Unemployment

(Rachel)

My contract wasn't renewed, nor Nick Brown's. Actually I thought about not renewing anyway, but it was outrageous to not have even been invited to negotiate new terms for a few more months. I had to swallow the humiliation of these newspapers saying unfounded things. The most used version was that I was an intemperate diva who was living for criticize my colleagues. In Nick's case, his involvement with drugs was compromising the performances. According these fake news, that was why we were fired. I wasn't fired. My contract ended, and so as Nick. That's what I explained on my twitter.

What happened behind the scenes was a lot different than gossip tabloids published. The secret couple was never I and Lucas Hibbs, as some sites insisted on pointing, but Nick and Heather. He was committed with illegal drugs, mainly cocaine. Everyone knew and we overlooked the problem. This protection wasn't random. Different from what the press reported, Nick didn't work drugged and his performance wasn't compromised. He wasn't an exceptional actor like Steve Zappa. As a singer, Nick was also mediocre. But I've never seen him acting high, in any form and, alongside Sarah Kleist, he never missed a day of work. Of course I didn't want to bring my time with Nick in my inner friendship circle, but I recognized that he was a good co-worker that was happy to spend his entire salary with cocaine and girls. The cast began to crumble when Heather left the ATU for almost two months to shot a movie with idiotic script, and I said Rita, her understudy, was much better to work with and more talented. Of course someone, and I was guessing that was Karl, our publicist, told Heather what I said about her. She returned worse, using more drugs. She and Nick broke up before the tour and Heather lost control.

Sarah couldn't bear the stress and had a nervous breakdown in Las Vegas. I defended Nick because he could be an addict, but he was a good mate. It was true. Maybe I made a mistake on this point, I don't know. If I tolerate my sister smoking marijuana, then had to do the same for a coworker.

So I said without fear that Nick was much more professional than Heather and even than Steve himself who had the habit of drinking brandy between the acts because of the voice (like tea and honey didn't have the same effect) and it wasn't rare for him to reach the end of the play slightly drunk. But Steve, next to Heather, was the big star after all. I said it in his face during our discussion in Las Vegas. He couldn't take the fact that he was a drunk, a talented and a great Broadway singer, but still a drunk. We fought and Nick stand by my side, punching Steve's face.

Steve complained to the producers and asked my head. He said I had a very difficult genius and wouldn't work with me anymore. He had the support of all others, but Nick. The producers made a decision and chose to leave me out of such a transition cast plan. In addition, Steve was the chieftain and Heather was a Disney child that attracted publicity. As for me? I had the voice, I had the talent, but I didn't have a commercial beauty. It made me be more disposable than Heather, who hadn't the same voice or talent, but she knew half Hollywood's world. She was pardoned by the influence she had and I was convicted by my sincerity. I was humiliated and publicly maligned.

Then I found myself unemployed for the first time since I arrived in New York. My agent said I shouldn't worry because he was seeking something to me, but it get time. I was hoping that Josh could help me to talk with that bold evil gay producer who was planning the "Funny Girl" remake. Of course I would audit for this role. Despite all the bad press, I wasn't so desperate because I had some saves and my part of daddy's money. Santana said we had some months ahead before money became an issue. Maybe seven months in the worst scenario, maybe a little more than a year if we strongly control all our spending.

What bothered me the most was Quinn. She lost her job because of me and it was breaking my heart to see her organizing her resume and schedule to manage time between freelancer jobs, her college and look for another job.

"Come sleep, babe." I hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek when I saw her sit in our bed with de computer in front of her and some papers around. It passed midnight and she looked exhaust. "Is that something on your mind?"

"There are five good companies in New York that I would like to visit. I'll go in one tomorrow after school. There are some smalls but promising ones. I don't know, Rach. I just don't want to have such high standards at this point and lost opportunities. I have money to pay my part of the rent next month, but I can't count on an inheritance money as you."

"Well, Quinn, I would give everything to not have this money if it meant that my daddy was alive."

"I'm sorry." Quinn sighed. "I know it. I'm just bitter today, I think…"

"Ok" I bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth. "Just don't take too long. You need to rest."

I layed on my side of the bed and tried sleep, but Quinn took one more hour to finally sleep by my side. I knew we would be ok. It was just a matter of time.

…

(Quinn)

There were many producers in New York. Most of them had tradition on Broadway plays because that was the main nature of the city: forming theatrical actors and everything. Of course Los Angeles was stronger when you talk about a career in the cinema. But I didn't live there and I wasn't intent too. At least, not so soon. I had my college to finish and a relationship with a Broadway actress, so I had to focus on the option New York could offer.

The first company on my list, Bad Things, was famous because it became a big deal doing advertising, paid documentaries, and TV shows. They barely produce movies, but when they do, it's a box office winner. Bad Thing was currently producing a TV series for MTV and a TV show about cinema hosting by Liam Mortinson for TNT, and I wasn't count the advertising campaigns and the clients.

Liam Mortinson was a famous director and one of Bad Things owners along with Garry Abrams, a well-know adman, and Barbra Esteves, a famous ex-Wall Street star who deal with the money. In college, we learn that work for Bad Things was like sell our soul to the devil. You won't make art in Bad Things, just soulless mass media products for money. Come on: it's the only company in New York who had its own studios in New Rochelle. It can build a film city there, if it needed one. Of course I would like to do art, but, right now, I need to be pragmatic. When I arrived at their office in the Madison Ave in Midtown, I was amazed of how big was that place.

"Yes?" The receptionist took me out of the dream.

"I want to give my resume to seek a job opportunity here."

"Did you fill our online form?"

"Yes I did, but, maybe, could I give my resume in hands to someone?"

"I'm afraid you can't do it without an appointment." She raised her finger to answer a call and I waited for a moment. Then, she smiled. "But you can leave your resume here if you want."

"Are you sure I can't talk to someone? I don't want to bother anybody. I just want to introduce myself."

"I'm afraid I can't help you… well… but you can leave your resume with Loyd. He is a nice guy and I don't think he would mind."

"And he is…"

"The guy from PD. He is the one who plans the calling for selection process to hiring employees. You can give him your resume."

"That's fine, I guess…"

"Ok. Wait just a minute." The receptionist made a call and then asked for my I.D. "Cross the hall, take the hallway to the right. The PD is the glass door in your left."

"Thank you."

The noise resembled a newsroom with people talking at the same time, some crying, people passing material to and fro. I could see a huge room in the hallway with a large conference table and a ladder that showed there was a second floor of that wonderful mess. I follow the directions and found the glass door I was looking for. The personnel department was a smaller than I thought it would be with three employees there.

"You must be Quinn Fabray." I looked confused at the half-obese man who received me.

"How did you…"

"Grace called me. I'm Loyd."

"Oh yes, I'm Quinn Fabray." I stretched out my hand to greet him.

"You can sit here, Quinn Fabray." And pointed to chair in front of his desk. "How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to introduce myself and give in hands my resume and a copy of my short-film. It won the popular jury choice of last year NYC Short Films College Festival."

"Sweet. And you are looking for a job in your productions."

"Yes. I'm majoring in cinematography."

"Really? That's unusual. Most of the people working in the Image DP were men."

"I'm aware. It's easier find female photographers than cinematographers. I can do both in any field: assistant, grip, camerawoman, directing… anything."

"I will put this note here." He actually wrote it on my resume, I was impressed. Then, Loyd look at me and smiled. "Since you already studying, we do a selective process to interns twice a year for a lot of DPs. I can't guarantee that the Image DPs will have vacant jobs at the time, but you can try."

"Yes. But when will happen this process?"

"On May or June. I will send an message for all the candidates at the time. Just wait."

"Right. Thank you Mr. Loyd."

"You're welcome."

I left the Bad Things office hopeless. I couldn't wait four or five months to try an internship there. I needed a job right now, and money. I read my list again. Five blocks from Bad Things office was another company, the Razorback. This one was small. Smaller than R&J and I didn't had much information about it. Well, I didn't have anything to lose so I started walking. The Razorback office was in a modest build. I called the intercom and a girl let me in. I knocked the wood door with the Razorback plaque and got in. The secretary looked… cheap but she smiled and called her boss. A beard guy came out to an office room and shacked my hand.

"What can I do for you?"

"My name is Quinn Fabray and I like to leave my resume, if possible."

"Ok, Quinn Fabray. I'm Mitchel Sanderson, one of the Razor owner."

"Oh, so glad to meet you Mr. Sanderson." I stretched out my hand to greet him again.

"So Fabray, could you tell me about your qualifications in my office?"

The office in question was common, except for some erotic photos on the wall that made me wonder. There was a table, a bookcase crammed with papers, a computer, cameras and a spacious sofa. I began to feel uncomfortable when he invited to sit in that sofa instead of the chair.

"Are you new in town?" Sanderson sat still with a respectable distance.

"I'm a student at NYU. Sophomore." I handed my resume and he passed the eye quickly, or pretended.

"I see..." He looked me up and down as if he wanted to devour me. "As you should know, our productions are now exclusively dedicated to the internet. If you want to audition for acting, you can mark an hour on Wednesdays or Thursdays. These tests are filmed and consist of an interview, updated DST exams and you need to be on pill or other contraceptive method. The nudity test before the cameras is followed by a short interview. Now, if you accept to do the audition with intercourse, oral sex or masturbation, shall be entitled to a cache, but know that you have to sign a waiver that allow us to use your image on our website. We recommend total shave..." I laughed nervously interrupting his explanation. "Do you think this is funny?"

"It was a mistake to come here. I'm not a porn actress, Mr. Sanderson, and nor am I willing to be one."

"Well, you are very pretty... You could be a star, don't you know?"

"Thank you, but I'm not interested. Sorry, it was a mistake."

"So what made you come here?"

"I'm a cinematography student and a freelance photographer. I'm looking for a job in my field." He looked once more at my resume, and this time really seemed to read what was written.

"Oh, now I see... You study at NYU... and you have even won an award with a short-movie!"

"Yes." I wanted to run away, but I wouldn't in any way show my panic.

"Do you have any problem in watching two or more people having sex in front of you, Miss Fabray? Perhaps you may have some different ideas for our productions."

"I definitely would photograph nudity and certainly would film a sex scene, like that ones on Game of Thrones, but I'm not sure that I would work in the porn industry. I came here by mistake, I made a list of producers and the Razorback I researched wasn't a porn company."

"I see now... You're not wrong. The Razorback worked with all sorts of production before, but my partner saw a window in the porn industry a year ago and now that's our word. We have a website for our exclusive videos, a little sex shop, an online magazine for clients and subscribers. I was an idealist and I almost open bankruptcy because of that. But porn saved me and my partner."

"I'm glad… still."

"Yeah, I know… well, if you change your mind, you can call me. We have a list of photographers and cameramen that we pay by hour worked plus aid costs."

"Ok. Thank you Mr. Sanderson and sorry again for that mistake."

"That's ok." he kindly returned my resume and opened his office door. "It was a pleasure, Miss Fabray."

Below the building, took a deep breath. I looked at my list again. There was still time to hand over one more resume before going home. Rachel still had saves, but I couldn't afford the luxury of sitting back and waiting. I didn't care to spend the sole of my shoe.

…

(Santana)

I knew Mr. Weiz routines relatively well by the dinners we had at his house in our first year in New York and by the time I worked as an intern at his company. He spent little time in the company since the president was another guy – someone he trusted to manage, but not to sigh the most important papers –, and all he did was basically talk with other old foxes and spent his money with all luxuries it can pay. Mr. Weiz dispatched most things at home and liked to promote golf outings at Country Club. I knew Weiz had many businesses out there with politicians and other entrepreneurs. But that was during the other seasons than winter. When the snow fell, Mr Weiz had a habit of traveling to somewhere tropical. Probably to some property he had in the Caribbean.

Mr. Weiz was a lot different from zaide, who still went to his factories everyday to work. My grandfather was just an old jew businessman that born poor in the Bronx and risked every cent in his pocket for a new life in Ohio. Zaide had to work very hard to become a guy with a great house in Cleveland, a few more real states in Ohio, acceptance in society e a quiet life with his wife, my bubbee. Mr. Weiz was millionaire jew all his life and, even old, could act as a fucking PB. I was kind amazed that he'd never ever hint on me or Rachel. And he did helped Quinn with her freelancer job in the beginning. I know Mr. Weiz was nice: he helped me with Stuyvesant and gave me a job once. But I've always thought he had an agenda and it was killing me had to seek him to ask for a favor.

To my luck, he wasn't in a tropical paradise, but in the city, at his mansion in Port Washington that I had only heard about. He liked to party there, and people said there was a miniature golf course in the garden which I imagine it must be twice the size of my zaide's yard. Weiz said once he liked to spent time in the mansion when enjoying the yacht. It was there, in Port Washington, that he met me after my classes at Columbia. Lucky for me, and thanks to zaide, now I had a car and I could go there without a problem. The butler answered the door. Then her new girlfriend, that should be two or three years older than me, greeted me. She was a very beautiful woman, maybe a model who slept with the old man to see if it was left some money for her.

"You must be, Santana! I'm Jennifer." She smiled politely. "Caleb talked a lot about you." She looked at me as if I was a threat.

"I hope he has not spoken so badly about me."

"Not at all. He is in the yard playing golf."

"Thank you and Nice to meet you."

"Likewise!"

I walked a few feet into the way clear snow to where the old entrepreneur amused. I found him in the middle of a shot while being observed by a boy who had never seen before.

"Santana Berry-Lopez." He said without even turning to me. "I was surprised by your call after months without news." The tone was not friendly.

"I'm sorry for having broken with our meetings, sir. It was a stormy year in Columbia."

"When you abandoned the Business School to be an Economist?"

"I'm still can do some classes on Business School. You, sir, also is a lawyer but you don't have a law firm."

"True. But being a lawyer helped me on the business."

"And as an economist, I will be able to read better the market."

Finally Mr. Weiz looked at me with a tiny smile and talked to the teen guy with him.

"Do you see young man? This youth thinks they are too smart, too clever, that they don't need listening the old ones. This youth nowadays quickly forget who helped them."

"I'm very sorry, sir..." If he intended to leave me embarrassed, it worked.

"Good." He put the bat on his shoulders. "Get to the point. What did bring you here?"

"Nothing too serious, sir, but could I talk with you in private?"

"Is the kid bothering you?" He frowned. "Tommy was just here earning a few bucks by carrying my golf clubs. I'm sure that whatever you need to talk, Santana, is no secret to the point that a young man like he can't hear. Tommy even knows you."

I sighed embarrassed. When Weiz wanted to play hard and he knew perfectly well that the situation made it more difficult for me. It was over and made it clear that was the rules. My job was just resigned myself.

"It appeared an emergency, sir. Quinn and Rachel are current unemployed and..."

"How so? Weren't they doing well?"

"Rachel is out of the play she was working on and Quinn was fired because of my sister." Mr Weiz raised an eyebrow. It was a sign for me to continue. "Although we have savings, it's brutal be without a source of income in this city and we can't afford to wait until our saved money is over. I believe that Quinn will find something to do soon, but Rachel's profession is very unstable. She may stay months without a job. And I'm not sure if I want to see her serving tables. I have nothing against this kind of job, of course. I would do it myself. It's just…"

"You have to stand for your sister."

"Yes sir. She's my responsibility. Well, we are responsible to each other. That's why I'm here to ask you a job. I'm sure I made a good work as your intern before, and I can do it again, if you allow me, of course."

"Touching, don't you think, Tommy?" It seemed that Weiz wouldn't make my life easier. The mocking and made me feel like an ant about to be crushed. It was a mistake went here to ask for a job. I was too naïve about thinking that talk to Mr. Weiz would be an easy shoot.

"I'm sorry to annoy you, sir." I tried not to stammer. "I'm sorry that we lost touch along last year after all your help. I was ungrateful. As you said, it was my youth. Zaide had the same complain and he's the one who actually pay my college. I think it's part of the learning process."

"Indeed." He kept with the mocking. "You should think about your business relations carefully."

"You're right, sir. I'm going…"

"I'm not finished, Santana. If you want to be my employee once more, you need to shut up, swallow your pride a little more, and listen." I suddenly was frozen. Not everyone had that power over me, not even my father nor zaide. Or even Sue Sylvester back the time she tried to control the cheerios by making our lives a living hell. Mr. Weiz had something that terrorized me and I didn't figure what.

"I'm listening." I tried not to show my fear.

"I'll give you a simple job... you know I kept the factories in Brooklyn by mere respect to my father's memory. They are a remaining of where all my family money and sweat came from. My grandfather opened a small factory in Brooklyn and our money started from there. My father born rich, thanks to his father, and he was the only one of five brothers and sisters who stayed in the business and transformed it in a real big deal. I bought my sister's part and made the Weiz Co a little empire investing in natural gas along with the pharmaceutical industry."

"You've already told me that."

And also Mr. Weiz's grandfather kept his business alive during the Great Depression smuggling alcohol, morphine and amphetamines, as Zaide once said. That's how Mr. Weiz's father took the opportunity to buy a pharmaceutical company that was almost bankrupt and started smuggling medicines.

"Very well. The factories don't matter anymore in the big picture. But they are still there because they don't give me profit or loss." I nodded positive. "Some employees there like to make kitchen towels with the excess fabric. Some of these women know embroider, so, they do it and sell the kitchen towel in open markets in New Jersey and Queens."

"Cute!"

"Indeed. I want you to help them."

"Do you want me to sell kitchen towel?"

"I want you to talk with these women and create for them a business opportunity with kitchen towel. Think of something lucrative to do with them and show me your ideas in our next meeting on Tuesday right here."

"Kitchen towel?"

"You heard right, Santana. Want to get a job? Make a project for me. You will have a week to think about something. Take it or leave it."

A non-invitation of Mr. Weiz to play mini golf with him was a sign that my situation wasn't so friendly. But I had to resign myself and take the opportunity. How could I create a business project with kitchen towels made by women who worked in factories? How could I sell a stupid product with those plain draws? I got home and found Quinn and Rachel talking any nonsense in the kitchen and Quinn was drying her hands on a kitchen towel. I hated her. I wanted to rip her head off. Rachel looked like she was baking her famous vegan cookies. I wasn't feel easy to talk with them and went straight to my room. I also wasn't hungry. I turned my computer on and started researching about kitchen towels. Rachel, without a word, put some cookies on a plate and a glass of milk on top of my desk.

"Thank you, Ray."

"Whatever it's upsetting you, just cool down that things will work." She kissed my head. It's because I didn't tell her where I was. If she knew, I bet my sister would be more anxious.

I took a cookie and saw the drops of melted chocolate on its brown surface. Some kitchen towels also had those stupid drawings of cookies and kitchen stuffs. Maybe if they had at least an interesting pattern like these wacky drawings of pop art or these photos that Quinn takes around the city. Maybe these women from the factory could do a kitchen towel not only good for dry hands, but it could be compelling enough to be a desirable object... Oh wait!