Chapter 3

"Mr. Abrams will see you now," Sugar informed Noah, escorting him into an office.

"Artie, thanks for meeting me so late," Noah acknowledged, "I owe ya' one…" Artie rolled his wheelchair over to Noah, where they exchanged a firm handshake.

"Puck, it's barely 5:30, and you said it was important. I'm always available to a friend," Artie cordially replied. "Now, tell me; what's going on?"

Seating himself in a guest chair, Noah began, "It's about Rachel…"

"Wait; I thought you guys were divorced," Artie pondered.

"Yeah, we are," Noah concurred. "That really doesn't matter. She's gotten herself mixed up with this douchebag, and something doesn't feel right about him," he elucidated.

"Sure it's not jealousy?" Artie suggested.

"I wish it was that simple," Noah responded. "No, something's just…I don't know…'off' about him. He seems almost too controlled, like he's hiding something. Not to mention, he dresses like an L.L. Bean catalog threw up on him."

"Maybe he's just a 'buttoned up' kinda guy…like…the 'anti-Puck'…" Artie observed.

"That may be true," Noah conceded. "I'll tell ya', Bro; I met a lot of shady people when I was on tour, and I got so I could spot 'em a mile away." He paused, looking Artie directly in the eyes, continuing, "I got the same feeling as soon as we shook hands. I just wanna make sure that Rach's not setting herself up for some opportunist who's in it only because she's 'Rachel Berry, award winning actress'. She deserves way better than that…Hell, she deserved way better than me, and he's not…I'm positive of that."

"Well, Puck, you've convinced me," Artie concurred. "What's the guy's name?"

"Sebastian…Smythe…see, even his name sounds phony," Noah commented. "I took his picture from the house. It's not the best, but it's something, anyway. I'll send it to you." Noah transferred the picture, and a light "ding" from Artie's phone signified that it was received.

"Where does he live?" Artie inquired.

"I think in the City; I'm not sure, but it's a good place to start," Noah answered. "The wedding's on Sunday, so he can't be too far away."

"Sunday?" Artie interjected. "That's barely three days from now. You're sure cutting it close, Puck…"

"You're one of the best, man. I know you'll figure it out," Noah assured him.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Puck," Artie responded. "Being 'the guy in the wheelchair' is a great cover for someone in my line of work." Artie picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Sugar, Mr. Puckerman will be leaving shortly. Please take his down payment and explain the costs associated with our services." He paused thoughtfully before continuing, "Oh, and Sugar? We'll be closing up after this…we're going out tonight."


It was barely dawn on Friday morning when Noah found himself on the road heading back to the Hamptons. He hoped his early arrival would ensure that he was on hand to diffuse what would be at best an awkward situation. Knowing Rachel, there was no way to be sure how she'd respond to her "guests".

Upon his arrival, Noah stood on his former front porch and awkwardly rang the doorbell; although Rachel never changed the locks, he felt uncomfortable letting himself in. A moment later, he was greeted by his 22-year-old sister, Rebecca, who happily cried out "Noey!" and pulled him into a sisterly bear hug.

"Becs! What're you doin' here?" he happily queried, teasing, "I thought you'd be at school, making the world a better place for dogs and cats." Currently, Rebecca was studying Veterinary Medicine at Michigan State University. Growing up, she had done her best (against her mother's ongoing objections) to make the Puckerman residence a halfway house for every stray animal in the greater Allen County area, and her career choice was a natural progression.

Pulling back a bit, he looked her over, puzzling, "And what the Hell are you wearing?"

Rebecca laughed, primarily in response to her attire: a black pencil skirt and tailored white blouse with plain black high-heeled pumps, her hair pulled back in a tight chignon. "Well," she replied, "I'm here for Rachel's wedding and school's on break." Noting his slightly dismayed expression, she reminded him, "Rachel's my friend and I'm here to support her…even if I don't agree with what she's doing. Oh, my outfit…" she paused, now reacting to the remainder of his query and grinning broadly as she concluded, "well…Rachel asked me to wear this."

"Does she have something cooked up for those reporters?" Noah cautiously queried.

"You'll have to wait and see, big brother; my lips are sealed," Rebecca responded slyly.

Noah's incredulous expression prompted his sister to remind him, "Rach's an actress, Noah. She's just gonna give 'em 'a taste of their own medicine'. Just…well…if I were you, I'd keep my opinions to myself. Now, play it cool, or you'll have to leave."

While Noah and Rebecca were catching up with each other, a car pulled up the circular driveway and parked at the bend closest to the front door. Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans, the reporter and videographer from "Spy TV", opened their respective car doors, exited the vehicle, closed the doors and looked around at the grounds.

"So this must be how the other half lives," Quin muttered to herself as she took in the house and its surroundings.

"Kinda rich for my blood," Sam observed. "D'ya think I should grab my camera and take a look around…ya' know, get some background footage?"

"Sorry, Sam; we can't do anything until she signs a release," Quinn reminded him. "Now, be a lamb and get the suitcases. We can figure out how we're gonna shoot this, later."

Sam pulled their luggage from the trunk, commenting, "Woman, we're only gonna be here two nights; we're not moving in…"

"Well, it was very gracious of Ms. Berry to let us stay here, and I wanted to be prepared for anything," Quinn explained. "Honestly, if the tables were turned, I don't think I'd be so accommodating."

"I s'pose…" Sam agreed as he gathered his duffle bag and suit and Quinn's suitcase and dress bag. "Quinn, do me a favor and take your tote; I'm maxed, here…"

"Of course, Sam," Quinn graciously replied, picking up her small(er) bag before heading up to the house and ringing the bell, an overloaded Sam following behind.

After waiting a minute or so, Rebecca opened the door, coolly asking "May I help you?"