And Isn't This Exactly Where You'd Like Me
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and isn’t this exactly where you’d like me Celine Dion has performed on the stage she’s looking at right now. Somehow, Rachel always thought this would’ve meant more to her, but the stage in the Colosseum isn’t that much better or brighter than any other stage she’s been on, and honestly, when she’d told Kurt that she wanted the summer off, she didn’t mean I just want to go to a different city and do the same thing I’ve been breaking my back doing for the past three years. She’s a household name now. She’s also pretty sure that if Time ever ran an expose on the 100 loneliest people in America, she’d be at the very top. The only highlight of her career, which really was everything she’d ever wanted, is that somehow she’s surrounded herself with people that she knows and loves, albeit not in the way that she wishes she could. Puck has gone everywhere with her, starting out as just a roadie on some of her solo tours after the Les Mis revival she headlined shortly after graduating from NYU, and Kurt became her manager not long after that, when he finally felt like he had enough experience to deal with someone with actual star potential. When she’s busy doing bit parts in LA, she crashes with Brittany and Santana, and when she’s in New York, she hangs out with Tina and Mike and discovers hidden and mysterious Chinese take-aways with illegible menus that somehow take the edge away. Back in Lima, Sam and Mercedes are happy with their first kid underway, and Finn will always be there, holding on to his glory moment of winning conference and wondering how it is that none of the girls in his life stuck around for the end. Glee club had started out tenuously enough, with nearly everyone in it obviously hating her, but by the time they’d graduated, they’d all been friends. At least, she thought they had been, and they are the only people who remember the Rachel Berry who occasionally had moments of weakness, and occasionally gave up a solo in exchange for a hug. There’s only one person they’ve all lost touch with, and when Rachel starts wondering about what ever happened to Quinn Fabray, she knows she’s had far too much to drink. Puck wraps an arm around her waist and says, “Rach, you’re killing yourself. You don’t need to do three dress rehearsals. You’re going to kick ass either way, you know that. You could fucking sing a bum note and nobody would even notice. They’re here for the image, babe. They’re not here for you giving them everything you’ve got.” She knows he’s right, but he should know by now that the only way she knows how to do her job is by putting everything in. It’s the only way that she can stop thinking about the things that are missing from her life, and the delicious irony that Kurt Hummel, possibly the gayest man on Earth, has to keep reminding her that it would be career-destroying for her to come out at this point in her life. She’s about to break into Hollywood, he keeps saying. And the money in Hollywood is conservative. You’re not seeing anyone anyway, Rachel, so while I appreciate that it matters to you to be true to yourself, you can be true to yourself when you’ve made enough money to retire. The worst part is that he’s completely right. “I’m so… how did I get here?” she whispers into Puck’s neck, and he lifts her out of the seat and hugs her tightly. “I know, babe,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head and tucking her under his arm. “We’ll figure something out.” * The next day, she feels moderately better emotionally, and so much worse physically; she throws up once, and then a second time after attempting some Pilates on the floor by her bed. They rented the house, because it’s a three month gig at Caesar’s, and she spends enough of her time in hotels as it is. Sometimes, she thinks about getting a dog or something, just to keep her company, but they’re not suitable for her way of life. She can’t even remember the last time she spent eight hours a day at home, let alone with the energy to take a Golden Retriever jogging through Central Park. There’s two messages from set managers on her phone, and she forwards them to Kurt without listening, because honestly: she’s just there to sing. Everyone else can take care of the issues around that, because the only thing she has left to offer these days is her voice. * She worries the show will fall flat. She’s seen Celine’s Las Vegas show live and on DVD, several times, and so much of it is about her relentless energy and audience interaction, and honestly, it’s the part of her job that Rachel likes the least. “I don’t even know why they asked me,” she tells Kurt, picking aimlessly at the watercress and radicchio salad she’s having for lunch. “I’m not exactly known for being a crowd darling.” “You’re known for being kind of a bitch, you’re right,” Kurt says, batting at his lips with a napkin. “This is a chance for you to undo some of that damage you did when you refused to sign that fourteen year old girl’s playbill two years ago.” The moment still haunts her. The things the media had reported on was that she’d snubbed a small girl, who had been her ‘biggest fan’ ever—like that’s measurable somehow—without so much as batting an eye. The things the media had not reported on was that she’d been running a 102 degree fever and her understudy had sprained her ankle and she’d barely been able to keep standing throughout the performance, let alone muster up the energy to make some fourteen year old’s dreams come true. “I don’t care about my reputation,” she tells Kurt, because she doesn’t. She’s had it for so long now that honestly, if she could do it all again, all she’d do is add, “I’m sorry, I’m really not feeling well” to her previous dismissal. The public, especially in New York, thinks they own her. The absolute best thing about Vegas so far has been the fact that with just a pair of sunglasses, she’s a complete nobody, surrounded by hundreds of other famous people looking to get away. * On opening night, her dads call and tell her to break a leg. She remembers clearly when they used to come to all of her performances, but honestly, the travel is too extensive these days and they both have jobs. She understands; it’s not that she doesn’t. Just, sometimes, it would be really nice to have someone in particular to sing to. It would tip her performance from being what it is into what all her performances used to be: tortured love songs to Finn Hudson that melted the hearts of everyone who watched them take Nationals in 2011 and 2012. The most painful thing of all is the realization that the only time she’s ever thought she was in love, it was with a guy. She spends all of her time acting out emotions that she has basically never felt for herself, except in those fleeting moments when Quinn Fabray used to let her guard down. Not that she’d known it at the time. Hell, she hardly knows it now, except that the only half- relationship she’s ever been in was with a dancer from the Les Mis troupe who had blonde hair, graceful legs (if there even is such a thing) and the ability to keep things strictly professional. They were all things that remind her, now that she’s working on being a little more honest with herself, of a girl that she never had the chance to get to know in high school. Maybe she got out, Rachel sometimes thinks, going through old McKinley yearbooks and seeing Quinn’s face on every single page, beaming with contempt, the way she’d smiled in every picture that she’d known was going to be taken of her. Somewhere, in a box full of things that she knows she can’t let herself look at, Rachel has a picture of Quinn and Santana, captured by Brittany at some moment during the run-up to senior year Nationals, when they’d been goofing off in their hotel rooms and Quinn had, just for two precious seconds, forgotten that she hated absolutely everything in this world. But: maybe Quinn got out. And just maybe, she found something out that she didn’t hate, out there. Rachel’s never known how to not be hopeful about these kinds of things. * Her melancholia is particularly noxious after the third show, somehow, and Puck and Kurt exchange worried looks while she’s taking off her make-up—Swan Lake inspired, for reasons she’s never bothered asking the choreographer, because they could dress her up like a sad clown hooker and it would still just be part of the job.