A/N: I needed to give some perspective from a neglected OC. Dear Readers, meet Emily Lauder. Lyric is from "I've Been Loving You Too Long", by Otis Redding and Jerry Butler
Emily Lauder had never been involved in as intense or complex a romantic relationship as this one before. She had always considered herself open-minded (don't we all?), but it felt like she was stepping into a fertile minefield getting involved with Tom Foley, even more so when she moved into the apartment he shared with his artistic partner and former lover, Rachel Berry.
Emily and Rachel knew each other from the time she choreographed a routine for a class she was taking at Queens College, and NYADA picked it up for their students as well. Emily was invited over to demonstrate it to a class, and Rachel, a freshman who was having problems in the class, asked Emily if she could give Rachel some extra help.
The two became friends. Emily showed Rachel how to train her body differently, so that her motion became smooth and seamless, instead of occasionally looking staccato at times, usually right before a difficult move. She encouraged Rachel to switch from ballet to yoga for flexibility.
This had a beneficial effect on Rachel, who was in her first year in New York. She was angry, lonely and confused over what had happened with Finn. It almost set her in a tailspin at school, especially with the difficult time she was having with the dancing. Yoga's ties to meditation and peace enabled her to come to terms with the uncertainty over Finn and to not let that interfere with her studies. It also helped convince her to try the long distance effort with Finn, when their communication became more regular. Finally, yoga provided her a means of channeling away the pain and anguish after the breakup, and gave her the confidence to try and move on with Tom.
Emily first met Tom when he was with Rachel, on a double-date with her then-boyfriend, George. Tom seemed pleasant enough to her then. She remembered telling Rachel that, and encouraged her to get more serious with him. She saw him maybe two times after that, once after he and Rachel had moved in together. But then her schoolwork started to heat up, and she and Rachel met only occasionally for coffee, they were so busy.
She knew about Finn, of course. And when Rachel and Tom broke up, Emily knew why. Soon after, they were having coffee, and Rachel opened up about living together with Tom now that they were just colleagues and roommates.
"He seems to be okay—he says he's okay with it-but I know it hurts. The only saving grace is that he's able to compartmentalize personal crap when he works." Rachel looked worried. "The other times, though, it's hard, especially when we're doing something routine, like cooking, standing at the stove, for instance, and almost fall into the old pattern of intimacy."
"What about you?" Emily asked.
Rachel gave Emily a long, resigned, sigh.
"When Finn put me on that train, he said we both have things to do that we had to do alone. I'm not done yet, and he's here in the USA, finally, but having to readjust, God knows where." A pause. She looked lost for a moment, then said: "I've loved Finn since I was fifteen."
Then she sang a line from an old Otis Redding soul song:
"I've been loving you too long to stop now," and managed a wan smile.
"That's how I'm doing."
One day a few weeks later Emily dropped by the apartment to borrow a book of Rachel's. Tom answered the door, looking exhausted.
"Come on in", he said, "Rachel finally crashed a half hour ago, but I think I know where that book is." He moved like a zombie, then laughed, waving his hand around the living room apologetically. "We've been up two-and-a-half days straight, pardon the mess."
He was right. The place looked like the ones in those guy movies, pizza boxes and food cartons lying around. Emily grinned to herself.
"You look like you could use a break yourself," she told him. Tom found the book (under a pizza box—Rachel had left it out for Emily the day before), and handed it to her.
"You're right." His eyes were red-rimmed, fatigued. "But I can't sleep yet. Care to help me finish this bottle of Pinot Noir?"
"Sure." She had nothing else to do at that moment. He made his way to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of the dark red wine. She took hers and he clinked glasses. They sat on the couch.
He told her they were finalizing material to present to the producers.
"Then we'll see if they want to take us on."
She noticed how animated and energetic he became when talking about the show, despite his exhaustion. When finished, however, Tom sank back in the couch, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Even tired, they remained a very bright blue.
"How are you doing, Tom?"
He looked at her warily.
"You mean, how am I doing regarding Rachel?"
She just nodded kindly, sipping her wine. He surprised her with a smile, a rueful smile, yes, but a smile nonetheless.
"We both know how much I love her," he said. "But I don't have the unearthly connection she has with Finn. It's nobody's fault. And I'm grateful that we have this amazing working relationship. Oh, fuck it!" He stopped. "I'm goddamned miserable, Emily, to be honest." Then he laughed, managing to extract a giggle from her. He looked sort of adorable, even in his misery.
"What about you? Aren't you seeing that guy…George?"
"Not since last month."
They sat, looking at each other for a moment. Did something just happen between them? Maybe. She finished her wine, got up and gave him a hug.
"Get some sleep," she said, and he nodded, but looked at her like he had just decoded something more.
That weekend Emily met Rachel for coffee. Rachel looked like she had actually gotten some rest: her eyes were bright, and she wore an easy smile. They talked about the upcoming auditions with the producers, and Rachel went on to describe her disastrous one for NYADA. Emily was surprised, then sympathetic, and finally amused as Rachel continued the story about stalking Carmen. Rachel shrugged.
"Tom says that Rachel Berry never gives up." They both took sips of coffee.
"Rachel, may I ask you something?" Emily suddenly sat with her hands clasped, still not sure she even wanted to ask the question. Rachel nodded. Her mouth went dry.
"What would you think about me going on a date with Tom?"
Rachel first looked surprised, then intrigued.
"Has he asked you?" She was smiling curiously, but Emily couldn't read her expression fully.
"No, no." She looked down, embarrassed. "I was going to ask him."
Rachel sat back, thinking, a range of emotions quickly passing over her face. Emily could tell she wanted to say something right away, but changed her mind. There was definitely some kind of inner dialogue going on. Finally she spoke.
"I'd be careful, Emily, rebounding and all, for both of you." Rachel was open and honest. "But yeah, I think you should."
Emily had expected Rachel to be more territorial. After all, she still lived in the same apartment. And, to be honest, Emily would have been, had Rachel been asking the same of her. But Rachel Berry had a knack for confounding people's expectations.
"Is something wrong?" Rachel was looking at her, slightly amused. "Did you expect me to tell you it was a terrible idea?"
"I wasn't sure what to expect," Emily replied, honestly, then said, "This all seems so…high school."
Rachel's face became unreadable. Emily felt for her friend at that moment. Emily's high school experience and love life had been nowhere near as insanely complicated. She was from Connecticut, with a middle-class, loving family, and went to a high school with a culture that valued and nurtured the arts. The artsy kids weren't the popular ones, sure, but they weren't persecuted. Her high school wasn't anything like the hell hole Rachel described. She had two boyfriends in high school, both musicians, and cried when she broke up with one of them. Emily never had to worry about her talent and ambition being resented, and her desire to leave her home town wasn't viewed as an act of elitism. Her life, up to this point, could have been described as, for lack of a better term, normal.
Everything about Rachel, on the other hand, seemed bigger than life: raised by gay parents, meets and is abandoned by her birth mother, awesomely talented, persecuted in high school, practically friendless until she meets the popular quarterback and falls in love, stormy relationship, almost married—twice, and to the same guy—before she is eighteen, prom queen, national show choir title, gets into the most exclusive arts school in the country after choking on the audition. Rachel Berry's life had legend written all over it. At that moment, however, she wore the cost of it on her face.
Yet she reached out and patted Emily's hand.
"Be good to him," she said.
That goddamned Finn better be good to you, Emily thought.
Tom was working alone in the apartment when Emily dropped by again on a Saturday morning. It was a warm day, so she wore a very short denim miniskirt , black ballet flats, and a white tank top. Her long, blonde hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.
He seemed surprised to see her. Much of the exhaustion she remembered the last time was still on his face. She just had to get him out of there.
"Uh—hi. Rachel's out, getting her nails done."
"I know," Emily said. "I've come to take you to breakfast."
Startled, he cocked his head, and for a moment she thought he was going to turn her down. But then she saw him look at her appreciatively—she knew her long, perfectly-toned, dancer's legs would get his attention—and tossed the music he had in his hand behind him with a grin.
"That's the best offer I've had today," he said, "Come on in."
The apartment looked clean and orderly this time.
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "You look too good to be seen out with a slob."
She nodded silently, as if in complete agreement. Then she sat on the couch, enjoying him watch her cross her legs.
"Allez," she ordered, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and Emily relaxed. The shower came on, and she idly wondered if he was thinking about her legs as he soaped up. She imagined soaping him up herself, then chuckled at her presumption.
He emerged from the bathroom in an old cotton plaid robe (she had hoped for just a towel around his waist, but hey) and waved, disappearing into his bedroom. Eventually he emerged, in a dark-blue polo shirt and jeans,.
Let's go," he said, placing a hand on the small of her back as they went into the hall. He smelled faintly of a simple, non-obnoxious bodywash product. No cologne. No godawful body spray. Good; she wore no perfume herself. She liked that he left his curly hair wet.
The café was nearby. Tom asked Emily about her show, which was winding down, and she showed him the signature move she came up with that garnered her some praise in The Village Voice, right there on the sidewalk, not caring when her skirt rode up at one point.
"Got any you're working on now?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant, though she knew he appreciated the view.
"Sure. It's one I planned on using if I ever choreographed a ballet like The Firebird." It was a wild, pagan-like dance, arms flailing like a primitive, frenzied version of the Watusi, as if showing the ancient, more athletic roots of 1960's pop dancing, coupled with a daunting leap. He applauded as she came to earth. They were now at the café, and Tom gave her a searching look.
"Rachel told you about this place, didn't she? I thought this was where we were going."
It was her turn to look nonchalant.
"Maybe."
Tom chuckled, and placed his hand on the small of her back again, but this time she leaned into him slightly. Somehow, Emily knew he wouldn't mind.
He said he hadn't eaten anything decent since Thursday. Rachel's prediction was right: he ordered The Full English: bacon, eggs,and fried cherry tomatoes with toast. He took his coffee black, just like her. She reached over and tasted a tomato, closing her eyes in ecstasy: it had, decadently, been cooked in the bacon grease.
"Mmmmm," was her only comment. She looked down at her now sad-looking cheese omelet, garnished with plain, sliced tomatoes, and called over the young waiter to see if he could bring her a few of the cherry tomatoes as a side. He looked dubious, but would check.
Emily asked him more about his show, then clapped when a small plate of the fried tomatoes arrived. She shoveled a few onto Tom's plate, and they toasted each other with mouthfuls.
"Like them?" Tom asked, chucking. All she could do was nod with her mouth full.
"Damned straight" she exclaimed eventually, listening as he told her they were still working on the funding, but could he ask her a question? Sure.
"That ballet move you showed me. I'd love to have the character Sally do that- she's supposed to represent an ancient Greek water nymph. And I had this idea for a poster—" He drew a primitive sketch on a napkin—A pool, with a fountain at the center, and a mountain in the background. In the foreground he drew a stick figure, dancing. "It would look great on the poster, a silhouette of Sally dancing that move. What do you say?"
She sat up, surprised.
"Are you asking me for just one move?" Her heart leaped when Tom shook his head.
"I'd like you to choreograph the whole thing, pending producer and director approval."
It was a risk. She'd have to talk it over with her agent, at least. Tom was fine with that.
She really, really, was starting to like him. He was knowledgeable, good-looking, decent, and seemed to like her. The prospects of working with him and Rachel professionally and with Tom romantically were daunting, but also exciting. For a fleeting moment, she saw herself as part of a legend, too. If this musical was as good as what she had heard already, the three of them could become a powerful artistic force.
But, the problem of the producers brought her down to reality. They wouldn't go for any of them being romantically involved. Assuming they were involved, romantically, that is. She jumped in, closing her eyes while asking:
"Would that mean we couldn't go out on any more dates?" He didn't answer. She slowly opened her eyes, to find Tom, amused, gazing at her.
"Do you want to go out again?" he asked, oh Lord, eyes twinkling.
"Yeah, I would." She popped a tomato in her mouth and grinned. "How about you?"
"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot," Tom said, softly.
She smiled.
"But let's keep it low until everything is set up, okay? I can wait."
"Deal."
He looked happy. About the deal, or the dates? Both?
"Well, I can wait, but only after this first." She leaned over the table and kissed him, firmly, assertively, and he responded in kind. They both tasted of tomatoes and coffee. It would become their anniversary breakfast treat.
Rachel, of course wanted to know everything. Emily was happy to see her cool with the idea, especially the idea of working together. She also reassured Emily about the romance. "I'm fine with it, really," she said, "But the producers have to be cool with it too."
"I know," Emily said, "That's why we aren't going to pursue it openly until everything is in motion and working."
"Well you have one advantage," Rachel said, grinning, "We're all nobodies, so you won't be followed around." She went on to say that she would approach the producers about having her audition. "I won't be lying when I say we're friends." A wink.
Emily perked up—she hadn't really thought of it that way, and was grateful to Rachel for acting on her behalf.
And so it began. Emily, Rachel and Tom got funding and permission to put the musical on, a director was hired, and Emily started working with the dancers.
She and Tom began having surreptitious dates. A month into it, Rachel walked in on them making love at the apartment when she came home unexpectedly. They were both naked on the couch, looking guilty and apprehensive. It was their first time together too, pleasantly drunk on wine. Rachel just laughed and went to her room. Inside, however, she curled in a ball, prayed for Finn's safety, and wished she were sleeping with him. But she had work to do first. Then she also prayed for Emily and Tom. They were so damned cute together.
Once the show was up and running, Emily and Tom outed themselves and were shocked—almost disappointed—to find that nobody gave a damn. She moved in right after. Again, they were shocked. They hadn't counted on the easy way they worked together to bleed into their living arrangements, too. There were moments, of course; Emily howled with laughter one night seeing Tom and Rachel bicker. That tempered their disagreements somewhat and actually made things work smoother.
Then something wonderful happened. A Brooklyn underground theater paper took an interest in their play, and a reporter revealed how the three of them lived together and detailed the romantic entanglements. At first they thought the article was a disaster, but the producers simply laughed.
"Kids," Billie said, waving her hands unconcernedly, "This is the best thing to happen to us since we took you on. You'll see."
Billie, of course, was right. The reporter described their apartment as a hub of theatrical creativity, dubbing it "Tin Pan Alley II." Other music papers, even The Village Voice, picked up on that name, and soon they were giving interviews, and the show's popularity off-Broadway soared.
Emily, Rachel, and Tom were on the cusp of a dream very few had ever experienced. All three understood it, and wanted it, enough to live harmoniously. All three loved each other enough to wish the best for all. Tom and Emily went out of their way to comfort Rachel when she was lonely, and backed her plan to find Finn come hell or high water once the Tonys were over, win or lose.
Emily stood with Rachel, arm around her shoulder, looking at Finn and Tom working. She felt elation that Rachel looked and sounded so blissfully happy.
"I'm so happy for you," she told Rachel. Rachel beamed.
Mount Olympus Blues, she then realized, had only been the beginning. There had been a missing member all this time. Now that he was here, it was going to be amazing. She could feel it in her bones.