Chapter 5
Santana Lopez, wearing an impeccably tailored black suit, swept into the room. "That was hot, Berry!" she suggestively remarked, smirking broadly as she approached Rachel and exchanging a kiss once she had reached her destination. "You should seriously consider 'tatting up', girl!"
"I'll take that under consideration, San," Rachel sardonically acknowledged her friend's request. "It's almost a shame to wash it off," she admitted with a small sigh. "Unique spent close to three hours getting me, as you say, 'tatted up'." Returning to the matter that brought Santana in the first place, Rachel introduced her to the two strangers, who nodded in greeting: "Quinn Fabray, Sam Evans; please meet my attorney, Santana Lopez. San, these are the reporters I mentioned. And, of course, you know Noah…"
"Hey, Puck; long time, no see!" Santana exclaimed, setting her briefcase down and approaching Puck, kissing him on the cheek. She backed up a bit and looked him over, complimenting, "Looking a Hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. We should get together for dri…oops, sorry, man…" she apologized for her faux pas.
Noah chuckled, explaining, "That's OK, San; I'm not offended. We can still go out for drinks; I just don't order anything with alcohol anymore."
"Cool; we'll talk later," Santana suggested. Leaving Noah, she moved toward the empty chair nearest her briefcase, sat down, and bruskly requested, "May I see the contract, please?"
Quinn handed the document to Santana, who carefully reviewed it. Upon finishing, she placed it on a nearby end table and announced (in her best "courtroom" persona), "If you will excuse us, I'd like to confer with my client for a few minutes." Quinn nodded wordlessly and Rachel and Santana rose simultaneously and left the room. 10 minutes (or so) later, they returned and faced the others.
"My client will sign only with the following stipulations," Santana stated, elucidating, "One: there will be no identifiable pictures of or interviews with guests, officiants, or staff without their written consent. Two: there will be no filming of the exterior or interior of the house." She paused, looking directly into Quinn's eyes, explaining, "For my client's safety, we don't want to encourage mentally unstable fans from searching for her home, and, quite frankly, it's nobody's business what she owns or how she chooses to live." Making her point, she continued, "Three: filming of the marriage ceremony will be from a distance of no closer than 20 feet. There will be no microphones or cameras directly in their faces, disrupting an otherwise sacred rite of passage."
Completing Rachel's requirements, Santana again focused on the reporter, concluding, "If you agree to these terms, you will produce an addendum for the contract, email it to me, I will print it, and my client will then sign. Here's my email address," she completed her instructions, handing a business card to Quinn.
"My boss was promised we'd have full access to the wedding," Quin hesitantly reminded them.
"You will," Santana confirmed. "You may film the wedding ceremony; keeping a respectful distance is all my client requests. If any guests are willing to sign a waiver, you may interview them. I'm certain that your boss wouldn't want to put Ms. Berry's safety at risk by including footage that could easily identify the property. This isn't Graceland; it's not a tourist destination or a paparazzi magnet, and my client prefers to keep it that way."
Realizing that she had (a) no choice in the matter and (b) was currently not in a position to lose her job, Quinn complied, and, within the half hour, Rachel reluctantly signed her privacy away. She handed the document to Quinn, who accepted it: "Thank you, Rachel. I promise, you won't regret it."
"I'm already regretting it," Rachel honestly commented. "However, a bargain is a bargain, and sometimes, I guess one has to make a 'deal with the devil' in the name of friendship."
"Well, I appreciate your cooperation," Quinn acknowledged.
Changing the subject, Rachel announced, "Brunch has been set up in the dining room. I'm going to take a shower, and I'll join you shortly." She paused, glancing at Noah and requesting, "Noah, if you'd show them the way, please…that is, if you still remember…"
"I remember just fine, thank you, Rachel," Noah testily confirmed.
"Glad your memory's still intact," Rachel dryly commented.
"Apparently, your attitude is, too," Noah retorted.
"Well, what do you expect…" Rachel snapped.
"Children, now, behave, or 'Auntie San' will take your toys away," Santana sardonically interjected. "Play nice in front of the company, you two," she reminded them.
"Yes…well…" Rachel gathered herself, resuming the original topic, "Once we've eaten, I'll see that you're settled in your rooms. We have a beautiful pool, and you're welcome to go swimming; the weather should be perfect, today."
"Sounds like fun," Sam agreed, grinning broadly, "especially if you wear that bathing suit."
Quinn looked at Sam out of the corner of her eye, a barely-concealed crestfallen expression on her face. "Sam, that's so unprofessional," she admonished.
"Sorry," Sam apologized.
"That's OK, Sam; I appreciate the compliment," Rachel acknowledged. "However, I don't think I'll be wearing that particular bathing suit any more today. My fiancé…" she paused, glaring at Noah before continuing, "…prefers me in more demure attire."
"Well, I always say, 'if ya' got it, flaunt it'," Noah remarked, "and, Rachel, you've 'got it'…in spades." Grinning slyly, he winked at Rachel, who rolled her eyes exasperatedly as the others followed Noah out of the room.
"Still incorrigible as ever," Rachel muttered, unable to repress the slight smile that found its way onto her face, shaking her head as she retreated upstairs.
