True Story of What Was (Part Two)
Title: True Story of What Was (Part Two)
Rating: PG
Length: 3,000
Summary: One of them makes it big singing about her past.
Note: The first few chapters of this are going to be angstastic. Our girls are in a bad place. Somehow they'll make it out alive... and hopefully together. Click on the first line of the song to hear the original version.
“Alright, let’s just call it an evening.”
Liam’s tired voice filled the small burgundy sound booth. Quinn gave a half-assed nod, sighed audibly, and looked up through the glass partition that separated her from the sound engineer and producer. Tom, the engineer, cradled his chin in his palm as if it was the only thing he could do to keep his head up. Liam was obviously not pleased, his brow creased and mouth drawn into a slight frown. Quinn looked at the red digital numbers above the door. 2:14 AM. She propped her guitar on the stand next to the door and walked into the larger room to join the two men.
“Quinn I’m going to be honest with you,” Liam began, “it’s been years since I’ve seen Steven Crane sign someone as quickly as he signed you. I’ve watched the tape from Joe’s and I know what you’re capable of. I just haven’t seen it the past few weeks we’ve been in the studio.”
The blonde looked at her producer for a moment, closed her eyes, and ran her and across her forehead. It was true. She didn’t give a fuck about the songs he had her singing, and she knew it came across in her studio sessions. She didn’t want to lose her contract, but Quinn Fabray was no Brittney fucking Spears. She didn’t want to prance around in a cheerleader uniform, she didn’t want to sing about cute boys, and she certainly didn’t want to stand around for a lecture at 2 in the morning.
“Since you’re being honest with me, I’ll do the same.” Quinn looked pointedly at the taller man. “I know I don’t have the vocal training that a lot of other people do so that’s not why you signed me. And while I know I’m hot, you could have signed a hundred other twenty-somethings who are attractive and can hold a tune. So why did Steven sign me so quickly?”
The corner of Liam’s mouth turned up into a slight smirk as he listened to the blonde. His head tilted as he considered the question.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had a young woman with your ability to carry raw emotion through her music. It’s rare to find that characteristic in someone who also shares your… positive physical attributes.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that only ugly girls have emotional depth.”
“Not exactly, Quinn.” Liam gave a short snicker. “Usually young singers, especially young attractive singers, do not have a sufficient variety of life experiences to carry that depth as convincingly as you do. There was obviously personal meaning behind the final song that Steven was present for. It makes for a powerful performance that the audience can relate to on a more profound level. It creates a sense of common experience.”
“Then why do you have me singing about flowers and butterflies?” Quinn snarked. “I don’t think anyone is going to believe these shitty lyrics, especially coming from me. I mean, come on. ‘Your love tastes like sunshine?’ ‘Your voice is sweet like angels?’ It would probably be better if I just went into the booth and took a massive dump on my lyrics sheet.”
Liam winced noticeably.
“So we’ll find you another song. Something you can emotionally invest yourself in.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. The last ten songs Liam had picked out that ‘would be perfect!’ were absolutely terrible. She was going to lose her deal. She was going to have to go back to bartending. That wouldn’t be terrible, would it?
Liam watched as her facial expression changed from irritated to fearful and finally to acceptance.
“Why don’t you bring in some of your own songs tomorrow. We’ll go through them and find things that match the sentiments and general musical composition. Maybe that will be better.”
Quinn nodded slightly, gathered her backpack and jacket, and left the studio.
She walked up the sidewalk to her building, glancing to the left to look at her nameplate out of habit. She closed her eyes and shook her head, walking up the stairs. Her apartment, while still cluttered, was less dirty than it had been two weeks ago when she left for Joe’s Pub. She dropped her bag at the door and walked the five feet to the refrigerator to grab a Guinness. Her eyes swept the small apartment. Dirty laundry, empty bottles threateningly close to spilling out of the trashcan, unmade bed. Her eyes caught the corner of a notebook peeking out from under a few magazines and an empty water glass by her bed.
She flipped to the last page of lyrics and read through the lines, the corners of her mouth falling into a tight frown, her shoulders stiffening. Quinn’s eyes blurred and she looked past the words as she lost herself in memory.
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“I don’t understand, Rachel.” Quinn was trying to remain calm but failing miserably. After four years of supporting the brunette through Juilliard, Quinn felt like she was blindsided. “You are going to bring Andrew as your date to the senior showcase?”
Rachel’s arms were crossed, her feet set in place. She wasn’t going to budge. “Yes, Quinn. I feel that it is of the utmost importance to portray yourself in the most accessible and professionally stable way possible. I only get one shot at a first impression with these talent scouts and casting directors. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I don’t want to compromise that.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed and she stood up just a bit taller. She couldn’t believe Rachel was forcing her to have this argument. She channeled her head Cheerio attitude and dug right into the smaller girl.
“I always thought that if the actor was good enough, their character is the only thing the audience sees, not the individual behind the character.”
Rachel had used this statement many times to Quinn in defense of her interview wardrobe choices. She hadn’t expected it to come back at her. Rachel raised her eyebrow.
“Once I land a role and show the world what I can do, you’ll be right by my side. But until then, I don’t want to have any strikes against me before I even begin.”
“Strikes against you? Rachel. You of all people should be fine with bringing your fiancé as your date instead of some pathetic beard. Do you think your fathers ever brought fag hags to professional dinners posing as their dates?”
Quinn stared at Rachel, daring her to answer. Rachel looked stubbornly back at Quinn.
“It’s because of my dads that I am bringing Andrew.”
Quinn’s eyebrow shot up and she scoffed loudly.
“You’re right, Quinn - my parents were always out and proud, never afraid to declare their love for each other or accompany the other to social events for work. Do you know where that got them? Dad almost lost his pediatric license and had to pay double what others did for insurance due to the ridiculous lawsuits people brought on him because he was gay. Daddy lost a huge number of clients after they found out about Dad. The firm would have fired him if they could have. None of that had anything to do with how great my fathers were at what they did. When I introduce myself at this function I want people to see Rachel Berry, the triple threat Broadway up-and-comer. I don’t want to be dismissed right off the bat because of who I’m dating.”
The fact that Rachel had chosen to say dating instead of engaged wasn’t lost on Quinn, and only fueled her anger.
“You have to be kidding me, Rachel. We weren’t dumb enough to live in bumfuck Ohio during the height of the AIDS crisis. This is fucking New York City. You’re in musical theater. Since when do theater people have a problem with gays?”
“First of all, my fathers are not dumb.” Rachel’s breathing quickened and she was literally seeing red. Why didn’t Quinn get it? “And second of all, there is a huge double standard between gay men and lesbians in the industry. You know this. We’ve talked about this. I don’t understand why you can’t just support me. Don’t you want to see me do the best I can? Why would you want this to get in my way?”
Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t believe this was Rachel, the girl she had been with for the past five years, the girl she had asked to marry her months before.
“Get in your way?” Quinn had never raised her voice like this before at Rachel. She didn’t know how to stop herself. “Get in your way? After five years you see our relationship as getting in your fucking way? I have done nothing but support you since we got to this city. Hell, since we got together! I sacrificed my family, my cheerleading scholarship at OSU, my Goddamn future to be with you, and now I’m just getting in your way?”
“I never asked you to sacrifice those things.”
Quinn looked at Rachel blankly. She hadn’t intended to go that far, but she certainly hadn’t expected that response from the brunette.
“Fuck you, Rachel. It’s like I don’t even know you.”
Quinn’s voice was low and steady. She knew that just one more comment from her fiancé would make her lose what little control she had over her tears. Rachel grabbed her coat and walked to the door. She turned back to face Quinn while her hand was still on the knob.
“I’m going to Jesse’s. Call me when you’ve calmed down.”
Quinn stood motionless as the door clicked shut, tears brimming her eyes, fists clenched. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. In one swift movement she threw the phone against the wall. It shattered on contact.
She grabbed her wallet and stalked out of the apartment and down the block to Joe’s Pub. She sat down in front of Puck, eyes red behind huge sunglasses, and put a $50 on the bar.
“No matter what, don’t let me leave the bar. I can’t go home.”
Puck nodded and poured out two shots.
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“Quinn I love it. It’s exactly what I was talking about last night. The emotion is so raw, even better than the video of you from Joe’s Pub. This is what Alanis Morissette would sound like if she broke out today. It’s going to be huge.”
Liam was obviously excited about the song Quinn had chosen to play, a song that she had finally finished the last verse of the night before.
“I thought you said you’d listen to my songs and choose something that would fit?”
Quinn was emotionally and physically exhausted. She hadn’t intended to relive how Rachel left her for the past 8 hours, and she certainly hadn’t expected to continuously sing a song about it for the past 3.
“I can’t imagine we’ll get anything this good from our songwriters. This song has a story. It’s passionate, it’s relatable, and I’ve never heard your voice sound better. There is a grittiness that you haven’t had before. The range is absolutely perfect for you. Fantastic, Quinn. Truly fantastic.”
The blonde exhaled.
“We’ll have to engineer it slightly, but not very much. We don’t want to lose the rough edge to your vocals. Tom, cue up the second part of the opening verse.”
Quinn’s voice filled the small room, the metallic cadence of the acoustic guitar beneath the verse and the first chorus. It really did sound good.
You took the dim light right from my eyes
with your criticizing, it was so amazing.
Stole the wind right from my sails
and you turned to leave me but I caught you, I nailed you.
You should be crying
for your shame, for your lying, and your blaming me.
And you ought to be begging
for forgiveness, for lighting a flame in me.
Quinn’s eyes lost focus as she listened to the lyrics. She could feel her stomach clench and a migraine starting to build behind her sinuses.
“Is it alright if I call it a short day? My head is killing me.”
Liam barely looked up from the soundboard. “Oh yeah, sure Quinn. We’ll be working on this last take for a few hours. Go home and get some rest.”
She could hear Liam and Tom talking excitedly as she walked out of the studio, right hand on her forehead, trying to will away the pain.
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Rachel walked down the isle of the grocery store, clenching the handles of a basket that was half-full of bread and jam. She didn’t know why she kept up the pretense of buying perishables and then throwing them away a week later. It had been months since she had eaten a sizeable meal. Three and a half months, to be exact. Living on Jesse’s sofa, heartbroken, newly out of school and jobless, Rachel had lost all sense of appetite.
She stood in front of the dairy case, looking for organic milk, the fluorescent lighting making her eyes hurt. Her eyes went wide. The half gallon carton slipped from her hand and fell, dripping all over the floor. It couldn’t be.
The familiar voice coming across the grocery store radio sounded rough and angry, almost desperate in a way that Rachel had ever heard Quinn sing before. She stood motionless in the aisle, heart pounding, as she listened to her ex-fiancé sing a breakup song that had lyrics that sounded all too familiar.
Don’t try to tell me in your sneaky way
How you’ll love me tomorrow like you should have today.
Don’t you come around here girl and ask me what I’m doing
I’m doing what I do and I’m doing it without you
And if you’re wondering where I am tonight well keep it right up
But don’t you leave the light on for me darling.
You should be crying, you should be crying
Get down on your knees and weep for me
You liar, fool, beggar, thief, go weep for me darling
You should be crying
For your shame, for your lying, for blaming me
You ought to be begging for forgiveness
For lighting the flame in me.
Rachel stood there for a few minutes unable to make her legs work, tears streaming freely down her face.
PART THREE
Rating: PG
Length: 3,000
Summary: One of them makes it big singing about her past.
Note: The first few chapters of this are going to be angstastic. Our girls are in a bad place. Somehow they'll make it out alive... and hopefully together. Click on the first line of the song to hear the original version.
“Alright, let’s just call it an evening.”
Liam’s tired voice filled the small burgundy sound booth. Quinn gave a half-assed nod, sighed audibly, and looked up through the glass partition that separated her from the sound engineer and producer. Tom, the engineer, cradled his chin in his palm as if it was the only thing he could do to keep his head up. Liam was obviously not pleased, his brow creased and mouth drawn into a slight frown. Quinn looked at the red digital numbers above the door. 2:14 AM. She propped her guitar on the stand next to the door and walked into the larger room to join the two men.
“Quinn I’m going to be honest with you,” Liam began, “it’s been years since I’ve seen Steven Crane sign someone as quickly as he signed you. I’ve watched the tape from Joe’s and I know what you’re capable of. I just haven’t seen it the past few weeks we’ve been in the studio.”
The blonde looked at her producer for a moment, closed her eyes, and ran her and across her forehead. It was true. She didn’t give a fuck about the songs he had her singing, and she knew it came across in her studio sessions. She didn’t want to lose her contract, but Quinn Fabray was no Brittney fucking Spears. She didn’t want to prance around in a cheerleader uniform, she didn’t want to sing about cute boys, and she certainly didn’t want to stand around for a lecture at 2 in the morning.
“Since you’re being honest with me, I’ll do the same.” Quinn looked pointedly at the taller man. “I know I don’t have the vocal training that a lot of other people do so that’s not why you signed me. And while I know I’m hot, you could have signed a hundred other twenty-somethings who are attractive and can hold a tune. So why did Steven sign me so quickly?”
The corner of Liam’s mouth turned up into a slight smirk as he listened to the blonde. His head tilted as he considered the question.
“It’s been a while since we’ve had a young woman with your ability to carry raw emotion through her music. It’s rare to find that characteristic in someone who also shares your… positive physical attributes.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that only ugly girls have emotional depth.”
“Not exactly, Quinn.” Liam gave a short snicker. “Usually young singers, especially young attractive singers, do not have a sufficient variety of life experiences to carry that depth as convincingly as you do. There was obviously personal meaning behind the final song that Steven was present for. It makes for a powerful performance that the audience can relate to on a more profound level. It creates a sense of common experience.”
“Then why do you have me singing about flowers and butterflies?” Quinn snarked. “I don’t think anyone is going to believe these shitty lyrics, especially coming from me. I mean, come on. ‘Your love tastes like sunshine?’ ‘Your voice is sweet like angels?’ It would probably be better if I just went into the booth and took a massive dump on my lyrics sheet.”
Liam winced noticeably.
“So we’ll find you another song. Something you can emotionally invest yourself in.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. The last ten songs Liam had picked out that ‘would be perfect!’ were absolutely terrible. She was going to lose her deal. She was going to have to go back to bartending. That wouldn’t be terrible, would it?
Liam watched as her facial expression changed from irritated to fearful and finally to acceptance.
“Why don’t you bring in some of your own songs tomorrow. We’ll go through them and find things that match the sentiments and general musical composition. Maybe that will be better.”
Quinn nodded slightly, gathered her backpack and jacket, and left the studio.
She walked up the sidewalk to her building, glancing to the left to look at her nameplate out of habit. She closed her eyes and shook her head, walking up the stairs. Her apartment, while still cluttered, was less dirty than it had been two weeks ago when she left for Joe’s Pub. She dropped her bag at the door and walked the five feet to the refrigerator to grab a Guinness. Her eyes swept the small apartment. Dirty laundry, empty bottles threateningly close to spilling out of the trashcan, unmade bed. Her eyes caught the corner of a notebook peeking out from under a few magazines and an empty water glass by her bed.
She flipped to the last page of lyrics and read through the lines, the corners of her mouth falling into a tight frown, her shoulders stiffening. Quinn’s eyes blurred and she looked past the words as she lost herself in memory.
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“I don’t understand, Rachel.” Quinn was trying to remain calm but failing miserably. After four years of supporting the brunette through Juilliard, Quinn felt like she was blindsided. “You are going to bring Andrew as your date to the senior showcase?”
Rachel’s arms were crossed, her feet set in place. She wasn’t going to budge. “Yes, Quinn. I feel that it is of the utmost importance to portray yourself in the most accessible and professionally stable way possible. I only get one shot at a first impression with these talent scouts and casting directors. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I don’t want to compromise that.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed and she stood up just a bit taller. She couldn’t believe Rachel was forcing her to have this argument. She channeled her head Cheerio attitude and dug right into the smaller girl.
“I always thought that if the actor was good enough, their character is the only thing the audience sees, not the individual behind the character.”
Rachel had used this statement many times to Quinn in defense of her interview wardrobe choices. She hadn’t expected it to come back at her. Rachel raised her eyebrow.
“Once I land a role and show the world what I can do, you’ll be right by my side. But until then, I don’t want to have any strikes against me before I even begin.”
“Strikes against you? Rachel. You of all people should be fine with bringing your fiancé as your date instead of some pathetic beard. Do you think your fathers ever brought fag hags to professional dinners posing as their dates?”
Quinn stared at Rachel, daring her to answer. Rachel looked stubbornly back at Quinn.
“It’s because of my dads that I am bringing Andrew.”
Quinn’s eyebrow shot up and she scoffed loudly.
“You’re right, Quinn - my parents were always out and proud, never afraid to declare their love for each other or accompany the other to social events for work. Do you know where that got them? Dad almost lost his pediatric license and had to pay double what others did for insurance due to the ridiculous lawsuits people brought on him because he was gay. Daddy lost a huge number of clients after they found out about Dad. The firm would have fired him if they could have. None of that had anything to do with how great my fathers were at what they did. When I introduce myself at this function I want people to see Rachel Berry, the triple threat Broadway up-and-comer. I don’t want to be dismissed right off the bat because of who I’m dating.”
The fact that Rachel had chosen to say dating instead of engaged wasn’t lost on Quinn, and only fueled her anger.
“You have to be kidding me, Rachel. We weren’t dumb enough to live in bumfuck Ohio during the height of the AIDS crisis. This is fucking New York City. You’re in musical theater. Since when do theater people have a problem with gays?”
“First of all, my fathers are not dumb.” Rachel’s breathing quickened and she was literally seeing red. Why didn’t Quinn get it? “And second of all, there is a huge double standard between gay men and lesbians in the industry. You know this. We’ve talked about this. I don’t understand why you can’t just support me. Don’t you want to see me do the best I can? Why would you want this to get in my way?”
Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t believe this was Rachel, the girl she had been with for the past five years, the girl she had asked to marry her months before.
“Get in your way?” Quinn had never raised her voice like this before at Rachel. She didn’t know how to stop herself. “Get in your way? After five years you see our relationship as getting in your fucking way? I have done nothing but support you since we got to this city. Hell, since we got together! I sacrificed my family, my cheerleading scholarship at OSU, my Goddamn future to be with you, and now I’m just getting in your way?”
“I never asked you to sacrifice those things.”
Quinn looked at Rachel blankly. She hadn’t intended to go that far, but she certainly hadn’t expected that response from the brunette.
“Fuck you, Rachel. It’s like I don’t even know you.”
Quinn’s voice was low and steady. She knew that just one more comment from her fiancé would make her lose what little control she had over her tears. Rachel grabbed her coat and walked to the door. She turned back to face Quinn while her hand was still on the knob.
“I’m going to Jesse’s. Call me when you’ve calmed down.”
Quinn stood motionless as the door clicked shut, tears brimming her eyes, fists clenched. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. In one swift movement she threw the phone against the wall. It shattered on contact.
She grabbed her wallet and stalked out of the apartment and down the block to Joe’s Pub. She sat down in front of Puck, eyes red behind huge sunglasses, and put a $50 on the bar.
“No matter what, don’t let me leave the bar. I can’t go home.”
Puck nodded and poured out two shots.
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“Quinn I love it. It’s exactly what I was talking about last night. The emotion is so raw, even better than the video of you from Joe’s Pub. This is what Alanis Morissette would sound like if she broke out today. It’s going to be huge.”
Liam was obviously excited about the song Quinn had chosen to play, a song that she had finally finished the last verse of the night before.
“I thought you said you’d listen to my songs and choose something that would fit?”
Quinn was emotionally and physically exhausted. She hadn’t intended to relive how Rachel left her for the past 8 hours, and she certainly hadn’t expected to continuously sing a song about it for the past 3.
“I can’t imagine we’ll get anything this good from our songwriters. This song has a story. It’s passionate, it’s relatable, and I’ve never heard your voice sound better. There is a grittiness that you haven’t had before. The range is absolutely perfect for you. Fantastic, Quinn. Truly fantastic.”
The blonde exhaled.
“We’ll have to engineer it slightly, but not very much. We don’t want to lose the rough edge to your vocals. Tom, cue up the second part of the opening verse.”
Quinn’s voice filled the small room, the metallic cadence of the acoustic guitar beneath the verse and the first chorus. It really did sound good.
You took the dim light right from my eyes
with your criticizing, it was so amazing.
Stole the wind right from my sails
and you turned to leave me but I caught you, I nailed you.
You should be crying
for your shame, for your lying, and your blaming me.
And you ought to be begging
for forgiveness, for lighting a flame in me.
Quinn’s eyes lost focus as she listened to the lyrics. She could feel her stomach clench and a migraine starting to build behind her sinuses.
“Is it alright if I call it a short day? My head is killing me.”
Liam barely looked up from the soundboard. “Oh yeah, sure Quinn. We’ll be working on this last take for a few hours. Go home and get some rest.”
She could hear Liam and Tom talking excitedly as she walked out of the studio, right hand on her forehead, trying to will away the pain.
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Rachel walked down the isle of the grocery store, clenching the handles of a basket that was half-full of bread and jam. She didn’t know why she kept up the pretense of buying perishables and then throwing them away a week later. It had been months since she had eaten a sizeable meal. Three and a half months, to be exact. Living on Jesse’s sofa, heartbroken, newly out of school and jobless, Rachel had lost all sense of appetite.
She stood in front of the dairy case, looking for organic milk, the fluorescent lighting making her eyes hurt. Her eyes went wide. The half gallon carton slipped from her hand and fell, dripping all over the floor. It couldn’t be.
The familiar voice coming across the grocery store radio sounded rough and angry, almost desperate in a way that Rachel had ever heard Quinn sing before. She stood motionless in the aisle, heart pounding, as she listened to her ex-fiancé sing a breakup song that had lyrics that sounded all too familiar.
Don’t try to tell me in your sneaky way
How you’ll love me tomorrow like you should have today.
Don’t you come around here girl and ask me what I’m doing
I’m doing what I do and I’m doing it without you
And if you’re wondering where I am tonight well keep it right up
But don’t you leave the light on for me darling.
You should be crying, you should be crying
Get down on your knees and weep for me
You liar, fool, beggar, thief, go weep for me darling
You should be crying
For your shame, for your lying, for blaming me
You ought to be begging for forgiveness
For lighting the flame in me.
Rachel stood there for a few minutes unable to make her legs work, tears streaming freely down her face.
PART THREE