A/N: So...how are y'all? Ok! The two of you that actually care that I updated this can stop throwing things at me! The Cliff Notes Version of what happened the past couple of months is the combination of procrastination, broken legs, course work, writing/arranging music for various music groups, and keeping the semblance of a social life that I have isn't conducive to writing fanfiction. Between that and hating the preposterous direction I was going with this, I came to not want to work on "Taxi Ride." However, all the way back in March I wrote like a beast and have been sitting on a couple chapters for a while and figured "Why not?" Seeing as I am back with a storyline and characterizations I am happy with and that flows sooo much better, I want to see this thing through. It may take a while, but I do have serious plans for this and fully intend to finish it if it kills me.
Also I just want to say thanks to my original editors Vsquared-k and letterstomaddie(lj) of the first incarnation. You guys fucking own at grammar and really supported me before I dropped off the face of the earth. As much as I'd like to ask you guys to fix my crappy grammar, I've "got to move on and be who I am." I mean, I gotta go my own way...I mean...Friggan High School Musical 2...
To those of you who have read this story before, I have changed some minor things that have really changed the plot so you should probably read this chapter and get or else you'll be like "What. The. Fudge.." More changes occur next chapter, but that's for me to know and you to find out a week from now. Also bumped up the rating just to give myself more freedom to take this where it leads. *Kanye Shrug*
Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine. If it was I think I would add some tigers here and the original songs wouldn't sound like Disney Channel rip-offs. Also, I am not Rachel Yamagata so "Worn Me Down" isn't mine either. Despite all this, the plot is of my own creation.
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2 of Glee. All canon applies.
Sorry for the novel length authors note. I clearly have no control over my big mouth.
Grammar, typos, and syntax errors are my fault so blame me.
"Somebody That I Used To Know"
If you've ever had the joy of flipping through the tabloids while waiting for that awkward teenager to ring up your groceries, you know that relationships in show business hardly, if ever, end well. I mean, if Brad and Angelina didn't make it, why on Earth would you think that the latest "ingénue" of Broadway – the one with a voice people would die for – would be faithful to a college dropout, with dreams of become the next Cole Porter, lacking any and all necessary social skills needed to keep her "leading lady." However, since the moment she was awarded her high school diploma, Quinn refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell her how she ought to live her life; therefore, regarding the topic of her scandalous dalliance into the love lives of the rich and famous, she never really listened to anything anyone had to say. Not even Santana. God, she hates it when the bitch was right.
"She's gone/She's gone/How do you feel about it?/ That's what I thought..." Click.
'Seriously?' she questioned the deity up above (who had clearly wanted to mess with her this morning) as she turned off her alarm. It had been a year since "The Breakup" and it was quite pathetic that Quinn was still feeling the often clichéd hole in her chest. For those of us not in the know, Quinn had previously dated the "Whore of Babylon." Quinn would like to think that this is somewhat of an exaggeration, but as the saying goes, "if the shoe fits..." And that is precisely why she was feeling exceptionally miserable. She had inadvertently ruined any possible chance of living a normal life again. Between fans recognizing her, posters of her face all over the city, and the multiple guest appearances on morning shows she did, Quinn was constantly reminded of the diva, her ridiculous fashion sense, and her voice. It was that voice that haunted Quinn since the first time she remembered hearing it.
After getting up, going through the motions of her morning routine and enjoying her perfectly balanced breakfast of Peanut Butter Crunch and Gatorade, it was approximately 7:12 and she was almost ready to face the day's agenda: attend an audition, rehearse for an opera in production at the Met, and suffer through the night job that she loathes. Almost ready. All she needed was the TLC offered in every cup of hot apple cider from the cafe conveniently located right beneath her implausibly tiny shoebox apartment.
Walking down the stairs, she could already smell the coffee mingling with cinnamon in the air and she quickly became excited at the anticipation of drinking her favorite beverage. Though the idea that a non-alcoholic, fruit-based drink can cure any and all heartbreak is preposterous, the apple cider at Jack's left Quinn as mended as she ever wanted to get. As was her custom, when she finally made it through the line, she ordered while playing on her phone and paid without paying attention to whoever was running the cash register. Cup of comfort finally in hand, she left promptly for the subway before she even reveled in the ceremonial first sip.
After ticking off the first two items on her agenda – her terrible excuse of an audition and her rehearsal with a prima donna soprano that even the director hates – Quinn set out for the Majestic. Working in the pit for such a fantastic, long running show such as "Phantom of the Opera" should have been a dream come true for Quinn, and it used to be, but that was another thing that was completely ruined. Every night was a constant reminder that she wasn't enough to keep up with her. On some level, she could identify with The Phantom, scars and all.
While walking down West 44th, she couldn't help but remember how enchanting she was and how her voice produced such visceral reactions. No one had ever made Quinn feel such an emotional intensity and she fully believed that no one else ever would. "Oh my god," Quinn can almost hear Santana say, "At what point did your life become a shitty Nicholas Sparks novel?" And with that, she pushed all feelings and memories of the past to the back of her mind.
Having arrived entirely too early, Quinn found she had enough time to warm up and finished with plenty of time to spare. Restless as she was most days, she wandered from the pit, flipping through her little black book: a collection of her favorite poems and one-liners kept in a leather journal that never left her side. Despite being careful, Quinn quickly learned that it is impossible to navigate the small hallways of the theatre without risking injury and ending up in the most awkward of situations.
Eyes still closed from the impact, Quinn automatically attempted to get up and shake off the pain and dizziness that generally occurs when your brain connects rather abruptly with concrete; however, much to her dismay, she found there was a decidedly unyielding object keeping her from regaining her feet. Because, at this point, moving hurt, she gave up and opened her eyes to a blurry mess of brown hair and what appeared to be a red coat. Quinn managed to decipher words as this red and brown blur mumbled: "Shit. My first call back and I had to royally screw up...At least I didn't fall and break my talent."
Ignoring the dazed and very confused blonde beneath her, the red and brown blur grew noticeably anxious, "My libretto! Oh my god...if it got ruined..." And, Quinn shrewdly deducted, based on the decidedly feminine shrill voice was, in fact, female.
Trying to get the girl to calm down (and, more importantly, to vacate her personal space), Quinn offered rather harshly, "Lady, if you need an extra libretto I can give you one of mine, just please get off of me."
The frazzled girl, lady, lady-girl, ('Dear Jesus, Quinn. Pull it together.') quickly leapt off of Quinn and helped her up. She then proceeded to scramble around for her sheet music, trying to gather and replace what used to be the happy contents of her bag. Quinn took this opportunity to glance over her young, short, and somehow familiar assailant. Her face wasn't visible but the way she jumped around and the annoying tone of her voice was reminiscent of … no, it couldn't be.
Finding her composure and anxious to combat the awkward silence, Quinn started, "I am so sorry. I had no idea where I was going. I got here earlier and was just roaming and reading…"
Dropping down to her knees, "Let me help you."
Just as she knelt, the girl glanced up and a strange, knowing look crossed her face.
Rachel. Fucking. Berry.
Here they'd come again: the paragraphs.
"Oh my god! Quinn! I can't believe it!" Rachel exclaimed as exuberantly as that obnoxious kid from Glee. Oh wait. That was Rachel.
'God help me,' Quinn thought to herself.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Rachel added promptly, "Actually, I completely believe it. When you started dating Eva Parker it spread all over the city, plus, of course, the internet, rumors that she had corrupted and seduced a talented young student. I personally think she isn't much to speak about. She can't even reach a high F, nor does she do justice to the character 'Maria.'"
Giving her head a small, disapproving shake and dismissing the matter with a "humph" sound, she continued unabashed, "Anyways, I must add that it was a disappointment to find out from a third party that you, Ms. Fabray, had many other musical talents that could have led us to win Nationals earlier. I didn't know you were even in New York until the tabloids started printing pictures.
"I understand that we were never friends, but it would have been nice to have at least exchanged numbers," she added sadly.
Still on the floor and still reeling from the Rachel Berry Experience, all Quinn could do was stare at Rachel dumbfounded and try to come up with and explanation.
Rachel Shirley (but it should really have been Barbra, but her fathers had treasured "Sweet Charity" since the dawn on time) Berry had always been taught by her fathers that she could be anything she ever dreamed of being. That said, all Rachel ever remembered wanting to be was a Broadway star. And not just any star, a Gold Star. Not that a gold star is a metaphor for anything other than the fact that she was born for stardom and fame. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Audra Richardson. Bitch. I mean, whore. I mean, worst roommate ever.
Pulling off her blindfold and sitting up in the direction of her window, Rachel looked and listened to the sights and sounds of her city. Granted, all she heard was the commotion of traffic, both human and otherwise; and really, all she was able to see were abstract parts of the building across the street… But it still felt magical. Even 4 years after her arrival, the wonderful sensation that she was in New York, The Big Apple, The City That Never Sleeps, Gotham, never ceased to leave her reeling. She still felt giddy, because even though 4 years had passed, she was finally here.
For the first five minutes of every day, it always seemed as if she was awaking, arriving to some new adventure, and this thought excited her tremendously. Of course, after these five minutes of sunshine, rainbows, stage lights and unicorns were over, the reality of rent, groceries, college debt and directors calling "Next" set in. How, through all this, she maintained her tenacity and held on to that far-fetched dream of making it on Broadway, the world will never know.
Upon finishing her morning routine as quickly as possible, Rachel grabbed her apron and looked over to her clock. It was blinking 12:00 pm. 'That can't be right,' she thought to herself. Pulling up her sleeve, she checked her watch. 5:48 am. She was late. She was late. She. Was. Late. Jack is a nice guy, but one more time and the Santa Claus look-a-like would undoubtedly fire her. Plus, she had to leave work early for an audition so showing up on her first day was definitely not an option.
Rushing out the door and locking the 4 deadbolts that her fathers insisted upon, she sprinted six blocks and finally got to the train. After not much ado, she arrived at her stop – 42nd Street and Bryant Park – and ran up the stairs to rush down 6th Avenue. Upon reaching 27 West 38th, she took a moment to collect herself and walked regally through the engraved open double doors.
From the first time she set foot into Jack's for her interview, she was oddly impressed. For a New York Cafe it was so…kitschy and garishly so. From the garish purple drapes adorning windows tall enough to dwarf her (not a particularly difficult feat, but impressive nevertheless) to the red and white polka dotted take-out counter, Jack's had such vulgar and tasteless décor. With its dark furniture and mismatched artwork, the cafe reminded her of those horrendous animal sweaters she had worn in high school. But, much like those sweaters, it was hard not to be charmed by the place.
After clocking in at approximately eighteen minutes and thirty four seconds late and putting on her apron, Rachel trotted over to her usual perch at the take-out bar.
Every morning Jack's was packed with customers and today was no exception. Taking a seat behind the counter that displayed so many baked, fried, and anything-in-between goods, Rachel began to take orders. After what seemed like an eternity, she saw her.
This wasn't just anybody. This was Quinn Fabray. The seemingly jaded, broken Quinn Fabray that had once been the crown jewel of the Fabray Clan; the girl who carried the weight of Beth, and unsupportive family and, seemingly, the world on her shoulders and still managed to make it. Rachel had been naturally more than a little curious. And of course, Ms. Fabray's previous romantic scandal with Eva Parker made her all the more interesting.
Though Rachel's grasp of reality was based largely in her melodramatic imagination, on more than one occasion in high school watched Quinn hold open the door for a single mother struggling to maneuver a stroller with two toddlers clinging to her legs, guide an elderly gentleman through Breadstix to his seat just to be sure that he was alright after being jostled by a teenage ruffian outside, or sing "I Don't Want to Live On the Moon" to Sam's sister that time And despite these random acts of nobility and kindness, Quinn had never really looked at Rachel or even paid her a sympathetic glance. For all of her personality flaws and rage, she certainly knew how to be kind though. It was a cunundrum that Rachel had wanted to figure out for years.
"Large Cider. To-go."
"Alright. Anything else?"
Rachel hoped that despite the distraction of her phone Quinn would look up.
"Nope."
Her hopes were for naught. It was Quinn Fabray after all.
"That will be one dollar and fifty-four cents," Rachel added with a smile that went unnoticed.
Handing over over a dollar bill, two quarters, and 4 pennies, the transaction was complete. And then, as quickly as she came, Quinn was out the door.
To Rachel, Quinn's exit was always quite poetic. A metaphor, if you will, for all the rest of Rachel's interactions. If she allowed the melancholic part of her mind wander and take precedence, this symbolic conclusion of their "meeting" left her with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness. Just as Quinn would never speak so much as a syllable outside their established script from high school, Rachel would never again hear a casting director say after an audition "Thank your for your time, Ms. Berry. Rehearsals start on [Insert Date and Time Here]. Welcome to the show."
It seemed as if the world was dead set on ignoring Rachel Berry. In small town Ohio, she was the star of the show choir circuit, but here, in the place where her dreams were supposed to come true, she was just a small, insignificant fish. It wasn't fair that her whole experience in New York had been one of long hours making coffee beverages and countless auditions. She wasn't supposed to be the one going to Broadway shows, she was supposed to be starring in them. Maybe this was the universe's way of teaching her humility. 'Consider the lesson learned universe…' Pushing these unhappy thoughts down, she forced a smile and took the next customer's order.
When the Father of Christmas Cheer – who more commonly went by the name of "Jack" – finally arrived, Rachel was fuming. She'd needed to leave exactly 20 minutes ago because her audition for Chorus Girl #8 was to begin promptly at 3:15 and it was already 3:10:47 and counting. Papa Nöel was sure to take his time welcoming customers personally and greeting his staff before taking over for her, per usual. She didn't have time for this.
But Mr. Kringle paused uncharacteristically when his eyes fell upon the unreasonably stressed out, overwhelmed, and, frankly, crazy looking Rachel Berry. He then realized the reason why she was giving him one of the iciest stares he'd ever received. Her audition for Phantom was today. She had told him and he had forgotten. It takes at least 12 minutes to get to the theater on foot and it would be impossible for her to make it now. Saintly soul that he was, without so much as a second though he bellowed suddenly for Rachel to clock out and meet him out front.
While Rachel swiped her time card and collected her things, Jack called a cab, gave the driver a 50 and told him to keep the change if he could get Rachel to the Majestic in under 2 minutes. Just as the agreement was finalized, Rachel stepped in the cab, an imaginary flag was waved, and they were off.
Through some miraculous crinkle in the space-time continuum, the driver managed to get there with 3 minutes to spare.
Rachel leapt from the cab and shot through the door. Running through the main hall, it wasn't until she was perpendicular to the floor and chastising herself for this lapse in grace that she noticed she'd inadvertently bulldozed someone. She would have been more concerned, of course, except that she was already so very rushed… After a brief panic over her libretto, the someone then spoke up rather rudely, "Lady, if you need an extra libretto I can give you one of mine, just please get off of me."
Rachel recognized the voice. Could it be? No. Not possible. Well, it was completely possibly given that Quinn worked at the Majestic but really? Of all times...
Jumping off and trying to collect her things, she looked up to the owner of that familiar voice and tried to look as surprised as possible.
"Oh my god! Quinn! I can't believe it!"
A/N part deux: Did you like it? Did you hate it? Too cliche? To similar to the previous chapter one? Grammar problems? Do you want me to burn in hell for not updating? Let me know because I can't fix things unless you tell me. Also, if you annoy me on tumblr (link in my Bio and it's so unquality it isn't even funny) or pm me enough I'd probably be guilted into finishing up and posting chapter two sooner rather than the planned week from now because I feel sooooooo bad it's been 8 months. My apologies to the people that read, favorited, alerted who were disappointed.
Also, chapter title shamelessly taken from Gotye's single of the same name. It's a great song that you should probably listen to.