"Where's Fabray?"
"The better question is: why isn't she here, photobombing the group shot?"
But the small town girl was nowhere to be found. Instead of joining the crew for a night of celebration after their successful debut, Quinn was spending her free time in her trailer: that's right, the one with her name engraved on a shiny plaque. She even had her own parking space! Resting her leather boots on the coffee table that probably cost more than Santana's boob job, she grinned down at her phone.
Out of all the people that could have contacted her, Rachel decided to step down from her pedestal. Why did she still have her number, anyway? Knitting her brows together, she waited impatiently for a response. Driven by the courage that came with impersonating a rockstar, Quinn waited. It was nearly 2 am when her phone lit up again, this time with a incoming phone call.
"Quinn! Hey, sorry for the delay in getting back to your message, I was - "
"It's fine, Rachel."
Both women smiled slightly in understanding.
"Where are you? It sounds loud."
Quinn glanced around the bar, lifting her hand to wave down another shot of tequila. After doing so many takes with those tricky parlor doors, she had grown to appreciate the stuff. The offer had been made to replace it with apple juice or wine, but she opted for authenticity. She was so tired of pretending. Besides, the slight burn of the liquor as it ran down her throat helped with her nerves.
Not that she would admit to being nervous, to a large group of strangers.
"I'm out with the boys," she lied through her teeth, as she was getting in some much needed alone time instead. "I might be joining them on their South American tour. The lead singer has a bit of a cold and they could use a stand in."
"What?! Quinn, that's so great! So are you dropping out of college and running away to become a rockstar?"
"I already am a rockstar," the blonde stated with a playful scoff, as if it were common knowledge that she was born for this role. Of course, technically she was still pretending to be someone else, but it was a paying gig now. Plus, she got to keep the costumes.
"I didn't mean - "
Quinn rolled her eyes affectionately, bracing herself for the onslaught of apologies. Everyone seemed to be walking on pins and needles around her and she hated it. "I know what you meant... how's Nyada?" Thinking better of such a broad question, she was quick to add, "Cliffnotes version, please." She wasn't nearly drunk enough to follow along to a tangent about Wicked, auditions, and other Broadway references.
Rachel managed to summarize her life in about ten minutes, but it was a minute too long before Quinn leaned against her hand and drifted off.
"And then Santana told me what happened at the wedding..."
Quinn's eyes snapped open and she readjusted the collar of her blazer, clearing her throat to try to rid the grogginess from her voice. "She what?" the McKinley graduate nearly squeaked, glancing around to make sure that no one was listening in. Maybe she wasn't as brave as she thought.
"Oh, you know. How you were - "
"It was one time! Okay, well, no. It was twice."
Rachel stayed silent for a long moment, before whispering into the covered mouthpiece. "You and Santana... twice?!" She sounded so surprised, for someone that was so sure of things a minute ago -
Oh, crap.
"You didn't know?"
"Of course not! Santana doesn't tell me anything about her lady love life. In fact, it's explicitly written in our roommate rules, which is a mutual agreement. I just wanted to see if you were awake!" Rachel exclaimed, wisely choosing not to mention those unsent text messages that she could just barely make out earlier. You know, while she had been snooping.
"Wow, Quinn, I didn't know that you were..."
"I'm not!" Quinn practically yelled, causing a few of the other bar patrons to turn in their seats and stare at her. A few were trying to place her face somewhere and it was only a matter of time before the paparazzi caught wind of her location. Last time she was recognized in public, there was a small mob of nearly all teenage girls blocking the only exit, asking for her autograph. "I'm not."
An uneasy silence fell upon them and Quinn was pretty sure that she wanted the Earth to swallow her whole.
"So, that song... it wasn't about Santana, right?" the diva asked in much more demure tone than before. It reminded her of when Quinn asked her if she'd been singing to Finn and only to him. Would the newfound celebrity decide to lie to her, too? She wanted to believe that she would notice the telltale signs of a lie, but - well, they weren't even face to face right now.
"Good night, Rachel."
A loud, resonating click signaled the end of the phone call and the brunette wasn't sure if she had less questions or just a whole new slew of them. But one thing remained clear: she was still reduced to a hot mess whenever she spoke to the other woman. The realization hit her full force and she forced herself to smile at Santana's questioning looks.
"Did you just swallow Candyland with that big mouth of yours? Because your eyes are a little glazed over and you look like you're on a sugar rush. Wait a minute, don't tell me that you got into my Red Bull stash, again... Rachel, we've talked about this - "
But her attention span seemed to fade in and out of focus, even as the Lima Heights native continued to throw insults and taunts. Not effective. Eventually, Santana just stood there and threw her hands up in defeat, unable to get a rise out of her.
The lights went off and Rachel sat there in the dark, clutching her cellphone to her chest. The dim glow of the screen illuminated her side of the room as she thumbed through her old messages, stopping to stare at Quinn's first words to her. If nothing else, she felt like more of a star now.
A/N: Wow, I am so overwhelmed by all the encouragement and kind words. Thank you so much for joining me on this adventure. I hope you're ready for a wild ride.