sometimes you go as a date to a fancy work dinner, or sometimes you go as a plus one at some charity opening. Point is, the night doesn't end in sex, it just ends."
Rachel paused as she tapped her fingers against her chin. "So what you're saying is that there is no sexual intercourse involved whatsoever?"
"Bingo."
"What about... other kinds of almost intercourse?"
"Why, you kinky?"
"No!" she said, her feathers ruffled. "I mean, what about, you know, o-oral sex? Hand jobs? Groping of the breasts?"
"You're hilarious," said Santana with a deep laugh (Rachel just huffed at how uncomfortable she felt). "No, none of that stuff. Escorts are basically just arm candy."
"And you're offering me a position as one?"
"Sort of. I don't run the agency, but you're short, cute, you've got a great ass. The boss is always looking for tiny girls, and with a rack like yours, who could say no?"
The excitement in her belly was stifled at the breast quip. Rachel looked down at her chest at the tiny bumps under her sweater and wished, as she always did, that she had more of an alluring figure. "Please don't insult me, Santana, I don't appreciate it."
"I'm not joking, Doc. Yeah, your tits might be mole hills compared to my mountains, but they're modest, and some guys like that. Makes you more natural."
Rachel scoffed. "Why, because yours aren't?"
"Nope. Had 'em done junior year of high school and I've never looked back."
"Oh... Well, I'm not sure. It still seems a little shady to me."
"I get that. Whenever my profession comes up, people assume I'm a cheap hooker who sleeps around for spare change. Let me tell you, it's nothing like that. You get looked after, the pay is good, and who wouldn't wanna pretend to be the girlfriend of some hot, lonely CEO for a night?"
"You really think I'm the right material?"
"If you don't get offered a position, I'll give my vibrator to Goodwill, and that shit wasn't cheap."
Rachel hung up with a sense of worry and trepidation pulsing along her skin as goose bumps. It was a bad, bad idea, but she was ironically turned on by the sound of such an occupation. When it came down to it, she couldn't afford to be picky, not if she wanted to continue to be able to buy food and clothes.
Santana offered to set her up with an interview, and she used the last of her money to treat herself to a full body wax and facial, hoping that the pain and humiliation she had to go through was going to be worth it.
v. "Jeez, relax Dopey, you're making me nervous."
Rachel stopped biting her nails long enough to glare at the girl beside her. "I think I preferred Doc. Really, why can't you just use my actual name? I think that's what it's there for."
"Ha ha," said Santana sarcastically. She flipped through the magazine in her lap while Rachel once again started biting her nails to shreds, only to laugh out loud at some article. "Hey Grumps, why not take this quiz while you wait?"
Rachel looked across, only to gasp loudly and cover her eyes. "I am not a stuck up prude!"
"Then why are you wearing that dumbass owl sweater? I told you to look sexy, not ninety. And anyway, where are those hooker heels you wouldn't stop telling me about?"
The smaller girl looked down at her clothes as she blushed profusely. She'd considered dressing up somewhat, but if the agency was interested in keeping things sex-free, then why would she need to show more flesh?
"There's nothing wrong with penny loafers," she said snottily while Santana laughed under her breath. "I want them to get to know the real me."
"Here's hoping there are some perverted Japanese business men with very dark, specific fetishes who are interested in hiring you out."
Rachel was about to protest when someone at the front desk called out her name. She stood up, smoothed down her chequered skirt, then followed the receptionist to her destination, giving Santana a thumbs up on the way there.
She was treated to a flash of Santana's lady parts, because apparently, it was too much effort for her new friend to wear underwear.
vi. An aspect of being a struggling New Yorker was attending interview after interview. She'd got that down to a T, which meant that she was prepared for any situation.
Led into a green room, however, she found her confidence wavering at the sight of one of the biggest cameras she'd ever seen.
"Rachel Berry?" called a voice from behind one of the numerous monitors, and all she could do was nod numbly. "I'm Artie. Just stand on the red cross on the floor and smile."
Before she could ask any questions, lights started flashing all around her, leaving her standing awkwardly like a deer in the very same position.
It only took her a few seconds to adapt. Paparazzi were going to be a large part of her future career, which meant she couldn't appear uncomfortable under the spotlight. Therefore, despite how unsexy she felt, Rachel began to pose in as many provocative ways as she could muster. She was obviously doing something right, since the man named Artie kept shouting encouraging words at her. It already felt a little sordid, but who was she to judge?
"Great, that's great." The flashlight off, a boy no older than her glided towards her in a wheelchair, and she held her hand out with a smile. He graciously accepted, and the gloves on his palms rubbed against her skin as he used his other hand to push his glasses onto his nose. "This probably seems a little overwhelming, but the best way to know if you're suitable for the job is to see how you look behind a camera."
"Naturally," she said with a nod.
"The next part of the process is probably even more unorthodox, but it's just as important." Clearing his throat, he directed her to a chair beside him, and when she was seated (and her knees were knocking against one another with nerves), Artie folded his hands and cocked his head. "I want you to put me at ease. I'm a new client who's unsure if an escort is the right service for me, and since I have an eclectic taste in music and literature, I'm worried we might not have anything to talk about."
Improvisation; fantastic! Rachel had always excelled whenever she was required to improv anything.
"I'm Ben," Artie began, and he diverted his gaze in favour of staring down at his neatly laced sneakers.
"Hello Ben, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Rachel, but you may call me Rach if you'd prefer."
Artie stiffened, still not meeting her eyes. "I don't like nicknames."
"That's fine!" she assured him, and she softly placed a hand on his arm. He immediately pulled away, but undeterred, she continued. "I understand that completely. When I was at school, I had so many nicknames, most of which were completely stupid. One girl in particular used to call me Red Rachel in the hope that I'd turn into some kind of Hulk-like creature and tear the school apart, but it never happened."
She wasn't sure if it was in character or out, but Artie chuckled and flashed her a smile. "You're a fan of superheroes?"
"Oh definitely," she gushed, letting out a dreamy sigh. "Not of the comic book variety, however. I prefer the movies."
"Hot guys?"
Giggling, she bit her lip as she shrugged. "Maybe that has something to do with it."
The scenario continued for another fifteen minutes, and honestly, Rachel felt completely at ease. Whoever Artie was pretending to be, she was completely in her element. Despite having very few friends to her name, she knew the logistics of being civil to other human beings; as long as she could reign in her own ambitions (and occasional selfishness), she knew she had a shot at the position.
"Well, I'm very impressed. We'll let you know as soon as we've made a decision. Thank you for coming, Rachel."
"My pleasure, and thank you for your consideration!" She bent down to press a kiss to Artie's cheek, and with a sense of pride when he smiled bashfully, she wished him farewell as she went to join Santana.
After she almost threw up in the lobby, that is.
vii. "And you're eating properly? I sincerely hope the ramen years are over, princess, because you need to keep up your strength for all of those auditions you've been attending."
Rachel licked her lips and pushed her bowl of noodles aside whilst flicking through the hundreds of channels that still offered nothing good to watch. "Of course, daddy."
"Good girl. How's the job hunt going?"
"Oh, fantastic, really fantastic." Terrible. "I have a lot of options to choose from." I'm going to be lonely and jobless forever. "I'm having the time of my life." I'm struggling, daddy.
"So you don't need any more money from me and your dad? We wouldn't think any less of you, sweetie, because everyone needs a helping hand now and again."
Rachel was beyond tempted to just give in and ask for help since she still hadn't heard back from the agency, but no, she had a sliver of self dignity left, and she was kind of hoping to save it for an attractive man who wanted to sweep her off her feet.
"No, but thank you." Her phone beeped to let her know she had another call waiting, and her stomach dropped. Oh God, was this it? "I have to go daddy, there's someone else on the line and it could be important."
"Okay my little star. Good luck! We both love and miss you so much."
"Love you too!" she chirped, and in her hurry to hang up, she somehow managed to cut off the waiting caller. "No!"
Trying her best not to pull her hair out in a frantic rage, Rachel took a deep breath to compose herself. It was probably nothing, probably no one.
The answer machine began to beep, and with wide, fearful, 'this might be my only chance to live a normal life' eyes, she listened intently.
"Miss Rachel Berry, this is the secretary of Miss Sue Sylvester calling. There appears to be an issue with your phone, so I apologise for leaving a message this way. Mr Artie Abrams was very impressed with your interview, and Miss Sylvester found your photos intriguing. We would like to offer you a position at our agency, so please pay us a visit when you get this message. Congratulations."
The phone disconnected at the same time that Rachel passed out on the floor.
(In her defence, the lack of nutritional food was probably a contributing factor.)
viii. "I start on Monday." Rachel sipped gingerly at the... exotic looking cocktail that Santana had whipped up for her, wincing as the alcohol burnt her throat. "I just wanted fruit juice!"
"But we're celebrating tonight, Doc!" Santana swallowed a mouthful from her own drink and whistled in appreciation. "God, I'm good."
"I bet you hear that a lot."
Almost choking on the seediness of his line, Rachel turned to her side to see a boy leering at Santana. He was probably a year or so older than she was, and judging by the way he stared at her friend's breasts (she liked to think they were friends, at least), he was interested in more than the drinks she could conjure up.
Rachel wrinkled her nose at the Mohawk on his head; definitely not her type.
"Of course I do." Santana poured the guy a drink without asking, placing a hand on her hip as she shimmied her head slightly (she really was very good at giving sass). "Glad you finally found your balls."
The grin on his face was soon replaced with a blank look of confusion, causing Rachel to giggle into her drink (she pretended she hadn't just poked her eye out with the cocktail umbrella, for dignity's sake).
"What?"
"You've been in here for nearly four hours, and I know you've been ogling me for at least three of them." In a rather forward manner that Rachel made note of for future reference, Santana smacked her own ass loudly, causing the red-faced boy to gulp. "I get off in two, so wait for me."
"I'd wait forever for you, babe." Only then did he acknowledge Rachel's existence with a general sweep of her body, leaving her feeling completely exposed (and a little nauseous). "Want me to set your friend up with someone? I have this friend, tall and dopey looking, and-"
Santana waved him off before he continue, thank goodness, because as much as she appreciated drunk strangers trying to match-make for her, she just wasn't in the mood. She was supposed to be celebrating her new job, but the more she lingered, the more unprofessional it sounded.
She could only imagine how disappointed her parents would be.
"Not for sale," said Santana with a sniff. "My girl's off the market for now, but thanks for trying. She's a bit of a prude, anyway."
Slamming her fist onto the counter, Rachel hiccupped as she glared between the two of them. "I am not a prude! Modest sensibilities don't make me a nun!"
The boy chuckled, which only made her blood boil quicker. "That's a shame, 'cause you and my bud would be perfect for each other. 'I want love, not sex, girls aren't pieces of meat, you should respect them, blah blah blah'." He winked at Santana. "I'm Puck, by the way. You'll be screaming it later."
"I hope so," she purred. Due to the intensity of the eye sex occurring between the two of them, Rachel muttered her excuses and left, wondering if there were many men who would ever really respect her.
ix. Sue Sylvester had to be the most formidable human being she'd ever encountered in her rather young life. She was confident, poised, and (excuse her French) fucking terrifying. She wore a very expensive suit that probably cost more than Rachel's rent for the whole year, and the way in which she stared made her feel as if she was being cross-examined for murder.
"You really are small. Good. Good."
Rachel clasped and unclasped her hands with a lack of how to respond.
"The clothes are gonna have to go though." She held up a hand before Rachel could protest, and instead gave her a credit card. "Every new employee gets an initial clothing allowance. You need a range of attire that lets people know that you're a respectable, refined young lady, not some kindergarten reject."
Honestly, she'd heard worse.
"You know Santana Lopez, correct?"
"Y-yes."
"Tell her to take you shopping, and buy whatever she tells you to buy, no buts." Sue picked up a thick folder full of documents, and oh no, was she serious? They couldn't possibly be for- "You need to read all of this. If you have any questions, call my secretary. You'll have your first appointment with a client this week, so make sure you're fully prepared." With a warm-ish smile, Sue folded her arms over her chest while Rachel quivered in her seat. "Welcome to the team, Berry."
x. Rachel stared up at the various outfits that hung from the stall door that she was currently occupying. She'd been dreading the expedition as soon as Sue had suggested it, because come on, Santana was beautiful. She had a really nice body (despite most of it being fake) that would look good in anything, but Rachel wasn't so fortunate. Anything that was supposed to showcase her breasts made her look like a child dressing up in her mother's clothes, and that was just an extra kick in the teeth, considering her own mother wanted nothing to do with her.
"Are you wearing anything yet?"
"No, I'm just... deliberating."
"Sue told you to listen to me, so just suck it up and listen. I don't have all day."
"Fine, fine."
The first thing she tried on was a cat suit.
No, really, Santana had given her a cat suit. Not only was it extremely difficult to put on in the first place, once she was wearing the damn thing, she couldn't get it off, and it wasn't exactly flattering.
"You need any help?"
Growling in defeat as she fiddled with the zipper on the back, Rachel sighed, knowing she was going to regret her answer. "Yes please."
Her friend slipped inside with a grin on her face, only to slap Rachel's butt, surrounded in an air of nonchalance. "Not bad, Doc, not bad."
"It's hideous!"
Santana pressed a finger to her lips, scanning her eyes over the material. "Nah, you just don't have a lot going on up front. You opposed to wearing chicken fillets?"
"I'm a vegan!"
"The boob kind."
"Oh. Well yes, as a matter of fact I am, and I don't see when I'd ever wear this anyway." Checking herself out in the mirror (her butt didn't look too bad in it), Rachel wrinkled her nose in frustration. "I thought the whole point of this job was to not sell sex?"
"No, no." Santana thumbed through the other selections that hung on the door while Rachel continued to wrestle with the zipper. "We're not selling sex, but you want people to think we are."
"Excuse me?"
Pulling out a dress that already showed too much cleavage without Rachel wearing it, Santana sucked in an exhausted breath. "It's a good thing I like you, Doc, because you're way too naive for your own good. Think of yourself as a good slice of fillet steak. Yeah yeah, don't give me that face, I know you're a vegan."
"Can't I be a good piece of tofu?"
"You're on the menu at a restaurant, competing with all the other steaks to try and get noticed. You want to be eaten, and it doesn't matter if you're not gonna put out at the end of the meal, 'cause once you're chosen, you're chosen."
Rachel blinked as she looked up at the ceiling. Though the metaphor could have used a little work, she understood the message behind it. It was all about appearances, right? She had to appear to be available, even if she wasn't. It was just like the concept in Coyote Ugly, which happened to be one of her favourite movies. Violet had to convince the customers that she was single so that they'd want to spend money on her, despite not being able to actually date them.
Then, of course, she fell in love with Kevin which was against the rules of the bar; cue heartbreak and angst until LeAnn Rimes helped her have a happily ever after.
At least Rachel didn't have to worry about falling in love with a client.
"Stop daydreaming and put this shit on."
xi. Two days later, and with a wardrobe full of clothes that she never would have picked out herself, Rachel's brand new pager began to beep.
Her very first client!
Santana had been through the basics with her over and over again until the point where she could rehearse her advice in her sleep, and though she was terrified, she was also oddly excited.
Riley's Bar, 8pm, work party. Mr Johnson will be waiting for you at the south entrance.
She was definitely ready for it.
xii. It was 11:52pm when Rachel phoned Santana from a bathroom stall in a fit of tears and a ripped dress. She tried to control her breathing as best she could, but the more she thought about it, the harder it became.
"This better be important, Bashful, I'm busy right now."
"C-c-c-can you pick me up?"
"I'll be there in ten, chika, hold tight."
At any other time, she would have been impressed at Santana's efficiency (especially considering she'd called during a 'rendezvous' with the Mohawk boy from the bar), but considering the fact that she felt like some cheap floozy (and she'd lost a shoe), it wasn't on the top of her priority list.
True to form, Santana pulled up in a cab eleven minutes later, along with a worried looking Puck who pulled her into a hug that she definitely wasn't expecting.
"Where did the fucker go?"
Wide and teary eyed, she gazed across at Santana, who nodded once. "I told him everything, and he's here as back up for when I rip that dickhead's balls off."
Rachel sniffled as she buried her face against Puck's chest. Granted, she didn't know him, but she wasn't in the position to turn down a good hug. "H-h-he left when I told him no the third time." She pointed down at her dress, where a nasty rip showed off the backs of her legs. "I was so naive! He seemed nice, so I just laughed his advances off. This is all my fault."
"Like hell it is," growled the boy, and he set about rubbing soothing circles against her back. "You look hot, but that didn't give him the right to try it on with you."
"Puck's right, Doc. Come on, you're coming home with me."
The three of them climbed into a cab like a slightly dysfunctional family, and though Rachel felt humiliated and scared and downright disappointed in herself, she was grateful for the friend she'd found in Santana.
And maybe in Puck, too.
xiii. She'd expected Sue to be mad at her. She'd expected shouting, cursing, firing even, but with a sympathetic nod, the woman had simply picked up the phone and called the police.
The police.
"I refuse to let any of my girls get sexually harassed. Sometimes there isn't enough evidence for the jerks to be charged, but your dress is proof of what he did to you." Rachel sniffled, and surprisingly, Sue leaned over her desk to take the small girl's hand in her own. "Don't think it's any reflection on you. Unfortunately, it's just one of the things you have to be prepared for in this line of work."
"I understand," she said in a whisper. She'd debated it with herself over and over, wondering if it was the right thing to just quit while she was still in one piece.
When it came down to it though, she still needed the money, so it wasn't as if she had a lot of choice.
"You need to get back on the horse, Berry. I have an appointment for you tomorrow. You think you can handle it?"
Decision time.
She nodded her head.
xiv. Her next client was a girl. A girl. Even though there was nothing intimate involved, it still felt strange to be accompanying a woman on a dinner date, especially since it was a double dinner date with some work friends.
Santana had told her not to judge anyone, and as a natural victim of various levels of discrimination, she didn't like to make assumptions until she knew all the details.
Some people hired escorts for important meetings and dinners (to make themselves look professional).
Some people hired escorts for family gatherings (to avoid any awkward 'are you going to be on your own for the rest of your life?' questions).
Some people hired escorts because they were forced into it by meddling/worried family members (to try and subject them to the world of relationships again, without the risk of things turning sour before the date was through).
Some people hired escorts because they were lonely, which said all that needed to be said. Apparently it wasn't uncommon for men (and women) of all ages to request the services of an escort simply for the company. With the ability to pick and choose who the agency sent, it made finding common interests much easier, and Santana had told her that many real friendships had been formed over time.
Her female client was nice enough.
At first.
The conversation was good and the atmosphere relaxed, but as soon as her work colleagues arrived, everything was different. It was obvious from the start that she'd dated one of the women that had joined them for dinner, and that's when the jealousy routine began.
Basically, Rachel was there as a pawn to show the other girl what she was missing out on. Despite the fact that intimate contact wasn't allowed (unless agreed upon first under certain circumstances), her client kept trying to kiss Rachel, on the mouth. She had no problem with lesbians whatsoever, but she was not going to let a stranger kiss her, even if she was being paid to be there.
It only seemed to get worse. Whenever the other couple displayed any signs of PDA, the client would try and get them back however she could (which mainly involved trying to practically swallow Rachel's earlobe).
When a hand tried to grab her breasts, she called the dinner short and took a cab home so she could cry about it in the dignity of her own apartment.
Sue was once again understanding, but Rachel didn't expect her sympathy to last forever.
xv. By the end of her very first month as an escort, Rachel had managed to experience four disastrous attempts at doing her job. Her third client had tried to entice her into joining an orgy, and her fourth client had grabbed her ass as soon as she'd set inside the restaurant.
"We just need to vet these people better, that's all. Your next client is going to be a gentleman."
"Do they exist?" she'd snorted, completely forgetting her place. While she blushed at her inappropriate forwardness, Sue simply shook her head.
"Not that I know of, but if I let myself believe that this miserable world is filled with nothing but jerks, I wouldn't be able to make it through the day."
"Amen," Rachel whispered under her breath.
xvi. Running her tongue down the side of her glass, Rachel sighed to herself as she watched Santana and Puck dancing together in the throng of sweaty bodies. Despite her insistence that she wasn't a heavy drinker, Santana managed to persuade her to visit the bar most nights, even when it wasn't her shift. It was nice to be out with friends, sure, but she was getting a little tired of the nauseating PDA that Lopez and Puckerman weren't averse to displaying.
Though she hadn't known Santana for long, it still surprised Rachel that her friend was settling for Noah. There wasn't anything wrong with him, per se, but neither of them seemed like the type who valued commitment. Granted, that was probably the reason they were so good for one another, and when Noah planted a sloppy kiss to Santana's cheek, Rachel couldn't help but let out another pent up sigh.
"You were staring," said the girl in question, who came up to Rachel, panting slightly.
"If you want a threesome, just say so, Berry, we're open to that kind of stuff."
Deftly ignoring Noah's comment, she swallowed the remains of her cosmo (virgin, thank you very much) before letting out the smallest of snarls. "I'm going home to wallow in self pity since I'll probably be spending the rest of my life alone."
Puck snorted as he ordered himself a beer. "I keep telling you, I have this friend who you should meet. He's just as pathetic as you."
Santana cackled at the look on her face, and rather than offering some kind of 'course you're not pathetic, Rachel!', she simply slapped her on the back. "Have fun, Doc!"
Neither of them even bothered to wave her off, since they were too caught up in exploring each other's mouths.
Honestly, some people were so selfish.
xvii. Client number five came two weeks into her second month working at the agency. While part of her was worried that the night was going to end in the same disastrous way as all the others, she was honestly just glad that someone wanted her. It wasn't set in stone, but it was common knowledge that if a month went by without any clients being interested in you, Sue would have to let you go.
Same old same old; she was too broke to be fired over technicalities.
At least waiting around for her pager to beep meant that she could stay on top of auditions. Making it onto Broadway was still her priority, and thought her attempts were unsuccessful time and time again, she refused to give up, no matter her demoralising the whole experience was turning out to be.
Your client tonight will be Mr Hudson. Address and details to come.
Rachel ran a finger across the screen of her pager. Mr Hudson; he sounded respectable, as far as names went. He wanted to meet at a Starbucks for a 'casual' date, which basically meant he needed a friend.
Friend she could do, as long as he kept his hands to himself.
xviii. Rachel arrived early as usual (she didn't want to be unprofessional after all), and since she had time to spare, she allowed herself to stare up at the board that advertised the large range of drinks on offer.
She really had no idea what she was doing. Starbucks had always been too expensive for her tastes, and unlike the Lima Bean in her hometown, they didn't seem to sell just coffee. Or maybe they did, she couldn't tell, and she felt a little self conscious trying to decipher the cryptic beverage code while people sidestepped her to place their orders.
"You need any help?" came a voice from behind, and she waved the man off without even looking.
"No thank you."
"Okay. Erm, are you..." The same man cleared his throat, but Rachel was more interested in the menu. Did they sell orange juice? That would solve all of her problems. "Rachel Berry?"
Her head snapped towards him as a crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She'd dreamt of this moment for so long that she had no idea what to do now that it had arrived.
Someone recognised her from her auditioning exploits; her first fan!
"Why yes, I am." She gave the stranger a mega watt smile, only then realising how lucky she was. Wow, her first fan was incredibly handsome. "What's your name?"
She took her earlier words back; he was more of a boy than a man, and a very cute boy he was. One hand rubbed the back of his neck while the other he stuck out in front of him, and she gladly took it in her own with a firm shake.
"Uh, Finn Hudson. I guess they don't tell you our names or something."
Then it clicked. He wasn't a fan of her failed audition attempts; he was her client.
She burst into tears right on the spot, and Finn pulled his hand away like he'd just been burnt. "Woah, hey, come on, let's sit down."
She was aware of him directing her to a table, and she was aware of the looks of concern (and disgust) that people were giving her, and she was vaguely aware of the hand on her back that rubbed it to help calm her down. He handed her a napkin which she used to dry her eyes, and once she'd stopped making ridiculous whimpering sounds, she sucked in a breath and looked at him properly.
This would be a first; he'd probably be walking out on her before the 'date' was over.
And yet she didn't see fear in his eyes. Worry, maybe, but he didn't look like he was going to bolt anytime soon.
"Take deep breaths," he said softly. He picked up another napkin and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he wiped away her dripping mascara (oh how professional). "Much better." He smiled, his lips half-quirking upwards until he was giving her one of the nicest crooked grins she'd ever seen, and honest to God, Rachel felt herself swoon.
"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."
"You're probably used to much better looking guys." Despite being overly emotional not even five minutes ago, Rachel let out a laugh that made her whole body shake. Finn smiled to himself (though if he was smiling at his own joke or her reaction, she couldn't tell) and stuck out his hand for a second time. "I'm Finn, and I have this really weird gift where I make girls cry when we first meet."
Rachel pressed a hand to her forehead in shame before taking it once more. His hands were huge, but that wasn't surprising considering how tall he was (most people were taller than her, but he was something else). "Rachel Berry. Sometimes I weep when I'm in the presence of greatness."
"Is that so?" He bit his lip to hold back a laugh, and Rachel nodded with a serious expression. "Well I guess I'm honoured."
"You should be. There's high demand for me, you know."
His face fell, only for a second, but she saw it.
"I don't... I've never done this before," he admitted. His voice was so quiet that she wasn't sure if she'd heard him, but judging by the sudden nervous state that had come over him, she had. "I don't really know the equine."
Rachel blinked. "Equine? Oh, you mean etiquette!" Oh God, when a blush flamed across his cheeks, she honestly felt her heart dip. "Easy mistake to make, I do it all the time."
He shot her a grateful smile, which she returned with a beam.
"So um, yeah, etiquette."
"What would you like to know?" She leaned forward and folded her hands on the table as she watched him. She hadn't done this before. Granted, Finn was only her fifth client, but none of her previous ones had wanted to discuss the arrangements (which was probably why they'd all ended so badly).
"First, can I get you a coffee?"
Then it was Rachel's turn to blush. "I don't really know what I want from here. I'm just used to ordering a black coffee with two sugars and that's that."
"I feel your pain. I don't even like coffee, so I just order tea with a ton of milk and enough sugar to give me a rush. I'll be right back, Rach."
Then the jerk had the audacity to flash her one of the nicest smiles ever known to man before he went to wait in line, showing off his unacceptably perfect ass.
Rachel felt herself sinking into her seat. What was she doing? Firstly, he was her client, and any kind of romantic feelings towards him were inappropriate (not to mention against the rules).
Secondly, she had never been one to objectify men before, and she couldn't allow a stranger to make her into someone she wasn't.
Thirdly, oh, all coherent thought went out the window because he kept looking over his shoulder with a grin, which meant that he knew she was staring at him like she'd just seen the face of God.
She was very tempted to text Santana to ask for advice, but knowing her friend, she'd probably encourage illegal relations between the two of them.
No one had called her Rach before.
"A black coffee, two sugars, and a vegan friendly blueberry muffin." Setting everything down on the table, he almost spilt his tea at the expression on her face.
"It's vegan?"
The tips of his ears turned red in embarrassment, and while Rachel wanted to assure him that it was a good choice, she couldn't pick her jaw up from the floor.
"God, sorry, reflex. My brother, he's on a health kick or something and he's an experimental vegan. I can get you something else, just-"
She darted her hand out to grab his, catching both of them by surprise. Finn gulped loudly (she was mesmerised by the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat) and Rachel coughed to hide her embarrassment. "No, thank you, that's wonderful. That was rude of me. I'm actually a vegan, and for a moment it was as if..."
"I knew you without knowing you?" His eyes seemed to twinkle at that, and it took all she had not to just give in and stroke his face.
"Something like that."
She wondered what his skin tasted like. She licked her lips.
"So... where were we?"
Rachel snapped herself out of her boy-crazy haze to take a sip from her coffee. "Okay, ground rules. I'm not a prostitute, so I won't have sex with you."
She waited, waited for the disappointment, the 'are you kidding me?', the excuses so he could leave, but all Finn did was nod his head. "Sure thing."
She gulped, diverting her gaze for a moment before looking back at him. "You already know?"
"Yeah. I mean, I'd never... A prostitute, that's..." He wrinkled his nose. "You get a lot of people thinking that you're...?"
"Yes," she said, jaw clenched. "And some people don't take no for an answer."
"Douchebags," he muttered, taking a gulp from his tea, only to spit most of it back in his cup. "Ow, fuck, I forgot that was hot." He stuck his tongue out when she giggled at him, and he even had the nerve to steal a piece of her muffin (which was definitely not a euphemism, just to be clear). "That must suck."
"It does indeed suck, very much so. I don't like people judging me, thinking that I'm a common street walker or something."
He shrugged as he stole another piece. "I wouldn't think any less of you. I mean, we've all gotta make a living somehow, right?"
Oh how she wished they were meeting under different circumstances. "I suppose so. It also means that there's no-"
And then something happened which she could only explain in one way; he must have drugged her coffee.
She was supposed to say 'it also means that there's no kissing involved, unless we go to a formal event that calls for intimacy' (i.e. Santana said that some clients wanted escorts to pose as their fake girlfriends for whatever reason, and a kiss on the cheek made the premise much more believable). Casual meet ups like theirs didn't require anything of the sort, which was what she was about to tell him.
But her eyes looked down at his lips, and though it was completely reckless of her, she didn't want to rule out the possibility that she might get to kiss that mouth.
"I... It means that, what I was going to say, it includes... blowjobs!" Okay, yes, she may have shouted the last word in excitement at having found a suitable lie, and yes, maybe an old couple who were seated near their table covered their ears as they complained about loose women, but Finn's chuckle made all of that irrelevant.
"Right, got it, no monkey business." He blew lightly on his tea while Rachel wished for a split second that she was that beverage, his breath hot against her skin as he took her to his lips and-
That was probably a reason she wasn't great in relationships.
"I guess I should have asked more questions when I was on the phone, but like... How long do I get you for?" He winced straight away while Rachel bit back a giggle. "Sorry, I don't mean it like you're a piece of meat or something, but well, I don't have a lot planned."
"As long as you want me." Feeling self conscious, she twirled a piece of hair around her finger as she watched him with guarded eyes. "Some people request escorts for the full day, while others just for an hour or so."
"I wish I could keep you for a full day," he murmured, only to smack a hand against his head as he cursed to himself. "I'm not coming onto you or anything, I swear. I just... haven't had someone to talk to for a while, and you seem really cool, Rachel."
Honestly? He seemed really cool too. She was going to tell him that, in fact, but some kind of pager started beeping on his belt, and he cursed again at whatever it said.
"Shit, I'm sorry, I have to go. I'll still pay for the full session and stuff, I promise." He jumped up out of his seat, knocking his tea all over the table as he shook his head and stared down at her, flustered. "Can I... Is it against the rules if I ask to spend time with you again?"
Rachel tried to play it cool by sipping from her coffee, as if she was always asked the same question. "I'd be offended if you didn't."
"Bye Rach." Swooping down, he pressed his lips against her cheek for a total of three seconds, but hot damn, what a beautiful three seconds it was.
"Bye Finn Hudson." And like a dream, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke while she sighed happily to herself because she didn't completely suck at her job.
xviii. "Come on, give us some details!" moaned Puck, who had his head propped up against the bar. "We should be celebrating that this jackass wasn't really a jackass like the others."
Rachel stabbed him with the sharp end of her cocktail umbrella, getting a strange amount of satisfaction from the way he hissed in pain. "He was not a jackass, thank you very much. He was a gentleman with a lovely smile."
"What was his name?"
She let out a dreamy sigh. "Finn."
She didn't see the way Puck and Santana high fived behind her back.
xix. She waited, waited for her pager to alert her of the next time she'd be escorting Finn Hudson wherever he wanted to go, but the only contact from the outside world came in the form of a phone call (which, by the way, was the wrong number, since Rachel knew of no one called Mohinder).
She tried to ignore the twisting sensation in her stomach.
xx. When almost an entire day had passed without any kind of message from the agency, Rachel decided to throw caution to the wind so she could spend her wages on actual brand name food. Despite having little luck with her new job, the pay was rather excellent, and she was lamely excited to fill her cupboards for a change.
She paid her cab driver (complete with tip!), grabbed a shopping basket (bypassing the ramen completely), and began. She hesitated a few times when the choice came down to the real deal and the substitute option, but all in all, she thought the trip successful.
That is, until she spotted a girl she recognised from her days at NYADA. Sugar Motta, a talentless harpy with an attitude as rotten as her personality, appeared out of nowhere from behind a pyramid of canned peas. Though it was almost nine at night, she was wearing Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses which clashed horribly against her spotted fur jacket, and her no doubt expensive stilettos made the most infernal sound as she clacked her feet across the floor.
Needless to say, Rachel had never been a fan. The girl had little to no talent of any kind, and yet because her dad was such a big benefactor of NYADA, she'd been given a free ride. She'd never turned up for the extra dance practices, or the vocal coaching sessions that Carmen Tibideaux herself had held for her students, and even though she couldn't string along a sentence without sounding false and pretentious, she'd been given one of the biggest roles in their final year production of Evita.
Miss Berry, bitter? Of course not.
"Could you tell me where the champagne is?" Sugar's nasally voice sent shivers through Rachel's body, and she watched in disbelief as the girl in front of her popped a comically large bubble of gum.
"I don't work here," she sniffed, offended at the very fact that she hadn't been recognised. Sure, they hadn't exactly crossed paths many times while they'd attended NYADA, but everyone was supposed to remember Rachel! She was relying on it so her former classmates would see her on Broadway and think 'wow, I remember when she was just a budding fellow student with dreams too big for her to carry'.
"And?" she asked, popping her gum for a second time. "Where's the champagne?"
"I wouldn't know, considering I'm not an employee."
Sugar folded her arms over her chest, which, by the way, had been paid for by daddy. "Do I know you?" She peered down at the brunette (only because her heels were so high, otherwise they'd be eye to eye and Rachel wouldn't have been so placid). "Did you used to clean the bathrooms at my old house?"
"I most certainly did not!" She felt the tips of her ears burning at the very thought, because while cleaning toilets was a respectable job which required a stronger stomach than one she possessed, it definitely wasn't Rachel's idea of a dream occupation.
She dreaded to think what her fathers would say if the only job she could get was cleaning bathrooms.
"NYADA? I played Evita."
Sugar cocked her head, popping her gum for a very frustrating third time. "Rachel Berry, I remember you. I tried to get my dad to pay someone to get rid of you so I'd get the spotlight, but we couldn't find anyone at such short notice. Sorry, Aspergers."
Rachel began to grind her teeth together as she clung tightly to the basket in her hands. "Charming. I can't stop because I have things to be doing."
"Wait." Sugar fished out a wallet from her purse, and while Rachel wondered briefly if she was going to give her a nice sum of money to help pay for her struggling Broadway dreams, she instead handed out a business card as the fourth pop of her gum made Rachel's ears ring. "Here."
"What's this for?"
The other girl shrugged and gave a coy smile. "If you need work, my house has a lot of bathrooms that need cleaning. Kisses!" She blew her a said kiss before shimmying away down the aisle, leaving Rachel to bubble over like a volcano at the thought of ever having to give in and work for someone like her.
She was Rachel Berry for goodness sake; one day Sugar Motta would be cleaning her bathroom.
xxi. Tucked up in the warmth and comfort of her bed, Rachel's eyes flickered with sleep and dreams, and though she'd never admit it to anyone, a line of drool seeped into her pillow as she breathed in and out in a slow, rhythmic fashion.
Sure, it was barely 10pm, but she'd always maintained the same routine; early to bed, early to rise.
When her cell phone began to blare out a Katy Perry song, she jumped awake with a yelp because who dared to interrupt her sleep schedule? Her fathers knew not to contact her after 8pm, and she'd specifically warned Santana (under pain of death) that she wasn't to be disturbed at night.
"Whoever this is, I expect you to call back tomorrow because I'm tired and cranky and not in the mood for polite conversation." She tried her best to sound intimidating, but coupled with a yawn that made most of it inaudible, it didn't exactly have the desired effect.
"Oh, uh, sorry Rach, I just got off my shift and-"
Hallelujah! "F-Finn? How did you get my number?"
"From the agency. Look, I'm sorry, I'll call back tomorrow, I gotta go anyway."
"Wait!"
The sound of the dial tone made her gulp down her guilt. She tried to call back, but the number was withheld.
She eventually fell asleep at almost three o'clock.
xxii. She waited patiently (...okay, maybe not so patiently) for him to call, but nothing.
She tried to brush it off; he was only a client, after all.
A handsome, funny, genuinely nice client.
xxiii. Despite being a real employee (she half expected to be fired whenever something went wrong), Rachel had avoided spending time at the agency itself. The facilities were supposed to be impressive, and the girls were supposed to be friendly, but there was something that kept her at bay.
Ah, yes, complete and utter fear. She was well aware she wasn't a conventional beauty (if she could be counted as a beauty at all), and the last thing she needed to scupper her confidence was the knowledge that all of her co-workers were prettier than her.
She wasn't vain, not in the least. She made an effort to look her best, but only because it made her feel like she could tackle things head on if she was slightly more presentable.
What she didn't need was to see the other escort options. Rachel knew, from Santana's schedule alone, that she wasn't a popular choice. The agency's website offered the chance to browse through a selection of girls, just like any online site, and it made sense that she often got ignored. With girls like Santana up for grabs, why bother with a big nose and large personality?
It was degrading and hurtful. For every client that she managed to secure, Santana had ten, all begging for more.
She needed the money, she told herself, she really really needed the money.
xxiv. Despite kicking and screaming and spitting out her pacifier, Rachel found herself standing in the middle of a crowded room filled with impossibly beautiful women. She felt so out of place amongst such classic glamour, and promising herself to only stay for an hour or so (it was some girl's farewell party), she poured herself a drink of cranberry juice.
"Welcome to Sylvester's!" cheered a voice from the back, and Rachel found herself smiling at the friendly welcome. "I'm Brittany." A blonde girl came forward and stuck out her hand, and after the two of them shook on their new found acquaintanceship, she pointed towards Santana, who was making her way around the room. "Santana's my best friend and she's told me a lot about you."
"Oh, that's... Only good things, I hope," said Rachel with a smile, despite how panicked she felt just imagining what the two of them had discussed.
Brittany shrugged, causing her hair to shimmy on her shoulders. "She called you a fruit."
"A fruit?" she asked, a quizzical frown on her face, "but I'm not gay."
"Neither am I." Brittany bit her lip. "Well, maybe I'm a bicycle instead of, like, a unicycle. But anyway, she kept calling you a prune."
A metaphorical light bulb appeared above Rachel's head as she found herself rolling her eyes. Ah, yes, Santana had mentioned Brittany a few times in passing, and she was just as distracted as Rachel had been led to believe. "I think you mean prude, which I am not, of course."
"When was the last time you had sex?" Brittany gave her the most nonchalant of looks, as if she'd just asked about the weather, or or... or anything other than sex. She didn't even know the girl!
"This morning," quipped a voice from behind, and Santana waltzed up towards them with a smirk on her face that was mirrored on Brittany's. "Puck's got stamina, I'll give him that. As for Berry, I'm gonna go with eighteen months."
"I beg your pardon? It has not been that long since I've been intimate with someone!"
"Your vibrator doesn't count."
"I don't own such a thing!"
"Your fingers don't count either."
"You can be incredibly vulgar sometimes."
"And that's why you love me."
Rachel found it difficult to argue with that.
xxv. Her pager began to buzz on the cab ride home. The night had been better than expected and she'd had enough alcohol to numb things a little, so when a name appeared on screen, she had to squint three times to try and read it.
David Karofsky. High school reunion. Details to come.
She sighed as she stared out of the window at the passing New York lights.
No sign of Mr Hudson.
xxvi. Standing in the doorway of a fancy looking hotel, Rachel pulled her shawl closer to her body as she checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes. David was late, and a lack of punctuality was something she couldn't stand. She'd made the effort to be fifteen minutes early to introduce herself to her client, and yet he didn't have the decency to even appear on time.
Honestly, men.
It was only when a rather large looking man ran up the stairs of the hotel entrance, huffing and puffing like he'd just taken part in a marathon, that Rachel found herself relaxing a little. While he was bending over, hands on his knees to catch his breath, she cleared her throat and steadied her nerves before holding a glove-covered hand out to him.
"Mr Karofsky I presume? I'm Rachel Berry."
David looked up at her with nothing but fear in his eyes, though as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared with a blink while he took her hand and shook it in his own (thank goodness for her gloves because she could practically feel the sweat pouring from his skin).
"S-sorry I'm late," he wheezed. His cheeks were bright red and his hair ruffled, and along with the fact that his jacket was buttoned up in completely the wrong manner, he gave off a... ah, desperate air about him.
She knew how formidable high school reunions were. He seemed to be no more than a few years older than her, and judging by the way his eyes kept flitting back and forth towards the hotel entrance, he wasn't looking forward to seeing his old classmates.
(At Rachel's first reunion, someone had tried to throw pig's blood on her when she accepted an honorary award for most determined graduate, but since the culprit had been drunk off their ass, they'd thankfully missed).
"Here, let me tidy you up."
Taking a handy-sized comb from her purse, Rachel gently pulled it through David's hair until he didn't look so manhandled. She re-buttoned his jacket and offered him a mint, and once she'd dabbed his face with a handkerchief, he looked much more presentable.
He didn't say a lot, not even a thank you, but she took his gratitude from the way he clung to her arm and kept her close as they finally went in.
The room wasn't very big. A few refreshments were lined up on a table against the back wall, a droll tune played out from the speakers, and small groups of people milled around like they'd rather be anywhere but there. She scanned the guests, eying up potential candidates for small talk, when she found her gaze falling on a particularly tall man who was eating all the cucumber sandwiches.
Finn.
"Hey Karofsky, didn't expect to see you here."
Broken out of her reverie, Rachel felt David's grip on her arm tighten as three men approached them, each wearing their high school letterman jackets (she had to try desperately hard not to roll her eyes at that).
She looked up at him as he gulped and forced out a smile.
"Why wouldn't I come?"
One of the men leered at her before 'playfully' punching David, though judging by the way he recoiled, it wasn't very gentle. "Because you caught a bad case of the gays. Last thing any of us heard, you tried to hang yourself when it went public."
Oh.
"So who's this little fox? She your beard while you're off fucking other fags?"
No, no, she wasn't going to stand for such crass, disgusting behaviour. With or without her two gay dads, she was a firm believer in equality for all, and she wasn't going to let some jerks push around her client, no matter how little she knew about him.
"David Karofsky is a brave young man who doesn't need the likes of horrible little men like you to try and ruin his day." Pulling her arm free so she could cross it over her chest, she had half a mind to slap the tallest of the three, though regretfully, violence was never the answer. "My eyes are up here, so please stop staring at my breasts."
One of them opened his mouth to speak, but she would be damned if she let them have a chance to retaliate.
"Is this what you live for, for bullying others? Most imbeciles grow out of it after high school, though judging by the jackets you're sporting, I'd say that you've just reached puberty and your pubic hairs are finally starting to appear. Congratulations!"
She heard David chuckle beside her, unaware of Finn's eyes on her from across the room. Prodding one of the men in the chest, she smiled brightly while he glared at her. "If you're so offended by homosexuals, I applaud your choice of friends. The boy beside you hasn't stopped checking your ass since he came over." Practically beaming, she blew them a kiss while David tried his best to keep his laughter down. "Enjoy the rest of your evening! I hear the sandwiches are to die for."
And with that, she linked arms with her client once more before escorting him out of the building, not acknowledging the shouts of her name as Finn stared after them.
"I'm so sorry for making a scene," she sighed, glancing up at the clock in the hotel lobby as they passed it. "We were barely there for five minutes."
"And a kickass five minutes they were." Stopping before the revolving doors, David shook his head at the same time that the tips of his ears began to burn. "Thank you for doing that. I still have this mental block when it comes to gay jokes and insults, and whenever someone mentions..." He shrugged. "I just wanted to prove to myself that I could go in there and be proud of the fact that I have a boyfriend, that I like men, but it turns out I'm still a coward."
"You're not a coward, David Karofsky." Rachel placed a hand on either side of his face. He was warm, friendly, and she could only see acceptance in his expression, the fear long gone. "I understand how hard it is, and I'm so impressed that you made it this far. Most people would have conceded defeat at the expense of their tormentors, but you didn't."
"Thanks to you," he smiled, and when he engulfed her in an extremely tight hug, she simply hugged him back. "Want to grab a movie?"
"Sounds good to me."
xxvii. "Miss Sylvester will see you in her office now."
Rachel closed her eyes and counted to ten as she smoothed out her skirt. The boss wanted to see her.
Why?
She had no idea.
Though the previous night had been a little unconventional to say the least, David had paid in full for her services, and no inappropriate groping had taken place; that had to be a personal best!
Still, at the unforgiving hour of 6am, Rachel had been told that Sue wanted to 'see' her, and that could only mean bad things.
She let herself into the office, noting that the woman in question didn't even look up from whatever smoothie concoction she was making in a handheld mixer.
"Take a seat." She added a spoonful of protein powder to her drink, still not looking in Rachel's direction, as she cleared her throat. "So, your client from yesterday, Mr Karofsky, contacted me."
Uh oh.
"He suggested that you deserve a promotion for the way you handled the events that occurred."
Rachel unclenched her jaw and opened her rolled up fists as she shook her head from side to side. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause... Excuse me?"
Only then did Sue look up, and a large smile graced her features. When she was smiling, she looked pretty, beautiful even, and Rachel found herself warming up to the woman a little (it definitely made her seem more human). "He told me exactly what happened at the reunion, and thanks to your quick thinking and courage, you saved him from any humiliation. Well done, kid."
Rachel left her office with tears in her eyes and a sense of pride in her stomach. She was glad that David was okay, and that's all she could have asked for.
The small financial bonus was just the icing on a very, very nice cake.
xxviii. Her cell phone buzzed during her morning workout. She paused her motivational 'I don't have issues with my weight but I like to stay in shape' playlist to read it, only to feel her stomach drop in... disappointment?
you looked pretty at the reunion. sorry i didn't say hi. finn (this isn't my number, just borrowing a friend's phone).
A friend's phone, great.
Pressing delete, she got back onto her elliptical machine, her enthusiasm long gone as she switched to her 'I'm confused about my feelings for a certain boy and he's sending me mixed signals anyway' playlist.
xxix. If she had to pinpoint an exact time when things started to look up, Rachel would have chosen the moment when her pager began to beep every other minute with a new client. For whatever reason, Sue had somehow managed to 'market' her as something special, and that's when the offers started pouring in.
And that's how she found herself accompanying a fireman to an awards event.
And that's how she found herself bumping into Finn at said awards event.
And that's how she found herself watching as he muttered something under his breath and fled the building.
And that's how she found herself watching as he fled the building in a very sexy fireman's outfit.
Yowch.
xxx. Why was he bothering her so much? Their session, so to speak, hadn't even lasted an hour, yet she couldn't get his face out of her mind, especially his eyes.
The first time they'd met, they'd been warm and inviting and oh so beautiful. The second time, at David's reunion, she'd only seen a flash of surprise. The third time? Disappointment, plain and simple (that was before he'd disappeared without a trace).
Rachel tried talking to Santana about it, but she wasn't exactly very helpful.
"Go fuck a random and get it out of your system;" that was her stellar advice.
Noah, on the other hand, was the opposite of his girlfriend (though they kept insisting that they weren't exclusive, not that Rachel was interested).
"Maybe he has some shit to deal with," he said with a belch, the smell of beer wafting in the air.
She wrinkled her nose. "So that's why he was so strange with me, because he has... crap to deal with?"
Puck grabbed a handful of nuts and shovelled them down. "I said shit."
"Same thing."
"Yeah, I guess. Just give the guy a chance, he'll probably get in contact with you when he stops being a shy, stubborn bastard."
Rachel was too busy sighing to herself to really listen.
xxxi. Whilst catching up with the latest episode of Hoarders as she finished off her last spoonful of dairy-free ice cream, her pager beeped for the tenth time that night with yet another client. She was somehow fully booked for the week, and with great power came great responsibility.
Or rather, with lots of clients came lots and lots of money.
She was getting better with each one. It was all about reading people, about making them feel comfortable and opening them up, and since her first disastrous few attempts, there had been no glitches whatsoever in her day to day routines.
Except when Finn's name flashed up on the screen requesting an escort to a family event. Who was she to say no?
And really, she wasn't allowed to say no unless there was some kind of problem.
But oh, there was a problem alright; how was she supposed to act like she hadn't been hurt by his erratic contact and the cold reception at the awards night?
She licked her spoon clean and bit down on her lip until it split, a single drop of blood falling into the pure whiteness of her ice cream.
She was missing something, but she couldn't figure out what.
xxxii. "It's just a family dinner!"
Santana continued to thumb through the rack of knee-high dresses regardless, humming some tune to herself as she popped a piece of gum. "Uh huh."
"I've been to plenty of these." At the look her friend gave her, Rachel sighed. "Okay, fine, I've been to two, but they were simple enough. I acted like the doting girlfriend while their families got excited over the new girl, and then the night ended and I went home with generous tips; it's not a big deal."
"Yeah, for anyone else." Santana popped her gum again, causing Rachel to clench her jaw; it had to be one of her biggest pet peeves. "You like this guy, you've only been out with him once, and he's already introducing you to his parents; hardcore."
Rachel let out an unladylike guffaw that clearly meant she didn't believe such a ridiculous notion (the fact that her cheeks flushed red as she pulled a shy smile was an unrelated issue).
"How 'bout this?" Santana cackled at the look on Rachel's face when she caught sight of the leather cat suit, and instead held out a vintage-style summer dress that was adorned in pretty little cherries.
"That's adorable!" she squealed, immediately snatching it so she could try it on.
Santana leaned against the wall of the changing booth, examining her finger nails. "It's perfect for you 'cause it's a metaphor."
"How so?"
"Cherries. They're a metaphor about how you wish Finn could have popped yours."
She laughed at the uncivilised, un-Rachel-like curses that drifted out of the booth.