Anonymous asked on Tumblr: When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. – Helen Keller
ficdirectory asked on Tumblr: "Toss your dashed hopes not into a trash bin but into a drawer where you are likely to rummage some bright morning." - Robert Brault
I
"Miss Berry?"
Rachel dropped her arm. She stared ahead, unseeing, at some random patterns on the far wall and she couldn't hear the words except for that tone, that vaguely apologetic and barely caring tone that's talked to so many fallen ingénues before –
Had it been too much to let herself hope she'd take on Barbra's role? It wasn't far-fetched. The rare and special had happened to people before, and Rachel knew that unshakeable truth that resonated within her bones, the truth that whispered that she was a star, a one-in-a-million talent. So why shouldn't it happen to her? She'd won lots of competitions in Glee. She'd sung at Nationals. She'd won Winter Showcase. She'd finally managed to win over Miss July.
But it wasn't going to happen, was it? The truth collected in her throat, crumbly and dry like the dust gathering in the corners of the room. It ran round and round in her mind and she was so tired – so tired. She, Rachel, who'd always had so much to say, was unable to string together enough of a sentence to talk to the casting director –
"Miss Berry?"
Rachel managed to lift the phone back up. "Y – yes? Do you have any feedback for me?"
This time, the casting director sounds kind. "Your tone and control and range is very impressive for someone so young. We love your passion. We feel as though you need more experience before you step into a role like Fanny Brice."
"H – how do I get more experience?"
"We'd like to offer you an understudy role for Fanny," she says.
Rachel closes her eyes. An understudy? It felt so – so disappointing, so heavy, not something she wanted now, because now? Now, she wanted success, and she'd wanted to make Fanny Brice live so large that she'd fill up the stage with her power and hear the audiences cheer, over and over and over, for her. An understudy? It was just unthinkable. She'd never be happy as an understudy. And yet - "Can I think about it?"
"You can have until tomorrow."
"You'll have an answer tomorrow."
II
The girl looks familiar. She's dark-haired, too, but she's taller, and older, and she's carrying two small coffees in front of her.
"You're Rachel Berry, aren't you?"
Rachel plasters on a quick, friendly-looking smile and shifts her books over to her side of the table. "Hello. Do I know you?"
"No, but I know you. You won Winter Showcase. I'm Sarah Aronson. I'm going to play Fanny Brice." She looks pleased. Of course she does.
"Congratulations! I'm sure you have the talent and the experience needed to play such an iconic part." Rachel knows the protocol, but she can't quite keep the disappointment out of her voice, not when it's been on her mind the whole day. In an hour, she's got to give the producers an answer, and she can't exactly say, "I don't know", but that is what she wants to say. It's so uncertain. She hates that.
"I was right for the part of Fanny," Sarah says, not so modestly. A lot of her friends would have groaned or rolled their eyes, but Rachel understands. When you know something so true about yourself, why hide it? She sits down in the chair opposite of Rachel without asking if she can. "Would you like a coffee? It's my treat."
"No, thank you," Rachel says primly. Her back goes rigid. It almost feels like Sarah took away the part on purpose. She doesn't know why – it's not fair and it's not personal. But, Rachel admits (grudgingly) to herself that she feels this way because she'd thought of Fanny as hers. Hers, and hers alone, and not someone else's.
"I don't like to bullshit. I wanted to say – I think you should understudy me." Sarah takes out a coffee and sips it without hesitation, even though it must have been scalding hot. "You're really, really good."
"Why would you care if I understudied you or not?" It comes out – right. Not too angry. Confused, yes.
"I've seen a lot of girls come and go," Sarah says. She puts her coffee down and looks narrowly back at Rachel. Her dark eyes bore into hers, and she can't look away. Sarah reminds her of Shelby, which is why this is so confusing in the first place. "NYADA's a small school, but even then, sometimes there's a lot of duds, a lot of fakes. But you just give off – something. You've got so much pride in your work. You're the real thing. You feel things hard and you don't beat around the bush. You know how rare that is around here? That's why."
"Do you really – " Rachel speaks slowly, measuring out the words carefully, and it's difficult; she doesn't often do that – "do you really think I'm the real thing?"
"I don't usually talk to my competition," and Sarah gives Rachel a small smile. "Do you talk to your competition? I don't think you do."
"Only if they're my friends, and you're not my friend."
"No, no, I'm not. But we've got to encourage each other in this business, too. I'd be fucking proud to call Rachel Berry my understudy, and that's the truth. One day, you'll bring down the house as Fanny. But - " Sarah pauses, significantly – "just not yet. You need more experience. This is the best way to get it."
Rachel lets herself smile. It feels good. Like – resolution. "I'll think about it. I promise."
"I'd even help you with future auditions," Sarah offers. "I never offer to help the competition, either. You should think about it."
"I'll play Fanny Brice someday." Rachel jerks her chin up and looks Sarah straight and directly in the eyes.
"I know you will. Who knows, it might be sooner rather than later."
III
Three months later, Sarah gets the flu and stays in bed for two weeks.
Rachel closes her eyes, again, before the red velvet curtain rises. Her moment's come. It's here.