Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of it's characters. If I did, St. Berry would be endgame, all the deleted scenes would NOT have been deleted, and Finchel would get out of our faces.
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How I Know You - Chapter 10
"Jesse?" The name fell from her lips with enough incredulity to go around. Needing confirmation on whether she had misheard Puck or not, she found herself elaborating, "Jesse? As in Jesse St. James, the boy who I loved and subsequently loathed entirely after he broke an egg on my forehead in order to achieve his own nefarious ends?"
"The very dude," came the answer.
"Puck," she began lowly, and he recognized immediately that his fate was sealed whenever she addressed him by the nickname she deemed farcical. "I'm in no mood for your jokes. I need someone with qualifications."
"I didn't make a joke," derisively snorted Puck, "and you know St. James has chops, what with all his national titles. You're just too chickenshit to talk to him, probably because your lack of closure or whatever girly-ass issues you got with the guy. My advice, Rach? Strap on a pair."
"First of all, you hate Jesse," seethed Rachel, "You coined the term 'St. Jackass'—"
"I'm not his biggest fan, if that's what you're getting at," Puck interjected, "but I'm not about to deny that Jesse owns the whole show choir deal. The dude's like the Chuck Norris of Broadway."
"Second of all," she indignantly continued, "I've been subjected to the je ne sais quoi of Jesse St. James far too much already this summer, and I fear being in his presence any longer would be an overdose that I'm not completely sure I could recover from."
"What the hell did that fairy do to you?" Puck all but yelled, "If he so much laid a finger on you I'm going to kick him square in the balls."
"Let's just say Jesse's presence in my life has been rather intrusive lately," hedged Rachel, Puck's disparaging use of language chosen to be overlooked. "In a unfortunate twist of fate, I encountered him many times while in New York and I can't even begin to describe the humiliation I'd been made to suffer and—wait, why are you so interested?"
"What? A Jew can't look out for a fellow Jew? We Jews gotta stick together, Rach, and protect our heritage. And maybe," his smirk was easily heard through his words, "I missed your dramatics and found myself needing a fix."
Rachel's laugh was music. "Oh, Noah, I'll miss you when you're in California,"
"Don't sweat it. I'll still call you up, maybe test out a few pick-up lines on you before I hit the streets."
"I might as well demoralize you now, none of them will have much effect on me," she laughed.
"But seriously, Rach, consider giving Jesse a call. I know you've had your differences in the past, but he is your best shot at a good mentor."
With no more banter to change the subject, Rachel sighed. "I'll think about it."
"Good. So, listen, I'd better go, I have a pool cleaning job in twenty."
"Hopefully 'pool-cleaning job' isn't an euphemism for sleeping with women twice your age," she reprimanded.
"Who do you think you're talking to, Rach? I've become a different man since we graduated. I've made a total metamorphosis like a badass Monarch butterfly or something. Besides, cougars aren't doing much for me these days. Even if the sex shark is retired, hypothetically, I have a feeling he'd go for much younger, firmer meat with big—"
"And here I thought you wouldn't revert to your old ways," she teased. "Bye, Noah."
She heard the line go dead and flipped her phone shut. Sitting back on her offensively pink bed, Rachel considered her options for a mentor, and how Jesse really was her only hope. Rachel grumbled and buried her face in her pillow to scream. She really couldn't stand giving in to her pledged resistance to Jesse, she didn't want to give him any power over her, and she most certainly didn't want to owe him anything. If there was one thing that hadn't changed about Rachel Berry, it was her stubbornness.
Instead of pondering Jesse's merits as a mentor, she thought of excuses that she could use if Puck bothered her about it again. Storming unnecessarily out of her bedroom, she marched downstairs to where her fathers were sitting and plopped herself on the couch adjacent to them.
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Leroy asked, folding up his newspaper and placing it beside him.
"I just got off the phone with Noah. He was trying to aid me in my search for a mentor, and although I'm sure his intentions are well-placed, he didn't prove to be very helpful," Rachel relayed sardonically.
"Oh?" Hiram chimed in, "Did he have any ideas?"
"Only one," Rachel replied, "Though not a very good one."
"Himself, of course," Leroy joked, reaching for his cup of tea.
"No, actually, he suggested I contact Jesse St. James," Rachel stated shortly, her annoyance with him slipping onto her face, darkening her stare.
"Jesse?" Leroy sputtered from behind his cup, "I thought Noah hated him, I thought they all hated him?"
"Apparently after he apologized to me—and we triumphed over Vocal Adrenaline at Nationals—they decided he wasn't a threat anymore," she explained, already finished with the conversation.
"And do you think he's a threat, honey?" Hiram inquired.
"A threat to what? We won Nationals, I am not in Glee Club anymore. Why should he still be a threat?"
"Well, dear. A threat to your heart, perhaps?" Leroy asked.
"You never had closure with him, if I remember correctly," Hiram added with a pointed look, picking up his paper once more to read.
"And now that you're sing—that your relationship status is a little ambiguous," Leroy corrected, "reconnecting with Jesse might lead to something—complicated?"
"That is a ridiculous assumption, daddy. Jesse and I had plenty of closure at Nationals a year ago and at this past year at Nationals. And as for my heart, it still belongs to Finn, it always will."
"So then I don't believe I see the problem with Jesse being your mentor, the boy certainly is talented." Hiram concluded over the top of his paper.
"I agree. You'll learn much more from him than you would from anyone else here in Lima, including me." Leroy, ever the comedic relief, smiled a little.
Sighing in defeat, Rachel stood up to kiss her fathers goodnight. "Very well, I'll give him a call in the morning."
Her fathers had given her no leverage to decline Noah's suggestion to contact Jesse, in fact, now she was obligated to ask him. She tossed all night in her bed, agonizing over the inevitable awkward and embarrassing phone conversation she would have to endure with Jesse. Looking over at her clock, it read 2:07 a.m., an hour Rachel had hardly ever seen in her lifetime. Clambering out of bed, she strode over to her laptop and signed onto her email, opting for the least painful way for her to ask for Jesse's help.
Jesse, she composed,
I hope your trip home was safe and pleasant. I've been back in Lima for a few weeks already and have come across a particular dilemma. You see, my advisor at NYADA informed me it would be in my best interest to hire a mentor over summer to improve (though I disagree with this advice, I suppose I must do everything I can to enter my first semester in top shape) upon my already undeniably exceptional vocal range, capabilities, and overall talent. Anyway, I have had a difficult time finding a mentor who knows the technicalities of vocal control, dance, and acting, and who exceeds my talent and experience. Shelby is, as you probably already know, in Chicago and is unable to help me. Therefore, my last option is you. If you agree to take the position as my mentor, we can discuss your pay and meeting times, as well as my guidelines.
-Rachel Barbra Berry
Satisfied with the level of professionalism she maintained throughout her email, Rachel shut her laptop and climbed back into her bed. Having avoided an awkward encounter, she was able to sleep soundly for the rest of the night, no longer plagued with the thought of conversation with the boy who haunted her every night and day.
Rachel woke late in the morning to the ringing of her phone, and she reached blindly towards her bedside table and opened her eyes to read the incoming caller grudgingly.
Incoming call from Jesse St. James, the display read.
Ignoring the call, Rachel placed her phone back on the table and turned onto her side. Usually, she was up and about by this time of day, but after her insomnia last night, Rachel had permitted herself to sleep in as long as she possibly could.
As soon as she got comfortable enough to drift back to sleep, her phone began to vibrate again on the table. This time, Rachel didn't even move.
"I'm busy," she grumbled at the inanimate object beside her and covered her ears with a pillow until the noise ceased. The reprieve didn't last long, however, because not even a moment later the ringing persisted.
Sitting up abruptly, Rachel grabbed her phone and answered the call, stewing in irritation and pretty certain she was about to bite Jesse's head off. "What could you possibly what at this ungodly hour of the morning, Jesse St. James? Haven't you ever heard of common courtesy where one does not initiate a call before the reasonable hour of ten a.m.?"
"Good morning to you, too," Jesse replied lightheartedly, "Of course, you do realize it's well past noon, don't you? Otherwise I suggest you invest in a new clock, or better yet a watch."
"I'm busy," she snapped, put off by his maneuver around the wall of ice she'd built with her words.
"I didn't realize work-hours began at 2 a.m., which was around the time I received an email from you. I have nothing but the tip of my hat, Rachel Berry. I didn't know it was possible for people to maintain such eloquence at such an ungodly hour." Jesse laughed.
"I am in no mood to put up with your mockery today, Jesse."
"An email," he continued, "of all possible means of communication, you choose to send me an email. Not to mention the formality! You haven't forgotten that we've dated, have you?" His voice took on a licentious whisper as he continued, "That I've seen you almost completely naked?"
"I'm hanging up," Rachel rushed out, heart slamming against her ribs. Before he could plead for her to stay on the line she'd ended the call and stared at the device for a good few minutes before she dared to breathe again.
As she went through her usual morning routine, she grumbled at the persistent phone calls she was receiving from Jesse. Finally, her phone buzzed with a text message, which she was curious enough to read.
New message from Jesse St. James:
If you're going to refuse to be civil and engage in conversation like a normal person, at least check your email.
Curiosity consumed her once more as she sat down, hairbrush in hand, and logged on to her email account. The first thing that showed up in her inbox was a reply from Jesse. Sure he was only replying to mock her, Rachel moved the email into her trash and walked away to finish brushing her hair. Seventy-five brush strokes in, though, Rachel's eyes had become fixed on the bright screen in the corner.
"Rachel, your willpower is like the upper-body strength of Screech," she said to herself disapprovingly as she put her brush down and crept over to her computer. Recovering the email and heaving one big sigh, she opened the window and began to read.
Rachel,
Before I was so pettily hung up on, I was going to ask you how the rest of your trip to New York had been. I only recently returned, to the chagrin of my parents that I had even been away. Nevertheless, I have considered your offer and decided to accept. I understand your predicament completely, Vocal Adrenaline had (and will continue to have) the same problem finding a coach now that I am no longer "eligible" for a job there. You did best to contact me, I couldn't think of anyone better for the position as your mentor. As for pay and meeting times, I can meet at any time of the day, any day of the week, as many times a week as you wish. I know money is tight for your family with having to pay NYADA's tuition, so I will accept what your fathers are willing to pay me. Next time I call, I hope you will answer your phone so we can schedule a first meeting and discuss guidelines, for I have some of my own.
-Jesse Thomas St. James
"Asshole" Rachel muttered to herself, closing the window and logging out of her account. Her last step in her morning routine was to get dressed; looking at her closet, Rachel flipped through her collection of old animal sweaters and miniskirts, feeling especially tired of dresses that felt too tight around her torso. Picking out an owl shirt and a dark skirt, she completed the look with a pair of dark knee high socks. Rachel looked in her full length mirror and remembered herself as a sophomore, silly and confused, with an adorably atrocious sense of style. Grabbing a barrette from her dresser, Rachel pinned her bangs to the side and chuckled, she looked as if she hadn't changed a bit. She still looked like the petite sophomore, struggling to help a glee club of degenerates make it to Nationals while balancing her school work and joke of a love life—the same sophomore girl who fell for the bad boy and paid the price for it, the same sophomore girl whose first kiss would be her fiancé. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. Clicking the heels of her penny loafers together as she looked herself over once more, Rachel heard a faint knock on the door downstairs, and her daddy answer it.
"Rachel, honey, you have a visitor." Leroy called up to her.
Curious as to who would come over without first calling her, Rachel went swiftly downstairs and saw Santana waiting in the doorway.
"Santana? What are you doing here?" Rachel asked from the bottom step of her staircase.
Santana looked over at Rachel with a grimace and walked in to greet her. "I came to pick up a few things I left here before you went on your little vacation to New York."
"When were you—" Rachel began, before Santana cut her off with a smile to her fathers
"I hope I didn't disrupt anything important with my arrival, I'm leaving for the summer semester in St. Louis soon and I need to make sure I have everything."
"Oh, it's no problem Santana, we are glad to see you're well." Hiram replied from the sofa.
"Come on, Berry, up we go," Santana ordered, turning towards Rachel and leading her up the stairs. Rachel followed obediently, still confused as to what exactly Santana was doing in her house.
When they got to Rachel's room, Santana turned around and placed her hands on her hips. "Now really Berry, do I have to lecture you about your choice of clothing again, because I am prepared to whip out some scathing insults that have been building up inside of me like a volcano and are dying to be let out."
"I just thought I'd see if I still fit into these clothes," Rachel responded meekly, feeling threatened and out of place with the girl responsible for making her high school career a living hell standing in her room.
"Now that you've experimented, it's time you change before I rip the sweater from your body and jump out the window in hopes that some sheer force of God would enchant the owl and fly me away to a place that would put me out of my misery. " Santana remarked sarcastically, "Now, where are the clothes I lent you?"
"The what?" Rachel asked unsurely.
"Black shorts, flowery top, stilettos. They were in your suitcase." Santana explained impatiently.
"Oh," Rachel remembered, "Those were yours?"
"Yes, now get them!" Santana commanded and Rachel went to recover them from her dresser.
"I thought they might have been Quinn's, since she probably packed on the request of Finn." Rachel stated, handing the neatly folded clothes to Santana.
"You think Quinn owns clothes like this? Please, she's almost as prudish as you are. Quinn and I packed together, and being the influential Auntie Tana that I am, I slipped this little number into your suitcase, just in case you met a handsome stranger and decided to go on a sexy adventure around the city, and in hopes that you would take a hint." Santana elaborated, then glanced over Rachel's current ensemble again and muttered. "Obviously, you didn't"
"Sexy adventure?" scoffed Rachel "I was with my dads."
"I told Puck you wouldn't need them, but he insisted. Now I have the pleasure of rubbing it in his face that you didn't even try them on," Santana said.
"Puck? Why did Puck tell you to pack me something like that?" Rachel asked, more confused than she had been when Santana turned up on her doorstep.
Santana, realizing that she had said too much, made for the door. "That's none of your business, Berry. Especially since you didn't even have the courage to take off those kneesocks for a minute and live your life."
Rachel didn't say anything, too embarrassed to tell Santana that she had, indeed, worn the outfit on a sexy adventure of sorts with her ex-boyfriend. But Santana could see through any showface, even Rachel Berry's.
"Hmmm, so you did wear my clothes. I bet they made you look—" Santana paused, trying to think of the right compliment, "Well, not like a twelve year old granny. So, what was the occasion?"
"Nothing," Rachel stuttered, "I just tried them on in my room, I was curious about the fit."
"Liar," Santana said, with a knowing smile, "Well, whatever it was, I'm relieved you didn't step out in public looking like the lovechild of Pippi Longstocking and Raggedy Ann. You should really consider hiring me as a personal stylist."
"I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself." Rachel replied irritably, ready for Santana and her ridicule to be out of her room.
"You know I don't mean what I say," Santana said apologetically, "Well, yes I do, but only because I want to see you succeed. You are so stuck in this little world of animal sweaters and high school quarterback love stories, Rachel, but it's time to face facts. You're now a grown woman, and as a friend, I'm telling you to get that out of your head and go to New York a new woman. If it's tough love you need, then hell if I'm not gonna be the one to give it to you."
"Thanks Santana, I'll keep that in mind." Rachel replied, feeling uneasy that Santana had been the second person to say that to her in the past month. Accepting the uncomfortable hug from her, Rachel bid Santana a safe summer in St. Louis and goodbye.
Rachel spent the rest of the day waiting for Jesse to call her. She had cleaned her room twice, looked up some songs they might work on together in their weekly sessions, and had done some practicing of her own. She told her fathers that Jesse was flexible with his pay per session, which relieved them, and they had discussed an amount that Rachel felt was too high.
"Twenty dollars per hour in the daytime and thirty in the evening? Are you insane? That is way too much to pay for vocal coaching." Rachel exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
"It's actually very reasonable, sweetie. He is a professional, talented, and we know him personally. It also, what I assume, will be his only job this summer." Hiram reasoned.
"But we may be practicing over five hours a week! Maybe even in a day! It's too much!"
"We want you to succeed at NYADA. And we can always negotiate a lower price if the time you practice gets longer, Jesse said so in the email." said Leroy, who was preparing their dinners in the kitchen.
"Very well, I'll tell him those prices when he calls. But I am not happy about it," Rachel concluded, crossing her arms and throwing a pout in Leroy's direction.
"It seems to me you are never happy about any matter concerning Jesse St. James," Hiram joked, earning a stern look from his daughter.
Before she could open her mouth to explain, her phone vibrated in her pocket with a call from Jesse. "Speak of the devil," she muttered before answering, "Hello, Jesse."
"Ah, so you received my email," he replied smartly.
"Yes, and I am ready to discuss our arrangement. First of all, what days are you free to meet?" Rachel demanded, determined not to let Jesse control this encounter.
He took a moment to consider his options, though he was free every day of the week, he knew she would object to daily meetings. He never felt like working on the weekends either.
"We can meet either on Monday, Wednesday, Friday or we can meet Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Tuesdays and Thursdays it is," Rachel answered, not wanting to spend too much of her week with Jesse, and hoping to minimize the costs for her parents, "I'm thinking two hours for each practice."
"No, absolutely not. We'll need three to four hours at least" Jesse stated.
"I hardly think we'll need three hours for coaching," Rachel said, considering the health of her vocal chords.
"You forget that I'm not just your vocal coach. I'll be mentoring you in dance and in theater," Jesse explained, "Your voice is the least of my concerns, it's your ballet technique that has got me worried."
"My technique?" Rachel repeated incredulously, "There is nothing wrong with my technique!"
"Not by Lima standards, but by Cassandra July's standards, you'd make her physically sick with your piques," Jesse stated bluntly.
"Fine," Rachel quipped, "We'll meet for three hours."
"Have your dads discussed how much they can afford to pay me?" He asked next.
"Yes, they said twenty per hour," Rachel replied, a heavy tone of disapproval about her.
"Fifteen. I don't need that much from them," Jesse said, "Plus, I intend to exceed six hours a week. I expect most of our sessions will run over."
"I won't let that happen," she responded curtly.
"I'll make those decisions, so, our first meeting will be next Tuesday, let's say around 1:30 p.m." Jesse dictated, "Prepare a song for me to critique, as well as a monologue and three eight-counts of choreography so I can see where we stand."
"What about guidelines?" Rachel reminded him, for she had a few of her own.
"Send me an email," Jesse responded sarcastically, "or we can discuss them on Tuesday. Until then."
"This might not work out, you know," Rachel interjected.
"We won't know until we've tried. See you on Tuesday" Jesse imparted before hanging up, leaving Rachel irritated and confused.
The truth was, no matter how strong and in control she felt in the beginning, by the end of a conversation with Jesse, she felt completely powerless.
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Wow okay this update took way too long! With college finals and such it was tough to get a word down on paper, same with this semester since I am taking a writing course. This was supposed to be a Christmas update, but then my beta got really stressed too, instead it's the writer's birthday present to you!
Thank you in advanced for those who have waited for an update and have not given up! I certainly haven't given up yet! and THANK YOU eternallystberry for being the best beta around, if you were less stressed I'd ask you to write more of your own stuff!
Also, Updates may still be scarce, but they will be long like this one.
Who else is ecstatic about Finchel being over? I know I am!
Okay! As usual, I appreciate any and all reviews, questions, comments. THANKS!