It wasn't just about losing the role, it wasn't even about the completely insulting offer the man had given her. It was about everything. It was about all the other girls getting her roles and all the auditions she was leaving empty-handed. What was the point of any of it if her talent wasn't going to count for anything? If the line between stardom and obscurity had nothing to do with superior acting skills or a fantastic voice or the ability to cry on cue, but was left in the hands of some casting director thinking she was worth sleeping with? What was the point of any of it?

She could be a little dramatic, she knew. She liked to think it was one of her finer qualities, even though Kurt tended to roll his eyes when she pointed that out. But it just seemed so painfully arbitrary, like everything she'd been working toward was a lie. She thought that being the best was good enough, but apparently it didn't matter. Not if she wanted to be a star.

It didn't help that everyone else's moods had mysteriously picked up around her lately. Mercedes should have been even further in the dumps than she was, after throwing away her very promising career like that, but she had gone out to some bar and come back as happy as ever - maybe more. Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever seen the girl smile so much...though that could have been because Mercedes didn't like her very much. She didn't understand why, she was a perfectly courteous makeshift roommate and an excellent friend as Kurt could attest, but Mercedes always seemed one eyeroll away from snapping at her. In either event, her mood had been much better since that night - and even Kurt, who had been down in the dumps practically all year, had come back that night with a newfound sense of determination and an optimistic look in his eye. And Kurt had definitely never been a bright and happy person, not even when he was little. A few moments here and there, maybe, and most of their first year in New York, but then he had just sort of withdrawn and started looking...awful. But now he was eating again, he had cooked dinner a few nights ago for all three of them and actually seemed to enjoy himself a little bit, and the music had taken a frustratingly cheery turn in the apartment.

She couldn't believe she was actually longing for the days of nonstop wrenching ballads. Not that she didn't enjoy singing them, but that after a few hours they had a tendency to suck the light out of even the brightest room.

But now...now that her entire career path was a lie and her future was one big mystery...now she understood why Kurt had given her a dirty look every time she had asked if they could turn on the radio instead of listening to such sad music. Now she wanted to curl inside those albums and live there because they were the only thing that could adequately express the depths of her disappointment and loss.

Until one morning when she awoke with a sudden and profound sense that maybe all was not lost.

The lightness was strange after a solid, neverending week of darkness, but as she laid in bed and listened to pigeons cooing outside her window, she was struck by the knowledge that those directors were not the only ones out there. After all, there were plenty of genuinely talented stars in the business, and they must have made it on their talent. She highly doubted that Julie Andrews was sleeping with her directors to get the parts she got, and even as much as she resented Mary Martin for having the career she wanted right now she was fairly certain the star wasn't the type to fall prey to that, either. She knew her talent was beyond compare, she just needed to find the right person to not only recognize how good she was, but to use her talent effectively rather than looking at her like a potential conquest.

Maybe Kurt was right that Cal had just been using her, or maybe it was like she thought - that he really did love her and her talent, even if he could only recognize one because of the other - but in either case, maybe it didn't matter. There had to be hundreds of directors and casting directors in this town, and surely at least one of them would be able to see what she did.

She just needed to put herself back out there.

She smiled as she threw off the covers. Was that so hard? she thought to herself proudly. She didn't understand why it had taken Kurt six months to get over his existential crisis when hers had lasted only a week. Maybe she should have given him more advice on how to feel better about whatever it was that was bothering him. In either case, he seemed better now - but she would keep it in mind in case there was a backslide.

She needed to find another audition to go to, she concluded with determination as she stepped into her slippers and tightened the bands on her braids. She couldn't call her agent until 9, but that was no excuse to loaf around until then. A nutritious, hearty breakfast sounded like just the thing, plus catching up on the housework that had fallen by the wayside during her dark time. It sounded like Kurt was up and moving around in his room already - probably picking out his clothes for the day, that usually took quite awhile - but he would appreciate the effort. And Mercedes might, too, she concluded.

Things were always so strained between the two of them, and she could never figure out precisely why. She knew neither of them were as close to as each other as they each were to Kurt, but sometimes it seemed like Mercedes just came after her for no earthly reason. Of course, it had been much worse last time than now. Ever since Mercedes had given up her big chance at stardom and come crawling back to their tiny abode, she hadn't been nearly as confrontational. She knew there was something about girls fighting at the home she'd lived in last, and Rachel suspected that might have caused the aversion to nit-picking fights with one's roommates.

Also she seemed...happier. Quiet, but comfortable. Rachel wasn't sure how in the world that could be the case - she didn't even have a record deal anymore - but she thought the change seemed like a good thing anyway.

With a bright smile and humming quietly under her breath - it had been nearly a week since she had properly worked on her vocal technique, and if she was going to call her agent in a few hours to ask for auditions, she needed to be back in practice. After all, what if he said he had an audition she could go on today? She couldn't very well say no just because her own crisis had meant slacking off for a few days - she made a pot of coffee and began to make her famous French Toast. Well, it wasn't famous yet, but when she was famous herself it would be. She could see it already, magazine spreads about her elegant life at home. The reporter would take gorgeous photographs of her lounging on chaises and sitting at a piano - even though she didn't play - and style her in furs and robes that were meant to make her look casual but glamourous all at the same time. Maybe even a turban like Gloria Swanson's in Sunset Boulevard. She could be a young, pre-fame Norma Desmond, couldn't she? But her star wouldn't die because she wouldn't be stuck in a dying art form like the silent movies; Broadway would be king forever.

"What is that?" came a sleepy voice from the living room.

"French toast - would you like some? I can make more," she offered.

"Sure." Mercedes padded over to the table, still looking more asleep than not. She ran her hand up through her short disheveled hair and rolled her eyes, then slumped heavily into the chair. "It smells really good."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled brightly. See? They could be civil even when Kurt wasn't in the room, even if she knew Kurt didn't believe that. She had a feeling they could even be friends if they tried. Mercedes was certainly an interesting person, and they really did have things in common - a love of music, for one, and an appreciation for this big, beautiful, sometimes-frustrating city. Besides, she was an excellent friend and was sure that would help them form a bond. "So. What are you up to this morning?" she asked.

"Hopefully drinking coffee first," Mercedes said, raising an eyebrow. Well, then - this wasn't going to work if Mercedes was going to be so negative about things. She glanced witheringly over at the coffee maker and pulled herself up, padding over to pour herself a cup. She paused, then grabbed a second mug from the cabinet and filled it, setting it in front of Rachel.

Maybe this would work, Rachel concluded. Some people just weren't as naturally charming and energetic as she was first thing in the morning. She smiled as she slipped a spatula under the toast and lifted it onto a plate, then passed it to Mercedes before dipping another piece of bread to start Kurt's breakfast.

"Thanks." Mercedes dug her fork into the breakfast and moaned quietly. "Oh this is good..."

Rachel smiled proudly. "Thank you, Mercedes. It means a lot to me."

She paused, fork in mid-air, looking at her skeptically. "That I like your cooking?"

"Well, no, not specifically," Rachel replied, a little flustered as she tried to explain herself. "But we're kind of friends, now, or I would like us to be. If you're going to be living here. And both of us are Kurt's best friends, and I think we should get along - all three of us."

Mercedes smiled faintly, setting down her fork. "Yeah. It's better when we're not at each other's throats," she agreed.

"Much better," Rachel confirmed. "Especially better than last time." She hadn't meant it as a slight, but Mercedes' face fell. She turned quickly back to the stove, flipping Kurt's toast and trying to figure out what a good friend should say here to resuscitate the conversation. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"You're right," Mercedes admitted. "Last time I was so focused on proving myself. You were already doing things, Kurt had his job, and I was a year behind. And...maybe a little jealous."

She turned quickly. "Jealous?"

Mercedes offered a sheepish grin and explained, "You two had this whole relationship. He and I've been best friends since we were little, and you came in..." She dug the side of her fork into the bread to cut it, giving herself something to focus on instead of the awkward admission, and Rachel just stared at her. She was jealous of her and Kurt? Of her success? Mercedes had come so much closer to fame than she ever had - at least yet - and given it all away...but Mercedes was jealous of her?

Rachel drew in a deep breath and turned off the heat as she set Kurt's breakfast on a plate for him. She could make hers later, but she wanted to say something first. She slipped into the chair - they only had two, but if Mercedes was going to be sticking around they should really get a third. It was a space concern, really, as well as some monetary when they first moved, but eating on the couch was hardly a proper meal. Just because some families in Ohio thought that television frozen dinners eaten on trays were sufficient didn't mean they were the same kind of bonding experience as a real dinner around a table. Her mother had always made sure that they ate together no matter how long rehearsals ran, which meant a lot of dinners at 10:30 pm, but at least it was together at the kitchen table. She wondered if Mercedes' family did the same thing - she knew Kurt talked about dinners with just his father which seemed to suggest that Mercedes' family ate together, but she realized she wasn't actually sure. In either event, it was something she wanted to institute in their little household. Since she was turning over a new leaf and everything.

"I really admire what you did," she stated, and Mercedes looked at her like she must have misheard what Rachel was saying. "Walking away like that. I don't think I would have had the courage to do that. I would have wanted it too much. I'm too ambitious for my own good." She couldn't imagine how bad something would have to be before she walked away - if she felt like it would make her a star, she would keep doing it, she knew that. Even if she had known about Cal, she didn't know that she could have walked away, not as long as there was a chance that it might have led to something for her career. She could endure almost anything if it would make her a star, and it took a certain kind of fortitude to do what Mercedes had done. "Was it hard? Leaving something that would make your dreams come true like that?"

Mercedes shook her head. "I just let it all come out. I didn't think about it first, I just did it. Maybe that's what you've gotta do."

Rachel almost laughed, grinning and shaking her head. "No. I jump at chances too much already, the last thing I need to do is be more impulsive. Kurt keeps telling me I don't think things through first."

"You too?" Mercedes joked, and it felt good to laugh together - they'd never been able to do that before. Maybe they were growing, Rachel concluded proudly. The ability to look beyond petty rivalries and see the person beyond the competition was a sign of maturity. The ability to be friends with one's former enemy was even moreso. They were really growing up, weren't they? she thought to herself with a broad, genuine smile.

That was good for two reasons. First, with maturity came career advancement. While young ingenues were golden in Hollywood and to some extent on Broadway, most of the singers who landed the roles of a lifetime weren't 18 - they were young but not quite that young. It was a sign that she was gaining the type of experience and carriage that would help her pull off the kinds of parts she really aspired toward. And second...entertainment was full of stories of mortal enemies who became friends. Every bit of life experience she gained could give her something to pull from when she acted, and that could only help.

"I have an idea," she stated. "We should celebrate. I have to go see my agent later, but other than that I don't have anything I need to do today, and I think we need to go on a spree. Not too big," she added, because they never had much money, and the rent being split three ways only worked if Mercedes had an income which she didn't yet. "But to mark a fresh start - no more men for me, no more crazy girl groups for you, just the two of us focusing on our careers and being the biggest, best stars we can be."

"Kurt takes all the fun out of shopping-"

"Not him, just the two of us," Rachel corrected. They'd never done that, spent time together outside the apartment without Kurt, but she had faith they could handle it. They were growing, after all, and there was respect between them. Besides, if nothing else they could bond over the fact that Kurt drove them both crazy sometimes. "Two girls out on the town on a weekday afternoon."

Mercedes grinned. "Yeah, that sounds fun. I need some new clothes anyway, for the club - all the dresses I had with sparkle, Rocko got to keep. Good luck to him finding a girl who looks as good in them as I do."

Rachel laughed, but it was good to hear Mercedes sound confident, and she knew how good it felt to be that confident in one's self again. This would be good for them. It might even be fun, too. She heard Kurt's door swing open, old hinges creaking the way they did every morning, and grinned as she called, "It's okay, Kurt, we're getting along and everything. And we're on to you - you can't keep-"

But Kurt wasn't who emerged.

The boy looked lanky for someone who wasn't very tall, body slightly hunched with early-morning stupor. Every bit of him was slim - from his neck that drooped forward, to the narrow ankles that sat just below well-defined calves - except for his torso, which looked almost gaunt, hints of ribs and bones visible beneath the hairless skin. His complexion was the colour of her morning coffee, how light it was when Kurt said she added too much milk to even taste the strong drink anymore, and atop his head rested an unruly nest of tiny ringlets in tight spirals.

She fell silent a split second before Mercedes, staring at the unfamiliar boy who had somehow ended up in their home last night - in Kurt's bedroom. Was Kurt okay? What if this boy had come to rob him blind and hurt him and-

He paused a moment just outside Kurt's door, dug his first into his eyes to clear them, then cast the two of them a withering glance as he padded around the corner into the bathroom. She heard the door close, and a few moments later the sound of water running filled the otherwise-silent apartment. "Kurt?" she called, a note of panic in her voice. What if the boy's calm was just a ruse to cover up his crimes the night before? And even a thief needed to be clean and probably didn't have a reliable place of his own to-

"Just a minute," Kurt called back from his room, sounding like nothing at all was wrong. Sounding perfectly chipper as he often was in the morning, ready to start his day despite his long night. He hadn't even been home when she'd gone to bed, even though she had tried to wait up for him to see how his evening had gone, where exactly this mystery outing of his had taken him, and if-

...OH.

She looked over at Mercedes quickly, wondering if her friend had made the same mistake about the boy's intentions in the apartment that she had and ready to explain if necessary; Mercedes looked slightly queasy, uncomfortable in her chair, and she glanced wearily in the direction of the bathroom before digging into her french toast again. "It's okay - Kurt invited him-"

"I know," Mercedes replied, but she didn't sound any more at ease.

* * * * *

From time to time, Kurt had evenings so surreal that the time passed between one morning's routine and the next seemed to surely be more than 24 hours. it was a phenomena he had become acquainted with when he was six. One morning he was up at 8 a.m. and his mother was down the hall in her bed - albeit very sick - and by the time 8:00 arrived the following morning, he didn't have a mother anymore and an eery stillness had settled over the house. He had to look at the calendar beside the stove when his dad asked when he had last been to school - three days earlier - because everything was too different for it to have only been three days. he was too different - too changed on every conceivable level.

In a similar - but much happier - way, he remembered the first day of classes at Dalton after Christmas the year he was 16 - twelve hours after Blaine kissed him for the first time. It felt so surreal, like the entire evening hadn't actually happened and was just a dream he'd had about listening to The Sound of Music even though he could still feel the press of Blaine's lips on his own. A person's entire life and everything they knew about who they were weren't supposed to be able to change that quickly. But there he had been, a boy destined to be alone, and then suddenly Blaine was his boyfriend.

Okay, maybe the label hadn't appeared so suddenly, and there had been more than their share of missteps especially so early on, but the sense of possibility had arrived that quickly.

And this morning...

This time yesterday, he had been selecting outfit after outfit, nervous but mostly resigned to his fate. He would be arrested - he knew it for a fact, and he needed to plan accordingly. He had counted pieces and debated a brooch he loved or whether that would disqualify the entire jacket because he really didn't know the rules that well, he had made plans to stop at the bank to pull out enough money for bail and his fine if he needed it, and he was trying to talk himself into the evening without scaring himself enough to back out. Then the evening had actually happened, and here he was a day later...

He was still a little too in awe of Mama's to really believe it had happened. It seemed just a touch too fantastic to actually be touched, like an elaborate fantasy his mind had conjured in a last-ditch attempt to give him enough hope in something to not move back to Ohio. He'd had stranger and more wonderful dreams than a coffeeshop packed to the brim with homosexuals, but he couldn't say his realities had ever been quite that ridiculous.

But the boy who had spent the night in his bed couldn't be written off so easily.

Not that Ricky was a souvenir of his evening. He was just the one piece of proof Kurt could look at and know the images swirling in his mind were memories and not the desperate creations of his twisted, yearning mind.

They had spent hours talking - hours. Kurt wasn't even sure when he had finally coaxed Ricky back to his apartment, but he knew they had sat in the park for a lengthy discussion of why Doris Day could not (in Ricky's mind) be any more adorable but wouldn't last five minutes in the real world, what really killed Marilyn, all the places in Europe they wanted to see one day (Ricky wanted a Roman Holiday of his very own, Kurt dreamed of strolling down the Champs-Elysees and speaking snobbish French). It was all fluffy, superficial, completely unimportant, but at the same time it seemed monumental. It wasn't like the conversations he had with Rachel - it was, but at the same time it wasn't. Kurt couldn't put his finger on why, on what made it special; the word 'homosexual' was never mentioned, it wasn't an overt conversation, but their shared nature lurked just under the surface of everything. They didn't have to talk about the serious topics for Kurt to know that this was someone who had gone through the same things he had. Rachel and Mercedes could never know what it was like to huddle in a cement cell and look around and know that most of those men would love to pummel them and no one would stop it or what it felt like to have police officers stare and laugh and point and thoroughly enjoy causing abject humiliation...but Ricky did. He didn't know why that made him feel better when they were talking about how glamourous Audrey Hepburn was, but it did.

He had tried to bring it up at one point. After they returned to the safety of his bedroom, with locks separating them from the hostility of the wider world, as they lay untouching side-by-side in his bed, he had mentioned Ethel, asked if Ricky had seen him - or was it her - lately, and Ricky cut him off with the statement that George Peppard was nice and all, but if he were Audrey he would pick Gregory Peck, because he did love a man who knew how to wear a suit. And that had been the end of that.

But still. It was hard to imagine a better night existing anywhere in any time or place.

He knotted his tie expertly by feel, adjusting his collar before he checked his reflection in the mirror - perfect. The smile looked unfamiliar on his reflection, but he couldn't help himself. Even if the entire night felt like some dream still, it was certainly a wonderful one. He pulled on his jacket and toed on his shoes before he opened the door and stepped out into the living room...

...where two inquiring faces greeted him.

"Good morning," he smiled, fighting the urge to giggle. It was just that things felt so good now, so bright and hopeful after what seemed like years of darkness and despair, and the lightness of it all left him feeling uncharacteristically childlike - almost silly. He wasn't alone. Not only did he have an entire coffeeshop full of people like himself, not only had he seen firsthand that it was possible to find a man and be a couple like he'd always dreamed of (He wondered what Don and John were like at home, if it was something straight out of his fantasies about what New York would be like. He bet it was; they were both aesthetes at heart, after all, and he could easily imagine them reading Vogue and the New York Times Style section in a well-apportioned living room while ballads played in the background), but he had another boy he could talk to about what it was like to be like them, what it was like to be arrested and feel hopeless and honestly believe there was no one out there like them and-

The entire world was open now. All the sturm and drang was just a heavy curtain hiding the undeniably bright world he'd been searching for. Everything was perfect there, as long as he avoided the police on his way. Like everything he'd ever dreamed - except that one thing, but even hope of that was creeping back in, and he felt...at peace, almost, with the lack of a boy to kiss him. At least for now, and really for the foreseeable future. Yes, he wanted what Don and John had, but connection of any kind was something he'd been desperately needing for so long, and from what he'd been able to see, connection and physical contact seemed to be mostly mutually exclusive anyway, so he was content.

He had a new best friend and an oasis. Who needed more than that, honestly?

He walked into the kitchen and poured coffee into the mug Rachel had left sitting by the pot for him, humming softly to himself as he smiled. She even had a plate sitting out for him, too, and while french toast could be a little heavy he did really like hers. He carried his mug to the table and stood in the place where they needed a third chair, cutting his toast with the edge of his fork. "Someone was up early," he smiled. "This is great, thank you," he added sincerely. Rachel stared back at him with a wide-eyed look he couldn't quite read. "...What emotion are you supposed to be practicing?" he asked. "Because it's not coming through. You look confused and terrified, and that's a stage direction I've never seen."

"There's a Puerto Rican in our shower," she whispered dramatically, pronouncing it with an 'o', as though it were an Irish location - Port O'Rican.

"That's Ricky. He's..." Kurt smiled to himself before he used a word that was wholly inadequate but the only one that came close, "a friend." Mercedes shifted uncomfortably in her seat, shoving a forkful of syrup-soaked toast into her mouth, but Rachel smirked for a moment before grinning broadly.

"A 'friend' who stayed the night," she pointed out.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go into the odd circumstances of that part of the night yet, not until he knew what was going on and whether he was free to discuss it. It seemed like the sort of thing he shouldn't go around gossiping about with other people, and it was definitely something Ricky didn't seem to want to talk about. At least, not yet. His smile faded as he pictured his friend curled up and freezing on that damned bench in a park in the middle of the night - but maybe it really was temporary or not so bad. "We were talking, it was late, so we came back here."

"Oh, of course," Rachel replied brightly, clearly not believing him. "I understand." She winked exaggeratedly, mouth open, one side of her face scrunching before she gave a nod and a smile as if to say 'just between the two of us.'

Oh god. She thought they-

"No! Oh my god. No. That was not-" he sputtered, choking awkwardly. "We didn't- Rachel!"

"I know I'm hardly the one with the moral authority to lecture you about making wise decisions with regards to 'knowing' men, given my own recent history, but...don't you think it's a little soon? I...I know that I moved too fast with Cal - I let him move too fast, and I really regret it. I shouldn't have let my heart overtake my head that way, or I might have realized the things he was up to, I mean...how well do you even know him?"

It was an impossible question to answer. On one hand, barely at all: they'd spoken a handful of times, never about anything serious, he didn't know where Ricky was from or what school he'd gone to or what his parents were like...but on the other, so well he couldn't begin to explain it. But the more important thing to point out was- "Nothing happened. It wasn't like that. He's a friend, that's all."

"Is 'friend' one of those words you use because there's no appropriate word for homosexuals?" she asked, adding, "...I should call my dad..."

Kurt tried very hard not to roll his eyes, but he was unsuccessful, a mumbled, "Oh my god" escaping before his eyes finally met hers again. "We aren't involved that way. He isn't my- we don't-"

"Don't what?"

The sound of a new voice got everyone's attention, silence blanketing the dining area as Ricky looked at them all skeptically. He was dressed in his clothes from the night before, curls glistening in the overhead light as they were still damp from the shower. His posture was defensive, stiff but sassy - unlike Kurt who tended to go ramrod straight when he was trying to get out of an awkward situation. He started toward the door, and it occurred to Kurt that he wasn't sure what happened when Ricky left - how would he find him again? Because he'd seen him at that park but he'd also seen him other places in town including up on this side of the Park which was a far cry from the Village, and in this city of a few million people how was he supposed to be able to find him again?

He grabbed a piece of paper from the pad beside the phone, scribbling their number onto it, and held it out to the boy. "Here." When Ricky looked at him skeptically, he added, "So we can talk. Or find each other again, for that matter. Or we could go to Mama's together-"

"Mmhmm." Ricky sounded skeptical, distant, so unlike he had the night before when they giggled over horrible movies and sighed wistfully over dreamy actors. "I've gotta go, doll, but thanks."

It was something in his tone, Kurt realized. He recognized it, he did it himself, but he couldn't pick it out or identify it if Rachel asked him to (which he was sure she would if he ever tried to say anything) - something affected. Not flirtatious, not feminine like Audrey or Grace Kelly, tighter but melodic at the same time, more cartoon than human.

"Do you want some breakfast?" he asked quickly, able to practically feel Ricky slipping away even though they stood in place. "Rachel made plenty, and she's actually a good cook - I'm better, but it's good. You can have mine-"

"No, I'm fine." Ricky cast a weary look past Kurt at the two girls at the table, then fixed him with an intense and nervous glower Kurt couldn't quite understand; it made him swallow hard and hold his position even as he wanted to drag the boy back. No. He wasn't going to- He couldn't have found the one and only other person he could talk to only to have him run away again.

Was this what his life was going to be? Intense and meaningful connections with boys for barely a few moments, then loneliness and emptiness? Hadn't he done that already? Wasn't New York supposed to be different? Could he even-

Ricky's look softened a moment as he took the slip of paper from Kurt's fingers, looking away and down as he did as though he were ashamed of himself for giving in, for not standing his ground and retaining his distance, and then he was gone.

* * * * *

Rachel knew that she was lucky her agent's building had an elevator at all, since he was on the eighth floor and not all the buildings in this part of town had them, but the tiny box of a space barely had room for the two of them plus the elevator operator, let alone all their shopping bags. It had been a successful trip - nowhere too fancy, just Macy's, but Mercedes had found some beautiful dresses in light pinks and blues - she insisted, something about not wearing dark colours anymore because she didn't have to - with sequins and beads that looked great on her, especially when she smiled like that. She had found a few nice dresses of her own, ones she was certain would help her stand out at her next audition. She had even changed into one of them in the bathroom when they stopped for lunch, which Mercedes said was low-class but she thought was simply the nature of needing an appropriate outfit for when she saw her agent without wanting to go all the way uptown to their apartment first. It was a little too springy for the climate, but she couldn't help it if the sunny yellow dress matched her disposition today.

"This shouldn't take too long," she assured Mercedes as the operator slid the gate to the side and lifted the door, revealing the eighth floor's office suite. "I just need to ask him for dates, which will only be a few minutes. Unless he wants to discuss a change in direction for my career, in which case-" Mercedes shot her a skeptical look, and Rachel amended, "in which case I'll schedule a time to speak with him later this week." Things were going well and she didn't particularly want to wear out the tentative truce by making her friend sit around in the lobby for awhile while she plotted her future career progress. Plus that would be insensitive, since Mercedes was only partly involved in her chosen field these days. Though she had said something while they were shopping about the club paying her to sing on weekends, which was apparently a big deal. Rachel wasn't sure why, since any good performer should be compensated and Mercedes was certainly good at what she did.

She gave the receptionist her name and that she was there to see Mr. Reynolds, then led Mercedes to the row of chairs in the entryway while they waited. Her agent was the talkative sort sometimes, so if he was on a phone call it might be a few extra minutes - but they could use that time for bonding, too, she was sure. "Did your family eat together growing up?"

Mercedes went from studying her manicure to staring at Rachel like she'd lost her mind. "What?"

Rachel shrunk back a little, feeling silly. "It's just something I was wondering this morning. I liked having breakfast together, and I think we need to get another chair so we can have dinner - and lunch on the weekends - at the table instead of in the living room. Just because some people's families eat crowded around a television set doesn't mean we should. My mom always made very clear that meals were for family time and conversation, and I realized I didn't know if your family did that too."

Mercedes stared at her suspiciously for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether she was serious or not, then replied, "Yeah. Every night."

"Really?"

Mercedes nodded. "We'd make dinner for Kurt and his dad, then go home and make dinner for us and eat it together."

"You couldn't just take food from-"

"Why would we? We could afford our own."

"I didn't mean that, I...just thought it was silly to make dinner twice, is all."

Mercedes sighed, and when she spoke it was quieter but a little patronizing. "She worked for Kurt's dad. It wasn't cooking for fun, it was her job. His dad's great and everything, but it was different. Except holidays, then she cooked for all of us - or Kurt did, one year."

Rachel couldn't imagine what that must be like, working for someone else's family like that, being friends with someone but knowing it wasn't really like a normal friendship, and she didn't know quite what to say. After a long moment of trying to figure out something, she offered instead, "So you think we should do that? Have a regular dinner routine?"

Mercedes smiled faintly. "That sounds nice," she agreed.

"We should pick up chairs on the way home. We need at least one, plus a second one in case Ricky comes over again. Any guest, though, really, it's just impolite. I felt bad when Mr. Hummel was in town, we had to eat Christmas dinner on the couch because otherwise one of us had to stand all the time. This will be perfect."

Mercedes blanched as she asked, "...You think he's coming back?"

"Probably not for a few years. I know he misses Kurt, but he's not a city boy and it's hard for him to get away from the shop, especially with Finn...away...so we'll probably make a trip out there before he comes back, but it's still-"

"Not him. Ricky."

Rachel paused, looking over at her, confused. "Well, Kurt said he's a friend - and I think more than that, the goodbye was much too awkward for neither of them to want anything to happen. I remember how uncertain I felt when I left Cal's for the first time after our evening together, and they did get home awfully late. So I think..." She noticed Mercedes shifting uncomfortably again, looking away. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to think about that."

"About what?"

"Look, I know Kurt's...Kurt. But that doesn't mean I like it, or...want to think about what that means he..." Her voice was quiet, nervous. "I love him, but that doesn't mean I love everything he does."

"You mean him being a homosexual?" Rachel asked, confused, and Mercedes shushed her with a nervous glance around. "Oh come on, Mercedes, it's New York, I can say-"

"You shouldn't."

"He's going to find a boyfriend the same way I am. Or would be, if I weren't focusing solely on my career for the foreseeable future because the last thing I need is another man using me to further his own status and ego."

Rachel's head turned quickly toward the receptionist's desk as she heard a familiar voice say, "Fred Hayworth here to see Mr. Reynolds."

"Of course, Mr. Hayworth, I'll let him know you're here."

She'd known they shared an agent, but she hadn't yet seen the elusive star of film and Broadway. She'd been trying to catch a glimpse of him since she had seen his picture on her agent's desk more than a year earlier. He was even more attractive in person - tall and strong-looking with hair that looked more strawberry than blond under these lights. His square jaw softened slightly with each smile, which he flashed freely, and though he had a great presence, he carried himself more like an every-man than like the headliner he was.

Well, not quite headliner, but close to it. He'd starred in a couple different shows, though he had only originated one role so she only had him on one of her albums, but he was well-known around town as a star who was soon to become a star. From this distance, she could certainly see why - and from his voice, she knew he would succeed.

"Fred!" Her agent greeted warmly as he strode into the lobby, extending his hand for the star to shake. "Good to see you. Come on back to my office."

"You were here first, shouldn't he-" Mercedes started to point out.

Rachel forced herself out of her reverie and realized she was staring at the empty space in the direction where the two men had walked. "I have all day, he's a man about town with a much more full schedule."

Mercedes looked at her skeptically, brow low. "What happened to no more men?"

"What? Oh - no. Not at all. He's just..." she couldn't stop the tiny dreamy sigh. He was talented and attractive and any girl in town - or in Hollywood - would want him. She didn't hold any illusions about her prospects. She hoped to one day have his level of success was all, which did give her hope. Obviously her agent had the necessary expertise and connections to help her attain that goal, which was a good sign.

"He is pretty cute," Mercedes joked.

"And an established star," Rachel pointed out, eyes darting toward her agent's office, ignoring the way the receptionist rolled her eyes. "And I meant it."

A few minutes later, the men emerged again, her agent shaking Fred's hand (when had he become just 'Fred' in her mind? As if they were on first name basis with one another!). "Good seeing you. Take care, and I"ll call you when I get word."

"Thanks." He flashed Rachel a quick smile as he departed the office, leaving her a little breathless because even if she had no intention of trying to pursue anything, the gentleman was stunning.

"Rachel - thanks for waiting." He held his hand out in her direction, and she stood, leaving her bags with Mercedes as she followed him back toward his office. "I've got a couple open calls I can send you on, one's a little smaller so your chances are better. Oh - and he asked for your number so I gave it to him, hope that was okay."

"Who?"

"Fred. I figured no girl would turn him down - if you do, don't worry, he's not a cad. But don't be shocked when he calls you. So. Next Tuesday morning over at the Nederlander, there's a minor role I think you'd be good for..." He flipped through the packets on his desk, but Rachel's mind was spinning at the idea that a star had asked for her number.

Maybe 'no more men' didn't have to apply to leading men...did it? Especially not to good guys? Because she was going to have a hard time saying no if he called.