As the Greyhound bus pulled into the depot, Blaines nose was practically plastered to the window as he tried to figure out this city - his new home. Even after a decade and a half in California, he realized he had barely explored his adopted state, and while hearing "Los Angeles" evoked a myriad of images of old Hollywood, of Clark Gable eating dinner at Musso & Franks, of Greta Garbo and her disdainfully-arched eyebrow, of starlets at premiers and the Oscars, he wasnt sure he had any concept of the place from the recent past. He knew what San Francisco felt like, what it smelled like, what it stood for - and even though he had grown weary of it, at least he knew. LA was nothing but a series of questions - and potential. It was the land where dreams came true, where a young woman eating at a department store dining counter could become the new "it" girl. Surely, Blaine thought to himself as he stared at the bottom floors of buildings lining the traffic-packed streets, he could find what he was looking for here.

It looked nothing like San Francisco - dirtier than even the Tenderloin, with tall buildings jutting up out of clusters of low-level shacks that looked like they had seen better days. Blaine sat back, using his shirt sleeve to wipe away the fog his breath had left on the window, trying to get a better sense of whether the dirt he thought he saw was real or just a product of too much car exhaust. It didnt look as bad as photos he had seen of New York lately, but it wasnt the glittering city of promise hed hoped for, either.

San Francisco didnt shine anymore either, he reminded himself. There were newer, cleaner areas and ones that looked like they hadnt been washed since the Eisenhower administration. Just because the Castro was for the most part well-kept didnt mean the entire city was...nor did he have any reason to expect that the Greyhound station was representative of all of LA. Three men had separately tried to approach him about either buying or selling something at the depot as he left northern California; he liked to think that wasnt typical of anything but lousy bus depot placement.

The bus shuddered to a stop, and Blaine reached to retrieve his bags. With his suitcase clutched in one hand and his duffle bag mostly-full of 8-tracks slung over his other, he stepped off the bus and drew in a deep breath, anxious to explore his new home. He didnt think he had ever been so hot in his life. How did anyone survive here more than five minutes - two seconds in and he feared he would melt into the pavement. It shouldnt be this much hotter than San Francisco, should it? It had been a cool 50 when he boarded the bus at 4 and now at- he checked his watch- half past 2 in the afternoon, he doubted it would be warmer than 70 at home. He had no idea what the temperature was where he stood, but he guaranteed it was at least 90 - probably higher. It had to be higher if he felt this drenched with sweat and he was himself 98.6, right?

He made his way through the throng of passengers waiting to pick up larger bags and through the doors into the bus depot. Immediately through the doors a sharp puff of air conditioning chilled him; he shivered but was grateful for it. Setting down his bags on an empty chair, he rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows and reached into his pocket to tug out the slip of paper that held his new address...not that he had any idea how to reach it. He wasnt entirely sure which direction West Hollywood was from here - instinct said west, but that might not be right because he had no idea where regular Hollywood was from here. He spotted a rack of pamphlets beside the soda machine and made a beeline, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw a series of local bus maps. After more than a decade of riding the assortment of streetcars that San Francisco had to offer, he liked to think he was pretty proficient at figuring out how to get where he needed to go as long as he had a map and correct fare.

In reality, by the time he finally disembarked at his final stop, it was after 5 and the streets were more jammed than ever with cars as everyone tried to get home for the night. And even then, he still had to trudge four blocks to the address on his slip of paper. At least it was flat, he tried to convince himself, or at least almost level - just a slight upward slope toward his new home instead of the mountain he would be climbing in San Francisco.

Peering at the numbers of old-looking buildings, he stopped in front of a stucco-faced block of apartments. The wrought-iron gate that stretched across the front walk had been painted light blue at one point, probably to give a soothing or tropical feel, but by now was mostly rust with flecks of sky-coloured latex between the red bumps. He could see where the facade had been patched, each fix denoted by a different shade and texture of plaster, so that in parts he could barely tell which layer was the original building surface. The 2 of the address was missing, but the space where it had once been was much lighter than the surrounding area, cleaner than the rest of the stucco and a bit flatter, so he could read it almost as clearly as the brass numbers still tacked in place.

So this was his new home.

The old Victorian on Noe, even with its endless stairs and creaking floors, seemed like a palace by comparison even though it was considerably smaller; at least that had been well cared-for instead of this cast-off. He hadnt been trying to get away from his physical apartment, he reminded himself; he had never tired of that. It was about the city, which he still hadnt actually explored. And at least now it was cooler than it had been when he had arrived, the early evening bringing the temperature down to a manageable level.

Tentatively, almost afraid of what he might find beyond it, he lifted the u-shaped piece of iron holding the gate closed and entered the complex. The walkway led between two buildings - or was it two ends of the same building? - and into a small courtyard that was almost filled by a pool. At least, Blaine assumed it was a pool; it was hard to tell from the amount of green whether it was intended as a garden of some kind or simply poorly maintained. But for the walkway through which he had come, the pool was completely surrounded by two stories of apartments, each door opening out toward the courtyard. The columns helping support the second story as well as the railings to keep residents from falling off the catwalks were painted the same chipped sky blue, though not quite as rusty as the gate out front. At each of the four corners, Blaine could see the foot of a staircase tucked into a stucco archway to lead to the upstairs apartments; judging from his apartment number (214), he guessed that was where he was heading. Hoisting his duffle bag higher on his shoulder, he found the nearest staircase and trudged up and emerged on the catwalk, which to his relief felt much sturdier than it looked.

Apartment 214 was halfway down the left-hand side of the pool, only a hundred feet or so from the stairs, and he had been told the door would be open for him. He had left his own key under the front mat, along with a spare key with his downstairs neighbour just in case, so the idea that even in this...rough of a complex the previous tenant felt safe leaving his door unlocked did help Blaines state of mind somewhat. He reached out and turned the knob, only to feel it stop after a quarter turn, clearly locked. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He set down his bags and reached down to lift the doormat, starting first at the corners where it would be easiest to slip a key and then picking up the entire thing. Nothing but dirt greeted him. He reached up, then raised up on his toes, trying to feel above the lintel in case that would be a safer place; again, he came up empty.

He sat down heavily on the cement walkway, frustrated and exhausted. What kind of fools errand was this? Why had he trusted the word of a friend of a friend about something as important as the place he would be living for three months? What if this wasnt even a real address? For all he knew, some guy was living the high life in the Castro right now, in his apartment, breaking his stereo and having sex in his bed, and he was standing here in some dilapidated apartment complex with an algae-infested pool in a city where he couldnt find anything, let alone a pay phone. And even if he could find a phone, who in the world could he call? Ted might let him crash there, if he had any way of getting there, but even then hed committed to stay the whole summer, and he doubted his old friend would have quite that much hospitality in him. Assuming he could even reach the man.

Blaine sighed, trying to calm himself down. Maybe the key was just somewhere else. Maybe the man had realized before he left that leaving his door unlocked in this complex wasnt the best idea and had put the key somewhere else that might be safer, but hadnt been able to reach him because he was already on the bus. All he had to do was figure out where that safer place might be. Maybe a mailbox - it was a place he would think to leave something at home, even though his mailbox didnt have a lock. He just had to hope this one didnt, either, or he would be out of luck until or unless he also found the mailbox key.

He peered down through the bars, looking for where the boxes might be, when another sign caught his eye: Landlord. Perfect. Blaine pulled himself to his feet and, after considering a moment, grabbed his bags. The last thing he needed was to return in a few minutes with a key and find his entire music collection - and all his clothes - had been stolen. Given the way the trip had been going, that seemed surprisingly likely. He bounded down the steps again and across the entrance side of the courtyard, then rapped lightly on the marked door.

As he shifted on the woven mat that had at one point said "Welcome" but now had only a W and the faint curve of an l, it occurred to Blaine that he really hoped the landlord would be in. At home his landlord worked later hours than he did, some kind of office job downtown, but with the many units here he hoped managing this complex might be his full-time job...or at least that he might home early-ish. At first Blaine heard nothing - no scuffle, no call, no footsteps moving toward the door, and he knocked again, stomach sinking as he tried to figure out where he could go if this didnt work. Maybe one of his new neighbours would let him in to call Ted...hed have to fish the number out of wherever it had ended up in his bag, though, and he wasnt looking forward to doing that on someones front mat-

The door swung inward and a tall man with windswept blond hair stood before him. Everything about him screamed "classic beauty but not quite," from the way his muscles looked almost pasted onto his frame instead of grown there naturally, to the fullness of his lips beneath his long, perfectly-straight chiseled nose, to his prominent cheekbones that were set just barely too high and made his lower jaw look too long...every part of the picture was just barely wrong but still undeniably nice to look at. "Yeah?" he asked, seeming distracted and stifling a yawn.

"Im sorry, I didnt mean to wake you," Blaine offered sincerely, though he wasnt sure who would be asleep this time of evening.

The man blinked twice, gaze coming into focus as he looked Blaine up and down. Blaine shifted, a mix of flattered and self-conscious at the intensity of the scrutiny. "no problem," the man replied, a faint smirk of approval crossing his face. "They didnt tell me anyone new was moving in today - and I would remember seeing you around before."

Blaine blushed but grinned - after how hed decided to leave, he reveled in being noticed...and not just noticed, but desired...by the first gay man he met in the entire city. He had a much better feeling about Los Angeles all of a sudden. "Im Blaine, Im staying in Ralphs apartment for the summer?"

"Oh- right. He went to...San Francisco?"

"Right," Blaine confirmed and the man nodded. "Im sorry to bother you, but he was supposed to leave a key and it doesnt seem to be anywhere. Do you have a copy?"

"Yeah, he dropped it off last night before he left. Probably figured it would be safer that way. Come in, Ill go get it for you." The man stepped back and turned to look for it, leaving the door open for Blaine to follow. The apartment looked a little older than he expected - or more dated, anyway; his home back north dated to before the Earthquake and Great Fire while this just looked like 1955 had come back to have its revenge with more shag carpeting. Still, it was clean, which Blaine hoped boded well for his own temporary dwelling.

"Have you lived here long?" Blaine asked, glancing around at the threadbare, mismatched chintz that covered two chairs and a loveseat.

"Not to long - a couple years maybe. I was over in Silverlake before that, but when my roommate and I broke up he got to keep the place. But this ones free as long as Im super, so cant beat that, right?" he kept talking as he passed through the living room, voice echoing off the curved threshold. After a moment of rustling, bhe returned, key in hand. "Here you go. He didnt give me his mailbox key - if thats not in the apartment somewhere, he probably forgot and took it with him." Blaine reached out to take the key and froze as their hands met and the mans gaze began to bore into him again. he swallowed hard and looked up, eyes meeting. ""Just...let me know," he said finally, voice much lower than it had been. "Well figure something out."

Blaine wasnt sure what they would figure out - he thought theyd said a minute ago but he couldnt remember now...but he looked forward to whatever it might be. "Okay," he replied quietly, lips curving into a tiny smile.

The landlord - super, he guessed - pressed the key into his hand and offered a sly, knowing grin. "You should go. Disco naps a-wasting."

"Where do people go around here?" Blaine asked - and by people he meant the man whose intense stare kept making him shiver even though the apartment was not lacking for heat.

"A bunch of places. Ah-mens popular. Gaym has the best go-go boys. Key Club if youre looking for that. Memberships kinda steep but worth it if you go a few times a week."

"Which one do you like?" Blaine ventured, hoping an invitation woudl follow.

"Goliaths," he replied without hesitation. "Its on Melrose. Maybe Ill see you there."

Blaine grinned. "Definitely," he replied. He headed for the door, holding up the key as an I should get backgesture and an expression of thanks, then retreated to his new-found home. He slipped the key easily into the deadbolt, twisted, and was relieved to hear the sound of metal clunking into place. He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder again and pushed the door open, breathing a sigh of relief as he entered. The apartment wasnt half bad - downright nice compared to the state of the complex it was in. The kitchen off to the right seemed new enough, nice formica for the countertops, and definitely clean and well-kept. Small but the kind of place he wouldnt mind cooking in. Straight ahead was the living room, and Blaine was surprised to see a large motif of painted stripes - backwards Cs with a long tail leading into the next one, each comprised of three stripes: red, gold, and dark brown, separated by thin white bands. The sofas looked more like tufted pillows or limp mattresses, covered in smooth cream canvas and flanked by a table with a built-in turntable. Blaine beamed at that - whoever this man was, the owner of the apartment, this mysterious Ralph he had never met and probably would never lay eyes on, Blaine had to like anyone who prioritized being able to change the record without getting off the couch. along the widest wall, perpendicular to the door, stood an immense wooden entertainment centered with a television, 8-track player, and large (and very nice, Blaine noted) speakers. The album collection rivaled his own, he observed with a grin, and from the way some of the albums leaned, a selection of albums had made the trip up to San Francisco.

So far his counterpart seemed like a man after his own heart. Blaine just hoped that wouldnt mean they came to the same conclusions about both cities. He wasnt sure where he might end up if that happened. Chicago, maybe. Not New York - while it was a great place to be gay these days, he heard, they were always about two hours away from not being able to pay their public school teachers. He was pretty sure even in New York a gay man couldnt teach at parochial school. Even in California that wouldnt fly. He was glad for the good new for East Coast homosexuals and all, but it didnt help him anyway.

...It helped someone, he hoped, anyway. The notion of that much freedom and acceptance in the place where there had once been so much police harassment helped soothe his decades of worry in the same the speeches Jimmy Carter gave on the campaign trail promising amnesty for everyone who had fled to Canada during the war brought him a sense of peace, of relief on behalf of another long-gone lover. The knowledge that men hed loved could be safe now was comforting on the rare occasion he wandered too far back down memory lane. They should be happy.

And so should he. He just really hoped Los Angeles could bring him that.

But so far, he reminded himself as he set his key on the angled-legged laminate table, there were good signs for that. His landlord was reallyhad come to LA looking for a change, so he drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door; it was heavy, like the old bar doors back in pre-liberation days, and he found the interior to be just as poorly lit as he remembered those places being, but the similarities ended there. In the old Polk Gulch days, Blaine was sure there had never been a bar with fully naked men standing on pedestals, flexing for all to see like an old fitness magazine come to life.

It wasnt what Blaine had come there expecting, but now that he was here...well, he did have eyes. And who was he to dismiss such sculpted forms?

He sidled up to the bar and pulled out a quarter for a beer - they were 5 cents cheaper here than at home. As he took the bottle, he reluctantly tore his gaze from the, well, goliaths to scan the room of unfamiliar men in search of the one he knew.

The men looked different here; maybe it was just a different type of bar than the community watering hole he was used to, but almost no one here wore the tight jeans and western shirts he was used to up north. Instead he saw a lot of jean and athletic shorts rising high over slim thighs and muscular calves. Maybe it was a factor of the weather, though it had cooled down considerably. On the other hand, maybe it was the result of a higher rate of visible muscles per tanned young men that led to a lot fewer clothes.

They were taller here. Fitter. Blonder. And even more image-obsessed, he concluded as he watched even his fellow patrons preen and pose. It made sense, Blaine supposed, with Hollywood and all. Still, he couldnt remember ever feeling so short or dark in a bar before.

Still, he was here, and he hadnt moved just to stay in every night. Besides, his landlord would be here, and the man had been plenty interested even in broad daylight. There was no point in leaving yet.

Even if he felt like the only guy in the bar who wasnt being cruised.

It was best to keep moving, he knew; otherwise he might park himself at the bartop with his beer and start veering toward old habits, trying to force levity in ways that spiraled much too quickly. Instead he grasped the bottle and began to weave his way around the room, hoping to find someone who found him worthy of their time. If there was one thing he head learned in a decade at gay bars, it was that everyone was somebodys type. He just had to find that somebody among a sea of bronzed gods tonight.

By his third lap around the narrow bar, he was beginning to think his task was Herculean rather than merely improbable. None of the men even so much as let him catch their eye, let alone reciprocated - Blaine sighed and leaned against the wall, gazing up at the bare ass of the nearest pedestal-poser. After the day hed had, he guessed the last he could do was finish his beer and enjoy the view for a few minutes before going back to his temporary home and crawling into bed. Maybe the landlord had just stayed in tonight, or hadnt woken up from his nap, and maybe he could-

Blaine spied a familiar profile and scrambled to his feet, weaving and nudging his way through the crowd until he reached the only gay man he knew in the whole city. His landlord- jeez, Blaine chided himself, he still didnt know the guys name. thinking of him as "his landlord" every time felt so formal and almost a little scuzzy, like picturing a dirty old man who asked for payment for fixing the pipes...But this wasnt really the time or place for formal introductions, either. The man could be a Jason, after the leader of the Argonauts, with a face (and a body, by the looks of it) that belonged on a piece of Greek painted pottery. That worked. Maybe-Jason leaned against a table, holding what looked like maybe scotch, and talking to a brunette in a tight ringer tshirt with the logos for the Houston Astros stretched across his chest. Blaine watched queasily as maybe-Jason leaned in, grinning, and brushed the edge of the Astros fans shirt cuff where it cupped his bicep. The look maybe-Jason wore was familiar: intense, interested-

He had misread it all, hadnt he? Blaine realized. Maybe-Jason wasnt actually interested in him, he was interested in any halfway-attractive, remotely-homosexual man he saw - just like half the men in San Francisco and practically every guy hed ever slept with (including more than a few recent ex-boyfriends). The men here were exactly the same as the ones hed been trying to get away from. The cruising, the obsession with beauty, none of it was new or unique-

...What a fool hed been.

Blaine set his beer on the nearest table and hurried toward the exit, pushing his way through the crush of men staring at the nearest ass. They barely noticed. He shoved open the heavy door and half-stumbled into the parking lot. How stupid he was. How short-sighed. How-...how utterly ridiculous. Thinking men would change because they...what, exactly? Because they lived closer to a swimmable beach? Because they had a higher chance of meeting the goddesses of the silver screen while standing in line for a soda? They were still men - gay men, post-liberation gay men who seemed to think the best way to preserve their new-found rights was to do everything with a dick that they could find.

He could understand why - he liked sex. really he did. But hed had more meaningless romps than anyone had a right to, and those had all been so...so wrong. Drunken fumbling with some girl to try to convince himself he was okay, that he could be happy and numb at the same time. He couldnt; he knew that now. But he also knew he didnt need ot try. he had spent the last ten years fighting tooth and nail for the ability - not just that, but the right - to have sex that could mean something, only to find out no one wanted boyfriends anymore, just pieces of ass. Men whose names they didnt have to be bothered to learn. Steamy nights they would barely remember in the morning.

All free love had done was make sex cheap, fast, and easy. Too convenient. Too quickly brushed aside. Of course it was the same here - why shouldnt it be? He just didnt have a slate of exes here yet. If he stayed in LA, he would have them soon enough. Just like if he went to New York or Chicago. Just like anywhere else he could go in search of someone to have sex with who would still be there in the morning.

Dejected, he slunk across the parking lot and reached out to hail a cab. he hoped the bed was as comfortable as the couch; after the day hed had, he wanted to sleep fro a year.

* * * * *

The last thing Blaine wanted to do on his first morning in LA was get up. The mattress was surprisingly soft, the sort of thing a person could sink it, and the early morning temperature was comfortable - downright pleasant, even. Besides, still stinging from the conclusion he had come to the night before, why bother? Blaine knew it was petulant and immature, but he didnt care that much, not when it turned out that his pool of potential dates in this city was equally unlikely to give him what he desired - not just wanted but needed from a relationship. What was the point of getting up - when he was perfectly comfortable, no less - to go out and meet nothing but guys who wanted a quick orgasm and nothing more?

Which wasnt to say no one would want him - plenty would. Plenty had. It wasnt personal that way, it wasnt about vanity even though he was still a little hurt that none of the men last night had so much as looked at him twice. But wasnt it worth having self-respect to not have a bar full of men playing the constant "hey, you wanna?" game with nothing but eye contact and the occasional nod or lift of the eyebrow? Wasnt waiting around to have a relationship that would be good for him - or at least mean something other than mutual horniness - the best thing to do?

Maybe he shouldnt have a boyfriend for awhile. He sighed deeply at the thought; it had only been a few weeks and he already missed the sweet intimacy of sharing his days with another person, of just looking at them and knowing and feeling so deeply...

Maybe that was why he needed to take some time for himself. But time for himself still required getting up and not just wallowing in a strangers bed all day. Besides, he had a whole new city to explore and lunch plans with Ted. At least for those reasons, if nothing else, he needed to leave the bed.

By the time he arrived outside Philippe the Original at 12:30, Blaine felt like he finally understood the bus map in his pocket - at least a little. And though he knew the camera around his neck marked him as a tourist, two families had thought he looked sure enough of himself that they had asked him for directions - and he had only sent one of them in the wrong direction and had to sprint down the street after them to apologize and help turn them around. Not bad for his second day int own. He would need to buy a few pair of shorts to help with the midday heat, but he could feel himself already starting to get used to it. (His hair was another story.)

Tugging open the glass door, Blaine found himself staring at a throng of people chattering away as they read the large menu board that stretched from one end of the counter to the other. Blaine raised up on tip-toe, attempting to peer over the crowd. How was he ever supposed to find his old friend in this place?

"Blaine!" His head jerked to the right as he heard his name, and Ted waved from his place at a table near the back of the small dining room. Two large sandwiches sat on the table in front of him, and Blaine headed over quickly, offering quick "Excuse me"s to the the patrons he brushed past. Teds hair was longer and bushier than last time Blaine had seen him, and the matching gingerish mustache was new - or new in the last six years, which Blaine guessed wasnt new at all. But he looked good - comfortable, and not just because he donned a slouchy striped polo shirt and broken-in Levi 501s. Blaine smiled as he approached the table, and Ted grinned as he shook his hand. "I hope you dont mind, I went ahead and ordered. it can be a madhouse here at lunch."

"No - it looks great," Blaine replied as he took a seat.

"They did invent the french dip." Ted removed the plastic top from the styrofoam bowl of fragrant beef gravy. "Or so they say anyway. How was your first night here?"

Blaine picked up his sandwich, dunking it awkwardly, and began to tell the entire story of his first 12 hours in town between bites: the heat, the arduous journey, the locked door, the landlord who turned out to have wandering eyes (and other things, he suspected petulantly, to Teds amusement). "Theyre exactly like the guys at home," he concluded, "only more self-absorbed and superficial."

"Of course they were - you were at a bar," Ted replied, and Blaine blinked, not sure he understood. "Looking for someone to date at a bar is like trying to find someone to marry at a key party - its not what people are there for, so its not what youll find. I"d rather ask out a woman in line at the grocery store than at a bar."

Blaine paused, mulling over what his friend had said. Hed never thought of it like that. It didnt help explain every relationship failure hed had - not even close - but it did make sense why some guys seemed incapable of being boyfriend material...and why Austin had moved on so quickly and unexpectedly. Bars, as it turned out, might be even worse for him and what he needed than he had thought.

But what did that mean for him? Hed fought hard to get those bars - those sacred places for freedom and socializing, for being among a community. if he took those out of the equation, where else did he have to go? Sure there were gay political organizations now, and he volunteered with them sometimes, but he loved meeting people and just...enjoying company. He tried to think of gay places other than bars and nightclubs back home - where he knew every nook and cranny of the neighbourhood hed called home for more than 8 years now - and came up empty. Here he had even less of an idea where to begin.

if he accepted that going out would never get him more than a moments pleasure, did that condemn him to a summer spent alone in the apartment - and then a lifetime of perching above 18th Street and watching a neighbourhood come alive, bustle, then go to sleep again, always apart as Quasimodo in the bell tower? "Thats a lot easier to do when you can meet women at the supermarket," he pointed out, trying not to feel bitter or hopeless about the prospect of a bar-less future. There was no point in that, he had learned, but sometimes he just got so frustrated. Things were better than ever, and that thrilled him, and he was proud to be able to claim any small part in helping bring about the freedom they had now. But sometimes it still felt like he was always waiting to be allowed to grow up and start the next stage in his life. Waiting for the people around him to catch up. He wasnt a kid anymore, he should have been married with children of his own by now, and while he was thankful every single day that he hadnt gotten swept down that path...sometimes living alone and trying to find someone to date made him feel like a perpetual college student, always preening and trying to find someone to take out to the big game on Friday. But was the only other option isolation from everyone who might understand him? He shuddered at the thought.

"We just need to get you out and meeting people," Ted replied. "But somewhere you might actually talk to people before you kiss - or find out their name before you find out their jock size."

While Blaine was still sure that he and Maybe-Jason could have had a great future together were it not for those other men, he supposed Ted might be on to something. "Do you know any place like that?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact..." he stood and pulled a quarter-folded flier out of his back pocket. "Since you mentioned it. A buddy of mine runs a club - all different kinds of live music, but with a neat atmosphere. Its kinda loungey, gets a mix of people - including plenty of guys to talk to," he added with a teasing tone as though he was sure that would be Blaines next question. "And his sister married an A and R guy, so he has an in at a bunch of labels now. Hes doing a bunch of...what did he call them? Showcases? Something like that. Got a few of his contacts to send their up-and-comers his way, plus some established guys who just really like playing small venues. It should be some good shows - and Im not just saying that because I redid his whole sound system and know its top of the line," he added with a smirk as he unfolded the paper and handed it to Blaine.

"You did?"

"Yeah. Thats mostly what I do now. A lot of upgrading, some rewires, mostly for all the bars on Sunset that used to be crap piles and now are...well, crap piles with awesome audio."

"What happened to airplanes?"

"Demilitarization - peace with honor and fewer jobs," he replied with a shrug and a wave of his hand, nonplussed. "This is better. I get into any show I want for free. Plus I set my own hours - no more oh-seven-hundred crap."

"Sounds nice," he replied, though he couldnt imagine working in a job where that wasnt the start of his work day. He looked over the folder, tilting his head slightly at the first name that popped out at him. "Toto?" he asked. "As in Ill get you my pretty...?"

"I have no idea," Ted replied. "Its a couple guys whove done studio work for Steely Dan and Seals and Croft who just got a deal. But Harry Chapins meant to be fantastic live."

"I heard he recruited Mr. Tanners out of the audience once," Blaine confirmed, and though his voice was unsuited for the task of a song about a classic baritone, he had to see any performance he could by an artist who recognized and relished the power a song could have over a crowd. "...Mercedes Jones?"

"Yeah - you know, she has that song out right now..." Ted hummed a couple bars of the chorus, but Blaines mind was already a million miles - and a couple decades - away. He had recognized her name the first time the DJ had said it, but it had taken a few days to place it; it hadnt been until the poster went up in the teachers lounge asking for prom chaperons that the name had clicked and he had remembered the perfectly nice girl in the bright pink dress he had spent three hours trying to like and half-ignoring in favour of Kurt. He had known she loved music, and Kurt had looked forward to them being in the same glee club, but her success - and the way that success had thrust her name back into his head so many years later - had taken him by surprise.

"I know. I know her," Blaine replied distantly. He felt like there should be more...not closeness exactly, but something tying them together he could talk about. He wasnt sure why. They had met a few times, she had grown up with someone he had loved a lifetime ago. That was all.

...he bet Kurt was thrilled for her success...if they were still close. A lot could happen in- god, had it really been 16 years? (He didnt even want to think about the fact that the kids he had just finished teaching had been barely born then - some of them werent even glimmers in their mothers eyes yet when he had watched Kurt across the dance floor, spinning Rachel and trying to spite him.)

"Really?" When Blaine just nodded, Ted pressed, "How?"

There was too much history to share for a single answer, so he settled for the shortest - and easiest - version of things. "She was my date to the senior prom."

Ted chuckled, and Blaine wasnt sure why. His taking a girl to prom couldnt be that funny. Sure, he lived openly now, but Ted was the same age he was; surely he remembered what things were like back then. Even now his students took girls - usually their best friend, like Kurt and Rachel had. Certainly when they were teenagers he couldnt have- "That couldnt have gone over well in Ohio," Ted remarked, shaking his head.

Oh. Right. Of all the things he remembered about that year, he tended to forget just how different all of that had been then, too. About Baltimore and the reason the Warblers couldnt compete at Nationals. About the name that shouldnt have been his, about his father...it was amazing how all that felt like an afterthought compared to what his Big Problem had been. As though he would have ever even met Kurt had it not been so awful in those days. "it was a pretty progressive school," he replied.

"I can get you in to see her," Ted offered.

"What? No - I dont think-"

"Before or after a rehearsal or something. No big deal."

"Dont you think that might be kind of...awkward?" Blaine ventured. "She might not even remember me." At least she probably didnt remember anything positive about him, just a terrified boy arguing with his lovesick boyfriend in hushed whispers by the punchbowl. Forgetting him completely might be better.

Ted shrugged. "Worst case scenario, you get a rising stars autograph and get to watch a set. Not such a bad afternoon, right?"

That depended on how the conversation went, he thought glumly. Reminiscing about the weekend she had stormed out of dinner thanks to the racist cheerleader wouldnt be a fun skip down memory lane any more than the prom stories would be. On second thought, it would definitely be better - and certainly more merciful for them both - if she had no idea who he was.

...But on the other hand...

Blaine was glad no one had ever forced him to admit how often his thoughts had turned to his first love over the years; the answer would have been mortifying. It wasnt a prolonged fascination - at least not anymore and not for quite some time. Just...momentary bouts of idle curiosity. What the boy - man, now...what the man was up to. If he had taken the world of fashion by storm. Whether he was in New York or some other fashion capitol. If he had a lover and they threw elegant soirees together like Kurt had dreamed of back then.

If he was happy. Because more than anything, Blaine hoped he was.

Mercedes might know the answers, he thought. She stood a far greater chance of knowing than anyone else Blaine was likely to see any time soon.

He didnt need to know every detail of his former loves life; a decade earlier he would have jumped at the chance to find out everything - where he was working, who was in his life, how he spent his time, where he lived so he could, in a moment of either extreme weakness or unrealistic optimism, fly to New York and track Kurt down and, after a dramatic and heartfelt (and lengthy) apology, prove his worth as a boyfriend now that he had gotten past his fears. But now, at this stage in his life, with a safe city and enough time for self-reflection to understand why it was enough to just be different now, be better, he didnt need to pump Mercedes for Kurts home address. He just needed to know that the brave boy had grown into a happy young man.

(...and that he hadnt ruined Kurt and broken his trust in boys forever. He was pretty sure that was a little unrealistic, but confirmation would help him rest a little easier.)

Then he could move on. It was the only piece left - he had learned, he had forgiven himself, he had striven to create a world that would help others avoid the mistakes he made. With confirmation that Kurt was doing well, he could officially close the door on that part of his life and move forward.

Plus wish an old acquaintance luck in her career and hear what would be a really great concert.

"Youre right," he agreed finally, and Ted grinned at having convinced him.

"Great. Ill set it up with Roger. I think the first ones next Friday."

Perfect. So by Saturday morning he would have closure and could move on with is life. That sounded like a perfect start to the weekend.