(Quinn)
I had to face facts: I was never going to get a part in this play. We were all on the subway on our way to the Flea Theater, where the auditions would take place. Rachel was talking to herself quietly, Santana had a faraway look in her eyes, and Mike still seemed impressed by life in a metropolis, as if every scene, no matter how mundane, had its charm. I don't know what everyone's intention was at the audition or what lay ahead, but I needed to strategize well and urgently if I want to stay.
We hopped in the station and walked to the theater, which was in Tribeca. The Flea was part of the off-off-Broadway circuit, and was owned by R&J. The theater was small, but very charming, youthful, and located in a prime area. I didn't know much about the Broadway business, but it seemed pretty logical for a production company to have its own space to try out ideas and make a buck from it. Not to mention that they should also rent the place out to other groups. Charming as it was, it shouldn't be difficult.
This all surprised me because I was prepared to deal with a fearful pit with old, broken chairs and rats crossing the stage from time to time. Not to mention the cockroaches. But the Flea had a beautiful reception, a pompous grand piano, brand new flooring, modern clean structure. Rachel once explained that the classification of Broadway theaters had to do with the size of the place. Broadway theaters were the pompous giants for 500+ people per session. Off-Broadway were theaters of up to 500 seats. In general, it houses plays that are less expensive and more daring in concept. Good dramas play in such theaters, usually for a short run of one to three months. Many off-Broadways often win a Tony. Off-off-Broadway, on the other hand, are theaters of up to a hundred seats that house inexpensive plays and were part of the amateur circuit, but they were no less popular.
There were many people in the lobby and a short line outside. I figured that must be normal, since the company had a reputation for underpaying its employees, so we wouldn't find any professional, unionized actors there. This made me understand why scouts from the production company handed out cards at a school choir competition: there was always a chance of finding someone different, apart from the faces that should already be known at these auditions in New York.
"We came for the audition. We got cards from the producer during the national choir championship final, which took place last weekend. The producers said we should mention it." Rachel introduced herself with natural joviality.
"Are you all going to audition?" We nodded. The angry-looking black woman, who had beautiful afro hair, handed us a form and a number. "Fill it out, attach your resume, with photo, and wait on the south stage." She was dry and looked bored.
The form had a brief description of what the play was about: a musical. It had a list of the characters and the characteristics of each one. The point of this sheet was that you had to choose which character you would play, and write a short justification. We didn't even need ten minutes to fill it out, except Rachel, who looked like she was taking an SAT.
"The auditions will start in half an hour and I'll close the registration in five."
The secretary alerted us, as the line had dwindled and we hadn't even handed in our resume forms yet. At least Rachel wrote something quickly and we finally handed everything to the secretary.
"What's it going to be?" Rachel was anxious.
"I'll give the instructions inside." The woman frowned.
"I know... but what will it be like?" Rachel insisted.
"Basically, you will go into a group of three candidates at a time, the directors may ask you some questions and will give you 30 seconds each to sing a cappella. The results of those who will come back for the second selection round will be out tomorrow."
"Second round?" Rachel said almost out of her mind.
"Today most of you will be eliminated. Friday there will be another test with those who remain. Then we'll go back to the people who will be selected for the workshop."
"Workshop? What workshop?"
"The workshop that will define the cast for the summer season."
"Oh!" I was impressed. That sounded like a reality show.
"If you don't mind." The secretary began putting the forms into brown envelopes with codes written on them. "You guys better go to the room to wait for the call. And be patient, because this could take all day. Especially you who were the last ones."
We nodded to the woman. Rachel, Santana and Mike went to the waiting room, while I stayed at the reception. There was no point in me being confined to one place for an audition that would take all day. I walked over to the bulletin board and looked at a series of advertisements. There was everything from people offering rooms for rent to harmonica lessons. Who would want to learn to play the harmonica? But what really caught my eye was an ad on an A4 sheet of paper, with the logo of the R&J company. Looking for a trainee to work as a production assistant. I had no doubts, I took the ad and show it to the woman who were collecting the candidates' resumes.
"Has that trainee-assistant position already been filled?"
"You mean the slave position?" The girl grumbled.
"If the slave is remunerated in any way..."
The woman looked at me and saw that I was really serious about it.
"Are you interested?"
"I am!"
"More than in the audition?"
"Between you and me, I don't have the slightest talent for the stage! I may be a pretty face, but my voice is not powerful, and I have never acted in my life, not even in school theater. I'm only here because of my girlfriend. She is a talent. If there's any chance of her being chosen, I'll need to get a job to stay with her."
"How old are you?" The woman seemed shocked by my story.
"I'm 17... but I'll be 18 in July."
"Where did you and your girlfriend come from?"
"Lima, Ohio."
"Oh, my God!" The woman was truly amazed.
"Listen... I live in a shitty, homophobic town. I got pregnant at 16 because I had a gay panic, and the guy who took my v-card didn't use a condom, even though he promised he would. My dad kicked me out of the house, my mom has no money, and I still had to give my daughter up for adoption. Even though I'm an honor roll student at my school, and I have averages to get into, I don't know, Yale, I can't afford college. I don't have much to lose, but this job could be a chance to start over. I work... I work hard... in my town I babysit, I tutor, I photograph children's parties... I still carry boxes and packages if I have to."
"What if you get this job and your girlfriend doesn't?"
"If she doesn't, I'll give up the job. But trust me. She's in! The play is a musical, which means she'll only need ten seconds to convince the director."
"Um... I'll take those forms for the boys. By coincidence, this vacancy is to be my assistant... I'm grumpy, demanding, a perfectionist, I don't like delays, I don't like lame excuses, and there will be days when I can't bear to look at your face. So if you want the job, bring a cinnamon-sugar-free cappuccino, a regular mocha, an espresso, and six half-liter bottles of mineral water. I want it in 20 minutes maximum. Do I need to repeat?"
"Cappuccino with cinnamon and no sugar, a regular mocha..."
"An espresso.
"Right, an espresso and your half-liter bottles of mineral water."
"That's right."
"Where do I buy that?"
"There's a Starbucks two blocks from here."
"Am I going to pay for it out of my own money? I only have the money for the subway!"
The woman gave me a 50 dollar bill. Think about it, 50 dollars was a lot of money for me at that moment. I could walk out of there with the bill in my pocket and never return to that theater. The woman turned her back on me, as if she didn't care whether I did the job or stole the money. What did I do? I ran two blocks as if my life depended on it. I struggled to remember the coffees. Cappuccino with cinnamon and no sugar, espresso and mocha. I think that was it. I bought it all and kept dodging people, balancing the cups like a juggler, just like you see in movies. I arrived at the Flea 17 minutes later and looked for the woman. I found her calling a candidate number, so I waited, because I didn't know what to do and didn't want to be inconvenienced.
"Hey... here are the bottles, the coffees and the change!"
The woman stared at me in amazement. She probably thought I wasn't going to get it, or that I was going to steal it. She checked the package and got into the theater. There, she handed out two of the coffees and bottles to the two guys there. The third coffee, the mocha, stayed with her.
"What's your name again?"
"Quinn... Quinn Fabray."
"Okay, Quinn Quinn Fabray, my name is Denise Hoffman and I'm the assistant producer at R&J. This job is to work specifically on this play. It's five dollars an hour work, part time. Which means you'll get paid something like $100 a week. That's a lot of money to sleep on the basement floor of this theater if you don't have anywhere else to stay, but you won't go hungry because you can eat the bread left over in the dressing room. The coffee is just a taste of everything you'll need to do. You'll buy coffees, pick up orders when needed, will flyer, you will even clean the floor if I need it. Are you still willing?"
"I need to go back to Lima to sort out my life..."
"My question is: are you willing?"
"Totally!"
"Good. Today you help me by staying here at the gate. Send away all the latecomers, no matter how much they cry for a chance. If the phone rings, you don't have to answer it. In a little while I want you to bring the snack in the pantry, and tomorrow... I mean... tomorrow you'll still be here, right?"
"Sure!"
"Tomorrow be here at nine in the morning to help me with the phones and organize the files for the second round. Friday, I need you here for the new tests and Saturday..."
"Saturday I'll be back in Lima... sorry." It was the anniversary of Beth's first year. I would never miss this opportunity, if only for the once-in-a-lifetime chance to have a slave job in New York.
"When do you plan to return to New York?"
"After a week, max."
"Okay. So Friday I'll pay you for your hours worked, and when you get back from this city of yours, look me up in this very theater, or give me a call." She handed me her business card.
"Is it really my job?" A strange happiness invaded my body.
"It's yours... for now."
To prove it, Denise removed the job offer poster from the wall. Okay... I wanted to jump up and celebrate with Rachel, but what do you know, I was working! I could hardly believe it: it was my first job in New York.
...
(Rachel)
Where was Quinn?
When the woman at the gate told us to go into one of the theaters to wait our turn for the audition that was happening in the next one, I think my heart leapt out of my mouth. It was my first time auditioning for a play whose producers were professionals. I was anxious. Despite all my mother's warnings that the production company was investing in amateur actors to avoid paying professional actors what was fair, I knew this was my first big chance. I also did my research. Even with a stingy policy, R&J turned out many actors who now have solid careers in both Hollywood and Broadway. It was a coveted way to get started, so much so that there were about a hundred applicants here.
Where was Quinn?
Three of waiting passed, something like 60 numbers had been called and we were there: Mike, Santana and me. Except Quinn. My sister spent most of the time with her eyes glued to her cell phone screen. The internet connection wasn't that good inside the room, but that didn't stop her from texting, browsing and playing games.
"Aren't you going to warm up your voice?" I asked.
"No! I don't even know what time they're going to call us."
"You don't even have your heart in it. It's almost an insult, Santy."
Santana looked at me with all the cynicism she could fit into her being and didn't answer me. Obviously she was just there because she didn't have anything better.
"Number 102, 98 and 105." The secretary called out my sister's number and I nearly freaked out. Because they were not exactly following the numbering order.
I looked at Mike who smiled. We weren't allowed to watch everyone else's auditions. Where was Quinn?
"Mike..." I was about to bring up the subject when my cell phone vibrated. It was a text message... from Quinn!
"I got a job!" - Quinn.
"What job? How?" - Me.
"As a production assistant trainee! Isn't that awesome?" - Quinn.
"How?" - Me.
"At break I'll tell you." - Quinn.
"What break?" - Me.
Four more auditions and 20 minutes later, the assistant announced a half-hour break. It was 3:30 in the afternoon and it's the time eat something. I walked out of the theater and saw Santana talking to Quinn, who was sitting at the secretary's desk. I understood nothing.
"Quinn? What's this about you getting a job while we're waiting for this audition?"
"I'm not auditioning at all, Rach! There was a flyer with a job opening and I applied. I guess Denise just took it out on me."
"Simple as that?"
"I bought coffee for her and the two guys inside in just 17 minutes!"
"Oh!" I was still confused, and I don't think even Quinn was sure what was going on. "And now?"
"And now I have a job until Friday. If you get called, I'll come with you to New York, Rach."
"Are you serious?" That news was really great.
"Very serious!"
I let out a happy cry and hugged Quinn. She twirled me around and I thought that was one of those defining moments. It was only later, when we calmed down, that I remembered my sister was there.
"How was the audition?" I asked Santana.
"Not that well. They asked me a few questions and I sang like 20 seconds of Sunday Bloody Sunday."
"What?" My sister had some choices that surprised me.
"It's just what came to mind at the time." She said as if it was no big deal.
I wasn't hungry, but Quinn recommended that we grab a few bags of the industrialized toast on offer before they were completely devoured. So we did. The assistant, who I now knew was named Denise, told the remaining candidates to return to the theater. Another three hour of waiting and Denise called my number. I looked at Mike, who gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek and showed me his crossed fingers. I got into the north room of the Flea with two more girls. I understood at that moment that all three were competing for the same character. There were two men analyzing everything. I recognized one of them as the one who handed out the cards at the end of the national competitions. It was intimidating, but I was Rachel Berry-Lopez. The director asked almost nothing to the two girls. The first one sang Beyonce but was cut off after 20 seconds. The second girl sang a rap and they also asked her to stop after 30 seconds. I was apprehensive but, what the hell, I had nothing to lose either.
"Rachel Lopez." The bearded evaluator spoke up.
"Berry-Lopez, sir."
"Okay, Rachel Berry-Lopez, age 17, Lima, Ohio." The lump of anxiety in my stomach wouldn't go away. "I remember seeing you scream Nirvana at the choir competition. It was impressive."
"What are your qualifications?" The short-haired one asked.
"None professional. But I've been taking ballet, acting and voice classes since I can remember. I've won several amateur singing competitions in my hometown. I was a member of my town's amateur theater and I was Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. I am currently the captain of the choir, New Directions, which won the national competition a few days ago."
"I take it then that you know how to do something other than scream Nirvana?" The long-haired man's tone of voice was petulant, mocking me. Hell, I'd make him swallow that scowl. But at least he knew who I was, because he remembered my Nirvana performance. Points for me.
"I'm so much more than that."
"The stage is yours."
I lifted my head, squared my shoulders and put my hands on my waist.
"Don't tell me not to live/ Just sit and putter/ life's candy/ and the sun's a Ball of butter/ don't bring around a cloud/ to rain on my parede". I took a breath and approached the evaluators as if I were angry. "Don't tell me not to fly/ i simply got to/ if someone takes a spill/ it's me and not you/ Who told you/ you're allowed to rain on my parade". They didn't tell me to stop singing, and that gave me more confidence. I walked like I was out in the open, smiling with the sun on my face. "I'll march my band out/ i'll beat my drum/ and if i'm fanned out/ your turn at that sir/ at least i didn't fake it hat, sir/ i guess i didn't make it". "But whether i'm the rose/ of sheer perfection/ a freckle on the nose/ of life's complexion/ the cinder or the shiny Apple of its eye."
I sang the whole song and the directors didn't stop me. That was an excellent sign, right? The competing girls were impressed, I could see it on her face, and I saw when the secretary came into the theater and stopped to listen too. My big break was happening.
"I'll march my band out/ i'll beat my drum/ and if i'm fanned out/ your turn at that, sir/ at least i didn't fake it hat, sit/ i guess i didn't make it/ get ready for me Love/ cause i'm a comer/ i simply gotta march/ my heart's a drummer/ nobody, no nobody/ is gonna rain on my parade".
The last new one came out perfect in length, pitch and strength. As I pulled the air back into my lungs, my small spontaneous audience applauded enthusiastically. A few let out howls. I looked at the evaluators and put my hands back on my waist. The hairy one was gawking and the bearded one had a smile on his face.
"Did that scream sound good to you?"
"It was satisfactory." He smiled and there I knew I had pleased him. "Very well, Rachel Berry-Lopez, please wait for the call back tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir."
...
May 16, 2012
(Rachel)
Quinn had gone to Flea to work as an assistant intern for R&J. I could still hardly believe my girlfriend got a job in New York. Nothing that was going to make her rich, but just spending three days working guaranteed her a ticket back to Lima. A ticket that, by the way, my sister was buying. We would take the midnight train from Friday to Saturday to arrive in Lima at 10am. That way, I could do the second audition, if I was called back, then pick up my things at the hostel, return home and be in time to shower and go to Beth's birthday.
"I'm almost freaking out." I confided to Mike.
"Me too!"
"What are you going to do if they call you back?"
"I'm going to try my luck on Broadway!"
"And defy your parents?"
"What I do know is that I need to make my own decisions, not follow my father's wishes. I'm going to give myself a year. If in a year I don't make it, I swear I'll go to college and become an engineer."
"Well, I guess we'll be in the same boat."
Lunch time and no result. We spent the whole morning in the vicinity of the hostel and decided to have lunch at the diner that turned out to be the usual place, i.e. the place Johnny indicated. The food was really good and cheap, and there were even two options for vegetarians on the menu. We had lunch, and even I had a dessert because I was so anxious. We had no money left to do anything else, so we walked back to the hostel where Santana planned to spend all the time she had watching videos. When we arrived, we went to the terrace of the hostel, Santana sat on one of the disgusting chairs and chatted with Mike, while I was lost in thought. That's when Mike's cell phone ringtone went off. Seconds later, it was mine and Santana's turn. It was a message from Quinn saying that the list was published. Mike had already opened the file while my phone, much slower, was still thinking about opening the attachment.
Mike was in. I was in. The absence of my sister's name indicated that she wouldn't have to return on Friday. It was a moment of celebration that was sweet and bitter at the same time. Mike and I were happy, but I was disappointed that Santana didn't have the same triumph.
At the end of the day, I met up with my sister in the hostel room. She was lying on her bed reading something on her cell phone screen.
"Santy?" I said as I approached to sit on the edge of her bed.
"What?"
"I'm sorry you didn't get through to the next stage." I spoke softly.
"I'm not."
"Why do you say that?"
"Rachel, I know it's complicated in the case of this bedazzled head of yours, but just think..." Santana sighed. "To stay in a city like this, expensive as it is, for at least two months, means we'll have to find somewhere to rent in that time. Something that has at least two bedrooms and is livable. With the amateur actors' salaries and that assistant intern job Quinn has, we'd be lucky to be able to afford rent in an area of town where we don't have to wear a bulletproof vest or be in a brothel. Plus we need transportation, food, groceries, laundry. Someone is going to need to earn more, and that's me. Papi will pay my rent and zaide will give me an allowance. That's the deal. I don't think this mess will make papi break our agreement, but if I'm not here, you'll have nothing."
"Will we be able to live on your allowance?"
"Not quite. I also have a paid internship at Mr. Weiz's companies. It was a paid job three times a week that I was going to start doing in August. I'm just going to ask to anticipated my start date. And there are other things."
"What things?"
"If this play works out and the season is extended, or whatever, better opportunities come along, you're not going to drop everything to go back to Lima. I know you Rachel. I'm already emancipated, but if all this happens, I'll have to convince papi to let me be your guardian or something like that and find a new school for you. Because, not even under my dead body will you stop studying."
I thought about everything Santana said and yes, it made perfect sense. I would never go back to Lima if I had a career in New York. I looked at my sister lying on a bed that wasn't even hers, in a collective hostel room: she looked exhausted. I had never admired her more than at that moment. Barbra Streisand forgive me, but Santana Liza Berry-Lopez was my hero.
…
May 17, 2012
(Santana)
"Stay calm. Concentrate and everything will work out."
"And if it doesn't?"
"We go back to Lima and then try again."
"What about your job?"
"I'm not staying in New York if you're not with me."
It made me sick to watch the sugary dialog between Quinn and Rachel. My stomach churned at the thought of them together. Who knew my Finn Hudson-obsessed sister would end up in Quinn Fabray's clutches? Rachel must have had a thing about people whose names end with two n's. I still didn't know who was worse: the jerk who treated Rachel like a puppy, or the treacherous viper. As soon as they disentangled themselves, I approached my sister for a good luck hug.
"An extra day in this town, Santy! Is everything really all right?"
"Don't worry about it, okay? Just get the damn part and leave the other stuff to me."
Rachel gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving with Mike and Quinn. I smiled and waved goodbye. It was nice to stop forcing the smile. My face was already getting sore. I tried to pack because we had to leave the hostel by noon or I'd be charged another day. With our money, if we paid another night, someone else would have to stay in New York. The thing is, I lied to Rachel about having savings. I had nothing else. I spent it all on tickets for three (because Mike paid his own expenses) and calculated the money on transportation and cheap food. I needed help, and with those three at the Flea, I didn't have much to appeal to. Until I remembered one person. I didn't think twice about calling.
"Johnny speaking."
"Hi Johnny, this is Santana from the laundry. How are things going?"
I didn't trust Johnny. It wouldn't be wise, but I needed to go to a space that had easy, cheap food, a restroom, chairs to rest on, maybe a television, and where no one would look at you funny for carrying bags up and down the line.
"Do you want to go to Penn Station?" Johnny questioned on the other end of the line.
"I need someone to help me get there with the bags. I know it's a hassle, especially since we're just strangers you met days ago." Johnny seemed to ponder on the other end judging by the silence.
"It's all right. I can help you, but I won't be able to keep you company. I have a job, you know."
"That's all I ask."
"Where are you?"
"In front of the hostel."
Johnny was a pothead and a stranger whose phone number was saved on my cell. But he helped us with the laundry and then even took us out for some fun at a cheap and funky pub. Like it or not, it was the closest thing to a friend we had in New York.
I waited half an hour for him to arrive. He was a strange figure. He had big hair (but not that big), a beard and was dressed very badly, too baggy but not dirty. But there was something that told me to keep this guy around. Especially now that I would be moving to New York with the possibility of carrying three more heads: one of them was my sister.
Johnny was kind enough to pay the subway fare, which would mean an extra sandwich to eat. We got off at the station and walked to Madison Square Garden, where the entrance to the gigantic train station was. When he saw me alone, I think he felt sorry for me.
"To hell with my job. I'll keep you company until the others arrive."
"Are you sure?" I was touched. When would a virtual stranger do that to someone they might never see again?
"I won't pass up the chance to have company like yours."
We sat down with our backpacks and bags around us and I tried to find out more about that crazy pothead in front of me. Johnny was 22 years old and had arrived in the city four years ago. He came to study at NYU, but said he quit after a year because things weren't working out. He didn't specify what things. Instead of going back to his hometown, he obviously stayed in NYC, and since then has been working as a tattoo artist and other small jobs. Interesting was that tattoo artists used to be beings with very drawn skin. But not Johnny. He only had two small tattoos. One on his back and one on his arm. He was an indie and alternative music enthusiast (though that I deduced), he liked the classics, and he had a rock band at school.
"I met the hostel owner when I arrived in this city. He was the first guy who gave me a job." Johnny smiled at the memory.
"As a painter?"
"As a cleaner. I don't usually turn down work, as long as it's honest."
"Except when you have to keep a young lady in trouble company?" I teased.
"That's right." He cracked a genuine smile. "I'm good at drawing, you know? I do some illustrations... my own stuff. That's how I ended up at the tattoo parlor: because I went to sell some of my drawings. Then Bob taught me how to use the needles. So that's how I've been living: earning from what comes along. I can pay my rent at a place a share with two more, I can eat well, and still have a little left over for my weed."
The night progressed. I was mentally and physically tired. I was barely able to talk. Johnny didn't look any better. I looked at the clock. It was almost seven in the evening and no Rachel, Mike and Quinn. My stomach began to churn with nervousness. Hunger was also contributing. Then my phone rang. It was Rachel's ringtone.
"Santy!" She sounded excited. Rachel didn't camouflage her emotions well, so that was a sign that things had worked out. "We did it, Santy. We did it!"
"That's great, Ray!" She was genuinely happy. "Where are you?"
"Leaving the theater now."
"I want you to come straight to Penn Station, it's on Madison Square..."
"I know where it is, Santy."
"Good. Then come here and when you get here call me again."
It was a relief that Mike and Quinn were with Rachel. I looked at Johnny. I was genuinely grateful for the company and told him he could leave as he was tired, but he insisted he would only leave me when the others arrived.
In just over half an hour, the four of us were together again in front of the place where our train back to Ohio would depart. That's when Johnny said goodbye to us. My energy was gone, but Rachel's was still full. Here are the terms. The five-act short play was called "Songbook" and was based on a book by English pop writer Nick Hornby. Out of 30 applicants called for the second round, the producers selected 16 to do that workshop, of whom six would be the starters and six more would be ensembles and understudies, and the others could be dropped. Rachel said the distribution would be decided in the first week of the workshop scheduled for June 4. At the end of the week, those elected would begin daily rehearsals for a July debut. There was to be a one-month run, which could be extended to an extra-month run, and a ridiculous salary of seven dollars/hour for the main cast and six dollars/hour for the others, plus a small bonus if the season was two months long. Take it or leave it. Rachel and Mike took it. Quinn would have the job where she would get paid the ridiculous $100 a week. I would have to support the house. Maybe it was my destiny.
We slept in shifts at the station until we caught the train at midnight. It was a relief to finally get out of town in such an uncomfortable situation. My body was crushed, my joints complained and I didn't smell good. No one smelled. From the window, we could see the beautiful landscape rushing by. Rachel, in the armchair next to me, had hopeful eyes.
"What?" Rachel smiled.
"Do you know what you're getting into?"
"It's going to work out, Santy."
"How can you be sure?"
"It's our destiny."
"Maybe it's yours, but I'm not sure it's mine."
"I am."
"Is that your sixth sense speaking loudly?" I sneered.
"That and the certainty that nothing is by chance."
I wanted to be sure of her. For Rachel, things were simple. She was still far from reality. Maybe New York would teach her that. Maybe... I looked at the clock on my cell phone. We still had nine hours of travel ahead of us. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.