YOUTH IN NYC
(Rachel)
The money that Mike had in his pocket was to feed him for a few days and his credit card hadn't had a ridiculous limit. As long as his dad didn't cut it, everything was going to be fine for his side. Much like him, I, Santana and Quinn would have our meals in cheap places and get around the city by subway or maybe by bus, especially to go to The Flea, the off-off-Broadway theater where auditions would take place. If Santana's calculus were right (usually they are) the money we asked to Mr. Weiz would be enough for our expenses and, perhaps, some would leave for a little fun.
Before all that, we had to take the money in Lenox Hill, in a luxurious apartment overlooking Central Park. It was where Caleb Weiz lived, the Jewish businessman and zaide's friend. I just saw him once at a party at my grandparents' house in Cleveland. Caleb Weiz articulated Santana's admission test for Stuyvesant and offered her an internship at his company. I heard he had several houses and apartments in New York City and other major cities around the country. Santana said he owned about 80 and had his own realtor just to take care of these goods. Weiz was also widowed, and his sons died without leaving grandchildren to inherit all these money and power. Poor old man, he must be lonely.
First there was the debate of who should accompany my sister on his place. As we haven't reached a conclusion, the four of us would walk together. First we check out in the hotel and then we walked from Harlem to Lenox Hill caring ours bags and backpacks. I didn't blame when the doorman treated to kick us out from that luxurious building: we looked like beggars. But Santana made the doorman called to Weiz showing her cell phone display.
"If I call Mr. Weiz, you are fucked. But if you call him and announce Santana Berry-Lopez, you will keep your damn job. Your choice."
The guy called and turned pale with fear when Mr. Weiz authorized our entry immediately. A man, who appeared to be 50 years old, answered the door. That was "Jeeves", as Santana called him, but I didn't think that was his real name. He must be Weiz's valet or something like that. We entered that huge apartment and waited on the sofas for a short time until the business man received us accompanied by a much younger girl, who must have been about 30. Weiz was an old man with no family, but apparently he and his money attract young girlfriends. Not that I was on position to judge.
"If it isn't the future Joel Berry's company president!" Santana greeted with a handshake and a wide smile. "And little Rachel grow up and became a beautiful young lady." He looked at the others. "I didn't expect you two to be accompanied by friends, but you're all welcomed."
"These are Quinn Fabray and Mike Chang, our friends from school. Guys, this is one of my grandpa's best friend, Caleb Weiz, the one who will save us." Santana introduced them.
"What a charming lady." Caleb was very gallant. "And this is Lisa, a great friend of mine." The beautiful and friendly woman greeted us one by one, and then she sat down and didn't spoke anymore.
"Let me see if I understood correctly: you're going to audition for a musical play?" Weiz asked as Jeeves offered us water.
"Mike and Rachel will. Quinn and I are here just for moral support. My summer will be quite busy at Stuyvesant... and working at Weiz Co. I won't have time to this kind of thing." I found strange that Weiz was only talking to Santana.
"I know you are smart and clever, but you should allow yourself to have a little leisure, Santana. Life experience is critical in business. Don't try too hard, not when you're already a natural."
"It's not part of my plans to sink on my studies to the point of not having a social life, sir. But I have to make an exception this summer because of Stuyvesant if I want to graduate next year. For next summer, I am planning to spend a month traveling around the country with my backpack before starting college. My first stop will be California, for sure."
"A wise decision. I remember I took a free year before going to Harvard. It was the late fifties, I was young and avid to live new experiences. I spent a few months knowing our country by hitchhiking. I worked as an assistant on a farm, as a barman, cutting grasses, parking cars… I consider that trip as an essential moment for the formation of my character. It worth doing things like that before embraces some destinations for real. Still, Harvard was part of the best years of my life."
"Harvard is one of the best places in the world." My sister smirked.
"Exactly!"
We watched Mr. Weiz talking about business with Santana throughout our stay, including the time that he offered a (delicious) dinner made by his cook. I got the reason of why my sister started reading Wall Street Journal and The Economist in the Internet after daddy's death. For my part, knowing that we wouldn't have such a good meal for the next three days, I took it. Mike also ate like there was no tomorrow. Quinn was quieter. I noticed that she was looking at the photographs on the wall of the dining room.
"You have a nice collection, sir." Quinn pointed to the pictures.
"Indeed. Some people invest in paintings. Well, I have some investments in paintings too, but what I really like is good photographers. These photos are from the original negative." He pointed to one of the pictures, a black-and-white one of a muscular man jumping in the air with open arms, knees bent. He looked like a bird. "That was one of my favorites by Aaron Siskind. He always gives me the feeling that the man becomes more powerful and sovereign when he is free. Did you know Siskind's work?" Quinn made a negative sign.
"I just like to shoot. Unfortunately I never stopped to search for other photographers as I would like to do."
"Are you talented?"
"I'm not the one to judge. But I like the things I do."
"Good answer." Mr. Weiz got up and went to another room. He came back with a book in hand and handed it to Quinn. "I have some copies of this one. It shows the work of some of the most important photographers of New York. It's yours..."
"Thank you!" She seemed surprised by this. We all were.
"If you have one of those websites with your photos, leave the address. I would like to see what you can do."
Mr. Weiz handed out the money in doing a thousand recommendations to Santana. He was talking to her as her boss or something, which made me uncomfortable. The worst thing is that she seemed to accept it. Weiz wished good luck for us and did a favor paying the cab to the hostel. The way we were, without much money, we would never refuse charities like this.
When we got to the hostel in the Bronx, Santana asked a room where the four of us could be together, preferably with four beds. We were offered the "green room," which of course, had the walls painted green, except one that had a large regular colorful mosaic. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was still interesting. The green room was much smaller than that one we occupied at the hotel in Harlem: it had two bunks, but the space left was narrow and cramped. At least we were in possession of the key since we were in one group. The bathrooms (male and female) were a problem: two per floor for collective use.
I called my dad to say we were fine. He had just arrived from the airport and still showed no signs of conformity with our decision. He felt betrayed again.
"Are you busy with the book?" It was amazing how she always had a book with her. Not infrequently, she despised some interesting discussions on the choir room because she was too entertained with her books.
"Come here!" She pulled up right in bed to make room for me, and then we cuddled when I lay beside. "Sleep with me tonight?"
"Don't think we're going too fast?" I joked.
"There are no risks with your sister sleeping right there. Especially today that I had the displeasure of experiencing her heavy hand... again."
"While it is tempting, Miss Fabray, I will refuse. I'm not that easy."
"But until it comes time to sleep and Santana doesn't leave the bathroom..."
…
Living a single life in New York with little money in the pocket wasn't as exciting experience as I imagined. Do the laundry, for example. At home, the machines require electricity and water to work. There is an entire infrastructure in place: the cleaning products, baskets, clothesline. There are the entire basement space you can use to separate the clothes, not to mention the time in favor. You put the clothes in, turn on the machine, and forget. You can go to a class, do schoolwork, watch a movie, eat something and then remember the clothes.
Public laundries are different. People carry cups of coins because those things only work for a certain time if they are powered by them. If you don't bring your own cleaning products, you will have to buy some and pay the abusive price of the market next door whose owner survives exploring forgotten and desperate people.
Look at our case: we would wash the clothes only once and it would be a waste to buy a box of soap powder. However, we could get a bit with other people, at least I believed on this. But I found out that you can't rely on the people's goodwill in a public laundry, unless you show the coins. Only with then was possible to have a bit of soap (but not the softener). Sure, we didn't think to bring plastic baskets to New York. As we had no resources, we use our own bags. In case: two were used to transport clothes of four. One machine couldn't cope with our demand, it was necessary two of them which was right there waiting me to fill its bellies with coins, and then give even more coins to the dryer. Yes, that was my first time on a public laundry.
You can't have the luxury of occupying space to separate the clothes. This should have been done in the hostel room, but nobody thought about it until we got there. When I saw myself working alone, I pressed the "fuck it" botton and mixed dark clothes with the light ones, and with panties and bras and boxes. And I just prayed that the clothes would not get so stained at the end of the process. Another thing: you can't drop the clothes and forget about them for two hours as you could do at home. You need to stay and wait. Meanwhile, you could interact with strange guys, like that one with slick hair smelling marijuana who just put his clothes on the next door machine. My stomach lurched as I imagined that my nice clothes were in the same place that his ones could be once.
"New in town?" The pothead sat next to me and revealed his yellow teeth, however perfectly lined, as if he had used dental appliance when he was a kid.
What could you say when you have two bags beneath your feet? I looked around to see who if I could shout in case of an emergency. Maybe the pothead could be a crazy psycho stalker who wants to take my virginity and then dismember me and bury me in the basement of that same laundry. Quinn was distracted taking pictures in the street and Mike stayed in the hostel room talking with Tina on his cell phone. Santana was out exploring the neighborhood and the lady that sold me the soap was already gone. It was just me and the pothead. God help me.
"I'm just passing by!" I answered quietly, wishing him to get away.
"I'm Johnny." The greasy reached out.
"Rachel." I dismissed compliance.
"So Rachel…" I swear he was sniffing me. "Are you alone? You look too young to be alone in this city."
"No. The blonde taking photos across the street is my girlfriend." My heart jumped for a second. That was the first time I publicly called Quinn as my girlfriend. Too bad it was on an unusual situation. What a waste.
"Oh!" And he put a dirty smile. The guy didn't even bother to hide that his dirty fantasies just come to mind. Disgusting.
If that weren't enough negotiate soap powder, tolerate potheads with dirty mind was so much worse. Then, I realized I made a mistake as soon as the washing machine stopped: I had any softener to put on the clothes.
"Hey, Rachel." Santana arrived holding a whole paper with scribbling notes. "I found three nearby restaurants that meet our economic needs..."
"Another girlfriend?" Johnny showed again his yellow teeth. Santana narrowed her eyes at him.
"No, she's my sister. And you are… a beggar version of Jesus Christ?"
"Johnny." He reached out to Santana, who just looked and ignored. Johnny seemed more intimidated. Santana had the ability to produce that effect on people.
"Anyway..." She showed me the scribbles. "I found a diner on the next block which floor is a mess, but they serve salads. There is another one three blocks west which menu is a little better, but the waitress is a bitch and I'm sure she and the cook spit in food. Maybe the kitchen has cockroaches. The third one is down the street and is under reform. They are offering omelets with a little cement. Of course we can always pass the grocery store and buy instant noodles!"
"Dirty ground, spited food, salad with cement or noodles, how many choices!"
"We can try salad with cement today, tomorrow we can go to the dirty ground, and then buy instant noodles after our stomachache go away."
"Why are you dismissed the spited food?"
"Because I'm sure that I would slap the waitress and I don't want to get sue."
"Cool!" Johnny was definitely having fun with us. "There's a diner about two blocks north. The place is clean, the food is good and cheap. You should take a look there. I bet it is definitely better than eating cement." We looked at him with a question mark in our face. How could we trust a stoner in a laundry? "I've been living in this neighborhood for some time and, believe me, I like to eat something healthy. The diner is very simple, but it's really good. It would pass on an inspection of health monitoring."
"Thank you. Really!" I began to think that this Johnny wasn't disgusting at all.
The washing was completed. Now all that remained was dry and spend another half hour on that laundry. I started working on the clothes and this time Santana was helping. By that time, Mike came to be with us.
"Where's the softener? Our clothes will get tough." Santana complained.
"I have sheets of softener here!" Johnny showed the package.
"But I have no extras coins." Then I had to explain the situation to my sister. "I pay one dryer to a girl in exchange to some soap powder."
"In this case." Johnny grinned. "I give you six sheets if you kiss your girlfriend in front of me."
"QUINN!" Santana yelled from the laundry room door. "Come here to be useful at least once!"
I always suspected that my sister was meant to be a pimp. I never imagined, however, that she would start her career exploring me because of a softener.
…
Our first experience as young people with little money in a metropolis taught us the importance to know how to plan an interesting cultural tour that cost equally little. We wouldn't stand to stay confined in the hostel, watching television and playing cards when the best city in the world was at our fingertips. And I'm sure we would kill each other. Santana and Mike searched in the internet for theater pages, indie shows, cultural options in general. With a little patience we were making a list of interesting options that we could use.
Broadway theaters were out of scope, the off-Broadway's as well, but it had some cheap sessions in the off-off-Broadway. We include more options in our list and had some other activities such museums, The Central Park and the famous streets. Santana and I did the conventional tourist route on previous occasions we were in New York, but everything was new for Mike and Quinn. Put on the list what we find most interesting. The curious thing is that even with our limited options, we wouldn't give account to fulfill in a week what we put on the paper. I just loved this city.
I know many cities and some countries. My dads were concerned to show the world to me and Santana, but in a comfortable way: we had good accommodations, money to eat at good restaurants. I discovered that the other side also had the grace and magic, especially in the company of you loved the most. The best thing about this story is that my mind was busy. It helped me to deal with this crazy anxiety for the auditions.
"Oh, look who I found!" Johnny met us in the hostel. He was carrying a ladder and wearing an old t-shirt stained with ink.
"Johnny…" I felt my face burn with shame just remembering the kiss that Quinn and I shared in front of him. But we had lunch at the diner he recommended and it really dead on his description: good food, cheap and clean.
"What are you doing here?" My sister, as always, was less subtle. "Do you work here?"
"Oh, no! I am just doing a job. The owner is a friend of mine, and he asked me time to time to give a renewed on the painting in some rooms. This time it was the blue one."
"You painted the mosaic in the green room?" Mike asked and Johnny nodded. "Cool. It was pretty cool."
"So you're a painter?" Quinn said.
"Not exactly. I usually work in the tattoo studio, but sometimes I do some small jobs for some extra money... anyway... how are you enjoying the city?"
"Well... we try to have fun as much as possible." Mike replied.
"Tourist map or something more local?"
"Tourist map." I confessed.
"Well guys, if you want to do something different, more local, friends of mine are doing a gig tomorrow night. Their music is cool and the pub is very nice. It's not a mess or dirty at least. Do you want to go?"
"They allow guests under 18?" Quinn asked in a suspicious tone.
"No, but I can get you in without false IDs. I've done some work as a roadie for this band and I have free access. If you wish, I can pick you all up tomorrow." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, so wrote something and handed it to Santana, who seemed to be our leader. It was just his phone number. "Call me."
…
I woke up that Wednesday feeling many things: anxiety, fear, anguish and also pain. My body was quite sore from all the walking we'd done on the previous days. The night before, we accept to go to the gig in the pub that Johnny (who was a good guy, after all) was a close friend of the band in question. He facilitated our entry and the drinks (Mike was 18 and could enter the pub through the front door, but he followed us). Santana and Mike drank in moderation and it seemed that our Asian friend, always so serious and shy in the choir, was loosening. Mike made out with an older woman with purple hair. I think he wanted go to her place to have sex, but we were around and together, so he stayed. Santana drank a few cups of beer and enjoyed the show. I also drank a cup of beer and Quinn's eyes widened when she saw me put the cold liquid down my throat.
"I didn't know you like to drink beer." She screamed in my ear at the time because of the loud sound of the band, very good one by the way.
"I don't drink too much." I shouted back. "This is my limit." Quinn had seen me drunk once at that small party Santana promoted back home. That was the first time I got drunk in my life, by the way. I think she thought that this was an isolated incident.
"Who introduced you into this?" I simply pointed to my sister who was dancing beside Johnny with a cup of beer in hand. "Of course!"
I was a nice girl: didn't smoke, drank a little, and didn't use drugs. You know: good girl, but not that boring religious kind. My daddy always said to know our limits and respect them. That's it! But Quinn could be further prude. I actually thought she was going to exorcise a woman who had just taken some pills with liquor and started dancing like crazy right in front of us. This wasn't news to me, I had seen much worse things in the Reading Festival. The difference was in the space and the amount of people. Quinn was familiar with drunk guys smoking pot at parties of the popular kids in Lima. I think the craziness of high school students didn't compare. I saw Santana and Mike amused. I tried to live the experience. Quinn wasn't at ease. She didn't relax even when we kissed in public for the second time. I think she thought that pub was dangerous and couldn't seize the moment.
We came back at dawn and went straight to the bed, except Quinn, who still had the ability and courage to take a bath. Santana and I (and maybe Mike) just took off our shoes to sleep. Good thing that the auditions would happen in the late morning.
I woke up with the alarm cell. My body was sore. My calves burned because the daily long walks. I was so tired. Mike and Quinn weren't in the room and it looked like Santana wouldn't wake up soon. I took clean clothes and went to the bathroom. In my suitcase had no soap powder or softener, but it surely had shampoo and conditioner: things that I would never miss. I took a shower, washed my hair, brushed my teeth. When I got out, Santana was in the line in front of the bathroom, waiting for her turn. I went to the community hall of the hostel, where I met Quinn having breakfast at a table. Apparently she had bought a box of orange juice and a packet of toast.
"Much better." She smiled when I gave her a good morning kiss.
"What?" I took a disposable cup and serve me with some juice.
"Your breath is so much better now without that taste of cheap beer."
"Do you leave early to buy this banquet?" Of course I return the sarcasm.
"I've been awake for a while. I tried to wait for you, but you were dead to the world, and your clothes smelled cigarettes."
"I'm sorry. We shouldn't have gone to the pub. I noticed that you weren't comfortable."
"You all were having fun and I'm not a party poop. And I found quite respectful that Santana and Mike drank moderately, and so as that Johnny guy." Then she stared at me. "You surprised me, however. I've never thought that, of all people, you could accept invitations from strangers and enjoy noisy pubs."
"Although I'm an admirer of the superior artistic manifestations, such as theater, classical music, ballet and opera. Besides, of course, being a big fan of the great Broadway musicals. Not to mention jazz. It doesn't mean that I can't allow myself to experience different environments. It's healthy to be open to new things, Quinn."
"Well. Would you try drugs to have a new experience?"
"Of course not! Don't distort my words. I'm talking about new experiences, not dangerous new experiences that could drag you to a dark and terrible place."
"Interesting..." She brought her face closer. "Does that mean you're open to experiencing new things like, for example... make love to me?" I felt my cheeks burn.
"Certainly I would... one day... well..." My embarrassment caused a belly laugh on Quinn, those that I haven't seen her doing for a long time. Or perhaps never. "Do you want... to make love to me?" I asked quietly.
"Yes!" She looked me straight in the eye. Quinn's voice got heavier, almost hoarse. "But I am aware of your convictions, I know our relationship just started, and I promise I'll wait until you're ready."
"Quinn, feel free to not answer. It's that you never told to me..." I looked at my nails. "How long have you liking me?"
"The day I realized that I liked you was the same one I shot slushie in your face and called you RuPaul for the first time."
"That was ..."
"On our freshman year, yes." I didn't want to express puzzlement, but, that was a long time for somebody stifling itself. No wonder Quinn acted so aggressively.
"I guess the fact that you are Russell Fabray's daughter and the school queen bee must be the reasons for the torture I suffered all this time."
"All this, and the fact I spent a long time fighting my sexuality. I was so angry and frustrated by being in love with this beautiful Jewish girl with amazing legs, perfect voice, and that I thought she was straight as hell. Not to mention that her twin sister was my main opponent in school. Rachel, my path wasn't easy."
"What motivated you to kiss me in the Regionals if you thought I was straight?"
"It had to do with that time we spent composing 'Get it Right'. That week we worked on the song together, I heard a conversation between Santana and Brittany about you and a girl in London. Jealousy took the best of me, that's why we had that fight." Now I understand why, out of nowhere, Quinn told me those petty things in the auditorium. "But it showed me that you weren't as straight as I thought and I had chances."
"I didn't feel attraction to girls until Laura. And I didn't think that was relevant until you. Laura was important to me. She helped me to open my mind." Then something crossed my mind, a sudden curiosity. "Have you ever been with any girl before me?"
"I... I... let's say I had someone who taught me... how to…"
Our conversation was interrupted by Mike, who was caring a paper bag and had a sheepish grin on his face. He wished good day and put on the table individual pots of jam, bun, another box of orange juice, instant noodles, four donuts and a small package of vegan chocolates. Quinn plastered a smile and took one of the donuts.
"No more misery!" He said.
"I love it when someone try to bribe me." Quinn took a bite of the donuts and murmured satisfied.
"I don't know what you talking about." Mike sat beside me.
"Vegan Chocolate? Mike, this is almost a begging for your little adventure in the pub doesn't reach Tina's ears."
"It will stay between us, right?" God! Mike seemed so desperate for our silence.
"As someone once told me: 'what happen in New York, stay in New York.'"
"Stealing my lines now, Smurfette?" Santana surprised us and sat next to Quinn. "How much cost all of these?"
"Don't worry, Santana." Mike said quietly. "I paid with my credit card."
"In this case..." She smiled and took a donut.