Santana [sweetly]: You’re gonna promise me that fancy restaurant too?
Santana [slightly angrier tone]: The one that’s gonna serve the white man and his color daughter?
Puck: Hey c’mon. You sing the blues, you don’t have to live them.
Santana [even angrier]: What the fuck do you know, white boy?
[Santana turns to walk away, Puck grabs her arm to stop her, sets his drink down on the bar and moves behind her]
Puck [whispers]: Yea you play that hard act real good. [Moves his lips to her ear But I see you. [Moves his lips to her other ear and whispers] Yea. I see you.
[Santana’s father walks out of the restaurant. Santana asks for a bottle a gin. When the waiter ignores her, she asks again. As he continues to ignore her she begins to shout and hit the table asking for some gin. Puck walks over from where he was standing near the kitchen and looks to the waiter].
Puck: Hey, c’mon. Bottle of gin.
Waiter: Right away sir
Santana [motions to Puck]: I guess I gotta be him to get some gin, huh?
Puck [pulls a chair closer to Santana and sits next to her]: What’d he say to you?
Santana: Stupid shit. He didn’t even ask if he could see me again.
Puck: Well, that’s his problem. Why are you making it yours?
Santana [Laughing through the tears]: You couldn’t even begin to know my problems
Puck [quietly]: Hey, hey…let me. Hm?
Santana: My mother was a whore. [pauses] And that fat mother fucker just looked me in my face and he didn’t see himself. He didn’t see his little girl. Know what he saw? He saw the cum stains of all the other men my mother fucked. [loudly, motioning to the chandeliers and lifting up the napkins] And these chande-fucking-liers and these white table cloths don’t mean shit. I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for him. [lifting up the white glass] You know they gonna break this when I leave here, right? Fuck it I’ll do it for you. [throws glass on the floor, shattering it].
Puck: Come on. You listen to me. You can’t let that in. You know, Muddy…he sings that hurt, he don’t live it. Don’t nurse it. Walter he…carries it around like a baby. Feeds it on whiskey and smack. Gotta let go.
Santana [gazing into the fire after almost overdosing on drugs]: This is the first time I’ve ever used this fireplace. I feel like I should be eating marshmallows or something.
Puck [angrily]: Yea, I’m sure marshmallows and smack go real good together. What happened to the furniture? Huh? Where’s the car?
Puck [holding Santana’s arms]: I don’t know what to say to you. I’m not your fucking pimp. That ain’t us,
Santana [a little taken aback]: Us? Oh? What the fuck is us? A white man and a Hispanic girl. I’ve been there.
Puck [in a soft tone, stopping between sentences to kiss her face]: Yea, but you ain’t been here. I’m not your father. And you ain’t your mother. And I ain’t gonna hurt you. I got no reason to hurt you. You don’t even know what you have.
Santana [sadly]: What do I have?
Puck: You gotta hit record.
Puck: You’re on top of the charts, baby. You crossed over.
Santana [happily]: Did I cross over?
Puck: I told you.
Santana: So, you mean to tell me that this is gonna be the last time I sing a song for you?
Puck: Better make it good
Santana: It don’t get no better [turns around and looks toward the band] Y’all ready?