(Quinn)
"That's the last box, finally." A friend of Santiago's grumbled and stretched his back.
A good thing about working for a real estate agency: you were aware of property prices and good opportunities. I convinced Santiago to move in with me. It wasn't a difficult task. He'd been wanting to get out of his NYU dorm for a while. All in all, we moved to Washington Heights. At least it was a small two-bedroom apartment near a subway station. But it was 1000 dollars split for two people. With my salary at the real estate agency and Santiago's internship at Bad Things, we were able to pay the bill.
I managed to speed up the contract, so I didn't stay long as Mike's guest. Santiago didn't have to sign anything, so it was no problem for him to leave the dorm. My new home was in an old five-story building with an elevator. I lived on the third one. The bedrooms were of a reasonable size, the kitchen and the living room are together with old but well-maintained cupboards, as well as the fridge and stove, and there was no other furniture. The bathroom was old and simple. The bedroom can house a full bed, but there's not much space left for other furniture. The bedroom's closets were also small. There were only heaters in the bedrooms, but there was no air conditioning. In other words, we wouldn't freeze in winter, but we'd die of heat in summer.
Santiago brought practically everything he had. I didn't. We basically had our clothes, sleeping bags and equipment. He had one of those Dad's armchairs, a half-meter bookcase that he'd put in his room, a microwave, and a small 20-inch television. He had the books. Dozens and dozens of books that could be used for decoration, as a doorstop or as a prop. Not that they were useless publications: Santiago specialized in art direction and so he used to research everything he could about interior environments, the history of vehicles, design techniques, machinery and everything that could be useful for a good set design. Santiago just didn't have the opportunity to actually work in what he was talented at: he was too good to stay in Bad Things' advertising department.
I could take things from Santana and Rachel's now apartment, like the table I bought myself and the blender, the bedding and things like that. But it was ridiculous to ask to share furniture, and I didn't even know where I could fit some of it in my new apartment. It didn't match and it didn't fit. However, I would stop by later to pick up my books, movies and records that were left on the shelf. Rachel said it would be no problem to take them back. Just let her know the day. I would also have a new home shower at the weekend.
It was a shock when Rachel decided to end things for good. I dreaded the possibility, but I honestly didn't expect it to actually happen. Of course, I didn't accept it because those words didn't fit in my head. I started crying, begging and, in an act of desperation, accusing her, among other things, of being a hypocrite. Santana, of course, jumped in when she heard the argument, but there was no need to break the crutch on my head. Despite my despair, Rachel didn't shed a tear in front of me. She just stood there, tough.
I needed some time to calm down, just like the first time I was kicked out. But this time it was a thousand times worse, because it was the end of a relationship with the woman I loved most in the world. I wanted to die. Santana called a cab to pick me up and I left for Mike's apartment in the pouring rain. The only reason I didn't spend the next week in a complete alcoholic coma was because I had to work. Even so, I went to work every day with a hungover to photograph the apartments for the real estate agency. Until Mike gave me an ultimatum to move out of his apartment and, on top of that, said that self-destruction was the worst strategy if I ever wanted to try to win back my Rachel. He was right.
I looked for Johnny to share an apartment with me, but he likes to live alone, it seems. Santiago was easier prey, plus he's my best friend at NYU. Now we were literally living on the outskirts of Manhattan, where half the stores were owned by Latinos, people spoke Spanish on the streets, there were street vendors and my downstairs neighbor was a drug dealer. But no, the building wasn't a tenement or a brothel. It was quite decent and good people lived there. I could even see my father saying: congratulations Quinn, I knew it would end like this. But it was just one round of my life.
"Beer?" Santiago offered the boys who had helped us move. His friends, not mine. They were one of those guys who looked at Santiago with macho complicity, as if congratulating him on his female roommate. I wanted to growl at them. Of course they accepted the beer bought with my money.
"Nice apartment. How did you get it?" One of the guys asked.
"Quinn did." Santiago looked out the window. "She does some work for a real estate company."
"You don't drink?" The other guy asked me.
"That's none of your business." I said with a false smile and clenched teeth. I was tired and impatient.
"Oops!" He raised his hands. "What bit you?"
"Guys." Santiago pondered before I answered and whispered at the same time as he made a gesture suggesting I was PMSing.
They left five minutes later, and I heard one of them say from my room, "Be careful, that one's vagina is toothy". My vagina really was toothy for any man who hit on me. Many of the guys at NYU didn't respect lesbians, especially the more feminine ones. They thought it was a matter of "trying the penis" in order to convert. I didn't know whether to be angry or sorry for the ignorance of these idiots. I knew that Santiago's friend was one of those guys who thought lesbians were an urban legend. He came up with the toothed vagina story after I gave him a monumental beating at NYU. I knew that Santiago could act like an asshole in the company of these guys, but in general, he used to defend me.
We had nothing at home. Nothing at all, apart from our luggage and what little furniture we'd brought. It was strange not to have Santana worrying about stocking the fridge and the rest of the pantry. She always managed the money, and that part at home. I can count on my fingers the number of times I went into a market to do the week's grocery shopping. And when I did, it was a disaster because I forgot essential things, like a roll of toilet paper: it was always missed at the worst possible time. Before New York there was my mother. Now there was me and Santiago. Two people who had lived away from their parents' home for years, and yet with little experience in housekeeping. I don't think Santiago had ever used a stove in his life.
"I've never used a stove in my life." He said casually. I looked at him and burst out laughing. "What?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking!"
He smiled and picked up two bottles of beer from the six-pack I'd bought on the way to move. He offered one to me and I took it, because there were no strangers around who looked like perverts. I didn't like beer either, but the first night in the new house deserved a sip.
"You know what a dorm is like, right?"
"Not really." I took a sip. The taste of malt never went down well. "Since I arrived in New York, I've shared apartments with friends and Rachel. So, I don't know, although I've resorted to the cafeteria in our NYU building a few times to save money."
"Let's say I'm a cafeteria rat, and my cooking experience is limited to the microwave."
"Well, I'm not a good cook, but no one has ever died from what I've made. Rachel likes my French toast. I can take over that task as long as you wash the bathroom and do the laundry."
"We each take care of our own rooms?"
"We each take care of our own rooms!" I said. "You do the dishes and I organize things in the kitchen and living room. Oh, and you put out the garbage. I think I'm going to have to do the groceries shopping so I don't run the risk of only having microwave popcorn, instant noodles and frozen lasagna in our pantry."
"We have to take care of some other rules too, Fabray. For example: poker night and girls' night. How do we do that?"
"Girls' night?" I raised an eyebrow. "You do poker nights?"
"Actually... no. But we can create this tradition. We creative filmmakers can play poker, drink, smoke some cigars, discuss some scripts and then go down to the strip club and try to pick up some girls. What do you think?"
"Having a poker night once in a while can be fun. But no girls' night, okay? I'm gay, Tiago, but never forget that I'm a girl too. There are a lot of things about the male universe that don't appeal to me at all... unless I'm drunk."
"So… no strip club?"
"Well… maybe sometimes."
"Yes! Said a lady who shares my admiration for a good pair of breasts and a tight vagina."
"Wrong. A lady who shares your admiration for the anatomy of the female body. Is that better?" He burst out laughing.
"You're fake prude Fabray."
"You're rude."
"Okay. What are the rules about girls?" I thought about it for a moment.
"No orgies, this isn't a fraternity. And no whores."
"Never mind the whores. They're honest and hardworking."
"Seriously, Tiago. This is our new home, and I think we should make it a good environment, with good energy. If you go to a bar and pick up a pretty girl, I'll make no restrictions. I doubt that a girl from Midtown, for example, would sleep with someone from the outskirts of Manhattan. Girlfriends get a free pass. Orgies and whores, no! Parties need to be negotiated beforehand, even though this apartment is small. We can have a poker night once in a while with mutual friends. Not with the assholes you called to help with the move."
"What about football games?"
"I won't stop you from watching football with one or two friends, but seriously Tiago, use your common sense. You live with a girl here. Gay, but still a girl who wears dresses and likes to go to the salon to get her nails done. Oh yes, and this girl has PMS. So let's tone down the testosterone-fueled enthusiasm."
He stopped to think. He rolled his eyes and bit his lower lip.
"What about the Bro Code?" I threw my arm up and started laughing. Santiago was a guy who could be brilliant when he wasn't thinking with his head down. "It's serious, Quinn. We need to establish the Bro Code between us. In fact, that's a very important issue."
"You've watched too much How I Met Your Mother."
"Now that you're single, we need to talk about it. When we go out, we have to abide by the ethics of the bro code."
"Why?"
"Because even the straight women in town choose you." I started laughing.
"Well, Mr. Santiago Follett. If you cut your hair to begin with, you'd stand a chance against me." Santiago was a potentially handsome curly-haired brunette, but his hair were so oversized and constantly tangled up in a cap. "But don't worry. I'm not hunting."
"Why not?"
"Because I want Rachel back. I don't know how or what to do yet, but I'm not going to waste my energy on girls who aren't worth it."
"Well, Fabray. Weren't you the one who hooked up with that psychology girl in a bar?"
"Was she from psychology?" I frowned. I really didn't know much about the girl I had a quickie with in the bar bathroom. We only bumped into each other on campus once after the casual drunken sex, and it was an embarrassed nod on my part. I don't even know what her name was. "I was drunk and Rachel had thrown me out. I barely remember what happened either... why bring it up now?"
"Just to remind you that you're officially single and totally free to have quickies with all the pretty girls you want. That doesn't mean you have to give up Rachel. You'll just have some company in the meantime."
"That's your logic?"
"What's wrong with that logic?"
The worst thing was that there was nothing wrong with Santigo's logic. I really was free to flirt with whoever I wanted, which Rachel couldn't say a comma about. The problem was that I didn't have the slightest desire to go around trying to pick up girls. Maybe I wouldn't object if something casual happened, but not that I'd go looking for it.
"You know, Quinn, you've sometimes accused me of being incapable of holding on to a girlfriend for long, but I'm a 21-year-old guy and I'm not worried about that. I think that when the right woman comes along, things will happen naturally and I'll know it. Far be it from me to belittle Rachel or doubt your love for her, but I think you're getting too hung up on her and closing your eyes to the world. Maybe she's not the woman after all? Maybe you'll find another girl who can make you happier?"
"I believe in God's designs, Tiago. If there is a woman other than Rachel, then He will show me a sign or find a way to put that person in my path, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. But if there isn't, if Rachel really is the one for me, then I've decided not to play with fire." I finished my already warm beer and leaned against the wall opposite Santiago. "Rachel... she really hurt me. It's all very well that I lost my temper and made the biggest mistake of all, but how would you react when you see a photo of your girlfriend kissing her castmate and she confirms to your face that not only was it real, it wasn't part of a scene or a rehearsal. That it was a 'casual' kiss done in the 'heat of emotion'? What is it, Tiago? We're from the production. We're in the middle of it. There's no such thing as actors living in a world parallel to ours."
"Do you want to think about it again?" He frowned and played with the bottle between his fingers. "I told you I'm with you, Fabray. It's just that my support or my condemnation won't make the slightest difference."
"I know." I sighed.
"It's still four in the afternoon. Are you hungry?"
"Dying!" I got up from the floor. "The worst thing is that we have nothing!" I laughed in disbelief. "But there's a grocery store nearby."
"We can buy instant noodles, microwave food and some disposable plates."
"And toilet paper, and soap and bleach to wash the bathroom."
"I wasn't even thinking about that." Santiago smiled. "See how we make a good duo? I'm the art director and you're the director of photography. I direct and you produce. We'll hire the scriptwriter."
"Silly." I said, hugging him.
"We'll make it work, Fabray. You'll see."
…
September 17, 2015
(Rachel)
I officially hated the Astoria apartment. Not the apartment itself, but what it represented. Quinn found it, Quinn fell in love with it, Quinn took care of the rental paperwork, Quinn thought of most of the decorating, Quinn bought the damn four-seater table. Quinn... Quinn... Quinn... I wanted to get out of that apartment that smelled like my ex-girlfriend.
That's why I decided to plunge headlong into work: I'd work out in the morning, then I'd work out with the acting coach assigned to help the cast of the play. Then I'd get home and keep myself entertained on social media and other sites. Then Santana would come home from college and we could chat about anything. All this helped, but the truth is that the environment continued to suffocate me.
The icing on the cake of my personal anguish came with a phone call from Mr. Weiz to Santana. He wanted to meet not just my sister, as usual, but me too. What could he possibly want to say to me?
After working out and surfing the net for a while, I showered for the meeting and took a cab. The meeting point for lunch was Luke's Lobster, a popular restaurant specializing in seafood. It wasn't fancy, but if you didn't book in advance, you'd have to wait in line depending on the time of day. The choice was made because apparently Mr. Weiz was a fan of the food there. That was fine with me. I arrived at the venue and was surprised by Santana's punctuality in this case: she had gone to college in the morning and was leaving straight for the meeting. My sister was already sitting at one of the tables with Mr. Weiz and his lawyer, Mr. White. Every time this lawyer was present, it was because nothing good was going to happen.
"Good afternoon." I opened my Broadway smile and sat down next to my sister. "Mr. Weiz and Mr. White..."
"Good morning, Miss Berry-Lopez." Mr. White stood up and acted the gentleman, pulling out the chair for me.
"It's a pleasure to see you again." Which was a big lie, there was no pleasure in it.
"You look great, little Rachel." Mr. Weiz began, as always, very full of himself. "Your sister was here saying that you're working on rehearsals for a play written by David Bowie, is that true?"
"Yes. It's a very interesting play that's practically a metaphor for his career, and I'm the lead actress."
"It should be very interesting. Don't forget to let me know so I can see it. You're an excellent actress, Rachel. I really enjoyed watching you in the previous play."
"Thank you! That's very kind of you, Mr. Weiz."
It seemed that Mr. Weiz couldn't hold a conversation with me for long. Then he turned to my sister and they started talking about the company and the business. Mr. Weiz was giving her some tips on what kind of person Santana should hire to help her run Rock'n'Pano now that she'll be too busy for that. As much as Santana says she feels enslaved by Weiz's setup, at least she's doing something she enjoys. That's not that bad. I always got lost in conversations about Wall Street, European stock exchanges, negotiations between companies that I didn't understand the purpose of.
"But of course, I'm gradually detaching myself from this business world." Mr. Weiz commented to the lawyer and to my sister, while I didn't even participate in the conversation. "When I get to my property in Nice, all I'll want to know is how to live like a true retiree in the Mediterranean."
"New York never again? So radical?" Santana asked and I hoped his answer would be yes.
"I still plan two or three visits a year. I have friends here, I have business, apart from you two, who are my family." Santana and I nodded. Me theatrically. My sister was perhaps more sincere, although she couldn't hide her annoyance. "There's still a lot to manage, I'm not just talking about Weiz Co. but I have employees who just take care of my personal business and real states, and I need to keep an eye on those things too."
"I didn't know..." I hadn't even imagined that people like him had people who dealt with just that. My sister explained to me once about Weiz having assets apart from the company, but I never really understood it.
"That's why we're here. I'd like to show you one of my properties. It's nearby, and we can walk there."
Weiz asked for the restaurant bill and paid for everything. We followed him to the next street, 79th and 1st. We got into a high-rise residential building with many floors. The building's foyer was decorated entirely in stone, there was a doorman manning the place, and something told me that there must be other employees on other shifts to do the job. Mr. Weiz waved to the employee and quickly introduced us as his granddaughters. I still got goosebumps when I heard that, but Santana apparently didn't care anymore.
There were three elevators: a service elevator, a social elevator and an exclusive elevator that went from the garage and the first floor to the top three floors of the building, where three wealthy people apparently lived there. The third elevator was operated with the keys of these illustrious residents. We took the social elevator up to the ninth floor. There were only two apartments on that floor. Considering the size of the building and the single entrance, they must have been two very large apartments. And they were.
Mr. Weiz opened the door and sent us in. There was a foyer that gave access to three places: there was the archway at the front that connected to a huge living room, and on the left there was a door that gave access to the kitchen and laundry area. The other, on the right, gave access to the apartment's two suites. We started with the suites. Both were very spacious, but there was a main one, which differed because of the walk-in closet, which was almost the size of my current living room. The bathroom was also huge, with a separate shower stall from the bathtub. The whole bathroom was made of light stone. Beautiful. It looked recently renovated. In fact, the apartment as a whole was brand new. The suite next door was basically the same size, except for the slightly smaller closet and bathroom. I found the separation of the suites from the rest of the apartment interesting. The design made it very clear that this was a private area.
We returned to the foyer and checked out the living room, with windows that were anti-noise and reinforced. It also had a good balcony. The light was fantastic. The living room had a beautiful and stylish door that led to the kitchen (you could also get in from the foyer through the door that also led to the service area). I liked kitchens that were completely separate from the living room. This one was spacious enough to move around and have a feast. There was a counter where you could sit and eat your meals right there. The cabinets were all new and the color was gray with white. Another thing I noticed was that the kitchen was fully equipped: brand new fridge, stove, dishwasher, microwave... The floor was gray ceramic, and the laundry area had the same floor, unlike the rest of the living room and bedrooms, which had wooden floors: there was a brand new washing machine and dryer, as well as a clothesline in the service area. We returned to the living room and there was another smaller bedroom and a guest bathroom opposite the suites area.
Each resident was entitled to a container space in the basement next to the garage for storage. The apartment was simply divine, especially as it was located in a prime area of the city. It must have cost a fortune to rent it.
"This apartment is spectacular, Mr. Weiz." Santana commented. "It's so big, I could get lost in it."
"You see, it's been completely renovated, because I wanted to give it to you as a new leaf." Mr. Weiz boomed and I widened my eyes.
"What?" Santana and I said at the same time.
"Enough about you paying rent. You've proved that you can manage on your own, that you can fight for survive. So it's time for a little rest. That's why I asked Mr. White to be here, because I want to get the paperwork ready to transfer the property to you two, with the right to move in immediately. This is yours. If you want, you can live here from this minute." Mr. Weiz took two copies of the apartment keys and handed them to Santana and me. "It's yours. Make good use of it."
"Mr. Weiz..." I was speechless. "I don't know if I can accept..."
"Rachel, this is an asset that I'm leaving you both in life. How can you not accept it for something that already belongs to you?"
"It doesn't seem right." I objected.
"If you don't want the apartment, you can sell it, because as far as I'm concerned, all the paperwork for transferring the property into your name is already in place, and all that's needed is your signatures." He stared at my sister, who seemed dazzled by the place. "Santana... what's your position?"
"I have no problem signing that contract."
I confess that I was startled by my sister's decision. Obviously the apartment was a dream, and I really wanted to move out of Astoria. But it was Weiz who was providing it for us. Weiz! The man who made a war zone out of our family, who did everything he could to ensnare my sister with bubbee's complicity.
"Santana, can I talk to you in private?" And I turned my gaze to Mr. Weiz and the lawyer. "It will only take two minutes."
Weiz just gestured, somewhat, as if he didn't care. I held Santana's hand and led her into one of the suites, then closed the door.
"Have you gone mad? To take an apartment like this?" I shouted in a whisper. "Why?"
"Because I've had enough of punching a knife, Ray. I've lost every battle to that man. So what's the point in not accepting the apartment, when I've already accepted everything else?"
"But Santy..."
"Ray. I'll take the apartment, I'll live in it and that's that. If you don't want to, you can stay in Astoria. I just don't think it would be a bad idea to live in a place that has my name on it. Besides, we struggled a lot, we even counted food in the pantry to last the exact days until we could go to do the grocery shopping again. We've worked so hard to this day. Shit, I deserve a place like this, and so do you."
"Are you really determined to accepted this place?"
"This is compensation that Weiz is giving us now for all the shit he's put us through. I accept it. I deserve it."
Santana picked up her cane and walked with some difficulty to the living room. I stared for a minute at the huge space of what would be the master suite. The place was really cool, and Santana had a point. Why not? When I returned to the living room, I saw Santana shaking hands with Weiz, who smiled with satisfaction when I arrived.
"Santana just told me that she'll be able to use the bike to go to Columbia if she lives here."
"Living here will save me a lot of money on transportation. No more spending an hour on the subway. I'll only need a bicycle now." Santana joked.
"Sure, as soon as you don't have to use your cane anymore." I warned. I had to curb my sister's impulses.
"Your sister has already given you her answer, Rachel. What's yours?" Weiz pressed.
"If Santana accepts, I accept."
Mr. White showed us the deeds and the documents. Santana read the contracts and signed them. I did it afterwards because she led me, and I could only hope to God that we weren't making a mistake. Mr. Weiz and the lawyer said goodbye and left us alone in our new home: one I had always dreamed of having in Manhattan! Every annoyance was compensated for: I was ecstatic.
"This is incredible... and beautiful. You can go to Columbia on your bike when the doctor clears you. I can go to the theater on my bike." I stared at Santana, still in shock. "I can't believe this is ours..."
"Yes, we need to terminate the contract with our landlord and pay a contractual fine, but we can move in today if we want to. Our keys are here." Santana waved copies of a set of five keys: one for the concierge, one for the storage room to which we were entitled, one for the mail slot and one for the front door. The keys to the apartment and the control to open the garage were in a box in the utility room.
"How long does it take to sort out this bureaucracy in Astoria?"
"We can do it this week if you want. It'll be a rush, but it's possible. Of course, our furniture will look out of place here, but I think we can get it here with a task force. We can call in Johnny and Mike. Andrew can help and some of my other colleagues from Columbia."
"I don't want that furniture. I don't want anything in that apartment. I'd leave everything there and buy new furniture little by little."
"We could look for a furniture and mattress store nearby. That way, we can buy our beds and organize our move from tomorrow. What do you think?"
"Perfect!" I hugged Santana. "Are we really going to do that?"
"No more rent, Ray! And you couldn't hide the fact that you hated staying in that apartment."
We smiled and hugged again. Like children, we started running and jumping around our new giant living room. I mean, I was jumping and running around my sister, who still couldn't do that. Until Santana stopped for a moment.
"We have to resolve a crucial issue first." She closed her hand. "Paper, rock, scissors to decide who gets the suit with the biggest closet."
I let out a laugh I didn't even know I was holding in. I closed my hand. One, two, three and rock and paper. I won and went out celebrating. Santana frowned.
"Best out of three."
I shook my head. Typical of Santana not to admit defeat to me. We went to play one more time. One two three and scissors and rock. I won once again.
"My suit has a better view, and I bet it's quieter." My sister tried to sneer. "Who needs a closet that size?"
"Think on the bright side: even with the smaller suite, your closet is bigger than the bedroom in our first apartment." I could.
"True."
We walked around our apartment once again. Ours. Legitimate. Own.
"What are we going to do with that extra bedroom?" I asked.
"I think we could make an office, a study room, a library, a guest room, or all of that together."
"Have you thought about a recording studio?"
"We'll think of something later, okay? I think right now we should buy the mattresses and then a bottle of wine, buy some cheeses and food, and inaugurate it from here. Just the two of us."
"I think that's an excellent idea. And I'll have a bed without her smell."
"Okay... do you want to talk about Quinn now?"
"No!"
"Good, because I don't want to listen to your whining either."
"What I want right now is to drink wine on the floor of this huge living room, buy beds and start our move tomorrow! I swear to you that this will be the last night I spend in that apartment. I'm only bringing my clothes. Anything else she doesn't want to take, she can sell. I don't want the money."
"Okay, that sounds fair."
"So... wine?"
"Only if it's now!"
We went down to the apartment, talked to the concierge to introduce ourselves as the new residents and did some shopping: two king size beds, bedding, a bottle of wine, cookies and cheese. The big purchases wouldn't be delivered until the next day, which was perfect for me. I would go back to the old apartment, pack my bags, and tomorrow I would go to my new home and tidy up as much as possible while I waited for the two beds to be delivered. Santana would take care of the paperwork to finish the lease, and I'd call Quinn to pick up whatever she wanted inside. I hadn't spoken to or seen her since we broke up. To tell the truth, I wanted to avoid her as much as possible.
At the end of the afternoon, Santana and I had our celebration: we drank in honor of our new home. My sister drank very little because her stomach was still weak, and I wouldn't allow her to have more than one glass.
When we arrived in Astoria, I was happy to get out of there. Just happy. I went straight to my room, took my suitcase out of the closet and tried to pack it. I wanted to take absolutely nothing from that house: I just wanted to close the apartment and hand the keys over to the landlord. I packed as much as I could until I left very little to pick up. I would fill our car with my suitcases and my things, and that would be that.
At the end of the night, I looked at my bed and felt uncomfortable. So I went to my sister's room and started to pack her suitcase as well, just in case.
"Ray... you don't need to rush."
"I do. Tomorrow morning I'll drop you off at Columbia and go to our apartment to start packing. I don't want to come back here anymore, Santy. I want a fresh start. I need a fresh start."
My sister stared at me, then went over to me and hugged me in such a comfortable way that I couldn't help myself and started crying. I slept in her room, and it was one of the most relaxing sleeps I've had in recent times.
...
September 19, 2015
(Santana)
"We could close the deal over a nice dinner. What do you think?"
Bob Crower, the owner of Top Sweet, a chain of gift stores in New York and New Jersey, grinned like a cocky bastard. He was a bald guy who wore a beard and swore he was sexy. But in any case, he was a bastard with money in that city. I'd been on this guy's tail for a while trying to sell my Rock'n'Pano collection in his stores. There were 17 points, three in Manhattan alone, that I couldn't ignore. Doing business with this guy would mean paying off the entire initial investment in my small company and finally bringing it to zero. The problem was that he wanted to fuck me in return.
"Or we could close the deal here." I tried to use my charm, running my fingertips lightly over his hand in that way that made me sure he had an erection on the way. "My lawyer is going to send the contract to your office first thing on Monday and then we can celebrate the partnership that's already been made over a nice dinner. I hear La Carne in Murray Hill is spectacular."
"So young and with such good taste. I accept."
I smiled and blinked. The La Carne I was referring to was an ordinary restaurant where you could get steak on the griddle. Andrew took me there a few times, because one of his cousins was in town and was the assistant chef there. At least the food was really good. The name of the restaurant was misleading. Even more so as it was pronounced and I made sure to make it sound like it was the best in the world. Crower was the fake sophisticated type. He dressed in a suit, even when the occasion only called for a dress shirt. I imagine he must be one of those guys who started from the bottom until he set up his own little empire selling trinkets.
"Now that we're done." He continued. "Tell me a bit more about yourself. All I know is that you're a beautiful young woman who set up a company with artistic dishcloths in partnership with a cooperative of seamstresses in Brooklyn?"
"Pretty much."
"Interesting." He finished his wine. "And what about you? Are you from New York?"
"I was born in Cleveland, raised in a small town called Lima and came to New York to study."
"You're not one to open up much, are you Berry-Lopez?" He let out a smile, trying once again to seduce me with the manner of an older, more confident man. "Something to hide?"
"I wish!" I laughed. "It's just that my story is nothing special. I come from a multiracial family, I speak Spanish, I have a non-identical twin sister, I had a middle-class suburban childhood and adolescence. What's so interesting about that?"
Obviously I wasn't going to tell a stranger that I was raised by two parents, that my biological mother later married one of them, that I have three grandparents and a grandfather by contract. Definitely nothing to tell a stranger. Crower paid the restaurant bill and we had an agreement about distributing my products in his stores on an exclusive basis. This meant that I could no longer negotiate with any other store in a city where he had a branch to sell my dishcloths. This didn't include, of course, direct sales through my small company's website. It was a good deal and would give me some peace of mind over the six months of the contract. It meant that I would have a parameter of production and where to sell it. Rachel complained that I couldn't take my eyes off the computer in my spare time. But that's what I worked so hard for: to be able to meet these guys and close deals.
I left the restaurant happy with my achievement for Rock'n'Pano. Crower was kind enough to walk me to the cab carrying an umbrella. I still had to use a cane because I couldn't put too much weight on my ankle, but I could at least walk. We said our goodbyes with a handshake and reinforcement that the contracts would be signed in the coming week. Of course, I wasn't going to sleep with this guy, but I would have to keep in touch and arrange a few meetings. I could even hire a luxury prostitute for him as a courtesy, if he's one of those really naughty guys. That's how it was in the business world.
The rain wasn't heavy, which was good, because that city turned into hell in storms. My address was now Manhattan, not Astoria. I no longer had to cross bridges, and everything became strangely closer. Rachel and I were already living in the new apartment, but we still had to completely vacate the Astoria apartment, and actions had yet to be taken, such as our old furniture. I contacted Quinn, who was shaken by the news, but she agreed to sell the furniture and have the money. She said, however, that she would keep her bed since Rachel had bought a new one. I know that Rachel was going to stop by in the morning to finish packing up some of our belongings, such as our books and movie collection.
When the cab pulled up in front of my new address after an exceptionally fast ride, I sighed. Everything was still strange. I greeted the doorman and took the elevator to the ninth floor. It was an interesting building. Up to the seventh floor there were four apartments per floor. Nice, expensive two-bedroom apartments. From the eighth floor to the 15th there were two apartments per floor, where wealthier families lived. From the 16th floor to the 18th, apart from the penthouse, there was one apartment per floor and these had an elevator with exclusive access. I knew that the duplex penthouse worth 12 million dollars, and the people who lived there occupied the best parking spaces in the garage.
If my apartment was already huge, I didn't even want to think about the bigger ones: they had to be something out of reality: starting with the balcony!
"You must be Miss Berry-Lopez!" A lady approached me at the entrance to my house. "I'm sorry, I was ringing the doorbell, but there was no one home, apparently. My name is Carol Pratt, a resident of 1002 and I'm the building manager."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pratt. My name is Santana Berry-Lopez." I greeted the unexpected visitor. "I thought my sister was at home..."
"Don't worry, I should have told you about this visiting. Well, as the manager of this building, I usually visit new residents to welcome them and tell them a bit about our rules. I confess that you and your sister's move took me by surprise."
"It took me by surprise too..." I opened the door. "My house is still empty of furniture, but I can offer you a glass of water, or a beer..."
"A glass of water is fine, Miss Berry-Lopez."
"Please call me Santana."
I left my purse in the hall closet and was embarrassed to show that lady a completely bare apartment. There were, however, two chairs in the kitchen, which is where I led the lady. I offered her the water and poured myself another glass.
"This apartment has been unoccupied for over a year." She commented. "When it underwent a renovation that lasted two months, I thought that Mr. Weiz had sold it or rented it out. But I didn't see any advertisements or rental notices."
"It was all very sudden. Mr. Weiz... he's..." My, how difficult it was to say the word. "He's... my grandfather. He gave this apartment to me and my sister! It was a surprise for us too."
"I believe I've only seen your grandfather on two occasions, and before you the apartment was rented... anyway, I'm grateful that you and your sister are going to be part of our community... young people!" She made a funny face, as if she had bad experience with 'young people'. "I know you have a lot of energy and this space is huge for two people, but I hope you'll be able to abide by a few rules, such as the silence law after 10pm on weekdays and after midnight on weekends, and respect for our facilities, especially the parking spaces in the garage. I've brought you this folder with all our rules..."
Mrs. Pratt stopped talking as soon as we heard the door open.
"Santy, are you home?" It was my sister.
"Here in the kitchen!"
Rachel appeared in the kitchen and Mrs. Pratt immediately stood up.
"Rachel, this is Mrs. Carol Pratt, who manages the building. She's here to welcome us and explain the rules."
"Oh, Mrs. Pratt, nice to meet you." My sister put down the bags she was carrying and greeted her visitor. "I'm Rachel Berry-Lopez. I'm sorry about the way I'm greeting you, but it's just that I was at our old apartment in Astoria... there are still things we need to bring here."
"All right, darling. Do you need any help? Your sister uses a cane and doesn't seem to be in any condition..."
"It was nothing!" I forced a smile. "I tore the ligaments in my ankle and I'm recovering. That's all... I'm fine."
"It's not that simple..." Rachel interrupted me. "I appreciate your willingness, Mrs. Pratt, but it's not that much and I can do it myself."
"It looks like you two have a lot of work to do around here."
"We sure do!" Rachel sipped the rest of my water. "But we'll decorate little by little. I'm rehearsing a play on Broadway, and my sister is studying at Columbia. We're a bit short on time, but I hope that by the end of next month we'll at least have a new set of couches so that we can have visitors more properly."
"Oh, you're an actress?"
"Yes. I'm an actress, and you'll be able to see me on the big screen from October in the new HBO series, Slings and Arrows."
"That's impressive, Miss Berry-Lopez."
"Call me Rachel, please."
"Okay, well, as I was saying to your sister, I have a folder here explaining all our rules, maintenance fees and with my contact details for any questions. We have a very collaborative and relaxed community..."
"Oh, we're pretty quiet too, Mrs. Pratt. I can assure you that Santana and I will be good neighbors."
"I hope so, now if you'll excuse me... I have to go."
Rachel escorted the administrator to the door while I took a look at the brochure. It was so beautiful that I wondered how much money she had spent making copies of this. There was nothing extraordinary about the rules, but I bet there were still people capable of breaking simple recommendations. I noticed that Rachel had come downstairs once again and it was time for my cell phone to ring. It was Zaide.
"Zaide!"
"I called to see how you were? I haven't heard from you since. How's the company you set up?"
"Everything's fine here, Zaide. I'm doing well, Rachel is doing well and so is the company. I've signed a contract with a commercial partner that will require consistent production."
"That's it!" He shouted down the phone and I couldn't help but smile. Zaide wanted me to take over his company, but he was very proud that I had started my own. He wanted to see me happy and stimulated with something that was all my own. "No one can resist the charm of my little genius."
"Not so much, zaide. Not so much! How's bubbee?"
"You know your grandmother. She's grumbling because today is my poker night with the old folks."
"Bubbee's worried because you can't drink or smoke, which you ignore on these occasions."
"She grumbles because she thinks we see naked magazines at these gatherings. Come on, I'm too old for that sort of thing." It was impossible not to laugh. I knew it was a lie because he wasn't that dumb.
"Zaide, you would never confess that to me and you would never tell me what really goes on at these poker nights."
"You and Rachel are my little girls and these poker nights are gatherings of old men who complain a lot."
"Okay, zaide. Enjoy going out with your friends and don't overdo it."
It was good of Zaide to call me. I missed him.
Rachel returned with more bags in hand and left everything in the kitchen. As expected, she basically brought our pantry, and things from the kitchen.
"I haven't been able to clean the apartment yet, but I've brought basically everything, including the rest of your things. It's all in the car."
"What about Quinn's things?"
"Then she can make an appointment to pick up whatever she wants, and it has to be soon because I'm dying to empty the apartment, clean it and hand over the key."
There was this shower that Quinn had dared to invite me to, and I would be just as bold to attend. As I understand it, there wasn't much in the apartment she was sharing with her friend, so she planned a get-together where the closest acquaintances would have to buy basic things like plates. At least that's what was on the list of options she made. It was a bit stupid, because Quinn knew he could carry everything from the old apartment, including the plates and cutlery. So, I thought it was just an excuse she and her friend had to throw a party. Rachel didn't know about shower because I didn't tell her on purpose. She thought I was going to someone's college party.
I took a long, warm shower. It was nice to have my own suite. It was different and nice. I could walk naked from the bathroom to my bedroom without the risk of embarrassing anyone. I put on a casual outfit, kissed my sister on the cheek, who was busy tidying up the kitchen, and grabbed my car keys.
Quinn now lived in Washington Heights. I wanted to laugh. The first time I'd spoken to Quinn while still in Junior High, we'd confronted each other and I'd told him to be careful because I lived in Lima Heights, which was a lie, but it always made me look threatening. Look who lived on the outskirts now. And for real. Of course I wanted to see that one.
The address wasn't hard to find. I pulled up in front of the building and only had to brave a little rain to get out of the car. It was a good thing the building had an elevator, because it would have been a pain to climb stairs the way the physiotherapist told me to. I knocked on the doorbell and a stranger answered. I was surprised. I looked beyond the door and was reassured to see Johnny.
"Hey!" I waved and he came right over.
"San!" I heard two voices. One excited, the other hard to read. The excited one was Johnny's, who was in my field of vision. The hard-to-read one was Quinn's. I hugged Johnny first before turning to the hostess.
"Hi." There was tension between us, which didn't surprise me. The last time I saw her was when she and Mike showed up at the house five days after the break-up to pick up the rest of her clothes.
"I didn't think you'd come." Quinn still seemed to be adjusting to my presence.
"You sent the invitation, so I decided to see how things were going. Not bad, Fabray. The place doesn't look bad."
"The apartment is good, although small. And the rent is cheaper because it's in this area."
"Cool..." It seemed that the subject died easily between us, something that hadn't happened before. "Well... I didn't buy anything from your list because it's all in Astoria, just waiting for you to come and pick it up."
"I'm going there later this week."
"I... I'm glad to hear you're in one piece. Rachel will be pleased to know."
"How is she?" Her eyes sparkled.
"She's fine. She's focused on her work. She's traveling to LA tomorrow. Quick thing to promote the TV show."
"That's nice… So how is your new place?"
"It's fine."
"You said so in the message."
"Oh, and Rachel insists that you keep the money for the furniture."
"Half is fair. She put her money there too."
"So, when are you going to pick up your bed and the other stuff? I can help you with the transportation money. And there are still a lot of your books there..."
"San, if you don't mind, I didn't want to discuss it now."
"Okay, fair enough... well... Is Mike coming?" As Quinn's best friend, when the two broke up, he took her side. I believe it's true that in addition to property couples also shared friends.
"He's out of town shooting a movie."
"Oh, yes. I remember. In New Mexico, right?"
"Yes..." She looked at the floor. "Well... make yourself at home. There's beer in the fridge and snacks on the cabinet counter. It's not hard to find." She tried to add a touch of humor.
"Thank you."
I said hello to Santiago, the other host, before sticking it to Johnny. My friend was always much cooler than me and was soon making conversation among the crowd of NYU film students and the like. Soon another guy arrived with a speaker and a computer. So the party went from being a gathering of people talking rubbish over a few beers to a proper party in a ridiculous space. The good thing was that there was no way there could have been more people. Quinn seemed very comfortable. I've rarely seen her among colleagues, let alone at a party. She seemed like a normal girl casually drinking while dancing like a nerd and sometimes barely disguisedly squinting her eyes at another girl's breasts. I couldn't judge: she was single now.
"Shall we dance?" Johnny held out his hand.
"No, I'm already leaving."
"We could try a new dance with three legs. What do you think?"
"Interesting, but no."
"Well, then you can be the flag bearer and I'll be the ballroom master. Then I have to dance around you." And he started dancing like some crazy guy from some tribe.
"Dork." I struggled to stay serious. "Mega dork."
"It's going to stink that we came here and didn't even try to have a good time." He gave in and crouched down beside me, resting his arm on my lap.
"Wrong tribe, Johhny."
"You're out of place too, huh?"
"Can I be honest? I want my house, my pajamas and to watch old movies on Netflix."
"Want some company?"
Johnny said seriously, straight into my eyes. I felt a shiver run down my spine and suddenly I was nervous, like a fearful teenager. Of what, I didn't know exactly.
"No." That's what came out of my mouth, even though deep down I wanted to say yes. He scowled and nodded.
"Well, I'm going to take you to the car anyway, and I want you to call me when you get home. Your foot isn't reliable yet, and this wet asphalt can be dangerous."
"Yes, sir." I got up from the stool.
First, I said goodbye to Santiago. Then to Quinn, who was already drinking, but still far from completely drunk, which relieved me. I was still worried about her. Johnny walked me all the way to my car. He kissed me on the cheek and stood on the sidewalk waiting for me to maneuver and drive away. All for my safety, of course. Then I don't know what he did: whether he went back to the party or whether he drove away to the hole in the ground in New Jersey that he rented. All I know is that as soon as I stopped at the first traffic light, I screamed inside the car:
"I'm stupid!"
...
September 22, 2015
(Rachel)
Although it wasn't yet the red carpet for Slings and Arrows, HBO held a party in Los Angeles to announce the schedule of TV shows that will premiere for the season. Our premiere wouldn't take place until October in New York, with a party at the Classic Stage Company, where we shot all the scenes in the theater. Not all the actors would attend this party and some of the big stars might miss it because they're away on business or for other reasons. In the case of our cast, Will Passon and Jane Bright said beforehand that they wouldn't be able to attend the event and the press conferences.
It doesn't matter where a series was produced, or even a movie: the promotional part necessarily had to take place in Los Angeles, simply because that's where the studios were concentrated, where the big production companies at least had offices, that's where Hollywood happened. Game of Thrones, for example, was partly shot in Iceland, but where was the cast when it came to promoting the season? Los Angeles, and a few other capitals around the world. The strategic promotion plan for Slings and Arrows had come out and the plan was focused on Los Angeles and New York.
I haven't stopped working since I arrived in Los Angeles with Josh and Nina. What people see as glamor and fun on websites, I see as pure work. Yes, it was part of smiling, posing for photos, talking nonsense to reporters about anything, because at the time they can relate, but you can't really take it in. That was Nina's job. On Friday the press conference for the series took place, and it was the moment I was able to see my colleagues from the main cast since the end of shooting.
Amanda looked great. She had a new, shorter haircut. It looked beautiful on her face. She was going to play a minor role in a movie and she was excited. Amanda was constantly appearing on celebrity websites because she was in a relationship with Nathan Chass, who was the rock star of the day. Luis took a break from filming an independent movie he was producing to spend those days working for HBO. He was still Luis: serious, intellectual, but with a bit of a joking spirit behind him. My love interest on the show was Luis, and naturally we were put together at the press conference. I had been working all day to attend to the press and the sponsors of the show.
On Saturday, the day of the red carpet, I followed the itinerary: day at the hotel, light exercise at the gym, hair and make-up, dress and off to the red carpet. There was the attention on the biggest stars and the most beautiful ones. There was the work of those who needed to be there. Although I was well known on Broadway, Hollywood was a different story. Ironically, the gossip about my affair with Rom was my debut on celebrity websites. It was a horror when the journalists on these sites started asking if we were together, because I was alone and he also appeared without company.
"Rom and I are friends." I repeated it countless times with a frozen smile on my face.
I tried to interact with other actors and get to know people, but you always end up being more attached to the people you know. In my case: the cast of the series. In the middle of the night, when the cameras weren't working so hard and people were tired, Rom finally approached me.
"I missed you, Rach."
"I can't say the same." I lied because of all the cast, Rom was the most approachable and easy to go along. He nodded dismissively.
"Still upset about the gossip."
"The gossip that led to the end of my relationship." I fired and the way he was hurt, I realized I was being unfair. Rom was partly to blame, but it wasn't fair to take out on him all the things that were already wrong between Quinn and I. "I'm sorry... it's not that easy to detach myself from a relationship of three intense years."
"Look, Rachel, I'm really sorry about everything that happened between you and Quinn and it all hurts. I wish I could make amends somehow and if you said that getting on a plane to New York right now just to get down on my knees in front of her to ask for forgiveness would do the trick, look, I'd be happy to do it."
I smiled and looked at Rom's face for the first time in a long time. The same handsome face, the cockney manner, but there was the sincerity of the good friend he had always shown himself to be during the recordings.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.
"Nothing on the agenda."
"I'm not leaving for New York until Monday. Do you want to have lunch? You can suggest the restaurant since you live here."
"No!" He held up his finger in a charming gesture. "If it's lunch, then let's have it at my place. You asked me to dinner at your house in New York. Now it's my turn to be a good host."
"But that would be a lot of work..."
"It's the least I can do. Besides, we'd be safer and away from prying eyes in my house than in a restaurant." It was true. "If you want to, I can call other people... Amanda maybe."
"No, lunch between us is fine. I think we really need to talk."
I left the party in the early hours of the morning. Nina accompanied me, but not Josh. I know he had a list of other clients to work for and this was a good opportunity to try and migrate a few more people from Broadway to Hollywood.
So there I was in a cab on my way to a house near the coast in Santa Monica. Rom lived in a single-storey house with a basement. It was a beautiful, sunny area, the grass around his house was green, well-kept, there was a medium-sized tree in front, but it didn't block the view of the property. The first impression was the best possible.
"Good morning, Miss Berry-Lopez." Rom was already waiting for me outside and ran to open the car door. "The palace is yours and the bill is mine." He took his wallet out of his back pocket and paid the taxi driver.
"What a wonderful place!" I said before getting in. "It reminds me of the neighborhood my parents live in in Lima, except it doesn't have that sea smell, that sun and it's in Ohio." Rom smiled.
"Come on, Rach, let's go in."
The house was decorated in the very boyish surfing style. The walls were white, there was a surfboard on the wall, pictures of palm trees and the sea, rustic straw-colored furniture and blue cushions. Everything was very light and tasteful within the decorative motif. It was a surprise for me. Rom's vision of me in New York was of a womanizer. A funny guy who I loved to talk to, but with whom I would never get involved. Rom at home seemed like a different person. He wore a basic white T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. That's about as comfortable as you can get within a respectable non-intimate boundary. And me in dark New York colors.
"Your house is beautiful." I watched as he showed me around.
"I've been working in this industry since I was a kid, Rach. I've worked to have something like this and I don't need more than that."
The house also had a more private living room with a bit of clutter, a nice kitchen with a dining room, two bedrooms, one of which Rom kept more for his brother than for guests.
"Dean is... complicated." He was mirthless. "Not that he does bad things, but he's bipolar and needs to take controlled medication. Sometimes he loses his job, sometimes he loses his girlfriend. The only reason I don't let him live here with me for good is because then I'd have a responsibility and a problem that I can't take on. But he knows that the space is available for a few days every other month." Rom began to laugh in disbelief. "At least he looks after the house properly when I'm away."
"Siblings! They're a lot of work, but we don't abandon them." I patted him on the back. "Is Dean younger or older than you?"
"Two years older. I also have a younger sister who goes to college in San Diego."
We continued touring the house until we stopped by the kitchen: a real one with its own space. Not one of those apartment kitchens. Rom started taking the ingredients for our lunch out of the fridge and cupboard. He arranged everything on the counter and I offered to help.
"It's not that I cook." He said awkwardly. "There's a girl who works for me who comes here and keeps everything organized and in order. I don't know how to make complex recipe, but I can do simple ones."
"And what's on the menu today?"
"I know you don't eat meat." I nodded. "But you eat milk and eggs?" I nodded again.
"I don't eat fried eggs or omelettes, but if the recipe contains eggs, I don't object."
"Sweet! There's a pie that's very good and quick." He began to handle the ingredients. "I usually eat organic meat when I'm here, but it's a pain to have to travel all the time for work because you have to make concessions all the time. The food in New York is good and varied, but it's just too much money to spend there. I don't know how you put up with it. I mean, how can a seaside city not smell of the sea? There's no sun, no beach?"
"Of course there are beaches... Long Beach is very nice."
"Really?" He said, looking like he knew I was being too optimistic.
"It's not like here, but there are places where you can enjoy the beach in summer. Anyway, it's nice to see you in your environment." I frowned. "I'm from the American Midwest, where we don't exactly have that brightness or the smell of the sea. In fact, there's a lot of rain and wind and sometimes tornadoes. New York becomes a kind of Mecca, much more so than Los Angeles. In fact, it's always been a Mecca for me since I was a child. So when I got there, I just belonged there. It was natural."
He divided up the lunch tasks. I was in charge of preparing the pie crust, which was already in the fridge. All I had to do was open it and place it in the mold. Meanwhile, Rom prepared the filling with sautéed vegetables and a range of spices in a pan. The secret was to sauté and stir everything with a wooden spoon. Sometimes he would take some of the vegetables that he had chopped up and give them to me to try. It was good. Then he put everything in the pan, added some olives and we put the lid on the pastry to put it in the oven.
Rom poured white wine and set the table for the two of us while we waited for the dough to bake. We sat in the messy living room (I didn't really mind) and talked.
"Why did you kiss me that day?" I asked.
"You did a fantastic scene, Rach. It was the first time I'd seen that kind of shooting for television, I was excited about it because it was new to me. I'm not going to lie, I like you, Rachel, and if it were up to me, I'd have a relationship with you in a heartbeat. But I didn't do it thinking about it that day, I swear to God. I kissed you because I thought you were fantastic, and I reacted to the moment. I didn't think about the press, our castmates, relationships or gossip. None of that. I did what I did in the heat of emotion."
"I didn't stop you..." I admitted with a little guilt.
"Look, Rachel, I'm being very frank here. I know I'm a guy with a reputation as a womanizer and I really like the game, I like the sex. But I have boundaries. It's hard to see myself in a relationship for the simple reason that when I'm in one, I invest in it. So it's not just anyone I'm going to do it for."
"I'm flattered to know that I'm not on the list of one-night stands, and I really hope that this lunch isn't a game, Rom, because I came here with the greatest goodwill, and I wouldn't want to be disappointed by you. I like you and I'd like to have you in my circle of friends for the rest of my life."
"I'm not playing here, Rach. I wouldn't play with you. The kiss... look, I'm not sorry about the kiss itself. I'd kiss you a million times more. I do regret the problems it caused. I'm sorry about your break-up with your girlfriend. I'm really sorry about that, because I witnessed how much you loved that girl."
"Thank you." During the whole conversation, I realized that I had barely touched my wine glass. I spent most of the time playing with the liquid. Rom barely touched his drink either.
"What are you going to do now back in New York?" He asked to break the silence that had settled in. "What are the plans?"
"Broadway. I have a play to rehearse. The first readings have already taken place, we've done a workshop with a coach, and I think it's going to be incredible. I'm going into the studio next month to record the songs for the play to sell on iTunes because people are more interested in the play if they know some of the songs. And I'll do the season in January, February and March. I don't know if I'll do more. It will depend on our show and I also want to open up other opportunities."
"I want to be there at the premiere. In the front row."
"Oh, dear, take your umbrella. Actors in musicals salivate a lot."
"Okay, third row, with a bouquet of flowers in the dressing room afterwards."
"Done." We laughed.
"You shouldn't shy away from that, you know."
"What?"
"Smile."
The oven timer rang to say that lunch was ready.