(Rachel)
It was a non-alcoholic celebration on Saturday. The choir went to a pasta and grill restaurant, and we celebrated together with Mr. Schuester and the rest of the staff. My parents were also there after accepting Mr. Schuester's invitation. Not unfair, since they were the only parents who had the trouble to go to New York to see the nationals. My father wasn't very comfortable because of the whole situation that happened at dinner: it was a strong reason for me not to comment to him about the invitation to the audition. My mother looked like a star, as if she had been the champion coach. In fact, she was a Three-time national champion choir director. She was so good, she had turned down generous invitations to direct choirs ever since she decided to step away to raise Beth.
Speaking of my little sister, she was with a babysitter at the hotel. Santana and I met our grandmother and everyone was amazed because they said I looked much more like my grandmother than my mother. Mercedes asked how Santana was able to escape the shape of the Corcorans. Simple: the blood of the Lopezes was stronger in my sister's case. I don't know what to think of my maternal grandmother yet. She seems to me to be a very simple lady with little education. But she was a very beautiful lady in her late 50s, I think.
"Mom?" I asked just before we left.
"Yes?"
"Have you ever heard of R&J Productions?"
"Roger Benz's R&J?"
"Yes. Is it a serious company?"
"They are known in New York because of the company and because they own The Flea. The company specializes in doing successful off-Broadway plays. I've never worked for Roger Benz, but he's a very skilled playwright. He often does plays off-off in summer seasons at the Flea with amateur or non-union actors, to avoid paying a lot of labor rights, but also to test some plays... to see if it can be a commercial success or not. Other than that, they are reputable producers. Why?"
"I saw an audition call for this company and I was curious." I showed the card I received to my mom.
"As I said, Roger Benz is an excellent author and director. I don't know his partner very well, who is the accounting guy. As I said, they don't want professional or unionized actors in these summer productions because the money they must offer is a disgrace. Something well below minimum wage. He must offer something like five dollars an hour for work, or less. But I also know some actors who got their start on Broadway in one of those Roger Benz summer plays. It can open doors for an actor."
"But do you think it would be worth me trying to audition?"
"As a summer experience, maybe. But I think you'll have to pick a good fight with your father."
"Mom, if I have to fight with papi, would you support me?"
"Maybe."
"Okay..."
This summer play sounded like slave labor in the theater. Still, the producer's card for the audition simmered in my pocket.
"Mom..." I spoke to her again privately as we were leaving.
"Yes?"
"About that dinner..."
"I think you both need some time to process the news, especially your sister. I can understand this."
"Thank you."
"We'll talk again in Lima, okay? We can sit down together, just the four of us, and talk about it."
"That would be nice."
Back at the hostel, I held Mike's arm and asked Tina to excuse me to talk to her boyfriend. We sat on the sofa in the first floor lounge and Mike seemed nervous. No wonder we had never gotten close enough to exchange more than three words in private. He had always been friends with Santana and Brittany. Not mine.
"You want to stay, don't you?" He looked at me funny. "I mean, to audition."
"What I don't want to do is be an engineer. That's my dad's dream." He smiled awkwardly. "What I would like is to dance around and if this theater allows me to do that, why not?"
"So... will you try out?"
"I'm 18 and I don't need permission from my parents or school. Yes, I might stay. On the other hand, I wouldn't want to do that alone in a town like this."
"What if I stay too?"
"But don't you have to go back to Lima?"
"Santana is going to live in New York. I can very well stay with her. We three can!"
"Do you really think so?" He stood up when he saw Tina approaching and cut me off. "Good night, Rachel. I'll talk to you later."
I didn't sleep a wink that night. I thought about the damn card. I tried to close my eyes and keep quiet. Nothing worked. With nothing to do, I put on my robe and went to the common room of the hostel. It was the only place that had a big TV. A group of international students were sitting at one of the games tables and playing poker. There was a couple in the corner chatting and exchanging the occasional kiss. No one was paying attention to the television, so I decided to take over. There was no program that interested me, yet I remained on that worn-out couch thinking about Wednesday's audition while the screen glowed and made some noise. I needed to at least once try something outside of the lame Lima shows produced by Sandy Ryerson.
"Hey, my beautiful." I looked at Quinn, who kissed me on the head before sitting down next to me.
"My beautiful?" I frowned.
"Can't I just call you that?"
"You can... it would be a nice change. But it still sounds weird coming from someone who spent years calling me RuPaul, Man-hands, Treasure Trail..."
"That was another time. It's in the past. Can we move on?"
"Without apologizing? Without showing regret for all the slushies you threw in my face?"
"You want me to apologize?" Quinn raised one of her eyebrows and I was always a little intimidated by that simple gesture.
"It wouldn't be you..." I said after thinking it over. I knew Quinn, and it was likely that her answer would displease me. I wasn't going to look for a fight at the beginning of a date either. "Did I wake you up?"
"Sort of. Hard to sleep after what happened today."
"Which part?"
"Of the winning, of course. Of having done a duet with you. That was a secret wish that I finally got to fulfill." I was flattered by Quinn's confession. I had to soften my voice quite a bit to duet with her, but it worked, so much so that we were champions.
Quinn slung her arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer together. The television channel was showing an old movie, the kind that comes on every other week. I wasn't interested in it. Over the last few days I had been listing the good and bad effects Quinn had on me. I discovered a new one: calming. I snuggled against her body and felt more relaxed.
"Rachel?" Quinn nudged me. "Remember what I said on the bus?"
"About New York?"
"About getting the impression that you'd end up in this town sooner than you expected? I guess your sixth sense got through to me a bit."
"Would you stay with me while the auditions take place?"
"I'd like to, but let's face it, I don't have a dime to my name and I'd only stay until Wednesday if I was sleeping on the street, eating leftovers and all. So what do you think? I can only go back to Lima! You're the one with the bright future here. Not me." Her tone was harsh, but you could see a trace of emotion, which she was holding back.
"What if I help you?"
"Live at your expense?" Quinn hooted. "Negative!" She said imperatively, proudly.
"If we went into partnership? Or I'd give you a loan. Isn't that worth a try? There's nothing stopping you from auditioning. If we are called, you'll have to buy me dinner with your first salary. If we fail, you'll still buy me dinner with the money from one of those jobs you do in Lima."
"One way or another you win."
"It's the price Quinn Fabray." She smiled and shook her head. We stood in silence, just enjoying the contact with each other. That's when another urgent thing crossed my mind. "I'm going to break up with him."
"It's about time."
"Quinn..."
"If I said I was sorry, I'd be a hypocrite. You may like him, Rach, but that's not what I feel."
"No? Then why did you date him for months if you hate him?"
"Long story." Quinn got up from the couch. "Let's go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll think more about your crazy plan!"
"Tomorrow we'll go back to Lima."
"We'll have time." She kissed me lightly on the lips as soon as she pulled me off the couch. It was high in the morning and we really needed to rest.
...
May 13, 2012
While all the girls were packing to return to Lima, I was reluctant to gather my clothes and belongings. Quinn sometimes looked at me with an air of concern. She might have been proud of the money, but I sensed that she wanted to take a chance. Santana made no comment. I guess the offer didn't interest her. In contrast, she kept looking in my direction.
"Okay, little cap." Santana broke the ice. "What the hell is going on?"
"You wouldn't consider going to the audition on Wednesday?" I tried to speak as quietly as possible so as not to draw Mercedes and Tina's attention. "You also got the card, and Quinn, and Brittany, for a nice opportunity in New York!"
"I knew it!" Santana said more to herself then faced me. "I'm already moving to this city. That's fine with me. That's a career you want to pursue, not me."
"I've never auditioned outside Lima. And the producers of that company are award-winning. I don't think these people had a dirty prostitution ring and were going to recruit new girls at a choir competition, like in the stories we heard from our mother. In fact, I asked her about the producers. Shelby said they were serious guys, even though they invest in talented amateurs only to underpay when they do these market-testing plays."
Santana sighed and looked down at the floor as if she was crafting irrefutable arguments to convince me otherwise.
"I would do it!" Mercedes boomed. "I wouldn't have missed the chance if I could. But my parents won't allow it."
"I wouldn't." Brittany replied and surprised. "I can't act, and I'm already booked for LA. I want to dance, not act."
"Then it would just be me, Mike and..." I stared at Quinn waiting for some sort of manifestation from her.
"I'd like to try something, but I don't have any money to spare."
"Neither do we." Santana categorized. "Hobbit, we don't have the money to stay in town for another week, and you know the rules."
"Rules?" Quinn asked.
"It's not your bu.." Santana started to speak, but I quickly cut her off by answering quickly.
"My parents have always been very supportive and have never spared any resources to help my artistic career. That's no secret, but if I want to go out into the world and seek fame before I finish college, I can't count on their sponsorship... his. Dad would be more flexible with a case like this, but papi is not. Even more so now that Santana is moving out because of Stuyvesant."
"Ever heard of a credit card?" Tina questioned. "You can pay for three more days at the hostel and buy your return ticket as early as Wednesday. It won't be a big deal."
"Our credit card limit is a joke. We only have money for gas for the car, small emergencies and for the movies on the weekend. We don't have the limit to pay for a plane ticket or more per diems with our card."
"So that's why Santana is obsessed with knowing the limit on the guys' school cards and getting free meals?" Quinn teased and I honestly wanted to fight with her. Why poke the jaguar?
"It's better than being a homeless woman who survives on favors along with her alcoholic mommy who was dumped by her husband to be with a slut with tattoos!"
What happened in the next few minutes was screaming in the room. Quinn went for Santana, who hit her back on the bunk bed ladder. But as soon as my sister recovered from the initial shock, she pushed Quinn away and slapped my girlfriend hard across the face. It was almost a left-handed volley (Santana is left-handed and has a lot of strength). Quinn lost her balance, and Santana took the chance to throw her to the ground, doing a judo move worthy of ippon. My sister would have punched Quinn right there if Tina and Brittany hadn't grabbed her from behind and pulled her out of the room. Quinn tried to run to fight back, but then it was my turn, along with Mercedes holding her down, begging for calm.
"What's going on here?" Mr. Schue appeared in our room.
"Situation under control." Mercedes said practically shooing him out.
In the meantime, Kurt came rushing in, wanting to know if Quinn was okay after hearing that "Satan" had shown up again. They sat beside Quinn, comforting her with soothing words. I stayed on the bed opposite not knowing what to do. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to apologize for my sister and tell her everything would be okay.
"Kurt. Mercedes. Could you guys excuse me?" Quinn asked.
"No such thing, girl. You don't have to be alone here."
"I need to talk to Rachel alone." Quinn reinforced.
"Okay." Kurt resigned himself. "Anything, just yell."
Without those two there, I took courage, knelt in front of Quinn and held her hand. Quinn held it tightly on first contact. To my surprise, she stroked my hair before leaning in to give me a light kiss on the lips.
"Quinn... I wanted to..."
"If you apologize for Santana, I'll be very angry with you. You don't have to justify her actions."
"Sometimes I do."
"I'll stay!" Quinn said with a certain anger in her voice and fire in her eyes. "I don't even know how we're going to get the money, but I'm staying with you to audition. If this is a chance to get out of Lima and still be together, I'll take it. If I make it, I'll still be able to rub it in your sister's face, and my dad's, and anyone else who doubts my ability."
I stood up with a huge smile on my face. I couldn't be happier about that. Quinn, still holding one of my hands, pulled me again, this time so that I sat on her lap. She wrapped her arm around my waist as she pulled me in for a kiss. We were so lost in the sensation of pleasure that we only came back to reality when we saw the bedroom door slam hard. It was Santana and I wanted to die. In fact, I was sure she was going to kill me.
"I've noticed you've been together a lot these past few days." She said it with frightening calm, but I could see the venom coming out of her eyes. "Can you get off her lap?"
I obeyed automatically. I was panicked at being surprised and went silent. Our friends appeared in a panic at having "unleashed the beast". Quinn stood up determinedly.
"Could you guys get the hell out of here?" Quinn asked our friends. "That's between me and Santana and Rachel."
"But Quinn." Mercedes almost pleaded.
"Now!" She said in her best HBIC tone that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Our friends obeyed, and I found myself trapped in a cage in the middle of the lion and the dragon.
Quinn walked over to my side and held out her hand. She was daring me to commit, right there in front of my sister's face, to a relationship with her. I was shaking like crazy, but I held Quinn's hand tightly and closed my eyes, waiting for the bomb to hit. But all I heard was a deathly, spine-chilling silence. Until Santana finally broke it.
"Since when has this atrocity been happening?" She spoke between her teeth.
"You don't care, Satan." Quinn wasn't easy either. She'd catch herself, but she wouldn't lose her pose.
"Of course it matters to me. She's my sister, and you're the girl who fucks with everyone's life."
"Look here..." Quinn threatened to go over the top and that was the moment I had to intervene or things would get ugly. So I got between the Fabray lion and the Berry-Lopez dragon.
"Stop attacking each other!" I yelled and saw that I had gained some leverage. "Santana, Quinn and I are starting a relationship, and I would really appreciate it if you would stay out of it. It's all my problem, okay? Quinn, count to ten. Santana is one of the most important people in my life, and I'd like you to respect that. Finn never has."
They both stepped back and crossed their arms at the same time. The gesture was much more familiar to Santana than to Quinn, but the meaning was the same: there would be a brief truce.
"You didn't come into the room just to do the flagrant." Quinn spoke still armed.
"No." Santana looked away from me. "I know how I can get you to go to that audition since papi won't give us a dime for it."
"How?" I asked hopefully.
"Zaide." She took out her cell phone and handed it to me. "Call him. The way he wants to get in trouble with our father, he'll give us the money to spend these days in New York in ten seconds. It's just time to make a transfer to our checking account. It's that, or it's Lima."
"Give the money to us? Are you going to audition too?"
"I may hate you right now, Rachel, but I would never leave you alone in this town. I'll keep an eye on you."
"That's going to get us in a lot of trouble! Papi would never allow us to stay here."
"It won't be my first fight with him. Besides, I'm emancipated, don't you remember? I can be responsible for you."
"Why don't you call? Zaide likes you a lot much than me!"
"Because you're the one who wants to do this crazy thing, Rachel Barbra Berry-Lopez!"
I took out my cell phone and called Zaide. I spent half an hour explaining my situation two, three times, until Zaide agreed to give us some money to keep us going during those days in the city. The amount would allow Santana and me to spend a week off in New York. But there was Quinn. With this extra head, we'd be in a bit of a pickle, according to Santana's calculations. I didn't care about time off and luxuries. I had to show Quinn that she, too, could have a better destiny than being a Lima loser whose future lay in being a public school teacher living in a reasonable house, married for appearances and full of kids. My now-girlfriend agreed to the conditions, considering she had some savings in her bank account to contribute to our stay, and I feel Santana's insinuations about her being a Lima Loser girl helped her decision.
The next step was to tell our parents. I called papi, and he was never so nervous about me and Santana. I think he was nervous about Shelby, too. Papi said he would settle some scores with zaide, but finally resigned himself and spoke to Schuester, authorizing me to stay. He remained firm, however, in his promise that he would not help us with a dime of this summer endeavor, because if I thought I was mature enough to try to work on a short-run play, if I were cast in it, I would have to be mature enough to support myself.
Judy Fabray saw no problem with letting Quinn stay in New York. She just pointed out that she couldn't afford to help. The pension she received from Russell Fabray was apparently ridiculous, and barely enough to pay for regular expenses and groceries. Mike was encouraged by our decision and accompanied us. Brittany, as she herself announced, decided to board the bus.
Finn, still officially my boyfriend, did not accept my decision.
"You can't stay here alone, Rachel."
"I'll be with Mike, Quinn and Santana. A far cry from being alone!"
"Santana is irresponsible, Mike is naïve and Quinn is not very stable."
"Who are you to talk about them like that?" I crossed my arms and raised my tone. "If you really loved me, you'd be supporting my decision."
"Because I love you is why I'm telling you to come back with us. Broadway will happen, Rachel. With your talent, Broadway will happen one way or another. But you should be patient and not want to rush into things."
"It's just an audition. It's just an experience! On Friday I'll be back in Lima at the first train arrival time at the station, and then we'll talk more calmly. Otherwise, my decision is made." I tapped Finn on the shoulder. "You'd better go."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"I do, Finn. I want you to go back to Lima and be welcomed as a hero. We'll talk next week. I promise. But I have to stay and do it."
"Is that what you want?" He said as if he was giving me an ultimatum.
"The bus is leaving now. Don't be late."
Finn didn't try to kiss me or hug me or wish me good luck. He just turned his back and joined the others. We said goodbye to our colleagues with many good luck wishes. The plan was to stay in the hostel until Wednesday or at the latest Friday in the city and catch the first available train to Lima. We would kill the week of school, but it wouldn't be too bad since we had already taken our final exams for that school year. We would still have the last week of school, and be ready for Beth's first birthday party on Saturday. It would be a late celebration, but it was Shelby's decision so we could be there for our little sister's first party.
We wouldn't have to worry about Mike because he has his own money. The money deposited by zaide would provide another week's accommodation. We would eat at cheap places for lunch, or buy food at a market to save money. We would drink only water, walk and only take the subway to The Flea, where the auditions would take place. The brain calculator called Santana worked like never before, and if we met our goals, maybe there would be something left for fun.
Earlier, Zaide made Santana promise to stop by Kings Point, home of Caleb Weiz, the Jewish businessman Zaide's friend who helped with Stuyvesant's bid. I only saw him on one occasion, at a party at my grandparents' house in Cleveland. Caleb Weiz helped Santana with this Stuyvesant thing, giving her a New York address so she could do the inner selection for the school year. He also offered her an internship at his company. First there was the debate of who should accompany my sister. Since we couldn't come to a conclusion, the four of us would hang out together, even at dinners with old people.
Caleb Weiz lived in a mansion area and was a guy who had several properties scattered in NYC and also in other states. Santana said that he owned approximately 80 properties, not including his business assets. He was a widower, and his children have passed away leaving no grandchildren. I could only imagine the frustration of such a person in losing his entire family in various situations.
Santana arranged our stay at the hostel, and paid in advance our daily rates until Thursday. We spent the day planning, eating cereal bars for lunch, until we arrived in the afternoon, when we should go to dinner with Weiz, because that would be the only day he could have us.
The cab we took from the train station stopped in front of a two-story mansion with a garage, lots of security cameras and a dog barking in the yard. Santana told me that if we thought our grandparents' house was big, this mansion was triple the size, plus a spectacular garden, swimming pool and tennis court. We stopped at the gate where there was a security guard standing by. The guy looked like he was going to throw us out, but Santana quickly identified herself and said that Mr. Weiz was waiting for us. A minute to check and the mansion gate was opened for us. Santana rang the doorbell, and we were greeted by a man who appeared to be in his 50s or older. It was "Jeeves", as Santana called him, but I don't think that was the man's real name. He must have been Weiz's butler. We got into the living room and waited on the super soft sofas for a short time. Weiz received us accompanied by a woman, who must have been about 30 years old. Maybe the old man had no family, but apparently he could have young girlfriends. The sad thing about that story was that that house had more servants than a family. No wonder Weiz offered Santana a room in the mansion: it would fill the house more.
"If it isn't the future president of Joel Berry's companies!" Weiz greeted Santana with a handshake and a broad smile. "And hasn't little Rachel grown up?" He looked at the others. "You must be the friends Santana mentioned in the phone call."
"This is Quinn Fabray and Mike Chang, friends of ours from school." Santana introduced.
"This is Marisa, a good friend." The pretty, friendly woman greeted us one by one, then sat down and remained silent, but always with a polite, rehearsed smile on her face. I bet that the old man was her sugar daddy. "Joel mentioned that Rachel is auditioning for a play." He commented, as Jeeves offered us sodas.
"Yeah, Quinn and Mike are going too." I found it odd that Mr. Weiz only talked to Santana, despite our presence.
"How is Stuyvesant going to be? You're not going to say you dropped out of school..." Santana nodded negative.
"Stuyvesant still stands, as do the plans. That play is going to be a summer thing. At least for me."
"Wise decision. I remember I traveled to Australia before my first year in Harvard. I worked for six months as a farm hand. It was a great experience. It's worth doing things like that before we embrace our destinies for real. Although Harvard was part of the best years of my life."
"Harvard is one of the best places in the world." Santana said with false enthusiasm.
"Exactly!"
We watched Mr. Weiz talk business with Santana throughout our stay, including the time we were offered dinner (delicious). I understood why my sister got into the habit of reading business newspapers online after Dad died. For my part, knowing that we wouldn't have such a good meal for the next three days, I enjoyed the munching. Apart from the roast beef, everything else was vegetarian. Mike was also eating like there was no tomorrow. Quinn was quieter. I noticed her looking at the collection of photographs that decorated the living room.
"You have quite a collection, sir." Quinn pointed to the paintings.
"Yes. Some people invest in art paintings. Well, I have some art investments too, but what I really like is good photographers. These pictures are enlargements of the original films." He pointed to one of the canvases, a black-and-white photograph of a man who couldn't tell if he was jumping or free-falling, but had a muscular body, arms spread, knees bent. "Aaron Siskind. Famous photographer from New York. It's my favorite work. He always gives me the feeling that man becomes more powerful and sovereign when free. Do you know his work?"
"No, I don't. I just like to photograph. Unfortunately, I never stopped to study in depth the work of other photographers."
"Do you have talent?"
"It's not for me to judge. I say I like the things I do."
"Good answer." Mr. Weiz got up and went to another room in the house. He returned with a book in hand and handed it to Quinn. "I have a few copies of this one. It shows the work of some of New York's most important photographers. This is yours."
"Thank you!" Quinn seemed surprised by the gift.
"If you have one of those web pages with your work, leave the address noted."
Mr. Weiz said goodbye to us, giving Santana a thousand recommendations. He talked like he was her boss or something, which made me uncomfortable. The worst part is that she seemed to accept it. Weiz wished us good luck and did us the favor of paying for our taxi to the hostel. The way we were, with money tight, I would never turn down charities like that.
The first thing we did back to the hostel was to take a shower and rest. The room without the girls seemed empty, on the other hand it would be nice not to hear the symphony of snores from Mercedes and Tina anymore. We knew that soon the bunks would be occupied by other people and we would lose some of our freedom. I called my father. He had just arrived from the airport and still showed no signs of coming to terms with our decision. He was feeling betrayed once again. I didn't want to hurt papi, but it was an opportunity to fulfill my dream. Besides, it was just an audition. I could be rejected and go back to Lima with this failure.
"Are you entertained by the book?" I sat down on Quinn's bed.
"Come here!" She scooted back on the bed to make room for me. Then she hugged me as soon as I lay down next to her. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"
"Don't you think we're going too fast?" I joked.
"There's no risk with your sister sleeping right in the next bunk."
"As tempting as it is, Miss Fabray, I'm going to refuse. I'm not that easy."
"But while it's not bedtime and Santana isn't out of the bath..."
...
May 14, 2012
Living a single life in New York with little money in your pocket is not as exciting an experience as I imagined. The first thing we did that morning was to organize our resumes, because we needed to hand in something with our photos printed on it to audition. The lan house was so bad that we had to take turns on the computers. Then I had my first experience in a public laundry. At home, the machines require electricity and water to work. There is a whole infrastructure set up, plus there is never a shortage of washing powder, fabric softener and plastic baskets. There's all the space in the basement to sort the clothes, and time on your side. You put the clothes in, turn on the machine and forget about it. Just go do something else. Public laundries are different. People carry coin cups because those things only work for a certain amount of time if they are nickel powered. If you don't bring your own cleaning products, you'll have to buy some at an abusive price at the market next door whose owner survives on the forgetful and desperate.
Look at our case: we would wash the clothes only once and it would be a waste to buy a box of washing powder. We could get some from other people, or so I figured. But I found out that you can't count on the goodwill of the laundry attendant in a metropolis, unless you have the coins inside the disposable cup and feed the machine the person is going to use. Only then is it possible to have some washing powder (but not the fabric softener). Of course, people like us don't think of taking plastic baskets to New York. Since we didn't have the resources, we used our own suitcases. In this case, two were used to transport clothes for four people. One machine can't keep up with our demand, we had to fill the nickel belly of two of them, and then discover that half of the available coins went away in that operation. It still had to be dried.
You don't have the luxury of sorting clothes for washing, as you do at home. In public laundries, everything goes together, and you stuff clothes as far as the machine will go. When I found myself pretty much just sorting through all the nuggets, I hit the "what the heck" button and mixed dark clothes with light ones, with panties, underwear and bras, and just prayed that the clothes wouldn't be so stained at the end of the process. You can't just drop your clothes and forget about them for two hours like you do at home. You have to stay and wait. In the meantime, one had to put up with strange individuals, with one with greasy hair who smelled of marijuana and still put the terrible looking clothes in the machines immediately next to it. My stomach churned as I imagined my well-kept clothes were in the same place his once were.
"New in town?" The pothead sat down next to me and revealed yellow but straight teeth, as if he'd worn braces at some point.
What can you say when you have two suitcases under your feet? I looked around to see if I could scream in case of an emergency, such as the pothead turning out to be a psychopathic pervert bent on taking my virginity, then butchering me and burying me in the basement. Quinn was absent-mindedly taking pictures in front of the laundromat and Mike was dancing like crazy with his ipod in his ear on the other side. I was sure the girl who sold me the soap would put a few coins in the hat for his unwitting show, which wouldn't be a bad thing because it would pay for the drying.
"Just visiting!" I replied trying to discreetly move away.
"Johnny." The greaser held out his hand.
"Rachel." I dismissed the greeting.
"So Rachel..." I swore he was sniffing me. "Are you alone?"
"No... that dancing guy over there is my friend, and the blonde taking pictures across the street is my girlfriend." My heart jumped for a second. It was the first time I'd ever called Quinn my girlfriend, out loud, publicly, and in an odd situation. What a waste.
"Oh..." Johnny put a dirty smile on his face. The guy couldn't be bothered to hide what dirty fantasies came to mind. It was disgusting.
As if paying for expensive soap, tolerating dirty-minded potheads and waiting wasn't enough, it's almost a tragedy when you realize you forgot the fabric softener. And to think there was still the dryer part...
"Hey, Rachel." Santana came in holding a piece of paper all scribbled with notes. "I found three restaurants nearby that fit our budget, and a market big enough to not inflate the groceries that much..."
"Another girlfriend?" Johnny bared his yellow teeth again. Santana narrowed her eyes at him.
"No, she's my sister. And you are? Beggar version of Jesus Christ?"
"Johnny." He held out his hand which Santana just looked at and ignored. Johnny looked more intimidated. Santana had a knack of provoking that effect in people.
"Anyway..." My sister showed the scribbles. "That restaurant we used to eat at is actually more expensive than these others. I found a diner on the next block whose floors suck, but they serve salads. There's another one three blocks away that has a slightly better menu, but the waitress is an asshole and I'm pretty sure she and the cook spit in the food. Maybe the kitchen has cockroaches. The third one is down the street and is under renovation. Of course, we can always stop by the grocery store and get instant noodles and more granola bars. We definitely need to buy water!"
"Dirty floor, spit food, salad with cement or instant noodles! How many options! Wouldn't Mr. Weiz like to invite us for another dinner?"
"We can try the cement salad today, the dirty floor tomorrow and the instant noodles after the stomach ache goes away. For dinner... instant noodles, there's no other way."
"Why did you discard the spit food?" I asked.
"Because I'm sure I'd get into a fight with the waitress."
"Cool!" Johnny was definitely having fun with us. "There's a diner about three blocks from here. It's pretty small, but the food is good and cheap. You guys should check it out. It sure beats eating cement." We stared at him with a question mark on our faces. How could we trust a pothead in a laundromat? "I've lived here in the area for a while and, believe me, I like to eat in decent places. The place is very simple, but it's really good. I know the owner. It would pass a health surveillance inspection."
"What's your name again?" Santana frowned.
"Johnny."
"Thanks for the tip."
"Thank you." I made a point of thanking him too. I began to think that this Johnny guy wasn't so disgusting. I guess he was just treated badly by life.
The washing was done. Now all that was left to do was dry and spend another half hour in that laundry room. I set to work and this time I had Santana to help. By this time, Mike was distracted by the nearby magazine stand. I thought it was amazing that magazine stands still existed.
"Didn't get the fabric softener? Our clothes are going to be stiff and smelly."
"I have fabric softener sheets here to go in the dryer!" Johnny showed the packet.
"But I don't have any extra coins to change. I used the ones I had for the washing powder."
"In that case." He cracked a smile. "I'll give you four sheets if you tongue kiss your girlfriend in front of me."
"QUINN!" Santana yelled from the laundry room door. "Come here and be useful for once!"
I had always suspected that my sister had a calling to be a pimp. I never imagined, however, that she would start her career over fabric softener and exploiting me.
...
Our first experience as penniless young people in a metropolis taught us the importance of building an interesting cultural itinerary that cost the minimum. We couldn't bear to be confined to the hostel, watching TV and playing cards when the best city in the world was within our reach. I'm sure we'd kill ourselves. Santana accessed the Internet on her cell phone and visited theater pages, indie shows, various cultural itineraries. The shows in nightclubs that had a minimum age of 16 or for all ages were always the most expensive. With a little patience we made a list of interesting options that we could enjoy for our age and the little money we had.
The Broadway theaters were out of reach, the off-Broadway ones were out of reach, but there were some cheap sessions at the off-off-Broadway ones. Some of them were holding open rehearsals, the kind where the audience goes to evaluate the show before the premiere. We put the options we found on our list. And there were some other cheap ones in tourist places, like museums, central park, and famous streets. Santana and I had done the conventional tourist route on previous occasions, but for Quinn and Mike it was all new. We put on the list the ones we found most interesting. The funny thing is that even with our reduced options, we couldn't do what we had budgeted for in a week, let alone two days.
I know many places and some countries. My parents were keen to show me and Santana the world, but in a comfortable way: we had good accommodation, money to eat in good restaurants, to be able to get into places. I discovered that the other side also had its grace and magic, especially in the company of those I loved the most. The best thing about it was that my mind was occupied for two days and it helped that I didn't go crazy with anxiety for the audition.
...
May 15, 2012
(Santana)
It was very odd for me to accompany Rachel on this crap. Because, to me, that's what it felt like: a huge crap. Imagine auditioning for an off-off-Broadway play from a production company that practically paid the actors in peanuts? It didn't seem smart. But there I was in that overwhelming city protecting my sister.
New York was indeed an oppressive metropolis because of its gigantism, its cost of living, its cosmopolitan culture. These are things that are far from Lima, Ohio. I may have grown up in an environment with a lot of information and stimulation, but I was raised in a small town, surrounded by family, and with every comfort. Dad was born in New York but raised in Ohio, receiving the provincial culture of the state. The same thing can be said for Papi, who was born in Santiago, Chile, but got used to the same kind of culture.
My parents couldn't tell you what it feels like to move out of your comfortable crib to live spartanly in New York. Dad, if he were alive, would give an inspiring speech, but one that, in the end, would be just a speech. Ironically, the person who should know exactly what I was feeling was Shelby. I could call and talk to her. Talk about my anxiety and how stressful it would be to move to New York to go to prep school. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't talk to Shelby Corcoran. Not yet. Her thing with Papi was still hard to digest.
Zaide was excited about my studies in New York. This is his and bubbee's city. They grew up here, until they got tired of fighting with everything and everyone, and came to the province to try a new life. I know he projects on me the same things he once wished Dad would do. Old Hiram Berry hit the fuck you button and went off to live his own life. Should I do the same? Unfortunately, I liked numbers and business. A career in the arts? That was Rachel's thing. For me, singing and being on stage was a pleasure, but it was basically leisure.
But what if I got a place in that play? There was an unanswered question.
It was late morning. Rachel, Quinn and Mike had gone out for a walk. I stayed at the hostel in the morning because I needed to recover some energy and sleep. Rachel was also taking my sleep away these days. As if the latest craziness wasn't enough, she still came with the surprise of dating Quinn. Holy crap! I could never imagine that would happen. Not in a thousand years. I wasn't sure how I felt about it either. Quinn and I were allies and adversaries at the same time. To be honest, I never really liked her, but we learned to respect each other to a certain extent.
I never suspected Quinn was gay until the day Brittany said she thought so. I never really stopped to pay attention to her. But then I started to connect some dots. The way she'd tense up in the locker room with a bunch of naked cheerios, the inexplicable stalking of Rachel, the conservative, traditionalist family, the excessive concern with looking like the straight queen... Now Quinn Fabray was dating my sister. With Rachel Berry-Lopez! Holy shit! I couldn't do anything to stop it, but I could keep an eye on them. That's exactly what I would do.
"Hi!" I was startled when I saw the beggar version of Jesus Christ in front of me. The guy from the laundry. What was his name again?
"Hi..."
"Johnny!" he pointed to himself. He was dressed in a pair of old, stained jeans, the t-shirt wasn't much better. "Nice to meet you here."
"Yeah?" What was that guy doing in the hostel?
"Which room are you in? The blue one or the gold one?" I didn't answer. What an odd question. He realized this, for he shook his head and smiled. "I paint the rooms here." He finally explained. "I'm a tattoo artist, and I also do some odd jobs in this area. Today, I'm going to work on painting one of the rooms that was closed because of a leak. They had to break the wall... these things. Now I'm going to make it beautiful again for the new guests."
"Oh." Then I noticed the walls. Some of them were textured, and had a youthful, interesting style. "My room is the golden one. Did you do the texture on it?"
"Yes... it's my favorite. I'm glad you're occupying it." He smiled. He already seemed to be nicer in my eyes. "Enjoying the city well?"
"Yes. My sister and my friends went out to walk around a bit. I stayed behind to rest today."
"It's always good to recharge." He smiled again. "If you have more time in the city, I can give you some cool tours that New Yorkers do, and that tourists don't even dream about. Do you like concerts?"
"I do."
"There's a really cool one today. There's a fantastic local band that's going to be performing at a bar that some friends of mine work at. If you're interested, I can arrange invitations. Then you'll get a more rootsy experience."
"Sounds interesting. But I'm 17." I had a fake ID, but I needed to cut off any kind of pretense he might have.
"Oh... I can get you and your friends into the bar anyway. It's no big deal. If you don't like it, I'll pay off the debt with lunch at a place that doesn't serve cement food." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a business card with his email and cell phone number. "Well... I'm going to have to work, but I'll be around until late afternoon in case you need anything."
"Thanks." He really seemed to want to help, and he was nice.
Johnny went into a part of the hostel that was meant for staff. Ten minutes later, he came out wearing gloves, glasses, and carrying a can of paint. He waved at me. Well, he didn't really look like a psychopath. I looked at the card one more time. A concert at a bar? Could be promising.
...
May 16, 2012
(Rachel)
I woke up that Wednesday feeling a lot of things: anxiety, fear, anguish and also a striking body ache. The night before we had managed to go to a rock concert at a pub that Johnny (who turned out not to be that disgusting and was actually a nice guy), was close friends with the owner of. He facilitated our entry and drinks (Mike was 18 and could enter the pub through the front door, but followed us). Santana and Mike drank in moderation and it seemed that our Asian friend, always so serious and shy in the choir, was loosening up. Mike kissed an older woman with green hair. Santana had a few glasses of beer and enjoyed the show. I had a glass of beer (they didn't serve cans and bottles in the pub on band concert days) and Quinn's eyes widened when she saw me pour the cold liquid down my throat.
"I didn't know you drank often." She shouted in my ear at the time over the loud sound of the band, very good by the way, who were jumping around on stage.
"I don't drink much." I shouted back. "That's my max, usually." Quinn had seen me drink way too much during the little party Santana and I had at our house. That was the first time I'd ever gotten drunk in my life. That binge was really an isolated event, but that didn't mean I didn't drink. I just kept to my limits: one can of beer, two at most, depending on the case.
"Who introduced you to that?" I simply pointed to my sister who was standing next to Johnny her beer glass in hand, shouting towards the band. "Of course!"
I was a modest person: I didn't smoke, I didn't drink much and I didn't do drugs. But Quinn could be even more of a nerd. I thought she was going to exorcize a woman who had just taken a few pills with some hard liquor and started dancing like crazy right in front of us, grabbing and kissing random men. This was nothing new to me. I had seen much worse at the Reading festival. The difference was the space and the amount of people. Quinn was familiar with the scenes of teenagers drunk or smoking weed at the popular boys' and cheerios' parties. I guess the craziness of high school students just didn't compare. I saw that Santana and Mike were having fun. I tried to live the experience. Quinn wasn't comfortable. She didn't relax even when we kissed in public. I think she thought it was dangerous (and it was) and couldn't handle the moment.
We got back at dawn and collapsed into bed, except Quinn, who still had the ability and courage to take a shower. Santana and I simply took off our shoes, unbuttoned our jeans and went to sleep. Good thing the auditions would take in late morning. I woke up to the alarm clock on my cell phone. My body was sore. My calf, in particular, was burning and I attributed it to the day of long walks. I was a wreck. Quinn wasn't in the room and Santana looked like she was going to wake up soon. I grabbed clean clothes and went to the bathroom. I showered, washed my hair, brushed my teeth. When I returned to my room, Santana was waiting for her turn to sanitize. I went down to the hostel's community hall, where I found Quinn eating breakfast at one of the tables. Apparently she had bought a one-liter carton of orange juice and a package of toast.
"Much better." She smiled as I kissed her good morning.
"What?" I grabbed a disposable cup and poured myself some juice. I ate a piece of toast.
"Your breath. Much better now than that beer taste." I didn't answer her for that.
"Did you go out early to buy that feast?"
"I've been up for a while. I tried to wait for you, but you were dead to the world, and still in your cigarette-smelling clothes."
"Sorry. We shouldn't have gone to the pub. I saw you weren't enjoying it there and I didn't even suggest we leave."
"You were having fun! I wasn't going to be a party pooper. Then I thought it was respectful of Santana and Mike not to come back drunk." Then Quinn stared at me. "You surprised me, though. I never imagined that you, of all people, could like noisy pubs."
"Although I am a great appreciator of the higher artistic manifestations, such as theater, classical music, ballet and opera. Plus, of course, being a big fan of the great Broadway musicals. Not to mention jazz. That's not to say that I don't allow myself to experience different environments sometimes, even more so when I'm in the prime of my teenage years. It's healthy to be open to new things, Quinn. As long as those experiences don't hurt you or the people around you."
"Interesting..." She brought her face closer and spoke close to my ear. "Does that mean you're open to experiencing new things, now that you're in the prime of your adolescence, like for example... making love to me?" I felt my face burn.
"I'd certainly like to... one day... well..." My embarrassment elicited a hearty laugh from Quinn, the likes of which I hadn't seen her do in a long time. Or, perhaps, ever. "Do you want to... make love to me?" I asked softly, awkwardly.
"Yes!" Quinn looked me straight in the eye. Quinn's tone of voice grew heavier, almost husky. Then I remembered that not only was Quinn a sexually active girl, she had also been with a woman before. I never wanted to know about it, but this was information I took for granted. In that sense, I was afraid of making her wait to the point where she would lose interest on me. On the other hand, I needed to be myself. Before my thought could escape too far, Quinn brushed a hand across my cheek gently. "But I'm aware of your convictions, and I promise I'll wait until you're ready. And when that happens, Rachel Berry-Lopez, you will be mine and there will be no turning back."
"Quinn, you can feel free not to answer. It's just that you never told me..." I looked down at my nails. "How long have you liked me... like this?"
"The day I realized I liked you that way was the same day I threw a slushie in your face and called you RuPaul for the first time."
"That was..."
"The first few weeks of school at McKinley almost three years ago." I didn't mean to express such visible bewilderment, but yes, I swallowed dryly and widened my eyes. That was a long time to repress, and it was no wonder Quinn acted so aggressively.
"I imagine the fact that you're Russell Fabray's daughter, a former president of the celibacy club, a former cheerleading captain and still a fervent Christian has something to do with the torture I endured during that time."
"All that, the popularity, and because you're not attracted to the same sex. I spent a lot of time angry and frustrated that I was in love with a straight girl who was beautiful, had amazing legs, and had a perfect voice. Even though you transited the lowest rung of popularity in the school, are Jewish, and have two dads. Not to mention you're the sister of my main opponent at school. It wasn't easy Rach. I had crises of Homeric proportions about my sexuality and accepting my feelings for you."
"What motivated you to kiss me at regionals if you thought I was 100% straight?"
"It had to do with the time we spent together writing 'Get it Right'. That week we worked on the song, I had overheard a conversation between Santana and Brittany about you dating with a girl in London. At first I was very angry, jealousy got the best of me. That's why we had that fight." Now I understood why, out of the blue, Quinn had said mean things to me in the auditorium. We'd already worked on much of the song, but at our last meeting, she'd spouted nonsensical drivel. "But it showed me that you weren't as straight as I thought and that I had a chance."
"I wasn't really attracted to girls until Laura. But I didn't think that was relevant until you. Laura was important to me. She helped open my mind."
"Just like Claudia was important to me..."
Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mike with a paper market bag in his arms. He had a bashful smile on his face. He wished us good morning and placed individual jars of jam, loaves of bread, another carton of orange juice, instant noodles, three doughnuts and a small packet of chocolates on the table. Quinn cracked a smile and took one of the doughnuts.
"No more misery!"
"I love it when they try to bribe me." Quinn took a bite of her food and mumbled contentedly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Organic chocolate? Mike, that's almost begging for the pub story not to reach Tina's ears."
"That'll stay between us, right?" God, Mike seemed really desperate for our silence.
"As someone once said to me: 'what happened in New York, stays in New York'."
"Stealing my lines now, smurfette?" Santana surprised us and sat down next to Mike at the table. "How much did all this cost?"
"Don't worry, Santana." Mike said softly. "I paid with my credit card."
"In that case..." My sister smiled and took the other donut.