She knew of course that it should, she was certainly more than talented enough, but lately she had started to wonder if that talent really meant anything at all. What if it was all arbitrary, not based on talent or skill or passion at all but based instead on things like having the right look. Obviously looking like a star was important, but it seemed like every girl getting roles looked like Julie Andrews, and she didn't - and never would. If that was the criteria for being a star, instead of actual honed talent and hard work and pure emotional connection to the song, then she would never have the kind of success she had dreamed of.

But today...today had restored all of that. Even if Bobby was being jealous and refusing to be happy for her. Today was the first step on the new road toward becoming a star.

And then Cal would eat his words - or take her back again. She wasn't sure which one of those options she liked better, but she liked the possibility of either one.

She had hoped Kurt would be home when she arrived so she could share her good news. Sure enough, she could hear the faint sound of music coming through the door as she unlocked it - she just hoped it wasn't Judy Garland again. While she did love the emotion poured into those songs, Kurt had been slowly rotating through her entire discography and Rachel was starting to have her fill of the tormented songstress. Besides, she couldn't even sing along; not only was the range too low, but Kurt gave her a dirty look whenever she tried. She pushed open the door, grinning as she heard a new album - Kurt hadn't played Connie Francis in awhile, and she looked over to the couch where he sat, arms wrapped around himself. His head tilted slightly as he stared at the top of the window frame without seeing it, and he didn't even look over when she came in. "Have you been there all day?" she asked.

He drew in a deep breath, looked over, and replied as though she were an idiot for asking, "Of course not. I got home from work an hour ago."

"How was it?" Kurt shrugged and didn't volunteer information, so she launched into her own news. She couldn't help herself, she was too excited - and Kurt, of all people, would be excited for her, because he understood how hard she'd worked. "My day was fantastic," she stated as she set her audition bag on the table and unbuttoned her coat.

"The audition went well?"

"No, not at all," she replied matter-of-factly. "It was in a small room, and you know I don't do as well at those as I do on-stage, where I can show my real power. The director cut me off after five bars. But that's not the point." When Kurt looked skeptical, as though he could figure out what the point must be then, she continued. "As I was leaving, I heard someone calling my name, and I turned around. And there," she paused dramatically, "was Arnold. He was sitting on the end during my audition, and he had to come out to tell me that he disagreed completely with what the director said. He thought I was brilliant." He had actually used that word, too - brilliant. She had started to wonder if anyone would ever see that about her again, because she knew she was...but how could that possibly show through when she was only given 5 measures in a tiny, uninspiring audition room after sitting in a cramped hallway for two hours? Even her brilliance was tested under conditions such as those. But not to Arnold. But that word wasn't even the best part. "He said he had heard about the great work I was doing for Cal, and he wanted to meet with me to talk about another show he's working on."

She expected a celebration. Hugs- well, ok, Kurt didn't hug much, but something like that. Dancing around the apartment to the most upbeat songs they could find on the radio. Going out on the town and getting ice cream from that little stand on 8th they liked that was the only place that didn't close down all winter. Skipping through the park and singing the way they always imagined they would when they moved to New York. She expected a genuine expression of joy and congratulations.

And it didn't come.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes, turning back to stare at the top of the window frame. It was a look she had learned well over their many years of knowing one another: he was trying not to say something. She didn't know what or understand why, but it was clear from the thin line of his lips, the tension in his neck, the tilt of his head... Maybe he just didn't understand what this meant yet. Maybe he was used to the way things worked in his industry, where maybe it worked completely differently. Maybe he just didn't understand how big this meeting could be.

"So we're going to go get dinner on Saturday night, and he's going to tell me all about it," she continued, her brightness a little more forced than before. "He's an associate producer on 'Jennie,' and that puts him in the position to-"

"To do nothing," Kurt finally said. When the words were out of his mouth, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Associate producers are barely more powerful than I am, Rachel, they aren't-"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's- it's not even your industry, your field. How do you know what Albert can do? He said-"

"Rachel." He stood and walked over, looking exhausted, like saying all of this was too draining for him to do but he was doing it anyway, like she should be grateful he was bothering, and it just made her more angry with him. "I could tell you that I work at a famous design house and have pull. It wouldn't mean I could actually make you a model." His tone was so patronizing, too, and absolutely infuriating.

"You don't know that," she stated, because he was wrong. He didn't understand, that was all. He'd given up theatre after they moved to New York, saying something about how there were no parts anyone would ever believe him for because he wasn't a leading man type, and he had moved to fashion, and he just didn't understand how it worked outside their tiny little performance group. She wouldn't try to tell him about his prospects for promotion because she didn't know anything about it, after all. "It's different on Broadway, people wear a lot of different hats, and he's trying to-"

"Have sex with you," Kurt filled in. The vulgar nonsequitor threw her for a moment as she tried to figure out how in the world to respond. It seemed too ridiculous to be worthy of a response, but she didn't know how to successfully convince him of that. Kurt seized the opportunity and continued. "You are a beautiful girl, Rachel, and if I were interested in girls at all, I would certainly take every opportunity to use a position of power to seduce you. That you find power an aphrodisiac makes it all the easier. But as beautiful as your voice is, the offer has nothing to do with your talent."

She stared at him, trying to figure out what in the world he could be trying to say. Because that didn't make any sense. She was a performer, she had been her entire life, and now he was trying to tell her that someone was honestly trying to- He looked tired and thin, too exhausted by explaining his cynical, jaded view of her future to bother to sugarcoat things. He had been so withdrawn lately, so upset about everything- he was just trying to deflect from all of that and lash out at her because he didn't have anyone better to be upset with. It was what best friends did with each other sometimes. So she had to do what best friends did in return and take care of him, whether he wanted it or not. "I think you're delusional. You haven't eaten a proper meal in too long. I'll make something."

"I'm not hungry," Kurt replied quietly. "And you don't cook."

"Of course I do," she replied as she pulled a box of pasta from the cabinet. He was just being difficult because he was angry at his own lack off career progress - it couldn't possibly be easy to see her succeeding, in addition to Mercedes' recent career windfall, when he was struggling. It couldn't be easy to be so disillusioned by this city he'd wanted to move to for the entire time she had known him. He could be prickly when things were bothering her, that was all.

Because he was wrong.

...Wasn't he?

After all, she was more than deserving of a role - a leading role, no less. And just because an offer came unexpectedly or through a different channel didn't make it seedy. Plenty of people were discovered in unorthodox ways - more in Hollywood than on Broadway, but it happened all the time. Being recognized for her talents by a person who wasn't technically in charge of the audition for this show was strange, maybe, but not unheard-of and certainly not wrong.

Kurt just didn't understand.

...and neither did Bobby. Or-...he understood, but he was jealous. That was all. He was jealous because she was getting asked to dinners to discuss upcoming theatre projects and he wasn't. He was almost as jaded about things as Kurt was, and she was flying in face of all his cynical notions about the futility of the audition process. Because here she was, making her way in the world and rising above the cattle-call while he was stuck in the fray.

"I would have thought you could be happy for me," she stated, trying not to sound quite as hurt as she felt; she failed. "You're my best friend, and if neither you nor the only other halfway decent person I've met in the audition process can appreciate how much this means to me, who can?"

Kurt sighed and leaned against the counter beside the stove, looking down at her. "Did you ever think there's a reason for that?"

"You mean aside from bitter jealousy?" she replied tightly as she began to search the cabinet for something to make an appropriate sauce.

Kurt rolled his eyes and replied, "What exactly did this guy promise you?" He sounded resigned, and Rachel knew it. She had known he was going to have to be happy for her eventually. Now that she'd called him on his real reason for being reluctant to support her, he couldn't very well hide behind that mask of his and would have to accept that they were all going to have career ups and downs, and that even though his career was down - and looked like it might be staying there for awhile, poor Kurt - hers was on the way up. And if they were going to expect support in return, that meant supporting one another in the first place.

"Well, since you asked," she smiled. "He said he can get me an automatic callback for the lead, because the director has worked with him before and will trust his recommendation." Kurt looked at her skeptically, and she could practically read his thoughts, so she added quickly, "No, it's not the usual way things work, but it's happened before. Sometimes when people know about a star's work they won't even make her audition, they just offer her the role."

"Established stars."

"He said he heard about Cal's show," she reminded him. She had barely been able to believe the way word about her show had spread like that, especially considering she wasn't going to technically be given credit for originating the role thanks to that new blonde thing playing her part. But apparently she had made just that much of an impression that she was being talked about in the salons of the Broadway elite - she had thought she wouldn't hit that milestone until she was at least 23, and here she was, three years ahead of schedule. She was even better than her own timeline had given her credit for. "I know it's not a sure thing, Kurt, but I really believe once they hear me-"

"Rachel. You know I love you."

The declaration came out of nowhere, and she turned to look at him quickly. "Of course I do," she replied with a soft smile. They didn't say it to one another - as far as she knew, Kurt didn't say that to anyone, not even his dad even though it was obvious how strong their relationship was...she'd never heard him say it, anyway. But she knew, and she loved him too - other than her mother, Kurt was the person she was closest to in the world - probably even more than her father and his lover, as amazing as they were-

"And that your voice is magnificent."

"Of course," she replied again, because that wasn't even a question. Even when he gave her critical notes, even when he gave her dirty looks for singing along with Judy Garland, she knew he was talented enough to recognize her excellence.

"There is no callback."

They were back to this again. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I know you love me, but that doesn't mean you're incapable of jealousy-"

"Of the many people I envy, it's not the girl who's being casting-couched," Kurt replied flippantly. "There's no callback. There's no audition." That seemed like such an odd statement that she couldn't help but look at him curiously. "You read Playbill as religiously as I do. You know 'Jennie' is being developed by Mary Martin for Mary Martin. There's no audition for the lead - it's hers. He's using you."

That didn't make any sense. She-...she knew Kurt was right about the show, she remembered reading it in a profile interview with the actress, but that couldn't be the whole story. Could it? Because people didn't do things like that...did they? Who could be so cruel as to prey on the whole-hearted desires of a talented young ingenue like that? Who would do such a thing?

And why her?

Was it because she seemed too willing? Too desperate to be a star? Too ambitious? Because clearly he didn't know her at all if he thought she was the kind of girl who would ever seriously consider sleeping her way to the top. She knew that some girls did, but she would never - never in a million years. The idea that she might even think about it was insulting.

She didn't need to use her body to get ahead. She was more than talented enough to make it to the top on her own.

If that had anything to do with it. It was supposed to, but Kurt's insinuations made her wonder even more - was this the way people thought things worked? Was this something she was meant to participate in if she was going to get ahead? Was everything she had ever believed about- about talent and ambition and charisma just some big lie fed to young would-be stars like her by every adult she had ever met? Was this something she should have just known about? Like an open secret everyone knew but no one had told her?

Did she even have a choice? Did she have to do this now, to get ahead?

No - absolutely not, she thought to herself proudly. Never. She would not stoop that low.

"I can't believe he would even try that," she stated, indignant at being placed in a position to be used by a man who had barely met her. "That he would think that I, of all people, would ever let someone use my body in order to further my career. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Why would he think such a thing?" It was almost funny, when she thought about it. She was absolutely cut-throat when it came to her goals, but she had principles. She had pride. She had-

"Because you already did," Kurt replied, his tone dry and matter-of-fact.

She stared at him, mouth gaping. "I did not! When would I ever-"

"You really thought he gave you the part? And just happened to take it away when he broke up with you?"

She blinked, stunned that he could make such an accusation about her relationship with Cal. She would never in a million years let someone use her like that - that hadn't been what the two of them were at all. "He couldn't keep seeing me because it was too painful, and I...I got the part because I was the best audition, because I fit the vision for the role-"

"After you slept with him."

Her eyes widened, and it felt like he had slapped her with a dramatic flourish. How could he say that? How could he possibly be implying- but more importantly, "How did you even know about that?" she practically whispered, staring at him. He looked at her like that was the dumbest question he'd ever heard, and she couldn't take it anymore. The accusations were bad enough, but the implication that she was as naive as they came was almost too much. "It wasn't like that. Never. We were in love with each other."

"Correction: You were in love. He was giving the part to the unsuspecting next girl he lured to his bed."

The way he said it, so blase, like it didn't surprise him and barely warranted a mention...he had known. He had known what was going on the entire time, hadn't he? He had known the entire time she was dating Cal, and he didn't even try to warn her. He had known she wasn't being judged by her talent and had said nothing. "How could you not say anything? How could you let me be humiliated like that? He-...everyone knows about that," she said, the realization dawning on her as she said it. Bobby had laughed when she mentioned she was working with Cal, he knew something was going on. And Albert had said he heard about her work with-...She was getting reputation of being the kind of girl who never made it onstage but made it to everyone's bed. She was never going to be able to get a role that way, not with sweet-as-pie girls with their wholesome appeal around. Not when every role she dreamed of called for innocence and she...she was anything but. She could get a meeting with every director in town now, but not one of them would give her a callback.

She had trusted him. She had given him a part of herself, a part she had never given anyone before and had intended to never give anyone until she was at least 23 and well-established. And he had taken it and thrown it away because it had all been a lie to begin with.

"At least you had a boyfriend. And career advancement. And no police record," Kurt added quietly. "We're not in Lima anymore." He walked slowly past her, head held just a little too high and stiff, and closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving her alone with a half-made dinner and the remnants of her broken dreams.

* * * * *

From the time she was a little girl, Mercedes had dreamed about growing up to make a record. Well, not exactly, but close enough. She thought about what it would feel like to hear her song - her voice on the radio. How cool it would be to see her face on an album cover in the record store, right there where anyone could walk in and buy it. What it would be like to see packed dance halls twisting and swaying while she stood onstage and belted out songs she had made famous. She had even thought about what it would be like to be on a variety show and know her parents were tuned in back home, watching their little girl on television singing her heart out. Every one of those things meant first making a record, so she thought it was the same thing as dreaming about the actual process of recording a song.

Boy, was she wrong.

They stood in two soundbooths - her by herself in one, to sing lead, the other three in the other, much smaller booth. The window between the two made it easy for her and Regina to roll their eyes at one another and even easier for Mercedes to see exactly how displeased Eva was with the more crowded space. To say nothing of the window into the other part of the studio, where it seemed like a half-dozen men were all staring at her and waiting for her to get this just right.

When she was little and dreamed about having a hit song, she never thought about how strange it would be to have chunky, heavy earphones on, pumping a symphony and the other girls - and herself - back through as she sang. She always pictured holding a mic in her hand and smiling at her adoring public, not leaning up to try to sing close enough to the microphone that looked like it was probably older than she was. And she definitely never thought about it being this kind of song.

It was all wrong for her. It wasn't really right for any of them except maybe Eva. The tone was too thin, the lyrics were too silly, and it all sounded like whining instead of like belting out deep, emotional ballads the way she liked. The harmonies were nice enough, but it didn't feel like the kind of song that would make them stars. It wasn't even their song - some other girl was releasing it, too! And one of the competing executives had a group of girls doing it, too. Mercedes didn't know what their arrangement sounded like, but she doubted it was going to sound different enough that the Melodics' version would be a sure hit. Especially since she couldn't make it sound right.

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
Cry if I want to
You would cry too if it happened to you.

Mercedes breathed an internal sigh of relief as they got through the opening chorus without stopping; they were on take six and that hadn't happened yet. She glanced over at the other girls and caught Regina's eye, smiling as her groupmate gave her a look that said 'finally!' At least she wasn't the only one who hadn't expected things to be this intense.

She was used to just singing. To opening her mouth and letting everything she felt pour out of her. God had given her a gift in her voice, and she appreciated that. Rachel tried to take credit for everything she ever sang, but Mercedes couldn't. She had a great voice naturally, and even though she guessed singing all the time probably helped her get better, she couldn't remember a time she hadn't been able to just start singing and win people over. She was damn good. But now she wondered if she'd been taking it for granted. The way those men in the booth kept stopping her, frowning over at Rocko like she was completely wrong and she didn't know why...she didn't even know who most of those men were, just that they worked for the record label and made the song sound like a song instead of just a bunch of solos and some music recorded two floors down last week.

Nobody knows where my Johnny has been
And Judy left the same ti-

"Cut!" The music came to a halt in her headphones, and a rat-faced gentleman with untamed hair who looked like he might well sleep in the studio leaned forward to push the intercom button that connected the three rooms. "Mary, don't scoop that."

It took Mercedes a moment to remember that was her. "Scoop what?" she asked.

"Time. Hit it right on the note, nice and clear. Got it?"

Mercedes nodded, even if that didn't sound right to her, and adjusted the headphones again. She glanced over and saw Eva rolling her eyes; she probably had some cool date tonight, and if this went too long she might miss it. She had a feeling she wouldn't get to sleep in her bedroom tonight...which was almost - but not quite - enough incentive to take longer. Adjusting her headphones, she heard the music start again just before the place where they had started.

At least they didn't have to sing the opening chorus again - that was progress, right?

Nobody knows where my Johnny has been
And Judy left the same time.
Why was he holding her hand
When he's supposed-

"Cut!" She rolled her eyes and heard an audible groan from Regina this time. How did anyone ever make a record in less than two years, at this rate? "Mary, don't belt that."

"But it sounds good that way."

"Think young girl, not grown woman. You're not trying to be Dinah Washington, here."

"Why not?" she demanded, snapping more than she intended. Why shouldn't she sing like Dinah Washington? She was kind of her idol. That woman had a voice, she had soul, she had everything Mercedes did but...well, at least a little better.

"Because this is for radio play. Let's go again."

Mercedes sighed and looked down at her sheet music again as the sound began to pump through her headphones. She didn't get what they wanted, why they didn't think it sounded good when to her it sounded fantastic. Unlike Shirley who kept going flat because she didn't put enough behind the words, or Eva who went nasal when she didn't pay attention...but with a resigned shake of her head, she sang again, trying to do what he asked.

Nobody knows where my Johnny has been
And Judy left the same time
Why was he holding her hand
When he's supposed to be mine?

"Cut! Mary, you were flat."

"I can't hit that note if I'm not belting, it's too high," she pointed out. "It's at my break."

"Lighten it up. Think thin."

"Thin," she grumbled. She'd been told that before, too - and not just about a note. She hated that word. That word meant salads and weakness and no punch behind the sound. It meant silly little girls instead of real...anything.

But what choice did she have?

She tried again, but she could feel her voice quavering as she tried to hit that note without belting or floating or in any other way singing something different, and when the producer yelled "Cut" again she threw up her hands. "I don't know what you want from me, I should be belting that note. It's not gonna sound good any other way-"

Rocko leaned in and said something to the producer, his words silenced by the thick glass, and the producer held up his hand to cut her off. She rolled her eyes and turned to look at the other booth, where Regina shrugged and Shirley played absently with her new, short hairdo. "Well?" she mouthed to Regina, who shrugged again. Mercedes couldn't say for sure, but she thought it meant 'You're right but I don't produce the record.' Eva glared in her direction and rolled her eyes, but Mercedes was cut off from returning the gesture by Rocko's voice from behind her. "Mercedes. C'mon, baby. We can't do this all day."

"It's not my fault - the song's not right for us. This isn't what I'm good at."

"You want me to give the lead to Shirley?" The question sounded innocent enough, almost helpful, but the tone was passive-aggressive to the point of being threatening. She knew without a doubt that if she gave up this lead on this song, she would never get it back - not the way Rocko doted on her and protected her and put her in the front of photo shoots, the perfect little thin girl who never said anything bad and never wanted anything she wasn't supposed to. The girl who couldn't talk back because she couldn't stand up for herself.

"Shirley's flatter than I am," she pointed out. "She won't fix your problem."

"Watch it, Mercedes," he said, his voice low but sharp. He raised it as he said - for everyone's benefit, even though the reception through the microphone and speakers couldn't have been good at that distance - "Let's get back into it." He fixed Mercedes with a stern glare and added, "Thin. Clear. Girlish. Remember who we're selling to."

As though Mercedes needed reminding. As though it weren't clear at every single turn that she wasn't the person they would ever want to show as the face of the group - fat, dark, diva, not at all the wispy-thin innocent blonde girls she saw on tv. Why else would they blast lights so hot during the photo shoot and change her name?

She knew what no one was allowed to say. She got it - she did. Colored girls were ok on the radio, but not on tv, and even then they had to sound enough like white girls if they ever wanted to be hits. It was one of those things she kept trying not to think about, to keep away the uneasy lurch it gave her stomach every time she wondered just what would happen next. As she remembered being patted down with thick powder and realizing that even though her friends had to literally go to court to make the high school let her attend, even though she remembered Kurt talking about how it was good that she didn't get to go to McKinley her junior year anyway because they couldn't have gone to Nationals together, even after a year at a college where they spent a lot of time talking about issues, standing there in that black dress had been the first time she had ever been uncomfortable with her skin colour.

Just like today was the first time she had ever felt like maybe her voice wasn't right. Like it should be something else.

She'd thought Kurt might be right about some of this stuff. Maybe she should be thinner. Maybe her name wasn't all that great for show business and the change wasn't as big of a deal as she thought. Maybe he was right, that they just looked really good in black - she knew she looked good, at least. But if there was one thing she was sure of in the world, it was that her voice? Was flawless.

And changing it? Manipulating it and trying to get it to do things it didn't want to do? Trying to hold it back and not let it get too big?

That was a bridge too far.

"No," she said, taking off her headphones so she could shake her head without them banging against the sides.

Rocko stopped just inside the studio, hand on the doorknob, and turned back. "What?"

"No. I'm not gonna change my voice for you."

"Mercedes-"

"And I'm not gonna change my name, either. Or my size. Or how I dress, 'cause I don't care what you say - I look good in leopard." The more things she listed that he'd asked her to do, the more angry she felt. How had she let one guy make her do so much? How had she gotten as desperate as Rachel Berry to the point where she'd do whatever the guy told her? "I should've said no when you tried to call me Mary because that's saying what my mother named me wasn't good enough for you. But my voice? Hell no. That's too far. Why shouldn't I sing like Dinah Washington? She has more power in her voice than in six groups of stick-thin girls put together. I know which I'd rather be."

She knew from the way Rocko said her name again that this was now or never. She was treading a very dangerous line, but she hadn't crossed it - yet. If she wanted to be a star, she could still go back, give him a few days to cool off, apologize, and take the boring harmonies in the background for awhile to pay her dues until Rocko thought she was ready. She could get Regina to stand up for her, probably Shirley too because the girl was sweet enough, and she could stay in the group. She could still have her name - sort of - and her voice - also sort of - on an album, on the radio, at concerts...

Kurt could do whatever he wanted with his own life. He could bend over backwards to chase fame, and so could Rachel. But she wasn't gonna give everything and get tokens back.

"I'm done," she stated with a quick tilt of the head before she strode out of the studio and down the hall, leaving a booth full of stunned faces in her wake. She'd never felt more proud of herself.