Rachel's Future:
"I said beige, Christiana, not taupe. I can't put a taupe dress in this show." Rachel stopped and sighed, placing the back of one hand dramatically on her forehead as she thought. "Okay, I'll need the strapless chiffon in lilac. Lilac, Chris. Not violet or purple. Lilac."
Christiana darted away with only a nod, the taupe dress Rachel was so critical of slung over one arm, already forgotten. Rachel sighed and shook her head, then turned her attention to the model swaying toward her in a fresh mint-green pantsuit.
"Lila, you look stunning. Have Delia touch up your eye makeup, will you? Perfect, just perfect," Rachel concluded breezily, Lila already forgotten as she turned to examine the red and black stripes on the girl who had just passed them.
"Kate," she called, and the girls turned to face her. Rachel examined her with a critical eye, then nodded in affirmation with her thoughts. "It needs a belt, dear. Get the big black one with the silver things? Wonderful…"
Kate headed straight for accessories, seeming to
know exactly which "black one with silver things" Rachel was referring to.
"Ten minutes, Rach," came a
familiar voice at her side, and Rachel turned to her best friend, nervousness
making her smile quiver for the first time.
Monica was the only one she would allow to see her real feelings.
"I think so," Rachel confided in a whisper, her eyes darting around the room, then settling back on Monica. "Do you think they'll like them?"
"Of course they will," Monica soothed her. "Your designs are beautiful, Rachel. You're good at this."
"Raquel," Rachel corrected quickly, momentarily panicked that someone would overhear Monica calling her Rachel. "Raquel, Mon, at least in public."
Monica rolled her eyes, but nodded her agreement with her friend's wishes. "Fine, Raquel. I still think it's stupid that you don't go by your real name."
"It sounds better," Rachel defended herself. "More like a famous designer. Just be glad I don't make you go by Monique. I could, you know."
"Then you wouldn't have an assistant," Monica shot back good-naturedly. "Now come on, we need to a final check. I'll take the girls on the right, you take the ones on the left. The curtain's up in –" Monica checked her watch – "eight minutes."
"Okay," Rachel breathed, visibly steeling herself. "My first show. My first show!" she exulted like a schoolgirl, grabbing Monica's shoulders and just barely resisting the urge to shake her friend with nervous excitement.
"Your first show," Monica repeated, her own eyes shining with happiness for her friend. "Oh, Rach, they're going to be so impressed with you!"
Monica gave Rachel a quick hug, then gently turned her toward the left side of the room, where the models were falling into a line, knowing the inspection would be forthcoming. Monica watched to make sure Rachel had reverted back into her take-charge personality, then turned to begin the same task with the other side of the room.
Within moments, Rachel and Monica were reunited just offstage, gripping each other's hand as they peeked out at the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is our pleasure to present the debut of America's most promising young designer, and a clothing line that has already been picked up by retailers such as Bloomingdales and Macy's. Please welcome…Ms. Raquel Green!"
Rachel squeezed Monica's hand, and a moment later, she was walking confidently onto the stage, her smile immediately enchanting every fashion critic in the audience. Not a single outward sign of her inner turmoil, Monica noticed with admiration.
"Thank you all for coming…"
"Well?" Rachel asked fretfully, her eyes glued to the newspaper in Monica's hands. "What does it say?"
"Hold on, hold on," Monica mumbled as her eyes scanned the pages, searching for the words they were both so anxious to hear. "Oh! Here it is!" She looked up to smile at Rachel, taking a rather sadistic pleasure in watching her best friend squirm. "You ready?"
"Yes!" was Rachel's only response.
"Okay. 'Raquel Green, the new Queen of Fashion? No, not quite. But her debut show yesterday proved that rumors about this young lady's talent are not unfounded. Her designs are fresh and sophisticated, the colors perfectly blended in exactly the right shades, and the materials flattering to any woman's figure. So, although we cannot yet endow Ms. Green with the title of "Queen", I think it's safe to say that's she is an intriguing, inspiring new "princess" in the world of fashion. There are certainly great things to come from this promising young designer.' "
Monica looked up at Rachel, who was staring, speechless, straight ahead. "Rach? Honey, you okay?"
Rachel swallowed, and slowly shifted her eyes to Monica's face. "That's – that's good, right? Those things they said?"
"Good?" Monica laughed, giddily pleased for her friend. "Yeah, Rach. They're good. Really good. You made it, sweetie!"
"Good. They
think I'm good," Rachel whispered in awe, her eyes growing wide. "Monica, they called me a princessi!"
"I know!" Monica shrieked,
grabbing Rachel's arms and dancing them around in a circle.
"I gotta call Daddy," Rachel suddenly announced, marching off like a woman on a mission to retrieve her cell phone from Monica's kitchen counter. "He always said I'd be a princess!"
"Don't forget to call Tristan," Monica reminded her, referring to Rachel's doctor-husband, who was presently on duty at Mount Sinai. "He said to call the minute we read it."
"Okay, I'll call Tristan first," Rachel agreed, as if thoughts of her husband had been her own and not Monica. "Then Daddy! Oh, and Amy will be so jealous when she hears…"
Monica just smiled and took a seat on the couch as Rachel picked up the phone and dialed Tristan's number at the hospital. Immediately, her voice took on the formal tone she seemed to use so often when she was around Tristan's colleagues. "Dr. Tristan Pierce, please."
There was a moment of silence, then Rachel's voice was back to normal. "Sweetie, guess what! I'm a princess! They called me a princess…"
End Rachel's Future – Back to the Present:
"You made me your assistant?" Monica
commented distastefully, not enjoying the sudden sensation of being Rachel
Green's loyal sidekick all over again.
"I couldn't have a life of my own in your little world?"
"What?" Rachel asked
innocently. "At least I had you in
the letter. Besides, what else would you
have done in the fashion world? You
weren't exactly model material back then, Mon, no matter how great you look
now."
"Well…okay, you have a point," Monica conceded, partially mollified by Rachel's compliment of her current appearance and the truth about her former one. "But still."
"And Raquel?" Ross commented skeptically, with a slightly malicious smile. "You would have changed your name?"
"Alright, Mr. Name-My-Kids-So-It-Sounds-Like-A-Dinosaur. I don't think you have any room to criticize on the name front."
"Thank God you already work at Ralph Lauren," Chandler remarked as Ross retreated to a chair to sulk. "If we'd read these while you were still waitressing at Central perk, you would've had all of us stuffing envelopes with resumes. Oh wait, you did make us do that!" he finished with a grin, and was rewarded with a scowl from Rachel.
"And can you imagine if they," Monica gestured between Ross and Rachel, "were still dating? Ross would go on one of his jealous rampages, demanding to know who this Tristan guy was."
"I would not," Ross defended sullenly from his chair. "He doesn't even exist. And what kind of name is Tristan anyway?"
"There you go with the names again," Rachel cut in warningly, her expression beginning to morph into the infamous glare reserved for Ross, and Ross alone.
"Okay guys," Chandler interrupted, before the situation escalated to "WE WERE ON A BREAK!" in record time. "Play nice. Besides, we still have one more letter to read."
"Yeah, Mon," Rachel added, her attention diverted just as Chandler had hoped. "Your turn."
"Fine," Monica sighed, shooting Chandler a look that told him she wasn't pleased with him for reminding everyone that her letter remained to be read. She picked up her envelope and turned it over in her hands before gently tearing it open. She pulled out the single sheet of paper and unfolded it slowly.
She sucked in her breath sharply as her eyes fell to the page, and Chandler stepped forward with concern as her face went white. Monica immediately waved him away, and he paused midstep, watching as the color returned to her face in excess, flushing her cheeks and neck.
"I'm fine," she assured them weakly, flashing a distracted smile as she looked back down at the letter, carefully avoiding Chandler's eyes.
"What does it say?" Rachel asked, amused by her friend's reaction. "C'mon, Monica, it can't be as bad as all that. What, did you say you wanted fifteen kids or something?"
"Maybe she wrote that she wanted to marry "Dr. Burke"," Ross offered, soliciting immediate death-glares from both Chandler and Monica. "What? Even Rachel had one of those schoolgirl crushes on him."
"That's true," Rachel admitted, looking at Monica with interest. "And it would certainly explain why doesn't want to read it. Wouldn't that be ironic? If all those years ago, she wrote in a letter that she wanted to - "
"I didn't want to marry Richard," Monica cut in sharply, finally finding her voice as her fiery gaze moved between Rachel and Ross, not believing that they could be so insensitive. She turned to Chandler, her heart melting as she took in the distressed expression on his face. "It doesn't, sweetie."
Chandler just nodded, valiantly producing an uncertain smile as he accepted her denial. Monica sighed, wishing she could strangle her brother and wondering at the same time why just the mention of Richard Burke's name could make Chandler look like a lost little boy.
"So what does it say?" Rachel asked impatiently, unaffected by the look passing between Chandler and Monica.
"It says," Monica began indignantly, pausing to glance at Chandler. He was watching her intently, and as a surge of warmth for him filled her heart, she made a quick decision.
"It says," she repeated more softly, with a determined edge to her voice. "When I grow up…"
