(Rachel)

"You shouldn't have come here!" Santana complained. "You should have stayed at home getting ready to shoot tomorrow."

"First: we shouldn't have come here without a lawyer. Secondly: my role is very well studied, thank you for your concern. I'm not going to shoot anything tomorrow either: it's just the team introduction and the reading table. Third: you're in terrible shape: you don't eat properly, you don't sleep properly, you don't think properly. There's no way I'd let you face this Don Vitor Corleone alone. Fourth: this matter concerns both of us..."

"Please. Tell me there isn't a fifth item!" Santana interrupted me.

"I have a list!"

"Of course you do." She rolled her eyes.

We got into the anteroom of Mr. Weiz's office. I hadn't seen him for a long time. I can't even remember the last dinner I went to his house, and I've wanted to see him even less since I heard that he slapped Santana across the face and dumped family secrets on her that were supposed to remain hidden. I didn't know how I would react when I met him again. The image I had of a surrogate grandfather quickly changed to one of a violent mobster who was itching to gouge his eyes out. Yes, I became afraid of him and, above all, I became afraid of Santana. I was also crazily eager to take back every slap my sister received.

I couldn't believe he was going to do something stupid, or tell any more dirt about our family. What could be worse than revealing that bubbee was his mistress? That was even worse than revealing that Dad was his biological son and not Zaide's. What I was hoping for was a civilized conversation. Some understanding and that he would kindly stop making life difficult for Rock'n'Pano. Santana explained to me that the fact that many of New York's gift trade entrepreneurs didn't even welcome her limited her action. It was a reduction of almost 80% in the power of demand that was hampered, but she was looking at alternative ways.

"Hi Cho." Santana greeted the secretary with surprising friendliness. The woman was Asian and looked to be in her 40s. "Is the boss expecting me?"

"I'd say so." She looked curiously in my direction. "You must be Rachel! I only knew you from a photo on your sister's cell phone."

"Yes... Rachel Berry-Lopez." I said hello. She smiled quickly and turned her attention to Santana once again.

"I'm going to announce the arrival of the two of you." Then she leaned a little closer to the table and whispered. "Be careful. His mood is awful and one of the lawyers is inside. I hear that Mr. White is taking special care of your case, whatever it is."

I ended up feeling some sympathy for the secretary. Santana said that the secretary acted as a kind of living eye for Weiz in the corridors of the company, but that she wasn't a diabolical viper. She worked in the president's reception room, even though the president rarely came to the company himself. The two spoke more when Santana was an intern. The girl was nice.

We then entered the office. It was my first time in there. I imagined it to be huge and well decorated. On that point, I wasn't disappointed. Mr. Weiz was sitting in the armchair behind his desk, while the lawyer - the same one who had come to visit us - was in one of the chairs opposite and they seemed very comfortable. Mr. Weiz and the lawyer stood up as soon as they saw us. I looked at my sister, and she was visibly tense, with her jaw pressed together and her eyes fixed on the old man.

"Good afternoon Santana and Rachel. I'm grateful that you both came by." Mr. Weiz said with an unpleasant smile on his face. "Please, shall we sit at the table?" He indicated the eight-person meeting table that was there, taking up position on the sofa.

"After so many boycotts and a visit from your employee, how can you refuse?" I nudged Santana. She was armed and that wasn't a good strategy in front of a mobster.

"Boycott?" He frowned. "That's a serious accusation, Miss Berry-Lopez, liable to prosecution." He pointed to the lawyer who confirmed the information, and made notes. It was clear that anything we said would be used against us. "Of course I don't want any more disagreements. I called Santana here for an understanding. Something I extend to you, Rachel. I know you have questions, and I'm willing to answer them."

"I know the story from my sister's mouth, Mr. Weiz. I'm sure she didn't add to it. So what I'd like to know from you is: why now? And why go to so much trouble to prepare Santana, when you could leave your company in the hands of partners who have much more to do with your story than we do?"

"That's a good question, Rachel." He interlaced his fingers and leaned forward slightly to get a better look at us. "Contrary to popular belief, my father never offered me a playboy life. I always had to study and work. I gave the same treatment to my son Michael. He started working here from the age of 14 as an office boy. All he had from my house was food and a roof over his head. Everything else came from his sweat. I wish you had met him. He was five years younger than Hiram. He was enthusiastic, dedicated, intelligent and had a talent for business. Michael knew this company, the people, he wanted to be here. The day he graduated from Harvard was the happiest day of my life. Michael was my light. Two weeks after graduating, he was back in New York with his girlfriend. They went to a bar to drink and have a good time. One of these bullies, a guy who was drunk, started harassing his girlfriend. Michael went to defend her, the two got into an argument and this man smashed a glass down my boy's neck. The glass cut his jugular. By the time the ambulance arrived, there was nothing more to be done."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weiz." I said sincerely. Michael was my uncle in a certain way, and he must have been a decent guy. On the other hand, I noticed that there was a certain pattern to this story... Havard, brilliant, started working in lesser positions... it was obvious that he was trying to repeat the same story of his son with my sister. The point is that Santana wasn't the little lamb he expected. I looked at Santana, who remained silent, her gaze distant.

"Thank you, Rachel. There were two funerals in a row at the time. Michael died, my wife went into depression and, a year later, she took her own life. I didn't succumb because I had goals to fulfill. It helped that I knew I still had someone: Hiram. He already knew I was his father at the time. We had a distant and respectful relationship, because it was his wish. Hiram was grateful that I had financed his academic education. I paid for OSU so that he could become... a botanist. I was thinking of selling the company and retiring permanently, until Hiram had two daughters. It soon became clear that you, Rachel, would never get involved in business like that. But Santana... you Santana remind me of Michael. You're frighteningly like him."

"I'm not your dead son. Don't try to find similarities, because that's all in your head. There's no such thing as reincarnation." Santana said suddenly. If Mr. Weiz told this little story to move her, it didn't work. On the contrary, knowing my sister well, it made her even angrier.

"No, Santana, you're not my dead son. But you are my granddaughter. You have the talent to take over everything that is mine. You just need to learn. Something you'll only be able to do by being in here."

"So much goodwill!" Santana grumbled ironically. "You want me to stay in your company so badly that you're even willing to sabotage mine."

"Sabotage your company?" Weiz laughed. "Why would I be interested in sabotaging that little sales website you've set up?"

"You said so yourself... to have me here..."

"I like that you value yourself, Santana, but don't be so pretentious." Weiz was showing behavior that I hadn't known about, except from my sister's accounts. I knew that he hardly ever lost control of a situation. But this cruel disdain was new. "Do you really think I'm going to care about this hobby of yours? It's even healthy for you to practice entrepreneurship. Now if you're not getting partners, it's because there are flaws in your strategic plans, in your approach. But, of course, you've taken the easy route of blaming me instead of finding your own faults and incompetence. If I were you, I'd revise the whole plan, I'd talk with one of your professors or something. I'm sure a little critical thinking will help you see the flaw."

"You're full of yourself."

"No, you're an arrogant young woman who still has a lot to prove to the world and to herself. I, my dear, am aiming for retirement. But I didn't come here to discuss such small things when I called you this meeting. I don't want to take up any more time, so let's get straight to the point. Last week I received a registered document signed by both of you stating that you would waive any benefits you might receive from me. I humbly ask you to revoke the document. My lawyer is here to help with that. You two are the only family I have left. The circumstances in which this was exposed do not invalidate my will to leave material goods for the comfort of both of you."

"You have strange ways of showing consideration." Santana shot up and I was about to drag her out of the office. Not that I had any sympathy for Mr. Weiz, but I had to admit that my sister could be a bit difficult at times.

"What Santana means..." I said, lowering my voice, interrupting her. "It's just that the approach wasn't appropriate. Mr. Weiz, I understand your position. I even agree with you on some points, but I can't ignore the fact that this is all wrong. Whether you like it or not, you forced a delicate situation, used physical violence against my sister, revealed things that hurt us. When we decided to register the document, we wanted, above all, to protect ourselves. I think I can speak on behalf of my sister too, but your request to reconsider our actions cannot be granted."

"The best thing you did for my father and my grandmother was to reject them." Santana fired back. "As for that, I can only thank you. So the memory I have of my father is him in the middle of a happy family, who loved him unconditionally!"

"Unconditionally? Don't make me laugh, Santana. Joel didn't speak to Hiram for almost ten years because your father came out as gay. I confess I was upset too, but I didn't reject him. Quite the opposite: it was an opportunity for us to get closer."

"Stop talking! You were never close. On the contrary: my father didn't want to get close to you. If he had wanted to, he would have told his own husband and family about you. But my father took the secret to his grave."

"We weren't close, but we were civil to each other. If you want proof..." He nodded to the lawyer who opened the door and handed us a brown envelope.

I took the envelope before my sister could do anything stupid, like ripping it open without knowing what it was. For a moment I was afraid of finding something really bad or threatening, but instead there were Christmas cards with short messages. Things like: "To Caleb Weiz, we wish you a happy Hanukkah and a prosperous new year. Berry-Lopez family."

"So what if my father sent cards?" Santana wouldn't let it go.

"What my sister means, Mr. Weiz..." I had to think again. "It's that we're grateful for all the support you've given us. We wish we could repay you in some way, but not like this. Not with pressure to take on responsibilities we don't want to have."

"Your arguments are reasonable, Rachel. It's a shame I didn't give you the credit you're due. You could be a great lawyer if you wanted to." Mr. Weiz crossed his fingers again in thought. At least that's how I interpreted it. "We can make a deal. Are you willing to listen?"

"No!" said Santana.

"Yes!" I replied at the same time.

"Cancel the document. My lawyer will advise you on how to proceed. I won't demand anything in return. I'm a spiteful old man, Rachel, and I'm on my way to the end of my life. What I did to your father and grandmother was terrible, and I didn't do any better with Santana. But this is my chance to do the right thing."

"Oh, please. He's just being as manipulative as ever! Don't fall for it, Rachel."

"Could you give us a few days to think about it? We need to discuss this with our family." I ignored my sister.

"Of course. Take your time."

We left with Santana not at all happy. It's not my fault she was being unreasonable. As for whether or not to cancel the document, well, we'd have to think about that carefully. I was still inclined to leave things as they were, and I was sure Santana wouldn't want to hear a word about it. My sister wasn't going to back down easily. So talking to her about it would be fruitless. If Weiz was going to give us some space, then it was better to take advantage of it and not make any more hot-headed decisions.

It was great when we left the company. The air inside felt dense, strong. Whereas the polluted air in that area of Manhattan was refreshing. Santana still didn't want to go home, so we decided to take the bus and visit a shopping center to wander around and cool off. We took the opportunity to enjoy a snack.

"Shall we go to the movies? We haven't been to the movies together for a century." I said to break the ice.

"I have work to do." Santana looked flustered, discouraged.

"Rock'n'Pano won't fall apart if you take an afternoon off."

"No... but I could..."

"Santy! A movie! And you need to cool off. Then there's that romantic comedy with Dakota Fanning on."

"So?"

"I find it amusing when you say she's an alien, and that you'd have sex with her just to get pregnant and prove your theory." Santana was a super fan of Dakota Fanning. She just wouldn't give in because she said that having a crush on a celebrity was the cheesiest thing in the world.

Santana agreed with going to the movie, which was a surprise because she looked at me as if she wanted to throw me in the trash can. We arrived 10 minutes before the screening in the series of theaters that existed there. The movie was garbage. The direction was sloppy, the script was obvious and the performances were automatic. Even so, it was a box office success because of the appeal of the cast. Of course, Santana cursed me for dragging her to see "that illogical piece of crap", in her words. We returned home late at night. Now my mission to look after my sister for a day meant getting her to sleep for at least one whole night.

"Why don't you go take a shower?" I said, stopping her from opening the computer.

"I need to check the order records."

"You check it tomorrow. Hasn't Andrew made an automated system for this? Don't the orders go straight into the cooperative's system?"

"Ray..."

"Bath!" I made my best homicidal expression.

She sighed defeatedly and obeyed. Meanwhile, I prepared an orange juice with a sleeping pill. Knowing Santana, she was going to wake up at dawn to work. I know that what I was about to do was unethical. I preferred to think that my cheating was a necessary evil for the greater good. She came out of the bathroom as usual, already dressed in her pajamas. She rarely changed in her room, as was my and Quinn's habit.

"Ready! Satisfied?"

"Bed!" I pointed to the bedroom.

"You're not exaggerating?"

"No, Santy! If you don't take care of yourself for one day, at least do it for me... or for our father... or for Shelby..."

"Okay..."

I went into her room and lay down next to her, handing her the juice in the process. She took a few sips.

"It's good, but I don't feel like it."

"You need to line your stomach better." I poked her right in the stomach and didn't let the expression of pain escape. My father was a doctor and I was addicted to TV series on the subject. I knew that a sensitive stomach and pain were indicative of gastritis or, worse, an ulcer. "How long have you been feeling pain in your stomach?"

"I don't feel pain!"

"Bullshit!" I squeezed my stomach again and again the grimace of pain. "Santy, lie down straight." I lifted her shirt to reveal her abdomen and then pressed the area just like my father used to do with us. Santana couldn't pretend and even let out a mumble of pain. "You need to make an appointment with the gastroenterologist. Take advantage of the fact that our killer health plan is valid until we turn 21! You, nervous and stressed as you are, and with gastritis? A dangerous combination. Is that why you haven't been eating properly? Because it hurts?" Santana looked at me defeated and nodded.

"It doesn't hurt so much when I don't eat. I didn't want to worry you, okay. We both have enough problems".

"But nothing is more important than our health. And you neglect yourself too much in that respect."

"I'm not a hypochondriac like you".

"I take vitamins controlled by an endocrinologist, not medicines! And you know that I rarely get sick."

"OK, whatever... we'll sort it out tomorrow."

"Have the rest of the juice first... and there's no discussion."

I was only satisfied when I saw the empty glass. It was the certainty I had that my sister would sleep through the night. While she got into bed, I took a thin blanket from the closet. The days were getting warmer, but it was still cold at night. And Santana had a habit of sleeping with the window partially open.

"Ray... thank you."

"Sisters are for that too..." I leaned over and kissed her goodnight.

As I turned to get out of bed, I was startled to see Quinn standing in the doorway. She had her eyebrow raised, the way she did when she was slightly jealous. I've learned over time not to take it so seriously.

"Hello, love." I kissed Quinn and went into the kitchen to clear away the few dirty dishes. Quinn followed me, which I expected. "How was the documentary team meeting?"

"It sucked. The producer is a methodical/paranoid type with a budget, while the director thinks he can get away with things. At least they were able to establish a rational work schedule. It's going to be my first professional movie as a first-time director of photography, so I'll be patient to get it right." Quinn picked up the dishcloth, an ordinary one, and started to help me. "What about the meeting with Mr. Weiz?"

"It was reasonable. Santana almost ruined everything with her outburst. And to make matters worse, it's possible that she has gastritis. That's why she's eating so badly. She's in pain".

"I didn't imagine it could be that."

I looked at Quinn with her hair cut above the shoulders, the denim jacket she liked to wear over her dress. My girlfriend could be ridiculously beautiful with so little. Sometimes I wondered how a girl like her could be with someone like me. I couldn't resist and kissed her passionately.

"Have you showered yet?" Quinn asked, still hugging me.

"No!"

"How about a shower for two to save water and the environment?"

"Great idea"

...

(Quinn)

One monumental difference between a documentary and a fiction film: the crew is much smaller. Things need to be dealt with more objectively too. A project like this usually takes years and years to come to fruition. The director and producer usually do thorough research on the subject first, then you have to sell the idea in order to get some money and film it. It's not easy to find someone to finance a genre that doesn't make a commercial profit, although Netflix is giving the genre a boost. They've discovered that people like watching documentaries, they just don't like paying to see them at the cinema.

Documentarians are driven by passion. In the case of Lewis Gore and Alan Gehl (who was the director), they spent four years developing this project about New York folk music from the perspective of unusual characters, not necessarily the artists. This goes back to the initial idea, research, getting a production company and raising the money. The filming and interviewing part is usually the quickest, because the money is already in hand. Our team is made up of ten people, apart from those who will be responsible for post-production. In a normal, independent film, the number of people involved is much higher.

Lewis Gore is an interesting character. If you ask him if there is a god, he'll reply: "Of course! Only he prefers to be called Bob Dylan". Obviously The Holly Lady is Joan Baez. I think Grandma Lopez would love to have a chat with him. They are the most pro-Cuba people I've ever met. But when it comes to dealing with work, Lewis becomes an extremely objective guy. Alan Gehl was a journalist who worked at the Washington Post for a few years, until he decided to leave the newsroom to become a documentary filmmaker. From what little I saw, Alan used alternative ways of telling the same story, thinking about different shots and even how the editing would be. It seemed that the film was ready in his mind, and all that was needed was to make it happen. He wasn't a folk enthusiast, but he loved the possibilities.

We discussed schedules. We settled on 45 non-consecutive shooting days, for which I'll be paid 25 dollars an hour. The production didn't have much money to pay the technical professionals, but the project was very good and it was my debut as director of photography on a feature film. Not bad for someone like me, but that pales in comparison to the 250,000 dollars Rachel will get for filming "Slings And Arrows". Filming on the documentary would begin at the start of next week with an interview with God. Then there would be a week's break, and then we would meet again to have the sequence of work on alternate days. A matter of the interviewees' schedules.

I still didn't know whether or not I would leave the NYU studios, because many of the shooting days coincided with my college work days. First I would try to rearrange schedules with Corey. If he accepted, great. If not, goodbye studios. I was reassured because I received a life-saving email. The graduation committee for the class of 2015 had contacted me to photograph the graduates for their graduation invitations and enlarged photos of them for the party. It would be enough money for me to cover my share of the rent and a few other bills.

During the meeting with the team, I received a message from Rachel. She said she was going to the movies with Santana and that the two of them had had dinner out. A sign that I should do the same. When I left work, Monica, one of the production assistants, invited me to dinner. I accepted. We took the train to Manhattan and then had dinner at a pizzeria before each taking our respective subway station: me to Queens and her to Brooklyn.

"What did you think of the team?" Monica asked.

"I think everyone is very passionate about the project. That's going to make all the difference." She let out a laugh that left me confused.

"I heard that you were very reserved and measured with your remarks, Fabray. I never imagined it to be so."

"I just try to do my job, first and foremost. Nothing more. I'm not as closed off as I appear." I smiled awkwardly.

"So tell us something about your life!"

"There's not much to tell. I came from a small town in Ohio to study in New York."

"But that's the story of 50% of the young people in the city, Fabray. I did the same thing myself - I left Rhode Island to study at the City University of New York. I dropped out before graduating and have been getting by ever since. What's different about that from you or hundreds of others?"

"I didn't drop out of NYU. And my story is uninteresting. I swear!"

"That ring on your engagement finger? A sign that there's someone special in your life?"

"Yes, there is."

"Does the lucky guy have a name?"

"I'm the lucky one. Rachel is her name."

"Oh, I didn't know you were gay."

"I don't fly rainbow flags, I'm not an activist for political causes and I don't go to gay pride parades or to nightclubs, but... I am gay. It's not a secret, much less something I'm ashamed of. I just don't come out and announce it to anyone who will listen, because I don't think my personal life is anyone's business."

"You see... private."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"There really isn't." Monica winked at me in a flirtatious way. "That makes it more fun to find out things about you."

Monica was good company at dinner. She left the impression that we would work well together. She also told me a few other things about herself. She was 23 and lived alone in a studio. She said she was bisexual, had lived with a girlfriend, but had to leave her apartment in Manhattan when they broke up months ago. Then she moved to Brooklyn. Monica was an urban girl, with tattoos on her arms and blue and black hair. She was pretty, had a curvy body and big breasts. She dressed like a skater and talked a lot. We split the cost of dinner and I finally got a cab home.

I opened the door in silence. More because I was tired than for any other reason. The apartment was quiet and I could hear Rachel's low voice without quite understanding what it was about. I stopped at Santana's bedroom door and saw her leaning over her sister to give her one of those damn pecks. For a moment, my blood rose, but I controlled myself. I didn't understand the need for one of them to kiss the other. They were sisters, please! I never kissed Frannie.

Rachel noticed my presence and came towards me. Considering that it was the only way she could go, since she was at the bedroom door. She gave me a kiss and headed for the kitchen with a glass in her hand. I said goodnight to Santana, who replied with a grumble, before following my girlfriend. There weren't many dirty dishes, but the drainer was full. So I started drying and putting them away while we chatted briefly. When Rachel dried her hands and gave me a funny look. I was surprised by the most delicious and passionate kiss. My heart raced and I saw fireworks. How could that woman still have such an effect on me after all this time?

"Have you showered yet?" I asked, hugging her.

"No!"

"How about a shower for two to save water and the environment?"

"Great idea."

It was moments like this, after making love to Rachel, when I looked at her so peacefully, that renewed all my certainties that I would like to spend the rest of my life with her.

...

April 22, 2015

(Quinn)

Rachel ran out of our apartment to work. The production team mobilized and managed to move the schedule forward by a week (which would save money). It was the first day of shooting for the second episode of the series and Rachel was excited to arrive at the Classic Stage Company on 13th, where the series was being shot. Or at least most of the scenes. I found my wife's enthusiasm adorable. Santana and I finished our breakfast and got on our way. She to Columbia and I to NYU. I only had two classes and would be free for the rest of the day. There was plenty of work. I could use the free time to speed up the graduation photos: I had to rent some equipment, hire an assistant, borrow the girls' car. I had to study at the very least. But no. I was lazy.

I took the day to walk around the city, watching the people. I didn't even mind the fine drizzle. I went to my usual bookstore. I decided to do a Rachel Berry-Lopez personification and read something about American folk and 1960s New York. I could do my job with zero knowledge of the content, but it wouldn't be right. I selected three books and paid 15 dollars for them: exactly what I would earn for an hour's work. I didn't want to start work and find myself with "the god", according to Lewis, ignorant of his work. On the way, I passed a jewelry store. I looked in the window and saw a discreet and very elegant diamond ring. Ideas ran through my head. Why not?

"Good morning, sir." I went up to the sales assistant. "I'm interested in an engagement ring." He looked at me strangely. Rarely did a woman buy an engagement ring, unless it was for a different reason or because she was gay, since same-sex marriage had been allowed in the state since 2011.

"We have some beautiful options here, miss." He showed a series of them. "Do you have a preference?"

"Good price, installment possibilities." I felt my face blush. "Elegant and discreet."

The salesman was good. He picked up a ring similar to the one I'd seen in the shop window.

"This piece is made up of a cluster of small brilliants set and worked on top of yellow gold coated with white gold. It's very elegant and fairly priced. Only six thousand dollars, which you can pay in up to ten installments if you need to."

The problem was that the more installments, the more interest and the more expensive the product. I smiled at the salesman.

"Well..."

"Or if you prefer." He was quick too. "We have this other piece in gold with a shiny stone. It's simpler, but it's a well-finished piece for only 1K."

I looked at the ring. It wasn't as elegant as the six thousand dollar one, but it was nice and I could afford it without compromising my other bills. I know Rachel deserved much more. I know I could wait. But there was this fire in my chest, this desire.

"I'll take it."

Now I'd just have to find an appropriate moment to make my official request. The moment I left the jewelry store, an old Paul McCartney song came into my mind and I was humming along the streets in the drizzle.

"Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love all the time/ and maybe i'm afraid of the way i love you/ baby, i'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time/ and hung me on a line/ maybe i'm amazed at the way i really need