August 17, 2013
(Santana)
Another monthly dinner with Weiz and I was starting to feel like Lorelai and Rory Gilmore on their weekly dates with their rich parents. Quinn and Rachel kept talking to Weiz about details they saw in Barcelona, which seemed surprising to me that those two got out of bed to see the city. Rachel tried to keep the conversation as much about Barcelona as possible, not least because Quinn didn't know anything else outside the United States, whereas my sister and I had relatively stamped passports. Mr. Weiz, then, travels abroad a bunch of times a year. He says he knows France better than he knows his own home. In fact, Paris is the kind of subject that makes Quinn's attention turn entirely to the old man.
I was in Paris once when I was 12, and I came back to the city when I was 16 with Rachel and Dad before we went to London. I don't think they were life-changing occasions. Anyway... I was sure this would be Quinn's destination on a honeymoon or whatever dream trip she has with her significant other half. Who knows, maybe that will be Rachel? At the end of the meeting, Mr. Weiz asked my friends for permission to talk to me in private. It was my request, actually: I would have to resign.
"So you're going to study at Columbia?" Weiz asked with a relaxed but always confident posture. With Weiz there was no doubt: he was always in control of the situation.
"Yes sir. Columbia's economics program is one of the most highly regarded in US."
"That's very good, Santana. Economics is a great field. It means you'll be able to look at your companies from a different perspective than I do, as a lawyer."
"In economics there are social studies that I am interested in. Not to mention that I will continue to deal with numbers, but with all due respect, Mr. Weiz, I am not doing economics to work in a company."
"These are choices one can make, Santana. But did you ask to talk to me privately just to talk about your curriculum?"
"No, sir. In fact, I would like you to know firsthand that I will be resigning from Weiz Co. at the end of the month. Since I'm a trainee, I don't have to give notice... but you've supported me since I set foot in this city... well that's it."
"I imagine Columbia has something to do with your decision, correct?"
"Yes, sir. I won't have time to work. I hardly had time when I was studying at Stuyvesant!"
"Especially with all your detentions." He winked at me like he was an accomplice, but it only made me cringe.
"Yes..."
"Does that mean your grandfather has backtracked and is going to help you stay in town?"
I blinked once, twice, three times. This wasn't the kind of subject I saw zaide talking about with friends. Especially him, who had always been very private about family matters. Zaide would never discuss it with strangers. At least I considered Weiz a stranger.
"Did he say that to you?" I was stunned.
"No Joel... Sarah is my best friend, Santana. Or didn't you know it?"
"I... well..." I lost my line of thought.
"Has Joel changed his mind?"
"Not exactly, sir. He's agreed to pay the tuition, but I'll have to make do with everything else."
"Is your dad going to help you stay in town?"
"He's going to spend a lot of money paying for Rachel's college. I don't have the heart to ask him to do that because it's one more expense, and there's no way he can do that without tightening the budget at home. My father still pays my abuela an allowance along with his two sisters, he pays for Rachel's and my health insurance, which is not cheap, and he has committed to supporting Shelby in raising Beth... not to mention taxes and monthly expenses. That's a lot, sir. I wouldn't ask him to do that."
"And what do you plan to do if Columbia requires full dedication?"
"I'll think of a way. There are little things you can do on campus, like working in the cafeteria or cleaning the dorm building, the library..."
"How much did you get paid at the internship?" Weiz cut me off.
"700 dollars, sir."
"How did you manage that money?"
"I save 300 dollars every month, because I still needed 400 dollars for my household accounts."
"So you have about..."
"Three thousand dollars invested."
"That's not a very good savings."
"It still isn't."
"It's a tight life for you and your friends, Santana."
"With the expenses divided into four, everything is easier."
"That's true. But now those expenses will be divided into three. It will be tight for your friends, right?"
"Rachel is in a new play and she is now a unionized and professional actress..."
"How about you continue to get $700 as an allowance?"
"Sir?" That bothered me deeply. No one is that kind.
"That money won't do me any good, but it will be very useful to you."
One thing I learned during my time with Mr. Weiz, in addition to the work I did as an intern: he is an experienced snake who never lifts a finger unless he has a clear purpose. Making deals with him was akin to signing a contract with the devil himself. As tempting as it was, as welcome as that money would be, I know he would charge for my soul someday.
"I am honored by your offer, but I will decline. Rachel and I are family and we'll manage it together."
"You're as proud as your grandfather!" Weiz leaned back in the comfortable office chair and looked unimpressed. "Should you change your mind, don't hesitate to shout."
"Thank you sir."
I left that office with a bad impression. Like I couldn't escape the devil for long. There was going to come a time when he was going to end up grabbing me.
...
September 01, 2013
(Santana)
"You what?"
"Quinn and I are going to sleep together, in the same room, and you're staying with Mike now." Rachel repeated pausing word for word with the most flushed face in the world while Quinn had a cynical smile on her face. "It's either that or do all the housework."
"Including unclogging the sink, scrubbing the toilet, vacuuming the carpet and cleaning all the cupboards... by yourself." Quinn added. It was official, I hated her. I managed to deeply hate Quinn at least three times a week.
I can't believe I got to that point of humiliation. It was all the college's fault: it was humanly impossible to study at Columbia and work a regular job. I would work small jobs on campus, like in the cafeteria or the library: jobs offered to students who needed the money. Well, I considered myself one of them. Economics school was very tough, and my math major was particularly difficult. At Columbia the reality was: either I studied or I dropped out.
Zaide was still answering my messages and phone calls, despite our fight in Cleveland. On the other hand, he was reluctant to give me additional help. While on the one hand, I understood that I had no right to demand anything from him, on the other hand there was a certain resentment because his reasons were somewhat petty. I loved Zaide and he was in my prayers, but I was also not a robot programmed to do his every bidding. I also had the capacity to make my own decisions. I wasn't going to study what he wanted and I was already doing my utmost.
I really couldn't afford to stay alone in the city. At least the others worked. Quinn was a part-time employee at R&J Productions. She was paid very little: about a thousand dollars a month, but it was enough money for her to pay her share of the rent. Quinn still had the freelance photography she did on the weekends. She could double her salary with these small jobs. Sometimes she made even more. Mike made good money as a pizza boy, and earned the minimum wage of 2,400 a week as part of the cast of the off-Broadway musical-comedy "Better Than This".
Rachel's salary in Across The Universe was another negotiation I made. She asked me to accompany her in negotiating the contract, so I did what I had to do: I did market research. The values of film, television and theater are completely different things. Don't demand a television salary in the theater because you won't get it. The base is more modest. Film actors earn by the job in the closed package, or they can negotiate participation in box office profits. TV actors negotiate per episode. Theater actors negotiate per session or per weekly salary. That's because there were actors with a reputation for being difficult, because of alcohol or drugs or having horrible work ethics. So producers hired these actors on a per-session basis because they posed risks to the production. The committed actors, on the other hand, without work ethic problems, were on weekly salary contracts. Across The Universe was an off-Broadway play, which meant slightly more modest amounts than in a Broadway theater.
I was able to negotiate a weekly salary of 2,600 dollars. Rachel would work at least five sessions a week, because one session was usually given over to understudy. That would give her a salary of $9,460 per month, already discounting her agent's 10%. Rachel virtually no longer needed any financial help from my father if she keeps working continuously.
These earnings added up would always keep our bills up to date. But from the moment I could no longer contribute, things changed. It was one less person to share the rent and condo. The slack we could achieve with four of us sharing expenses was bad news for Quinn. Since I had to leave the scheme, some adjustments had to be made. That's why I called the three stooges to redo the calculations. I put our budget spreadsheet on the table, in a very simplified form because I was dealing with artists, in other words, people with no grasp of economic reality.
We came up with the sums and divisions. Our current rent was 1.5 thousand dollars plus 600 dollars for the condominium fee. In the normal scheme of things, that meant we should each have $525 each, apart from groceries and transportation expenses. With three, that would be $700. But neither Mike nor Quinn had any obligation to support me, which meant Rachel would have to fork out $1,050 to pay my share of the expenses. She needed extra money to buy clothes because her agents required her to attend some Broadway events so she could socialize with directors, producers, and other actors. Contact was everything in any profession and she had to be presentable. Rachel still had to pay for gym to keep fit and all those important things for an actor. Everything would be simpler if I could contribute. So I put our budget on the table, talked openly about my problem and what I hoped for was Rachel's acceptance of these conditions, because she was the one who would support me.
To be honest, I expected the "quid pro quo" and the request to change rooms. But I wouldn't accept it without doing some negotiating first.
"You didn't consult me about the exchange of the rooms, Quinn." Mike complained. "I won't! Santana drives me crazy just living under the same roof. I wouldn't survive if we shared the bedroom too. Let Santana do all the housework."
"All the heck, I'm still the one who controls the accounts around here and who pays all our bills on time at the bank. And there's my services as manager of the two of you, for which I have not been paid. I could demand 10% of the contract value of you two. I do the groceries and the laundry, and I sabotage less the love life of the lesbian couple."
"Groceries, laundry and the kitchen. Plus sleeping in my and Mike's bedroom on weekends." Quinn proposed.
"You're still not paying my bills, Fabray." I rebutted.
"All good. Groceries, clothes, dishes, sleeping in the other room twice a week on unspecified days and..." Rachel had an evil grin on her face. "Inversion of hierarchy."
Quinn and Mike didn't understand. It was a thing from when we were kids. It said that because I was 29 minutes older, I was in a higher position and therefore I would be in charge. Rachel took this joke seriously and often behaved as if she were really a younger sister. My authority was imposed in various other ways, even physically. It's not that Rachel accepted everything like a little lamb. Far from it. There weren't a few times that we argued in public and that we fought at home in punches, scratches and pushes. I was hard-headed. She was hard-headed. But I always knew how to have that physical and psychological advantage over my sister.
This time, there wasn't much way out. I no longer had a profitable job, I could not ask help from Papi, nor ask for a penny more for zaide. I was also not going to take money from Weiz, and be in debt to him for the rest of my life. My hands were tied and I knew I was in serious trouble when I saw that glint in Rachel's eyes. Accepting reversal of hierarchy meant allowing Rachel to have a psychological power she never had over me.
"No way. My 29-minute lead is sacred. It's not my fault God made me first." Well, it wasn't my fault Shelby and papi decided to make me two weeks before Rachel was made.
"Inversion of hierarchy!" My sister repeated with more emphasis. She wouldn't change her mind.
"You win!" I was going to regret this.
Rachel clapped her hands, high-fived Quinn and Mike, and gave me a tender kiss on the head.
"After the dishes, don't forget to take a shower and do your homework, okay? I saw that you came in complaining about the amount of stuff and that you needed to study, so little sis, nose in the books because I'm going to want to check your grades at the end of the semester." I didn't know if I wanted to die, kill Rachel or choke Quinn and Mike because they're laughing at my face. I guess all of that at the same time. "And if you don't mind, tonight you're sleeping in the room with Mike."
It was official: I was screwed.
...
September 13, 2013
(Santana)
College was a journey that could become lonely if you didn't know how to deal with adversity. The volume of assignments was terrible and I felt that professors had no idea that people had a life outside the classroom. It didn't help to make friends. Many friendship circles started in the dorms, and I wasn't in one. Some classmates looked too much at ciphers before establishing the cycle of relationships. The world was divided into the poor students, the rich students and those who floated between two worlds without being able to be part of either. I was in the third case. I enrolled in the Economics 101 class, just because it was mandatory. The room was in the amphitheater because of the amount of students, and there were students from various colleges there, especially from the business one. That was the class where I could observe this college zoo best.
Brandon Stoles, blond, perfect skin, tall (but not ridiculously tall like Finn), charming and thought he could bang every girl on campus whenever he wanted. Family assets were valued at just over 700 million, apart from the cash flowing into the cosmetics companies. The liquid soap he liked to use came from his father's factories. Joss Faour, white skin, black hair. Even pimples and braces couldn't keep the girls away from him and the $900 million market value of his father's companies. Anita Laurence, an ugly brunette and sole heiress to a fortune valued at 590 million from a network of stud farms and specialty horse products. Her father was an Olympic equestrian champion. She gave it to all the guys in that "friendship" circle. Did I mention Fatin Muntasir? His father was an oil tycoon in the UAE. When we talked about him, we talked about billions of dollars. There were a few other bastards who hung out with them, sons and daughters of lawyers, bankers and politicians.
And there was the other side. The kids who got into Columbia on scholarships. Andrew Mascarenhas, the son of a Brazilian, thought he would be the next Mark Zuckerberg. For now, he had to work in the cafeteria and do odd jobs like waitressing at parties for the haters on the right of the auditorium to pay for his dorm and get something to eat. I suspected that the job Izabella Richards was doing was as a stripper. She was a breathtakingly beautiful girl, and very intelligent. Lucy Watson was an asexual being, I was sure, who came out of Iwoa. Brian Goth was a soccer player at Columbia, and that was the only case where a poor guy could get invited to some of the millionaires' parties. It was almost the same as being shown off like a stud horse after a race to a group of rich people in black tie. Finally, there was Matt Porter, a charming political idealist, but without a penny in his pocket. I would definitely sleep with him, but judging by our personalities and ideals, our likely relationship would be something similar to what I had with Puck back in school.
Santana Berry-Lopez? The only concrete asset Papi had was a comfortable house valued at 800,000 in the prime area of the unimpressive Lima, Ohio. And the porsche! The zaide company was valued at 56 million (and was operating in the green), the house in Cleveland was worth 1.5 million, plus about 3 million in other smaller properties (none in New York City) and he had a little more in stocks and other investments. It all came to 70 million or so. I was a millionaire in theory, but didn't have a dime in my pocket in practice, and I was still supported by my off-Broadway actress sister. My family's figures didn't impress the first class. Believe me, they were able to speak the financial history of zaide before pronouncing my name, and then turn away. The ordinary student class was very uninteresting, so I hung out more with the scholarship wing of gamblers, strippers, nerds, asexuals and smart guys who want to win at life at any cost without letting them into my life. I wondered why I always ended up in the company of losers.
"Lopez!" As I looked over to see who was whispering my name while the professor lectured, a piece of paper flew into my head. Message from Matt asking if I was going to the pub with him. I grabbed my cell phone, typed in his number and sent the text with the negative response. I was swamped with things to do at home. It was bill paying day, sorting laundry and I had two essays due on Monday. Then I shook the device at Matt. What kind of people still passed around paper notes?
"What's up Lopez? Let's have a beer! What's it cost?" He caught up with me on the way out of class. Matt's smile was perfect, but it didn't move me.
"Three dollars and fifty cents a can!" The bank would close in half an hour. I needed to run.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"To pay bills I couldn't do online." My God, Matt should take the clue once in a while.
"So what?"
"Matt. I'll hang out with you tomorrow. Send a text saying where I'll meet you. Promise. But not today!"
He was okay with my counteroffer. I was almost at the limit of time. I paid the rent, the condo, ridiculous card bills with equally ridiculous limits for me and my sister and Quinn. Mike didn't have a credit card, and I think he was right. I took the subway home and, surprise, I didn't have my keys. I struggled to remember where I might have forgotten them. I realized that I forgot inside home. I looked for the landlady of the apartment, because she had a master key, but she wasn't at home.
It was frustrating! I never knew where Quinn might be with the crazy job she had. That afternoon, she was doing production research in New Jersey. Mike was out of town shooting a commercial. All that was left was Rachel. I was starving, wanting to go to the bathroom, and with coins in my pocket. I took the metro again, back to Manhattan, and I walked to the studio where Rachel was rehearsing, which was in the same building as the R&J office. At the entrance to the building, I called my sister. Nothing.
"You can't come in, lady!" I had thrown stone at the cross of the so-called King of the Jews.
"I'm Rachel Berry-Lopez's sister, she's rehearsing 'Across The Universe' in the studio at the sixth floor."
It was the second time I went to that rehearsal studio. I waited at the gate for about five minutes, with a heavy backpack on my back (computer, a brick of books and a notebook), starving and wanting to go to the bathroom. What a drama! The security guard released me after checking my I.D and the first thing I did was run to solve my physiological problem. Then, relieved, I went up to the sixth floor and entered the rehearsal studio. I found Rachel and her fellow castmates receiving instructions from the choreographer. I waved to my sister and sat on the floor in the corner of the studio to keep out of the way. I calculated half an hour to have a chance to get the house keys. And the worst part was the hunger that didn't allow me to concentrate to advance one line of my essay. I also had no more strength to walk. Just like that, I curled up on the floor of the studio, without the slightest comfort, and dozed off.
"Santana?" Rachel shook me awake. Two cast mates stood nearby, watching the real-life scene. "What happened?"
"I forgot my house keys..." I replied grumpily. "I'm dizzy with hunger and I have a lot of things to do."
"You didn't pay our bills today?" I nodded. "No change left?"
"Pennies."
"Will you wait about 10 minutes so we can leave together?"
What choice did I have? Rachel talked to the assistant director and picked up some paperwork. I didn't know what it was, but it was work stuff. The important thing was that we were leaving. We stopped by a diner on the same block and Rachel bought me a cheese burger and an orange juice. She limited herself to eating a piece of apple pie. It wasn't an easy situation for me and it hurt my pride. The way I saw it, I was supposed to take care of Rachel, pay for her lunches and help out at school, just like I had done the year before. No more. As I munched on my snack, it hit me: the hierarchy reversal was for real. On the way out of the cafeteria, Rachel put her things in the basket of her bike and pointed to the rider.
"Oh, not that!" I was the one who always carried Rachel on the back of the bike.
"Stop being silly, Santy. This way we'll get to the subway station faster, and it's already dark."
"Then I'll pedal and you'll ride on the back."
"We'll take turns, okay?" I agreed.
I made it a little over halfway. My legs were killing me. To my surprise, Rachel pedaled much faster than me. She was in great physical shape. We got off at the station and were soon on the train heading to Brooklyn. I climbed the stairs while Rachel locked the bike in a storage room in the building. It was where bikes were left by us and our neighbors. I walked into our place and I saw my keys and a stack of my books on the round table. They were there just to remind me of the amount of work I had to do. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen. Apparently Quinn had lunch at home. I was afraid to go to the bathroom and face the overflowing laundry basket. It made me want to cry.
"It's my dishes today!" Rachel lightly massaged my shoulders. "Don't use up all the hot water, okay?"
I showered, lay down on my bed and blacked out. Life was hard.
