Chapter 3
The theater was open for business again on Friday, and Rachel once again donned the green body paint and "defied gravity". The performance had gone well, and she smiled to herself as she was washing away "Elphaba" after the show. She exited the theater, signing autographs and chatting with the fans. As she began to walk toward the subway station, she heard a masculine voice call out "Rachel!" She turned around to see Noah Puckerman, standing alone and smiling hopefully, hands casually in his pockets.
Rachel smiled graciously, although she felt like jumping up and down like a little kid. He must really like her, or he wouldn't have tracked her down at work. "Guess he's not married, after all…" she happily thought. "Hi, Noah; what a pleasant surprise," she said as she approached him.
"I wanted to come by personally and thank you for the cookies; they're awesome!" he complimented.
"Thank you, Noah, I'm glad everybody at the station enjoyed them," she humbly replied.
Noah looked Rachel squarely in the eyes and asked, "Rachel, I was wondering…that is…would you like to go and get some coffee or something?"
Rachel grinned; Bingo! "I'd love to Noah, but I have to go home and walk my dog, first. I hate to detain you…maybe we can take a rain check?"
Noah was determined not to let Rachel get away this time. "No, that's OK; I really like dogs. Where do you live?" he inquired.
"Brooklyn," she answered, prompting a grin on his handsome face.
"Small world; so do I," he gladly admitted. They walked to the subway station, side by side. Noah's immediate instinct was to put his arm around her, but he had decided to (for once) let things evolve organically and not move too quickly. Rachel was definitely not in the "hump 'em and dump 'em" category, and he wanted to make a good impression.
They sat down on the train side by side, bodies millimeters apart. Noah turned to face Rachel and inquired, "What kind of dog do you have, Rachel? One of those little 'purse' dogs, like a Yorkie or something?"
Rachel grinned. "I have a retired racing Greyhound, actually, Noah," she replied with pride.
Noah was definitely impressed. "That's so cool, Rachel," he acknowledged. "I've never seen one close up before. What made you decide to rescue a Greyhound?"
"My dads have always had one, sometimes two," she answered.
"Dads?" he interjected curiously.
"Yes, I have two gay fathers." She continued matter-of-factly, "They hired a surrogate, and my Daddy is my biological father. Why?" she looked at him quizzically.
"Just askin'; it's different…not unusual, just different," he answered honestly. "My mom raised us by herself; my dad took off when I was a kid and my sister was a baby," he shared. "Getting back to the dog…" he coaxed, effectively changing the subject.
"Oh, yes…I've grown up with them, and they're truly amazing animals. Track life isn't pleasant, and before the rescue organizations started, the dogs were euthanized as soon as they were done racing," she explained. "They're smart, gentle, loyal, silly, and extremely endearing. They seldom bark, which is good for apartment living."
"Don't they need a big yard to run around?" he asked.
"Occasionally," she agreed. "They sleep about 18 hours a day," she elucidated. They also have to be on a leash whenever they're outside unless they're in a fenced in area."
"Why's that?" he inquired teasingly, "Don't they come when you call?"
"It's not that," she clarified, "They're so fast, they'd be gone in an instant, and they would never find their way back home…that is, if they didn't get hit, first." Her face momentarily reflected the potential sadness of losing a beloved pet, but she brightened up quickly. "She gets two walks a day, and goes to a dog park three or four times a week, depending on the weather, so she does get to run, too."
They had reached Rachel's stop, and Rachel led the way to her apartment building. Noah was both pleased and surprised to see that it was less than a mile from his own home. They approached the door and Rachel turned the key in the lock as Noah pushed the door open and held it for her. Noah, who was usually all about getting into a woman's apartment (and subsequently, her bed), hesitated (go figure; he had a conscience, after all). "C'mon up," she invited.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I mean, you hardly know me, and I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea, or anything…"
"Don't worry," Rachel interjected with a laugh, "I trust you. Come on," she encouraged, taking his hand and leading him inside.
They rode the elevator in companionable silence, and walked the short distance to Rachel's apartment. She unlocked the door, disarmed the alarm, and motioned to Noah to enter. In the distance, they could hear the sound of a dog whining; the happy sounds an animal makes when its owner is near and it wants to catch their attention. As Noah waited patiently, Rachel entered the kitchen and filled the water bowl, after which she grabbed a dog biscuit from the pantry. "Come and meet Maisie," she invited, taking his hand again and drawing him into her apartment.
In the corner nearest the balcony (so the dog could see out during the day) was a large dog crate, inside of which was a beautiful fawn-colored Greyhound with a white muzzle, chest, and feet. Rachel opened the crate and the dog exited immediately, emitting happy little moans and greeting Rachel as she petted her. The dog looked at Noah questioningly, and he stared into the most soulful eyes he had ever seen in a dog.
"She's beautiful, Rachel," he avowed, smiling softly and locking eyes with Rachel, "just like her owner."
A blushing Rachel, replying, "Thank you Noah, for the lovely compliment. This is Maisie," Rachel said as means of introduction. "It's OK; go ahead and pet her. She's a little shy with men, though; I think it's a 'track thing'," she added as a caution.
Noah extended his right hand to the dog to sniff; at first she turned her head away, but then she moved toward him, sniffed his hand, and placed her head under it, which he reciprocated by scratching her behind the ears. "She likes you!" Rachel beamed.
"'Course she does," he agreed. "I have a way with the ladies," he teased, waggling his eyebrows, which elicited a giggle out of Rachel.
"Excuse me for a minute," Rachel requested. "While I 'freshen up', you can get acquainted with Maisie, and then we'll go for our walk," she explained. Rachel left Noah momentarily alone with the dog (who was busy with her cookie), enabling him to take a brief visual tour of her living room as he stroked her (surprisingly) soft coat. It was eclectic; a mix of contemporary and vintage; neat and tidy, but not antiseptic, and, although he hadn't known her long, it somehow seemed entirely "Rachel".
Rachel returned shortly, leash in hand. Maisie walked over to Rachel, whining happily and teeth chattering as the leash was latched to her collar. "OK, we're ready," she announced, and Rachel and Maisie, followed by Noah, left the apartment for their evening constitutional. Given the hour, the walk was fairly brief and only encompassed a couple of blocks. Rachel's primary focus was her dog, making sure that she "did her business", which Rachel immediately cleaned up and deposited in the nearest waste receptacle. After completing their sojourn, they returned to Rachel's apartment, where she re-penned the dog in her crate, washed her hands, and then she and Noah left to go on their coffee date.
Rachel smiled at Noah, and he returned the gesture, inquiring, "Is there anywhere you'd like to go, Rachel?"
"There's a café a couple of blocks from here, and they have great coffee," she suggested.
"Sounds good, Rachel; please lead the way." He took her hand, and they walked off toward the restaurant.
Once seated and reviewing the menu, Noah spoke up: "Rachel, you must be starving. Please order something to eat."
Rachel smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Noah. I ate dinner before the show…"
"Nonsense," he interjected. "What you do is very physical, and you even walked the dog afterward. You need to keep up your strength," he gently admonished her.
Ordinarily, Rachel would not have been pleased if someone told her what she needed to do, especially where eating was concerned. This time, she sensed he was only looking out for her, and somehow that struck a chord with her rather than a nerve. She felt touched that a comparative stranger would express their concern about her well-being, and rather than offend, it endeared him to her. "You know, Noah, I am a little hungry," she admitted with a smile.
From a woman's perspective, one of the basic rules of dating etiquette is to encourage the man to talk about himself. Women are naturally more verbal than men and could easily dominate the conversation, resulting in learning nothing about the man sitting across the table from them, as well as possibly sharing too much information (and potentially scaring him off). Since a man's favorite topic (or at least in the top five) is himself, a woman's primary objective becomes getting the man to open up, as she performs ongoing analysis to determine whether or not the man is worthy of a second date. So…as Rachel and Noah sat in the café and chatted over their meal, it became Rachel's goal to learn as much about Noah as possible.
"So, Noah, tell me," the "interrogation" began, "when did you decide to become a firefighter?"
"Well, I had just graduated from NYU," he started to explain, when Rachel interjected "You went to NYU? I graduated from NYU, too. What was your major?"
Noah smiled, realizing that he would be coming "out of left field" with his reply. "I have a BFA in Music…" to which Rachel gasped excitedly, and then he continued, "I had planned on going into either music education or production. Once I student-taught, though, I realized that teaching might not be the best career move for me."
He paused to take a sip of coffee and noticed that Rachel was paying rapt attention. "The economy wasn't all that great, and I couldn't find a way to break into the music industry. I'd always wanted to 'give back' to the community, but wasn't sure what to do." He smiled at Rachel and took another sip, as she gently encouraged him, "Please go on, Noah."
"I was walking down the street one day when I witnessed the FDNY in action, extinguishing a fire. I noticed how they interacted with the people and I thought to myself 'I could do that'. I signed up the next day, and here we are, almost ten years later."
"It's a wonderful thing you do every day, Noah," she commented approvingly. "You must really enjoy your work."
"Yeah, I do," he replied matter-of-factly, "but fire fighting is a young man's game, and I'm 31."
"That's hardly old, Noah," Rachel teased.
"I know, but you can work in the field for just so long. It can be dangerous and, the older you get, the harder it is." He motioned the waitress, who came to the table and refilled his coffee cup. "What do you want to do, then?" Rachel queried.
"Actually, I've gone back to school for my MA. I've decided to give music another shot, and I'm trying to network more, this time. Hopefully, I'll be able to get a job once I graduate next year; then I can retire from the FDNY."
"I had no idea that you were a musician," Rachel said admiringly. "What instruments do you play?"
"Guitar and piano mostly," he replied. "I've been writing music for years, and I'm in a band with a couple other guys; we play covers most of the time, and I do all of the arrangements." By now, Rachel was totally smitten, but before she could press further, he interrupted her train of thought: "I've chewed your ear off long enough, Rachel, how about you? How did you get into acting?"
Rachel grinned broadly and began, "It's been my dream as long as I can remember. Like you, I'm an NYU alumna; I graduated five years ago with a BFA in Theater from Tisch. My best friends Santana, Kurt and I came here for college from Shaker Heights, Ohio…"
"You have got to be kidding," Noah interrupted her.
"What's wrong with Ohio?" Rachel queried defensively.
"Nothing, Rach…d' you mind if I call you 'Rach'?" he looked hopefully at her, and she smiled and shook her head. "Thing is, I'm from Ohio, too; Lima, Ohio, actually." They both grinned at each other as if they had found a long-lost relative.
A thought occurred to Rachel, and she laughed out loud. Noah looked at her quizzically, and she explained, "This is such a small world; you have no idea. One of the guys I met in college is also from Lima; I fixed him up with Kurt, and they're planning on getting married. Do you happen to know Blaine Anderson?"
Noah's face registered astonishment, and he responded, "I went to high school with his brother, Cooper. Sure, I remember Blaine…what's he up to these days?"
"He's been on the road in a 'bus and truck' company of 'Annie Get Your Gun' playing 'Frank Butler'. He's due back next week," she explained.
"That's really cool," Noah admitted. "As I remember, he was in all the middle school plays, and I heard he was pretty much the star of everything in high school."
"That would be Blaine," Rachel admitted with a grin. "He really took Tisch by storm."
"As I'm sure you did, too," he commented flirtatiously, causing Rachel to blush demurely (she does seem to blush a lot around him…), a look Noah found very becoming on her. "You're blushing again," he gently teased. "It suits you."
Rachel's heart went from "smitten" to "sold" (ka-ching!), and she coyly replied, "I guess you bring that out in me."
The man who "doesn't do girlfriends" felt himself grinning at Rachel like a love-stuck teenager and quickly composed himself by glancing at his watch. "I had no idea it was so late, Rach." She smiled softly at the nickname as he continued, "I'd better get you home. After all, you have to work tomorrow."
"Thanks, Noah," Rachel responded with a contented sigh, "I've really enjoyed this, but, you're right; I am a little tired."
Noah put some money down on the table. Noticing Rachel beginning to put on her coat, he immediately assisted her, his hands resting momentarily on her shoulders once the garment was in place. Rachel smiled gently at Noah, who took her hand as the exited the restaurant. The two blocks back were spent hands clasped, comfortable in each other's company, each lost in their own thoughts. At the entrance to the apartment, Noah looked down into Rachel's eyes and requested, "Would you mind if I kissed you goodnight?"
She beamed at him, responding, "Not at all. I think I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
They kissed, tenderly (albeit chastely). Noah spoke first: "'Night, Rach."
"Good night, Noah. Please call me when you get home."
Noah smiled; that was something his mother would ask, and it felt nice that someone was concerned about his welfare. "I would, but I don't have your number," he reminded her. "Well, then, give me your phone," she requested with a grin, and they swapped phones, programming their numbers into the other's cell phone before returning it.
"Don't forget to call me," Rachel reminded him.
"I won't, Rachel. Good night." Noah left, and Rachel entered the building, and then the elevator, eventually letting herself in and releasing the dog from her crate.
Rachel went into her bedroom to change clothes and noticed three messages pending on her answering machine. The first was from Kurt: "Diva, it's me…Santana told me you met a hunky fireman and I want all the juicy details…Call me…Love ya', bye!" The second, from Santana: "Hey, Berry, it's me…Call me when you get home…Bye!" The third was also from Santana, and was made about 20 minutes later: "Berry, where the fuck are you?...OMG, are you with that fireman?...In case you are, I won't bother you on your cell…Call me…I wanna know everything."
Rachel smiled; a kind of teenaged-moony-about-a-boy smile, as she undressed and put on her bathrobe. Even though it was after midnight, she knew that Santana would still be awake, most likely sitting by the phone, impatiently awaiting her call.
As Rachel had figured, Santana was indeed up and answered the phone on the first ring: "B?" she asked.
"Yes, Santana, it's me," Rachel admitted wearily.
Santana always came right to the point: "Were you with him?"
"Yeah, I was," Rachel replied dreamily. "He was waiting for me after the show, and we went out for coffee."
"So, spill girl; I want details!" Santana demanded.
"There's not a lot to tell, Santana," Rachel explained. "He met me… we took Mais for a walk…we had a coffee date…he walked me home…he kissed me goodnight…"
"Hold the phone here, chica; he kissed you?" Santana was grinning from ear to ear, and although Rachel couldn't see it, she could hear it in her voice.
"Yes, San, we kissed; very nice and, to answer your next question, no tongues were involved…And you're not gonna believe this, but he went to high school with Blaine's older brother."
"OMG, we'll have to pump Blainers for the 'deets' when he gets back in town," Santana conspired. "Oh, and by the way," she slyly continued, "I look great in red."
"Point being?" Rachel queried.
"Maid of Honor, ya' know…just sayin' a red dress would be hot."
"Santana, it's a little early in the game to be picking out colors for a wedding," Rachel defensively advised. "We barely know each other, and I sincerely doubt…"
"Rach, stop it," Santana ordered. "Take things as they come, be open for whatever happens, and, in case it all works out, remember, I look amazing in red."
"OK, San," Rachel acquiesced.
At that moment, Rachel's cell phone began ringing. "Just a sec, Santana," she excused herself. "Hello?…Oh, hi, Noah…Yes, thank you for calling…Yes, I really enjoyed myself tonight…OK, talk to you soon…'Night."
"Sorry, San," Rachel picked up the conversation again.
"That was him, wasn't it," Santana playfully accused her. "Yes, it was," she admitted. "I'd asked him to call me when he got home, and he did."
"Like I said, Rach…red," Santana teasingly reminded her. "It's late; gotta go, babe. Love ya!"
"Love you, too, San. Good night," Rachel replied, ending the call.