With a cup of her favourite soy latte in hand, Rachel Berry strolled down the street, surrounded by half-busy citizens of the bustling city of New York. Behind her aviators, Rachel watched their unsuspecting faces and smiled to herself. They had no idea that they were in the presence of the Tony and Grammy award-winning renowned actress. She picked up her pace, not wanting to be late for her first table-read for her third leading role, and her third movie production. Rachel's pace became a skip. When she finally found the towering structure of the office her manager texted her weeks before, her exhaustion dawned before her. But only because on that fine autumn morning, a paparazzi shot towards her and blinded her with the flash of his camera.
"Hey!" Rachel flinched and held up her arm to shield her features to the glaring lens of the man's camera. Her cry, however, attracted more of the pap lurkers. Cameras flashed and clicked as every photo they took was of Rachel screaming her head off. She was unable to see the way to the office, making her zigzag across the pathway. Rachel bumped into one of the obnoxious scumbags, and he had the gall to swear at her?
"If you don't get out of my way, I am going to break that horrible camera along with both of your knees!" Rachel shrieked, her elbows digging into the man's side. She ignored his grunt of protest and cry of 'bitch!', for she had no time to care. She was two minutes late, and Rachel Berry was never late. She stepped over the collapsed paparazzo and hurried inside the building, where the security guards finally came outside to chase away the affronted gossip and photography mongers.
Rachel huffed and leaned back against the wood panelled wall of the elevator as it lulled her up the seventy floors. Her coffee no longer tasted sweet with the perfect amount of soy milk and sugar. It tasted bitter. Her whole mouth tasted bitter, and as much as she wanted to simply go home and take a nap, she had a responsibility, and she will fulfill it.
The elevator bell rung and she walked down the plush carpeted corridor until she reached the conference room. Through the glass walls, Rachel could see that Brittany, her manager, was there along with the rest of the cast, the directors, producers, writers, and other executives. Rachel took a deep breath and stepped inside, all eyes trained at her. "I'm sorry I'm late."
Brittany perked up and waved her over. Reliable as always, she had another copy of the script that Rachel annotated in case she forgot her own—which she rarely did, but it was pleasant to know that she had an ally against the bigwigs who leered at her through their Bulgari eyewear. She collapsed on the hard plastic chair and sipped her acrimonious coffee. Clearing her throat, Rachel splayed her hands on top of the dark table and met the eyes of the bigwig—the executive producer. "After all, it's not my fault of the incompetence of your security guards. I was assailed by paparazzi right outside your door."
"Rachel, don't." Brittany murmured, her hand on the actress' thigh.
Shaking her manager off, Rachel tipped her chin and opened the first page of the booklet. She read through it ten times already, so she was confident in her competence. She was not sure about the rest of the cast.
The executive producer, a lady in a business suit that probably cost as much as Rachel's brownstone, cleared her throat and swept her gaze across the room, only for her rich, mahogany eyes to land and linger on Rachel. "Enough. Let us begin."
After hours upon hours of the table-read for the first and second act of the movie, the executive producer, by the name of Ann Veronica, decided to end the day's session. To Rachel's relief, she went straight out of the conference room, leaving the cast and some of the crew to mill about. Brittany rubbed Rachel's back and smiled in an attempt to encourage her. "You were fantastic, as always."
"I know," Rachel sighed and tried not to burrow into Brittany so she wouldn't have to face her co-star who, right now, was making eyes at her. She diverted her gaze and faced her manager. "But I don't think I can take much more of this. I'm exhausted all the time, and I'm lonely." She eyed Brittany who nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "It's just... Finn's always travelling with his band while they try and play everywhere they could to get their music out there. I didn't even want to go to today's table-read since he's coming home today and I wanted to meet him, but..." Rachel shook her head. "It's no use complaining now."
"Oh, honey." Brittany rose up and tugged Rachel up with her. They left the conference room just as one of Rachel's co-stars was about to open up a conversation with her. They left him standing, jaw dropped as they rode the elevator down to the ground floor. "I can't do much about Finn's absence—wait, you two are still together?"
Rachel nodded. "But not in the way that you think. We're not together romantically. I think he's only with me because I have a house and he doesn't want to go back to Lima." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms together. "It's mostly a relationship of comforts now, I think. But I'm not mad or trying to get rid of him. It's nice to have him around. He's..."
"Familiar." Brittany supplied. They stepped out of the lift and went out into the brisk fall afternoon, the sun already taking cover behind a thicket of clouds. Rachel shivered and tightened her scarf around her neck. "Come, let's go get coffee and then I'll let you go home to your boyfriend." Brittany teased, bumping Rachel's hip with hers.
They slunk into a small coffee shop. Rachel sat herself on a corner booth, hidden behind a fake potted plant as Brittany ordered for the both of them. She returned with two steaming mugs of warm chocolate, a plate of grilled cheese, and a slice of apple pie. Brittany pushed the pie to Rachel and took a bite from her sandwich. "So, while I was waiting in line, I got a text from my girlfriend."
"Santana? What did she say?"
"She was telling me what she wants to do to me when I get home, but I don't think you want to hear about that. She gave me an idea though." Brittany lowered her voice and leaned forward, coaxing Rachel to do the same. "You said you were stressed and frustrated, right? I think I have a cure for that, but I'm not sure if you'll be into it."
"Britt, at this point, I'm game for anything." Rachel breathed. Her manager was definitely the best one for her, even though she was Brittany's first client, and she had no past experience whatsoever. But for Rachel, that was the point. She wanted them both to learn as they went through show business together, and now, Brittany was proving to be a genius.
"And you said you and Finn don't fuck anymore."
"Brittany!"
The blonde giggled and lowered her voice once more. "Did you two even do it ever?" She asked, but then did not wait for Rachel's response. "I have a friend—actually, she's one of my best friends from high school. She has this... service that helps women who want to keep everything private and on the down low."
Rachel blinked. "What, like I need privacy for yoga sessions?"
"Yoga? No, that's lame. I hate yoga." Brittany scrunched up her nose. "And that totally has nothing to do with what I'm thinking. I'm saying, Rachel, when was the last time you got laid?" The question gave Rachel pause, and Brittany took it as a sign. "See? You have to think about it! I don't, because I just got laid this morning. That's not the point though." She nibbled on the corner of her sandwich and sipped her hot chocolate.
"Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to beg?"
Giggling, Rachel's manager licked her oily fingers and stared directly into the brunette's opulent chestnut brown eyes. "How do you feel about paying for sex, Rach?"
Rachel's brownstone home was one of her pride and joys, her first major purchase after her first major paycheck. It overlooked an emerald terrain of shallow hills and a spattering of trees, and was spacious enough for her to enjoy dancing on weekends without fear of bumping against her coffee table or her bookshelf. The high umber brick walls, the wooden floorboards, and the double hung windows never failed to represent home for her.
She hung her coat and scarf on the wrought iron pegs with a tender sigh of weariness that flooded her bones. Brittany's suggestion was nothing short of shocking that Rachel was unable to respond. She hastily excused herself, begged for time to think about it, and headed straight home. After all, the concept of paying someone to have sex with her never crossed her mind.
Until today, at least.
Rachel padded along the parquetted hallway and sensed that something was amiss. There was a mild, thumping sound, a bit like the headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall. Thinking nothing of it, she weaved through her kitchen and poured herself a glass of Mourvèdre. It was already dinner time, and the apple pie barely filled her stomach, but today, she felt like breaking the rules.
She trudged on upstairs, bottle tucked underneath one arm, her wineglass in another. The hammering increased in volume as she neared the double doors of the master's bedroom. Placing the bottle of Mourvèdre on a hall table, Rachel cautiously cracked open the door, only to suck in a sharp breath at the sight that met her.
Finn. Finn and his naked, sweaty ass pumping away.
He was mounted on a lithe, pale body, and judging from the amount of testicles, it was another man.
Rachel was unsure to do, yet her body seemed to know. Her grip around her wineglass went slack, and shards of glass and wine came crashing around her stockinged feet. The noise interrupted Finn's pumping rhythm, and he jerked up and locked his eyes with Rachel. "Oh god, Rach—"
It was as if things went into bullet time. Rachel was torn between staring at Finn and diverting her eyes. But like during most cases of panic, the mind thinks the most absurd things.
'I just ruined my bedroom floor...'
Rachel watched Finn through glassy eyes as he scrambled up to cover himself and the young man he was fucking on their bed. Finn, her high school sweetheart, her other ally other than Brittany, was actually the enemy. He reached for her, but it was as if something snapped inside Rachel. She yanked her body back and shot Finn a look that could murder an infant. "Get the fuck out." Rachel said, in an oddly serene voice. "Get the fuck out of my house, Finn. Now!"
The sharp crack of Rachel's voice sent the two men into action. The young, pale man hastily got dressed, while Finn did the same, stumbling down onto the bed as he tugged his jeans on. Still, Rachel remained and stood by the doorway, watching without focusing on anything other than the carmine liquid seeped through the floorboards. All that crossed her mind was how to clean it up.
"Rachel..." Finn tried again, but the actress was having none of it. She merely pointed towards the stairs. "You won't even let me explain?"
"There's nothing to explain, Finn." She spat out his name like it was the last thing she wanted crossing her mouth. "Just get out of my house!"
After that, Rachel was unable to cling on to details. She remembered hearing the sound of footsteps waning out into the street. The stench of disgusting, putrid male sweat and sex filled their—no, Rachel's—bedroom. She can't stay here. Not if she wanted to hate everything that was in her life at the very moment. Rachel stepped out and shut the door, her mind's eye burning with the image of Finn mounting a man. The fact that it was a man was not the issue. Of course not. But the fact that Finn was fucking someone else, on their fucking bed. The one they bought together in Ikea, the same one Finn struggled to assemble.
Rachel retreated to her sanctuary, a makeshift office downstairs right by the kitchen. In the beginning, when her house was barely furnished, she dedicated herself to the very idea of having her private room that not even Finn could breach. It was Rachel's favourite room. It was furnished with deep browns and a rosewood-hued couch. She slumped down on it and cupped her face into her hands.
What does she do now? What can she do?
Rachel tapped her phone and brought it up to her ear. "Brittany? It's me. I... I feel like I'm going to be okay with it. With the prostitute."