Chapter 2
"Yes, yes; pink hydrangeas and white orchids…" Rachel confirmed into the phone. "…tea roses sound lovely…yes, they'll be on either side of the chuppa…chuppa…canopy…" she clarified, rolling her eyes. She might not be marrying a Jewish man, but she'd be damned if she didn't have a primarily Jewish ceremony, even if her fiancé was reluctant to comply.
Ending the call, Rachel jotted down something in a spiral notebook as Debbie Puckerman walked out onto the patio, where Rachel was resting on a chaise lounge and enjoying the afternoon sun as she conducted her business. Gently smiling, she wordlessly handed Rachel a glass of iced tea. Rachel glanced up to accept it, acknowledging, "Thanks, Mom!"
"You're welcome, honey," Debbie replied. She sat down on a nearby chair and informed her, "Noah's on his way, Rachel; he'll be here shortly."
Rachel's eyes widened. "What's he coming for?" she testily queried. "I'm getting married on Sunday; even he knows that…"
"He told me he'd explain when he got here," Debbie patiently replied. "After all," she continued with a soft smile, "It serves you right for getting custody of his mother and sister in the divorce."
"Mom, this is your house too," Rachel reminded her. "I had no intention of asking you to leave when Noah chose our apartment in the City as part of the settlement. Just because the marriage didn't work out, you're still family…"
"Thank you, dear. We do appreciate it," Debbie confirmed. "Given the circumstances, you have to expect my son to come around from time to time…"
"Yes…I suppose…" Rachel conceded with a small sigh.
By the forlorn expression that briefly graced Rachel's face, Debbie thought "She still loves him. Maybe there's hope, yet…" Taking a sip of her own coffee, Debbie commented, "I'm just sorry you two couldn't work things out…"
Rachel's expression hardened. She explained, "Mom, we've been over this before. I just couldn't take it anymore. If I got one more call from G-d knows where…if Blaine and Kurt had to drag him out of a bar, drunk off his ass, one more time, I think my head would've exploded. I was fed up with the partying…the whole 'rock and roll' lifestyle…just...so done…"
"He's clean and sober now, honey," Debbie reminded her. "He spent three months in rehab and another six in a sober living facility. He joined AA and disbanded the group. He's a changed man, Rachel. Maybe you could give him another chance…" she hesitantly suggested.
"That's wonderful, Mom, and I'm truly happy for him. I've moved on, and I met a man who doesn't drink, who respects me…it's refreshing, Mom," Rachel confided. "I can't go back to worrying and wondering when he'll slip back. I don't trust him to stay sober, Mom…and without trust, there's nothing. I only wish Noah the best, you know that."
"Yes, dear; I understand," Debbie acknowledged.
The two women sipped their beverages, each in quiet contemplation. A few minutes later, the silence was broken by the sound of a car pulling up, the door opening and closing, and a small horn blast indicating that the car alarm had been set.
"We're out here, dear," Debbie called out.
Noah entered through the gate, latching it behind him. He approached his mother and bent down. She raised her face toward him and they kissed. "It's good to see you, son."
"You, too, Ma," Noah agreed as he walked toward Rachel. "Mornin' Rach," he greeted.
"Good morning yourself, Noah," Rachel politely replied.
Noah bent down to kiss Rachel in a similar manner as his mother, but she turned her face, giving him access only to her cheek. As such, she didn't see the hurt look momentarily wash over his handsome features.
Noticing the light bouncing off Rachel's left hand, he commented, "Nice rock…"
Extending her left arm to admire the substantial bauble currently adorning her ring finger, Rachel smugly replied, "Thank you, Noah; Sebastian has excellent taste."
Before Noah could reply, Debbie hastily offered, "Noah, dear, can I get you something to eat?"
"Thanks, Ma; that'll be great," Noah accepted.
Debbie stood up, leaving the area and entering the house through the French doors. Noah pulled up a chair and sat down next to Rachel.
"What's going on, Noah?" Rachel dryly inquired.
"You're lookin' great, Rach," Noah hopefully complimented.
"Thank you Noah. I appreciate the compliment, but flattery will get you nowhere," Rachel dryly responded. "Now, please; what is it? In case you've forgotten, I'm getting married on Sunday, so say what you've come here to say before Seb gets here...and make yourself scarce when he does."
"Honestly, Rach, why you're marrying that douche is beyond my comprehension," Noah bluntly remarked.
"Really, Noah, is that it?" Rachel snapped. "If you must know, he's a gentleman who respects me and treats me like a queen, not some overgrown, over-sexed man-child who's on a first name basis with all the bartenders in the greater Manhattan area."
"Rachel, I've been clean for close to a year, now, and I'm never going down that road again," Noah quietly averred.
"I'm glad to hear that, Noah," Rachel sincerely replied.
"And…as for the over-sexed part," he continued, grinning slyly, "you never complained…and you were always a pretty active participant, as I recall."
Rachel blushed, glancing away momentarily to regain her composure. Taking a cleansing breath, she faced Noah squarely, steering back to the original topic, "Noah, unless you came her to cast disparaging remarks about my fiancé, which, if that's the case, I'd appreciate it if you'd just be on your way, please…why are you here?
"Um…well…" Noah hesitated.
"Out with it, Noah," Rachel impatiently prodded. "I have a million things to do today."
"Rachel, do you remember that stupid sex tape we made back at NYU?" he asked.
"Yeah…kinda…" she haltingly admitted. "Why?"
"Well...Jacob Ben-Israel got his sweaty paws on it, and he's threatening to go public and ruin Blaine's career," he confessed.
"Oh my G-d, Noah…that's awful!" Rachel's eyes were filled with compassion for her friend as she volunteered, "What can I do?"
"Here's the thing, Rach…Ben-Israel will only hand over the disc if you agree to let his crew cover your wedding," Noah explained.
"WHAT?" Rachel cried out. "There is no way…there must be something else…Seb would never allow it…he has no idea…I…I could never tell him…" she lamented.
"Rachel, you aren't even in it," Noah reminded her. "So what if Mr. 'treats me like a queen' knows about it? We were a bunch of stoned 20-year-olds…it's really no big deal."
"'No big deal'?" Rachel repeated. "Noah, you don't understand, Seb's not like that. He's extremely conservative. He never did anything like that, ever; I'm sure of it."
"How old is he? Eighty?" Noah retorted.
"No, he just turned 29, if you must know," Rachel answered. "He was raised with very traditional values and high moral standards…I mean…" Rachel stopped herself.
"Rachel, are you telling me that you haven't slept with him?" Noah incredulously interjected. "Don't you think that's extremely…um…odd?"
Rachel rolled her eyes, primly responding, "Not that this is any of your business, Noah, but, since you brought it up, I find it charming…and refreshing…that he wants to wait until the wedding night to consummate our relationship."
Although Noah was secretly pleased that Rachel hadn't been intimate, he did find the situation more than a little bizarre. "Definitely something wrong with this guy…better look into it…gotta protect Rach…" he mused before he replied, "What you do or don't do between the sheets is none of my business, Rachel. Blaine is my best friend. He literally saved my life; he got me into rehab and he was with me every step of the way…"
"I'm extremely aware of that, Noah," Rachel patiently acknowledged. "Kurt's been my best friend since high school, and I love Blaine like a brother. He enjoyed the stage, but this TV show is his passion."
"You wouldn't want him to lose everything…would you, Rachel?" Noah implored.
Rachel sighed, dejectedly replying, "I suppose not." She paused before reluctantly agreeing, "OK, Noah. Go ahead. I'll tell Sebastian that they're the videographers. He's not much of a TV watcher. Hopefully, he'll never find out…"
"Find out what, Muffin?" Sebastian Smythe cheerfully inquired, leaning in to kiss Rachel lightly on the cheek.
"What my wedding dress looks like," Rachel hastily lied. "You know…" she (overly-) cheerfully continued, "It's bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony."
"Yes, my dear, I agree," Sebastian concurred. Noticing Noah for the first time, he testily inquired, "What's he doing here, Rachel?"
"Noah came to visit his mother, Seb," Rachel patiently explained. "Sebastian Smythe, Noah Puckerman. Noah, Sebastian." Noah stood as she introduced the two men, who reluctantly shook hands, eyeing each other contemptuously.
"I'd better see what's keeping Ma," Noah remarked. "Rachel's a wonderful woman; you're a lucky man, Sebastian." With that, Noah exited the same way as his mother had a few minutes before.
"I don't like you seeing him," Sebastian cautioned.
"You have nothing to worry about," Rachel placated. "He's bound to be here from time to time, that's just the way it is. I've made my peace with it…"
"Alright, Muffin," Sebastian acquiesced (Rachel internally cringing at the nickname). "I just don't like you associating with people who could be a bad influence."
"Again…nothing to worry about," Rachel confirmed. "Now, let me tell you about the flowers…"
Once inside his former home and out of his mother's earshot, Noah placed a phone call.
"Abrams Detective agency…Sugar Motta speaking…"
"Sugar, put me through to Artie, please…I have a job for him…"
Author's Note: A chuppa (the "ch" is guttural) is the canopy that a bride and groom stand under during a traditional Jewish wedding ceremony. It symbolizes the home that they will establish together.
