Off To The Races, a Glee fanfiction
This has probably already been done before, but I decided to write a short Glee fic for each song from Lana Del Rey's album Born To Die. This is the second track on the album, and it features Rachel and Quinn. It's pretty self-explanatory, and includes elements from the song Off To The Races.
Pairing: Rachel/Quinn
Rating: T
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: If I owned Glee, the lighting would be better, and Sugar would rule errythang.
Author's Note: I’m a new writer, so please be gentle.
And I’m off to the races, Ascot more specifically, with my old man. He’s not really my old man, but he is old, and he’s a man. Anyway, it’s important I get this right. I remember nearly everything he taught me. Talk only about the weather and everyone’s health. It mostly goes well, until I discuss my aunt.
“My aunt died of influenza, so they said. But it’s my belief they done the old woman in.”
The audience titters politely, and I cast a brief glance over to them. In the front row sits Quinn Fabray, and in my dressing room, a dozen white roses. I finally made it! It might not be Funny Girl, or even Broadway, but Rachel Barbra Berry is performing on the stage! Even Barbra herself performed off-Broadway, it’s where most people begin.
After the show, Quinn is nowhere to be found. I’m a little hurt, but the roses are beautiful. Perhaps she’s calling a taxi somewhere. I stand, and as I’m about to leave, a man enters the room.
“Miss Berry,” he smiles. “Your performance was dazzling; you make a fine Eliza Doolittle.”
“Thank you,” I beam. “Perhaps one day they’ll make My Fair Lady into a film I can star in.”
The man frowns slightly at this, but I’m too busy glancing at the magazine in his hand. He notices, and waves it slightly, continuing to smile.
“You should be seeing some reviews soon,” he nods. “I can see my headline now: bright young starlet on her way to Broadway.”
“You’re a reporter?” I ask.
Perhaps subconsciously, I fix my hair.
“Yes, and I’d like to write a report on you, if I may. I’d discuss your performance, and any backstage routines and rituals - the readers love that sort of thing - pictures of you in a red dress, putting on your makeup. Glass room, perfume, cognac, lilac, that sort of thing.”
I nod my head vigorously. I read magazine articles on Broadway stars before anything else as a baby. And that was only when I wasn’t winning awards.
“There’s just one thing I want from you first,” the man continues. “This was one of your first performances - reviews at this stage could make or break you.”
I notice uneasily that his smile seems false - it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are grey, and cold. He’s acting, and I should know, I’m an amazing actress.
“What’s that?” I shift uncomfortably.
“I’m sure you’ve heard stories about it: the scarlet starlet who knows best how to make a career with the talents she’s got,” he says. “I’m talking about you, getting to know the right people. And I, Miss Berry, and one of the right people.”
I recoil in disgust. He’s asking me to sleep with him?
“Get out,” I say quietly.
He can see the anger in my eyes, and leaves, quickly.
“Harlot,” he mutters as he slams the door.
I lean on the dresser, shaking. Of course, it’s to be expected. Fairly pretty girls with reasonably sized breasts and bright futures like myself must expect this kind of behaviour. I should see it as flattering. But it’s just disgusting. Perhaps he will give me a bad review. But my performance should more than speak for itself.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, and fix my best smile for Quinn, before grabbing my purse and leaving. Like I expected, she’s waiting outside, beautiful as ever, in the rain, a taxi just behind her.
“You were brilliant tonight,” she says. “I’ve never been more proud of you.”
“Quinn,” I blush. “Thank you. Your thoughts mean more than anyone’s, even that of reporters, or fellow actors.”
Quinn smiles, and she knows I really mean it.
“I love you Rachel Berry.”
“I love you too.”
The rain is soaking through our clothes, but it doesn’t stop me leaning in, to kiss my beautiful girlfriend on her open mouth. I’m not afraid to say, that I’d die without her.