(Rachel)
"Rachel!" Santana shouted at me for the umpteenth time in the morning alone. "Get the computer cable! It's on my chair."
I took a deep breath and counted to 20. Santana was driving me crazy with this sudden neediness. She'd been out of hospital for two days after having surgery to rebuild her tib... tibio... something like that plus the words anterior and posterior. I couldn't leave the work when she had the surgery (she was in hospital for two days), but for Santana it was an outrage. The end of the world. Just because of that, she was punishing me. I made her wait a while. Calmly, I finished getting ready, went to her room, got the damn computer cable, went to the living room where Santana was working at Rock'n'Pano, studying and watching Discovery on the couch. All at once. I don't know how she did it. The out-of-place coffee table had a tray with juice, water, two kinds of cookies and pieces of gouda cheese. Not that she couldn't get out of there. Her ankle was immobilized, her crutches were in perfect reach and she could move around the house as she pleased. The only recommendation was that she shouldn't keep her leg down for too long because it could be painful afterwards. The more rest, the less pain she would feel.
I threw the cables over her.
"What's wrong with you?" She complained as if she had every reason in the world.
"Right now: your childishness and laziness."
"How the disabled suffer in this inhuman society..." Santana wanted to test the limits of my patience.
"Your boyfriend should be here soon to spend the day with you. Make an effort and at least go and answer the door."
"You're a very bad person!" She crossed her arms, playing the victim.
"You're a pain in the ass, Santana Berry-Lopez. No wonder Quinn ran out of here."
"Your fiancée is a spiteful, selfish and uncharitable blonde. But at least she stayed in hospital with me... and Mike and Johnny and Andrew!"
"For the umpteenth time, I couldn't get out of work!" Then I had an idea. I climbed up the three-step ladder we used to reach the top of the bookcase and went straight to the rare Clash record. It took Santana months to find the dope on the vinyl and he paid 300 dollars for it. In fact, I paid it.
"Rachel..." She widened her eyes. "Look what you're going to do with this."
"Let's say it's... confiscated until you start showing a bit more respect."
"You wouldn't do that."
"Try it... right now you're on crutches, with that boot and you can't reach me."
"I can hit you with my crutch."
"I'll shield with this record."
"I hate you!" She said with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes. I could only smile.
"Take care, you naughty girl. Anything, just call." I kissed my sister on the cheek and left for work. I left the Clash record on the living room table.
I was going to shoot the last episode of the series. My schedule would close in a week. Then we'd have to do the publicity work, which wasn't on schedule yet. I knew that May, Rom, Grace and Jane would do the bulk of the interviews in Los Angeles. Luis Segal, Amanda, Will and I would attend to the press in New York. The rest of the cast would be on hand to help with internet and telephone interviews. When the series premiered in October, I was already scheduled to go to Los Angeles for the premier party. Basically, I had to dress up in a designer outfit, do my hair and make-up and smile for all the flashbulbs.
In the meantime, in August, I traveled to Vancouver for two weeks to film my part in the movie "The Widows of Eastwick". I auditioned and won the role of one of Cher's granddaughters. It was a small role that I managed to get together with Josh and the producer. I would receive 10k dollars, plus tickets and accommodation. I accepted for the opportunity to work with three great actresses from the original movie. For the rest of the year, I would rehearse the off-Broadway musical "What Would David Bowie Do" for its premiere in January. I'd do it for three months and renew my contract every three months because then I'd be free in case something really good came up. Slings and Arrows could be renewed for a second season, so I needed a flexible contract.
In between, I had my personal life and a wedding to plan. I needed to resolve a few clashes. The first was that my wedding would have to be held in secret. Although my fellow cast members knew that I lived together with my girlfriend and Santana, this part of my life had to be as private as possible. In the event of a leak, I wouldn't lie.
Quinn and I talked about it very seriously. We agreed to keep everything low profile to a certain extent. The twenties are a crucial time in the career of any actress in Hollywood. You had to "make it" by the time you were 30, otherwise go into television and stay there, or try the category: ugly, talented actors. We'd let you see what happened then.
Adjustments would be made in the process. In December, Quinn and I would be walking down the aisle in our discreet ceremony for just family and a few friends. We haven't set a precise date yet, but December is the magical time in New York and I'm sure it will only bring good things for our union. I didn't want to wait years and years, like my cousin Daniela. For me, engagement had to be a quick period of preparation and adjustment for the big step.
But while none of that was happening, what I had to do was take care of my more immediate tasks: working and, in between, planning Quinn's surprise party in the best American tradition: people turning 21 had to have a drink. She had already bought our tickets to see "The Lion King", so we would go to the theater, like the original planning, eat at the restaurant, but instead of a romantic walking, I was supposed to take her to the live music bar where our friends would be waiting for us. It wasn't a big crowd, but there were Quinn's closest friends from NYU, the people from the documentary, and Roger. I was reluctant to invite him, but this asshole was very important to my fiancée's career.
"Berry!" Boris Yves caught my eye as soon as I arrived on set. "You're late. Make-up and hair now!"
"Yes, sir!" I ran to the dressing room where the girls were getting dressed.
It was the day to shoot the staging of Hamlet. We would be performing a whole act for real, in front of a real audience. There had been a queue since early morning for ordinary people to get in and watch. The press was invited to accompany that particular shoot. I was late. The hair girls worked quickly, the make-up was even quicker, and as soon as I turned around, my dress was already hanging on the door. I changed right there and ran to the stage. While people were taking their seats under the guidance of the production, Tom gathered the entire cast in the center of the stage for the final instructions.
I took a deep breath. Luis was the only actor on stage who was initiated in dramatic theater. The others, like May and George, wouldn't take part in the scene. I was a musical actress. We couldn't do badly. We went down the aisle and I did my prayer and ritual before entering for the first time. The director wanted to do a sequence plan, and we rehearsed a lot to make it possible. A quick neck stretch, snapped fingers and three little jumps. One blow and action. It was no longer Rachel Berry-Lopez. At that moment she was the tragic Ophelia. I forgot all about it, that it was just a TV show and it didn't matter that the act was only 15 minutes long. The stage was the most sacred place for an actor and everyone knew it, even those who had never done theater professionally. Stepping on it demanded merit and respect. So I was the crazy Ophelia and Luis was Prince Hamlet. We did our best and when Luis said the final line of the act, there was spontaneous applause. It was impossible to explain in words the effect that warm applause had on an actor. It was like a drug, like alcohol or tobacco. You got that dose of emotion and it took over your body like a good chill. The stage actors gathered in the center and we bowed to say thank you.
When we left the scene, both Lincoln and Boris came to greet us, satisfied with the result. Rom gave me a firm kiss on the lips, still affected by the adrenaline rush, and I didn't mind. It may not have been the best Hamlet, but it served its purpose and I took the opportunity to take away some of the nostalgia I felt about performing for a warm and present audience.
"30-minute break." Boris shouted.
That was the time when the audience would leave the theater and take away a promotional kit for the series, which had our logo on the front and the HBO logo on the back with information about the day of the premiere and the time. There was also a pen, a leaflet with general information and an origami game in which you put together a cube with photos of the cast. It was very cute, so much so that I took some to give to my people: my father, Mike, Johnny, abuela and zaide. I also kept three others for me, Quinn and Santana, even though it would be a mess when we put the shirts in the wash. Nobody would know which one belonged to whom in a few weeks. Santana would wear the T-shirt as pajamas, and Quinn liked to stay at home dressed almost like a beggar with advertising T-shirts of all kinds and sweatpants. I always kept them to wear in case I needed them professionally.
It was a tiring day, as we even moved a few scenes forward so that we could have a more leisurely day. I barely had time to organize Quinn's birthday and I just hoped that Santana, Mike and Johnny had done their part. I got home around midnight. I saw Quinn still awake in our bedroom watching some videos on the computer.
"Hi, my lady." She took off her headset as soon as she saw me come in. "How was your day?"
"I'm dead." I threw myself on the bed. "But it was an incredible day..." And I began to recount the main events. Quinn did the same and before I knew it, it was past midnight. So I rolled over and gave my fiancée a kiss. "Happy birthday, Quinn!"
"How tired are you?" She said suggestively.
"Very... but I promise that tomorrow I'll reward you for your patience and understanding."
"I love you, Rach." She kissed me goodnight as a last-ditch attempt to seduce me. It was no use.
"I love you more..." I turned on my side and went to sleep.
...
(Santana)
"Paranormal Activity is the worst movie franchise I've ever seen!" I was very emphatic in my complaint. "Worse than the whole Twilight saga and that's something extraordinary. In fact, it's worse than the Blair Witch movies. Worse than Wrong Turn."
Incredibly, I wasn't discussing movies with Quinn. It was Andrew who was my target of protest, as well as the couple of friends from Columbia, Dave and Lily, who had come to visit me. We watched The Hobbit (a Blue Ray I bought in honor of my sister) and started discussing franchises. I was a fan of the classics like Godfather, Indiana Jones, Tim Burton's Batman. I even liked Avatar. Dave, who studied with Andrew, was a fan of horror and Pixar franchises, which led me to believe that he was the smartest person in the group.
"What an exaggeration. I like the idea, the first one was groundbreaking." Dave argued.
"I like Twilight." The three of us stared at Lily in amazement. She felt herself cringe. "It was the saga of my adolescence. Not yours?"
"No." I replied. "I was of the Harry Potter and Gossip Girl generation. Bella Swan was an idiot with little self-respect who thought it was okay if the guy killed her. Stupid saga! It's a tremendous step backwards in terms of women's values and achievements."
"Well... The Hunger Games has a strong protagonist."
"Lily, you're wrong. Katniss was a badass survivor. That's true. But at no point did she make a consistent reflection on politics or rights. She simply reacts to certain circumstances within a fascist state instead of acting with conviction. Do you understand the difference? If you think about it, she spent half the trilogy worrying about Peeta. Don't get me wrong, The Hunger Games is infinitely superior to Twilight. But if the author set out to write a political metaphor for teenagers, she could have done better."
"Does Harry Potter by any chance provoke anything?" Dave sneered further to defend his girlfriend.
"But Harry Potter is more messianic and the political focus and transformations are subtle. It's a battle between the outdated world of Voldemort and the new world of Harry Potter. If you think about it politically, Harry Potter is almost a metaphor between Nazism and political liberalism. It's different."
"Just like Star Wars!" Dave tried to agree.
"More or less. Star Wars is an allusion to generic dictatorships, because what the Empire wanted was absolute centralized power in the hands of one person, with everyone in the galaxy working in the interests of a centralized power. And because people were brutally controlled through a police force and army. But there is no element of species extermination in Star Wars based on false science or hatred, which would characterize Nazism. In the case of Harry Potter, Voldemort's Nazi discourse is very clear, since his discourse was that half-bloods and muggles were inferior and therefore worthy of being eliminated or put in positions of subservience."
"Anyone want another beer?" Andrew changed the subject.
"Santana, why do you have to criticize everything?" Dave complained.
"Because I'm adorable like that!" Andrew returned from the kitchen with two more cans and leaned over to kiss me before serving our friends.
"You're damn right you're adorable."
"Well..." Dave looked at his watch and got up from the couch. I think that's the nightcap.
Dave and Lily said goodbye as soon as the glass was empty. I met Dave last semester at Columbia because of Andrew. He's much more my boyfriend's friend than mine. I met Lily as a matter of course. It was still possible to strike up a good conversation with Dave, but his girlfriend was a bit of an airhead. She was a freshman at CUNY and also a cheerio. I, of all people, could talk about cheerios having been one myself. They're not all hot bitches and dumbasses. I was never one, or Quinn, as far as IQ goes, anyway. Lily, however, was a walking cliché: blonde, angelic face, perfect body, kept quiet for most of the conversation, but laughed when her boyfriend made jokes, even not funny ones. Of course, she was studying fashion, but she said it wasn't what she had imagined. Fashion was a much more complex universe than analyzing celebrity outfits in teen magazines.
At least they distracted me on what could have been a lonely afternoon in front of my computer on top of Rock'n'Pano. Rachel was finishing shooting the TV show, but had other work scheduled. Quinn was also finishing her documentary and on vacation at NYU. I had no idea what she would do afterwards. I wasn't worried either, because she was the master of work it out.
"Will Quinn and Rachel be coming home soon?" Andrew said suggestively now that we were alone. "We could go to your room..."
"Not today! Having sex with immobilized feet isn't sexy. I need to get used to the idea first."
"Sometimes I feel like you're avoiding me... especially after you got back from your parents' wedding. Is it because I only made it to the ceremony?"
"Just because I didn't want to have sex with you when I was in pain because of that foot?" Suddenly a bad mood came over me.
"Maybe it's because you haven't shown any enthusiasm for seeing me since the wedding, as if I'm being a hindrance. I just wanted to know what was going on."
"Why are you attacking me now? Because I said 'no'?" I fired back with another question. It was always the best strategy.
But Andrew was a clever guy. I couldn't keep up the strategy of going off on tangents for long. The truth was that my mind was still on Brittany and her big rejection.
"Hello children." Quinn arrived at the best possible time. "I brought dinner." She noticed the number of cans on the coffee table. "Have you been drinking all day? Santana, you can't! You're taking a series of medications that can't be mixed..."
"I DIDN'T DRINK!" I shouted to interrupt her. It worked. "Andrew is a witness." Then the judgmental look weighed heavily on my boyfriend. "A couple of friends came to visit me and brought beers. Everyone drank, except me."
"Oh!" Her face flushed. "Sorry, San."
"That's okay."
"I bought Mexican food. I brought everyone's favorite burritos. Your chicken one, my beef one, Rachel's eggplant one... I don't know what your favorite is, Andrew, so I brought you a beef and cheese one because I know you eat those things."
"That's great, Quinn. Thanks." My boyfriend thanked.
"Perfect!"
I was hungry. Andrew not so much, because he drank just under half of the cans of beer on the coffee table. Nevertheless, he ate the burrito during a dinner with a odd mood. Afterwards, he helped clean up the living room (which meant throwing away the cans and wiping down the coffee table) before leaving. Quinn helped me secure the plastic bag so that the plaster wouldn't get wet and water wouldn't get on my leg during the shower. I spent twenty minutes under the shower and when I opened the door I saw her finishing tidying up the living room. I rolled my eyes and joined her.
"Andrew's a really nice guy." Quinn said randomly and I stared at her strangely. Was there nothing better to say? "Andrew, you know? He's a nice guy." She repeated and I thought something was wrong.
"Yes, he is! It's a shame, but I'll break up with him soon." I shot her a look and she jumped.
"Soon when?"
"I don't know... soon." I blurted out.
"Because of Brittany?"
"No. Brittany doesn't want me... It's just that you started talking about him as if you were going to make a bombastic remark like: he's nice, but I saw him with another girl around the corner. Or something like: he's nice, so nice that you don't deserve to be with him. Or maybe this: he's nice, but he's involved in terrorist activities."
"No need to be cynical." She grumbled.
"What 'but' would you use?"
"You two don't seem happy in your relationship. Although the fact that you think of breaking up with him as a compromise answers a lot of questions. May I ask what's so wrong, apart from the fact that you're still drooling over Brittany?"
"Drooling? Is that how you classify my history with her?"
"Right now, San, that's exactly how I rate your relationship status with her." Quinn started tidying up the room while I was basically buried in the chair. "Brittany is living with the father of her child. Not just living, but living as his wife! So at this point, Santana Berry-Lopez, you're off the charts with juvenile fantasies."
"Thank you for your sincerity." I said as dryly as possible. The worst thing was that, although I hated Quinn for telling the truth to my face, I had to thank her for her honesty. It was something I admired about Quinn: she had learned to stay out of my life, but when we talk, we were honest with each other. "Do you know what my problem with Andrew is?"
"What?"
"He's become my best friend, and I've completely lost interest in him, sexually speaking. I mean, everything has always been comfortable between us and he makes an effort... but it's just that for a while now, having sex with Andrew is almost like having sex with a cousin: it's nice, but it tastes like incest. So I'm at an impasse: I want him close to me, but I'm sure that if I don't end it the right way, I'll lose my best friend. It's not that I'm planning to break up with him... I'm calculating. But I don't know if I'll be able to solve this equation."
"What the hell."
"What about you and my sister? Have you talked about a date and a place to live?"
"We're thinking of getting married by the middle of next year. I think we're going to rent a new apartment in Manhattan... we're still discussing it."
"I think I'll start looking for a dorm."
"Or maybe you'll stay with us for the first few months."
"What?"
"Until we can find a good place, which isn't easy, we're going to stay here in Astoria. It'll be beneficial for us to split the expenses with you now that you've started paying for some things from home again. We have to save money at the beginning of the marriage."
"Really?"
"Of course! It's a win-win situation."
"If that's the case..." I held out my hand to shake Quinn's as if we were closing a deal.
"Santana. You're left-handed while the rest of the world is right-handed!" I exchanged hands and we finally shook hands. Deal.
...
July 10, 2015
(Quinn)
I was woken up by a series of kisses on my neck. It was nice to exist in the world again with that good feeling and a delicious shiver down my spine. I brought Rachel's face close to mine and received a delicious kiss on the lips. I let Rachel take the initiative and see what she had in mind. I felt her hands slip under my blouse and move towards my breasts with torturous slowness. After massaging them for a while, Rachel got up, still on the bed, knelt down with my body between her legs and did a strange streap tease with her sweater. She could seduce me even if she was wrapped in cardboard. I swear. She stood up to remove her panties, but didn't allow me to touch her. I was still underneath enjoying the show. She got back on her knees and kissed me again before my shirt was discarded. Her mouth began to focus on my body, from my breasts to the south. And I was just admiring that wonderful view of her hair sprawled next to my body. When she reached my panties, she bit down and pulled them off with her teeth. I almost had an orgasm just watching her do that. Then she began a tortuous, slow ascent, massaging and kissing my legs.
"Rach..." I was wet and desperate to be touched. She stared at me and smiled. She wasn't going to give in to my pleas.
I felt her getting there, already kissing my crotch, and I spread my legs in wait to feel that mouth and tongue where I needed it. But Rachel lifted her head, smiled and gave me a kiss on the lips before rolling over and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Rach!" I whispered in desperation and frustration. She smiled mischievously and opened the nightstand drawer on the side where she usually slept. She took out a bottle. It looked like an oil.
"Massage." She poured some of the cold oil on my belly. "I saw the other day that this kind of massage helps with orgasm." She began to work her hands and I rolled my eyes in pleasure.
"Where did you see it?"
"In educational videos on the internet."
"You watching porn? You, Rachel Berry-Lopez, who says that watching porn is vulgar and disgusting?"
"I said they were educational videos, Quinn Fabray. Not vulgar and disgusting porn videos. Now if you want to discuss it and stop the massage..."
"No! Please! My lips are sealed."
"I bought the oil and waited for a special moment to try it."
"Hummmmm." Wherever she had read about these techniques, my woman had learned them well. Rachel was a perfectionist to the extreme, and in this case, it was proving very beneficial.
Her hands glided easily over my body, over my breasts, my belly, my thighs and even my arms. When she finally started massaging my sex, I almost exploded. I was throbbing like crazy. Rachel was working on my clitoris with both hands and it felt unbelievable. I had an orgasm. Rachel didn't stop. There were still things to do in the massage. Then she started working on my vagina.
"Oh god." I tried to spread my legs wider. I wanted to give her as much access as possible. I was gasping for breath. It was hard to control myself with Rachel working her hands and fingers like that.
"Try to relax more, Quinn, it's tight in here." Her voice was gentle, but what did she want? The way she was working on my vagina, I could only be like this. Then I had my second orgasm and she didn't stop. If this was what people called multiple orgasms, I wanted more!
It was amazing how intense waves of pleasure went through my whole body. Rachel had given me hundreds of orgasms, I'd say, but so far none like those. Blessed massage. She continued working on my vagina, her fingers making movements that were unusual in our routine until then. I felt the third orgasm coming on. Not third, multiple.
I think I had a little fainting spell or something, because the world seemed to have stopped. Rachel no longer had her hands on me. She was looking at me funny, as if something extraordinary had happened.
"You fainted!" Rachel was shocked.
"What?"
"You literally blacked out for a few minutes!"
"Sorry." My voice came out muffled.
"Why?"
"Because... because..."
"Quinn." She removed her hand from my face. I stared at her and she had that consoling expression. "That just means I did my job very well." And there was Rachel Berry-Lopez's wide smile. All that remained was to put her hand on her waist with a straight back and tilt her head slightly to the side.
"But..."
I fell silent when Rachel licked a finger with my fluids. That was very sensual. Rachel lay on top of me and said in my ear.
"Happy birthday, my Greek goddess." And we kissed.
"Since I'm the birthday girl, I'd like to order you a juice." Rachel raised her eyebrows. "I need you to reposition yourself higher up because I'm too lazy to move."
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to reciprocate in the same way. At least Rachel didn't leave the bed without an orgasm. Reluctantly, we got up, put on our robes and had a quick shower before getting ready for the world. I put on my usual work clothes: dress and boots (it was hot in New York at that time of year) and went to kill my lion for the day. The filming of the documentary was coming to an end and, according to the schedule, this would be the penultimate day of shooting. Lewis Gore really liked the way I had done my work and said he would recommend me to friends. In any case, I needed to land another job and was planning a second pilgrimage of resumés. I had a wedding coming up and I needed to make money.
I came out of my room to a surprise: Rachel had also ordered a full breakfast and she was holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses. I was thrilled. I rarely received roses.
"The queen bee of bitches is such a butter!" Santana came out of her room, teasing me, and then gave me a hug, a little awkwardly because of her crutches. "I bought you a souvenir... it arrived in the mail yesterday and I didn't have time to wrap it... well, I got too lazy to wrap it!" She handed me a bag.
Santana knew how to please when she wanted to. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the Clint Eastwood collection box with 35 films. It was simply perfect.
"Wonderful, Santana." Rachel complained. "Now my musicals won't have a chance anymore."
"Barbra's project, I've spent my whole life watching stupid musicals because of you. That Maria from West Side Story, who you identify with so much, is an imbecile and makes me sick. Barbra? I can't stand looking at that cross-eyed woman any more. Then give it a rest. At least Clint is more exciting!"
"Careful, or I'll swap your painkillers for flour pills."
"I've got crutches. It wouldn't hurt to give your head a bashing".
These were the Berry-Lopez girls I truly loved: always arguing childishly over nothing. We had our meal in peace. I had all my favorites: apple pie, cranberry juice, toast with butter and oregano, cheddar cheese and... ham and bacon? I can't believe it. I really will have ham and bacon! Only on my birthday would they take exception to the "no pork" rule.
"Theater at seven?" I asked Rachel before she left the house.
"I'll be here around six so we can go together." She gave me a quick kiss before rushing off to work. It was her last day shooting the TV show.
"Who's coming to stay with you today?"
"I don't need a babysitter in case you didn't know, Fabray!" Santana grumbled and then spoke softly. "Mike should spend part of the day here... maybe Johnny."
"Good girl. Try not to set the house on fire, okay?" One of Santana's medications made her high for a while. Hence our concern not to leave her alone. At least not for the week she would have to spend taking this particular medication.
I took a cab to West 4th Street in Greenwich Village, the team's meeting point. It was a special occasion because none other than photographer Grant Hunstein would be interviewed on the street where he photographed many of New York's folk singers, including Dylan. He was considered one of the most important photographers in history. I admired Mr. Hunstein for his collection of close-ups and portraits of important people like Miles Davis. Yes, I was a fan and I was looking forward to the meeting.
"Good morning, wonderful birthday girl." Monica was the first to greet me, with a wet kiss on the cheek that she grudgingly gave. I wiped it off as soon as she turned away. I don't know what I had done to make her think she had a free hand to try to seduce me. She knew from the start that I was a committed woman, but she seemed to ignore it. I tried to make polite excuses. I didn't know how long I could take it.
"Good morning, Monica. Good morning, everyone. Isn't Alan here yet?"
"He went to pick up Hunstein himself. They should be here any minute." Answered Nate, who was the cameraman.
Meanwhile, we set up the equipment and I began my work. I had to indicate the best place to film and make the most of the light so that it was as close as possible to the established standard. There was a device that did this kind of sensitive reading, which made my job much easier. Alan had said he wanted to do the interview on the move, so I needed to establish the direction they should walk at the most favorable angle. When our director and Mr. Hunstein arrived by cab, we applauded the old master. A fitting reverence for the gentleman with a brilliant career. I couldn't resist kissing his hand.
"Too bad I'm not about fifteen years younger, miss." He cracked a smile and touched my cheek. "You wouldn't escape me." I turned red, but not that honored. It was the kind of harassment that made me want to send the guy to that place, no matter how brilliant he is at what he does.
Alan started to do the interview and the team moved around so that everything could pay off in the first shot. Hunstein was one of the last interviewees and he was moved by the memory of his work. I even forgot about the initial harassment, and I was amazed and even neglected my job for a moment just listening to the vivid memories that old gentleman had experienced. Monica was a stickler, but she worked very well and was competent. I had to give her credit. The team had water, snacks, all the necessary permits in hand, a van that served as a mobile rest stop. Everything was correct.
At the beginning of the afternoon, we allowed ourselves a moment to get an autograph and take photos with the legendary photographer. But my biggest gift was when he gave me his office card and said I should send my resumé there. He confided in me that he found some of the staff a bit amateurish, but that he was impressed by my professionalism. So he said I should get in touch and show him my portfolio, because he knew people and could introduce me to some of them. I didn't even have to tell him twice. The first thing I would do when I got home was organize a copy.
The team finished the job and everybody was happy to have the week's money in hand. I left with 400 dollars in hand and took a cab back home. I found Santana stoned on the sofa, laughing like an idiot at Mike's dance moves.
"Q... Mike's turned into an octopus!" Yes, she was in the minutes when the drug could give hallucinogenic effects. That's why it had restricted sales, super-controlled quantities and you couldn't take it for more than a few days. If I wasn't mistaken, that was the last dosage Santana would have.
"You told me..." Mike greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Quinn." He walked over to the shelf and picked up a package. "It's just a souvenir."
The package was the size of a shoebox. When I saw it, it was a shoe. Exactly what I had seen weeks ago and commented to Rachel that I thought it was wonderful, but I didn't buy it because my money was already too committed.
"A gift with Rachel's finger on it..." I smiled and hugged him again.
"I called because I didn't know what to buy. Then she gave me all the coordinates with an impressive wealth of detail." Of course she did, or it wouldn't have been Rachel.
"Have you eat yet?"
"I haven't had a chance... Santana's been like this for about twenty minutes." She was now laughing at her own hands. "I made some chicken sauce to make tortillas. I was just waiting for you to arrive."
"In a little while she'll go out and sleep for half an hour. Then she'll wake up like old Santana with a hangover, and we'll have our meal. Is that all right?"
Said and done. With Santana off the air, Mike and I set the table and had a chat. He said that Johnny was about to leave his apartment in Harlem and asked to stay in Mike's apartment for a few days until he could rent his own. Apparently, Johnny was taken by surprise by the landlord, who sold the property, and the new owner gave him a deadline of one week to move out. Mike accepted, as he was incapable of leaving a friend like that unattended. The provisional move would take place at the weekend. What's more, Mike said he was seriously thinking of moving to Los Angeles. A question of opportunity. He wasn't so happy with theater or being an actor in advertisements. He got in touch with another agent who was based in Los Angeles and wanted to move there.
"Maybe you'll find the woman of your life in Los Angeles." I tried to be positive. I remembered his confession when he thought I was asleep because I was drunk. Since then I've tried to act naturally with him, but it was hard to look at a good friend and know that he wanted you in silence. I imagine that hearing that Rachel and I were getting married must not have been easy.
"Quinn, a man shouldn't think about getting married until he's 30. I'm 22, so eight more years to sample all the women I can."
"Ah yes, the rule of 30..."
"True! There are many beauties to be discovered in this city."
"Of course..."
"And now that you're leaving the market for good, all the better." There was a certain bitterness underneath the joking tone.
"Anyone who sees you talking like that even thinks I'm a gambler!"
"Sorry. It's trauma. It's just that I've already lost a few prey just because you were by my side. That's very unfair."
Santana woke up from her nap. As usual, she was in a bad mood. We heated up the sauce prepared by Mike and ate the tortillas. They were perfect. Mike hadn't lost his touch in the kitchen. He left after helping me tidy up, while Santana worked at Rock'n'Pano, grumbling about the kind of hangover the medicine was giving her. I was grateful to have the moment with my best friend.
"We need a new collection, Quinn." Santana was working skillfully on the computer. She typed so fast that I sometimes found myself laughing at her silliness. "You're the best seller and we need to have new prints every two months."
"I'll think about it... what about the T-shirt idea?"
"I'll put it to the test after this new collection, but I won't be able to really invest until the beginning of next year. Introducing new products isn't so easy when you're on a tight budget. I don't have the ideal financial margin. At least we got rid of Mr. Weiz's persecution, so that's one less problem."
"Has the lawyer formalized everything?"
"There are still a few details missing, but I don't think anything will come out of the agreement."
Santana didn't manage to enforce all the items she wanted to demand, but she came close. Let's get to the facts: Mr. Weiz was undergoing treatment for cancer and he had plans to move to France. He had a large property, and a company office in Paris. There was another office in London, just in case. But New York? His plans were to leave everything in Santana's hands over time. Santana would start out as an intern and gradually progress through the company, but with a certain destination to be the CEO. It was either that or Weiz could claim an outstanding debt of almost 400 million that would ruin Joel Berry and cause Weiz Co. to simply swallow up and sell the girls' grandfather's factories. That was the final argument for Santana to admit defeat.
"When do you start working at Weiz?"
"In September. A four-hour job so as not to disturb Columbia."
"And when will Weiz move to France anyway?"
"If nothing goes wrong, next year after the winter. Well, he wants to spend the rest of his days toasting in the Mediterranean sun while he shags women 50 years younger and waits for the cancer to take over his whole body."
"That's what 4 billion dollars can buy." I quoted what Santana kept saying over and over, but my sister-in-law just smiled.
"Quinn, that's the value of his company alone. Not his private assets, understand?"
"But isn't it his company?"
"Most of it belongs to Mr. Weiz. The other parts belong to shareholders and partners. They have the right to everything that concerns the company's assets. There is a separation between what belongs to the company and what is Mr. Weiz's private property. He never said exactly what his private assets were, but as far as I know, he has several properties here in New York and around the world, as well as investments in other businesses. It's possible to say that Mr. Weiz alone is worth as much as the company he runs."
"Really?" I swallowed. "And you and Rachel are heirs to all this?"
"Not necessarily."
"Why? Didn't you and Rachel sign that document recognizing the two of you as his sole heirs?"
"That's true, but he may have other plans left in his will. For example, if he had a parrot that he loved, he could leave everything to the animal, and the rest of the world to hell with it. The document we sign is a guarantee that no one else, such as a distant, unknown nephew who turns up unannounced, can claim the inheritance if it isn't directed in the will."
"I thought that was only possible in annoying movies."
"If you did a quick search on wills, you'd see a lot of bizarre stuff."
"So you and Rachel are virtually billionaires."
"No. We're potential heirs to a billion-dollar estate. But being a billionaire is another story. Right now, Fabray..." Santana briefly checked her cell phone and showed me her bank account balance: 179 dollars. "My balance wouldn't make a homeless person jealous."
"Is that the money from Rock'n'Pano?"
"No. I opened a separate account, as a legal entity, for Rock'n'Pano. You can't mix things up. There's more money there, but it's cash, which is important to keep the company alive. Those 179 dollars are the surplus, part of my profit, so to speak."
"Wouldn't it be easier to manage just one bank account, since you own the business?"
"No. What belongs to Rock'n'Pano belongs to Rock'n'Pano. What's mine is mine. This separation is vital not only for cash control, but also for bookkeeping. I have to pay company taxes, but I also have to pay my personal taxes. If I mix everything up, it's going to be a huge problem."
"That sounds complicated."
"It is a bit... but that's what I study for."
Rachel came home early from work. Apparently yesterday's sacrifice paid off. We showered and got ready for our special date. First we were going to see "The Lion King", which is Rachel's favorite animated film and we'd never had the chance to see the theatrical version. Rachel was delighted. She was a great admirer of the director Julie Taymor and wanted to be able to work with her in the theater one day. I only knew Donald Holder, the lighting engineer, personally. He had worked on one of the plays I had assisted on when I was an employee at R&J. He had a great talent for innovating with little, but he wasn't exactly an easy person to get on with. At least the lighting work was fantastic.
"The choreography is fantastic. It's one of the best on Broadway today." Rachel said, holding my arm as we walked to the restaurant.
"Yes..." I looked at Rachel's face and she raised one of her eyebrows as if to warn me to be careful with my criticism. "...very exciting." In truth, I didn't think it was the eighth wonder of the world, but I didn't want to start an argument with Rachel on my birthday.
At Havana Central Times Square (not the restaurant I'd originally wanted, but Rachel insisted on a place closer to the theater), she ordered a vegetarian salad with Cuban dressing that cost an arm and a leg and I, wanting to get a bit more value for my money, went for roast ham. Rachel had to deal with that later. To drink: red wine. At least we enjoyed the romantic atmosphere of the restaurant.
"I think it's time I gave you my birthday gift." Rachel smiled. When she did that, it seemed like the world stopped, for Christ's sake, how lovely she was.
She took a small box out of her bag and opened it in front of me. It was a ring similar to the one I'd given her for our engagement.
"I thought it wasn't right that only I had a ring. We both deserve it. And as we've talked about, our relationship is one of partnership, complicity, mutual support and, above all, love. On this principle, Quinn Fabray, accept this engagement ring, so that not only will I be your wife, but you'll be mine too." I don't know how big my smile was, I just know that tears started streaming down my face as she placed the jewel on my finger and then kissed my hand. It was what I had dreamed of doing for her, but I was also on cloud nine that Rachel had done it for me.
We ate our meals in peace. And the ham... maybe it was because of Rachel's gesture and all the good things that happened throughout the day, but that meal was one of the best I've enjoyed in my life. It was my best birthday. After the restaurant, Rachel put me in a cab and told me there was a second part to the surprise. I knew what it was as soon as Rachel started texting. We stopped in front of a small, more reserved pub with karaoke. I smiled to myself and shook my head. Rachel couldn't have been more obvious. As we got in, a large group of people started clapping and singing happy birthday. Mike appeared in the middle of everyone holding a cake with a handcuff on it. Nothing like symbolism.
I started greeting them one by one. The whole documentary team was there. Including Monica. There was also Santiago and three other close friends from college, Santana and her crutches, Johnny and, to my surprise, Roger Benz. I wouldn't have thought Rachel would have called him, but apparently she's gotten over the hurt of her dismissal. I didn't even see the cake being cut. All I know is that Rachel grabbed a piece with her hands and shoved it in my mouth, bridal style. I saw that Santana was more quiet, sitting at the table with her foot up drinking coca-cola. She couldn't drink on all that strong medication. Then Rachel went up to the stage that was used for occasional band performances or karaoke nights and took the microphone.
"Friends and everyone here. That blonde who looks like a Greek goddess over there turns 21 today. And as tradition dictates, please put a Dry Manhattan in her hands now." Mike did me the favor of putting the drink in my hands and the crowd only quietened down when I drank it all in one go. Satisfied, Rachel spoke again. "Now, a song in honor of my girl."
I couldn't believe it when the band started to play the guitars in a distorted way and then combine them into a heavy, almost punk, but more melodic sound. Then Rachel began a provocative dance. "So messed up i want you here/ in my room i want you here/ now we're gonna be face-to-face/ and i'll lay right down in my favorite place/ and now i wanna be your dog/ now i wanna be your dog/ now i wanna be your dog/ well c'mon".
This was one of the songs that Santana said was "call for fucking". I didn't like the Stoogers, but Rachel's performance had me on fire. Oh yes, I'd make Rachel be my dog all right. I was so mesmerized that I got a tremendous fright when Johnny took a bag of ice and put it on my head.
"What the hell!" I complained.
"It's so you can cool down a bit, otherwise you're going to rip your girl's clothes off in front of everyone. Not that I'd mind watching".
He was right. I was so glued to Rachel that I could have sex with her on that tiny stage and not even notice the crowd around me. The party continued into the night, where I basically danced with Rachel most of the time. Santana left early. It must have really sucked to be there without being able to dance and have as much fun as she would have liked. No one else left until the early hours, and as the glasses emptied, more people ventured to the microphone. No one with the same success as my woman. I wasn't drinking much. I wanted to be well enough to get home and teach Rachel a lesson not to tease me like that.
"You didn't say your girlfriend, Rachel, was Broadway actress Rachel Berry-Lopez." Monica surprised me just as I was getting another drink at the bar. She seemed a little drunk to me, but we were all altered at some stage.
"Do you know her?"
"I've seen 'Across The Universe' a couple of times... She's always been my favorite. She sings like a goddess."
"Yes... Rachel is a unique person." Monica was one of those people who made me uncomfortable these days. At first, the way she flirted used to be flattering. Now, it was just annoying. "Would you like me to introduce you to my girlfriend?"
"Of course..."
"Rachel likes to meet fans."
"You make a cute couple. On the other hand..." Monica approached, invading my personal space. "She's so small... and you seem to be so... hungry... thirsty for flesh. It must be hard for her to hold that fire alone."
"You don't know anything." I didn't want any trouble on my birthday and pushed her away from me, but she insisted.
"Happy the woman who's your dog. I can do things to you and make you want more. I'd let you do things to me that you wouldn't have the courage to do to her. Rachel doesn't even need to know." She approached more aggressively, but I pushed her away unkindly. Monica was going too far.
"You're drunk."
"I am!" She laughed. "And high. Doesn't mean I'm telling a lie."
"Stay away from me!"
I went back to the group of friends where Rachel was. She'd had enough and was laughing at Johnny's antics. I was grateful that they hadn't noticed the tense moment at the bar. Monica was watching me from afar, as if she was a predator, and that bothered me. So I leaned suggestively towards Rachel and spoke seductively into her ear.
"How about we finish our party at home?" Rachel smiled easily. I picked up our things and we left the bar. The party would continue elsewhere. Away from Monica.
