There were times that, despite having been best friends for two decades, she had to wonder if Kurt even cared about her at all. Best friends and former faux-boyfriends didnt just abandon someone to move across the country with practically no warning, Rachel thought as she pushed open the glass door with her shoulder, careful to balance the stack of mimeographed papers in her arms and avoid smearing the ink all over her clothes. They certainly didnt do it in exchange for short-term career opportunities, no matter how likely the chance of fleeting fame. She certainly wouldnt do that to him, even if it was because her dream role came with an apartment above the theater - which she was pretty sure was an urban myth, but she had to admit she didnt have enough first-hand knowledge to confirm or deny. At most she would let Kurt move in with her instead of just leaving him to go downtown.

And okay, he might point out that she had technically left him twice before, but that hadnt been her fault. It wasnt a very healthy idea to start a marriage while living with one partys former-fake-boyfriend - all the experts agreed. She was pretty sure, anyway - they would agree if they were asked. And Kurt had understood at the time, he had even agreed with her, he just liked to throw it back in her face when he was angry - he gloated about it, that was all. It was a character flaw of his she endeavored to fix, but no luck so far.

Besides, he couldnt be serious that he had known neither marriage would work out. No one could have known - she certainly hadnt had any idea. Both men had been so perfect back then. No one could have predicted that either one of them would turn out to be a homosexual...even if Ricky and Kurt had joked about it practically from day one. That wasnt the point. They joked about plenty of things that didnt come true.

And even if maybe they had turned out to be right about her ex-husbands, that didnt give Kurt the right to just leave her in the lurch like this, she added angrily as she slipped between the tables of patrons, careful not to jostle anyone sipping their coffee, and sidled up to the community bulletin board. There were already a dozen flyers up, which didnt really surprise her; this board was always filled with ads for people needing more roommates when their old ones moved out - to pursue acting jobs in California or to move back to the Midwest to teach acting instead - or because three waiters couldnt make ends meet the way three Broadway stars could. She was never going to be able to find someone...and even if she could, who could guarantee that the someone would be an acceptable roommate for her particular needs? She and Kurt had a routine, one that had taken years to perfect, and she could only imagine it would take just as long to train someone new about how she liked her post-show tea and not to interrupt her mid-morning vocal warmups. To say nothing of her dietary restrictions - no dairy, no meat, no eggs, with a preference for vegetables that had been grown on communes rather than large farms because she supported the workers who had chosen to dedicate their lives to growing better carrots.

And even if she could find someone who understood her routine and adjusted their own accordingly, how would she find someone who was politically compatible? Someone who understood not only the importance of protecting the environment but also supported the rising cultural consciousness of the negro? She didnt think she could live with anyone who didnt, especially since her fathers homosexual lover was one. She had to admit she probably did have a better chance here than anywhere else because her fellow Jews were well-known for being tolerant people, but still. What if her roommate was someone who thought women should stay at home instead of being empowered and liberated?

...Or what if he was a serial killer? She could try to weed out some of the more brutal men, but even if she limited her roommates only to women that wouldnt save her; she could wind up with one of the lost Manson family members or something. And then what?

She hoped Kurt was happy with himself and his decisions, she thought as she stabbed the thumbtack through her advertisement, making sure it covered most of the existing ads so it would be the first one anyone else saw. Because at the very least, he should be proud of himself for getting her killed by a woman named Squeaky.

"Rachel?" She startled at her name - had someone stalked her already to get her phone number under the guise of renting a room from her? Or maybe it was just a fan who had recognized her...reassured and smiling brightly - like any good star should at all times - she turned to greet the potential-fan-slash-possible-killer and came face to face with an attractive man. About her age, maybe a couple years older at most but definitely under 40, he wore his light brown hair wavy and not quite to his shoulders - longer than John Travolta but shorter than David Cassidy which was good because if it were much longer he would probably look a little too feminine even for the current style. It wasnt his fault; his lips had this perfect pout to them and a peachy-pink shade that seemed almost unnatural but not in a bad way. His eyes were too narrow and wide-set but intense and-...so familiar, but she couldnt- "Rachel Berry?"

"Yes?" she replied, still not sure who exactly this was or why he might want her attention.

"Im surprised I hadnt run into you yet,"the stranger replied with a self-satisfied expression, as though he had made some kind of prophecy that was now, thanks to this meeting, proven right, which was even creepier than someone just being a regular old stalker. "We both knew we would both make it to New York, and Im sure youve only been here a year less than I have."

His identity came to her suddenly, all at once, and she blurted out, "Oh my god, Im so sorry!" His confused expression reminded her that he hadnt realized she had no idea who he was, and she blushed, looking away for a moment. "Jesse. You look..." Different, but not nearly as much as he could have in twenty years. His face was thinner now than it had been at 17, his chin a bit more pronounced, hair a little darker than she remembered, but still - she should have known him at first sight. It had just been so long... "Really good," she concluded. "How have you been?" She racked her brain, trying to remember every show that had premiered in the past eighteen years and every person who had had a role in any of them, because now that it was confirmed he was here, she felt like she must have heard his name sometime over the past two decades and just missed it; with as talented as he had been when they were young, there was no way he wasnt a star by now.

...Unless he was suffering the same fate she was: more talented than anyone else in the room, but somehow never quite right for anything.

"Fantastic," he replied with a broad grin - the smile was exactly the same as when they were younger, and for just a moment she felt her stomach flutter the way it had as a girl. He hadnt smiled much then, hed been so ambitious - they both had. It was one of the things they had in common: unfailing, unwavering ambition and complete dedication to their future careers. Still, every so often he had let the mask drop to reveal that smile...like after the first time they kissed, on top of the ferris wheel at the Ohio State Fair, like every cliche she had thought for sure she would never have because no one she knew understood her the way boys understood girls in movies. She had always been too focused for other boys to pay her any attention, but Jesse... "And you?"

She knew there were plenty of things she should be saying, a million things having happened since the last time she had seen him that she could talk about, tips he had given her that had served her well in auditions even now, but all her mind could focus on was why their happy little movie had ended. She couldnt actually remember - had it been because he was leaving after graduation? She didnt think so, she was pretty sure they had broken up before the following summer if only because she didnt remember him taking her to his spring dance, but she didnt remember anything going wrong enough to stop the relationship. Maybe it had just fizzled out, the way teenage romances so often did.

This was silly, she chastised herself. There was no point in trying to remember something that had obviously not been important enough to leave an imprint on her memory anyway. "Ive been good," she replied.

"I assume youve been suffering from the same career affliction I have - no one else can recognize how exquisite you are," he stated.

"How did you know?"

"I told you: they cant see how exquisite I am, either," he replied, and she felt herself smiling - she wasnt even sure why, just that something about him still made her feel giddy. Maybe it was just a joy in someone else understanding her frustration in a way that Kurt never seemed to. That made more sense than any crush coming back.

This was ridiculous, she told herself, knowing she should put an end to her hearts meander down memory lane. She was sure he was married by now...though a surreptitious glance down at his hand revealed a bare ring finger, which sent a surge of glee through her. "Are you working on anything?" she asked. If there was one thing they could talk about that would bring her back into focus, it was performing.

"I was, but they replaced me with the man who spent all of the transvestite movie in his boxer shorts," Jesse replied with a slight shake of his head. "And you?"

"Godspell," she replied, "which isnt exactly my dream show, you know, between the Christian overtones and the lack of a good belting solo even for the nights where I go on as the lead-"

"Youre right," he replied with a nod. "Your voice is better suited for other things."

Kurt had never gotten that. He had tried being happy for her instead, though she suspected that might have to do with making sure he didnt have to pay the entire rent by himself - as though that was as important in the grand scheme of things as creative fulfillment. She always felt like he of all people should understand, considering how much he hated his now-former job and the design philosophy they had, but somehow he never seemed to understand that she could take a job and still hate the show. Jesse, though... "Exactly," she replied, feeling the smile creeping across her face again. "What brings you here? I would have seen you if you came here often, so this cant be a usual place for you."

"Its not," he confirmed. "The coffee is much better around the corner, it doesnt need hidden with cream which obviously as a conscientious performer I cant have. But the bulletin board here always has more advertisements, and with my roommates sudden departure for Los Angeles to film a television pilot, I need a new apartment."

"Youre looking for somewhere to stay?" she asked, not sure she could believe her luck. Someone who understood her, her needs, her profession...who was, if memory served, neat enough that Kurt wouldnt complain about him taking his room, and with whom she had - at least at one point - had a fantastic personal connection. She couldnt think of many people who would make a more ideal roommate (under the circumstances, anyway. Obviously when Kurt came back he would go back to being her perfect companion, even if she was still angry at his insensitive departure). "Here - my phone numbers on it," she added as she handed him a flyer from the top of her stack.

Jesse perused it, nodding. "I like how you put your name at the top like a marquis. Anyone staying with you should be aware theyre staying with a star," he commented, and Rachel grinned.

"Thank you." Kurt had thought it was ridiculous; clearly he had been wrong. "Its available anytime."

"Perfect," he replied. He carefully folded the paper, creasing it neatly, and placed it in his back pocket. "Ill call you before 5." He started to turn toward, the door, then paused and turned back. "Im glad I ran into you."

Rachel grinned, then turned and tore down her poster, sliding the rest into a trash can. Well. Now that was taken care of.

* * * * *

Kurt stretched as he woke slowly, groaning contentedly as the action caused him to sink deeper into the mattress. Despite warnings from Mercedes handlers at the label that they wouldnt be in upscale accommodations because she wasnt Diana Ross yet, Kurt had to admit that even downscale in LA seemed pretty swank. The room was larger than his living room back in New York, for one thing, probably the size of his entire domain of the apartment, and his closet here was bigger too - or did it just look that way because there were fewer clothes crammed into it? The bed was definitely an upgrade; hed never had a king before. It had taken four hours for him and Ricky to move in the queen-sized one at home, including hauling the mattress up five flights of tightly-coiled stairs and assembling the frame around themselves because it was wedged too tightly against three walls to move around it. Making the bed every morning, let alone changing the sheets, was an arduous task requiring slim fingers and knowing just where the wall was uneven enough to keep from getting his knuckles stuck.

It would be a breeze here, even without housekeeping.

Kurt opened his eyes and rolled over to pick up the phone on the nightstand. When the cheerful voice answered automatically, he mumbled his breakfast order while stifling a yawn, then hung up and placed the receiver back in the cradle. Reaching blindly, he grabbed his sketchbook from the nightstand. He had filled ten pages yesterday, eight the day before that, and by weeks end he would need a new one at this rate. He couldnt help himself; there were so many things out here to inspire him. Spanish architecture, art nouveau furniture, reminders of hippie culture on every street corner...after decades of staring at the same skyscrapers, maybe the change in scenery had been an even better idea than he had imagined.

Even if he still couldnt get used to how flat and spread out everything was. Going from a completely vertical city with short, walkable blocks and nothing further than five miles away unless he wanted to leave Manhattan (which he never did), to a place where everything was a 20-minute drive away, did feel a little like venturing to an expensive, never-ending suburb. Still, it was hard to complain when the label had provided them with a car on top of Mercedes new manager driving them to all the music-related meetings and functions.

At the knock on the door he set down his pencil and padded to the door, opening it to let the room service cart in. After pressing a few dollars into the attendants hand for a tip - the rest would be covered by the tab, which made it even better - he moved the steaming plate of eggs and toast to the small table by the window and plopped down in the chair to enjoy his last few minutes of solitude for the morning. With meetings at the label and a lunch...something, Kurt still didnt know what exactly...and then a tech rehearsal at the club, he wouldnt be back in his room to work on finishing his current project until at least 7, probably more like 8. Being Mercedes personal wardrobe assistant certainly involved a lot more work than he had thought. He guessed it shouldnt have surprised him; being a designer involved a lot more than being in his office with a dress form and then taking a pile of fabric to a sewing machine. There were always meetings to talk about themes and show progress and "collaborate" which usually left Kurt wondering how his coworkers could be so frustrating and dim. At least these meetings involved agendas such as spending 2 hours discussing Mercedes image or setting his budget to go wild at fabric stores throughout the city. Plus any day she was in the recording studio was his to spend creating, and she had plenty of those coming up. He just couldnt help but want to finish what he had been working on.

He couldnt remember the last time hed gotten paid for anything he had stayed up late to work on by choice rather than by looming deadline. LA was fantastic.

By a few minutes after 10, sunglasses in hand and the satchel containing his sketchbook and swatches slung over his shoulder, he strode into the lobby. Mercedes was already waiting by the door, eyebrows raised in skeptical annoyance as though she didnt believe he could be late. A quick glance at the clock on the wall assured him it was only by four minutes, which wasnt that bad; he had seen Mercedes do worse, anyway. He stopped to look her over - as her paid stylist it was his duty now, in addition to being a habit hed had as long he could remember. The black flares were hers and fit her like a dream; the top was his creation, and he had to admire his handiwork in the draping - the swaths of translucent patterned chiffon looked effortless around her arms, and the torso didnt hide her curves the way most designers would. Though she was wearing the shoes he had picked for her - platform sandals with pink to match the shirts pattern - he couldnt help but notice she had taken free reign with the accessories. He liked the headband; she looked young, relaxed, and natural. But the large disc-shaped earrings were another matter.

"What?" she asked as she noticed him staring.

"Really? Those?"

"I like them - theyre fun. And they look pink in the light, so they match without being too matchy."

"They look like disco balls in any light," he replied, already reaching into his satchel. He only had to feel around in the front pocket for a moment before coming up with a new pair - dangles with silver hoops on the end. "Take these."

"Why?"

"They dont compete with the shirt. And because you pay me to," he added, teasing.

"I should have known youd lord that over me," she joked as she reached up to remove the pair she was wearing and swap them for the pair in Kurts palm. "Why do you have my earrings in your bag?"

"Part of the job - always have options."

Mercedes grinned and slipped on the second one. "What do you think?"

"Perfect," Kurt replied sincerely. "Wheres Marvin?"

"He called five minutes before you came down and said five minutes." She glanced through the glass door toward the car loop, looking for her managers navy sedan.

"Has he said anything to you?"

"About the venue, or-" she rolled her eyes as she saw where the conversation was veering; they had been here before. "He doesnt hate you, Kurt."

"I beg to differ," he replied. He had tried not being sullen about it, not jumping to conclusions, but something about the way Marvin rolled his eyes at everything Kurt had done left him feeling like he wasnt imagining things anymore.

"Youre just being too sensitive about stuff like this."

Kurt bit his tongue, knowing this conversation far too well - and therefore painfully aware of exactly how it would end. He wanted to point out that the reason he was sensitive to "stuff like this" was because he had lived it every single day for as long as he could remember, so that if he drew a line quickly between a manager who began each meeting by looking Mercedes up and down and then shooting a glare his direction before shaking his head in disappointment and moving on with the rest of their meeting, and someone who snorted derisively at any suggestion of sequins - on a performance outfit no less - to conclude that the man wasnt too wild about his rising stars gayer-than-Paul-Lynde designer friend, he didnt think it was a big leap to make. Nor was it unreasonable to suppose that the man probably didnt like Elton John, either. Or David Bowie. If the past decade had taught him anything, it was that just because someone didnt shout slurs across 8th Avenue didnt mean they liked you; it just meant the NYPD wasnt allowed to arrest gay people for nonsense crimes like loitering or buying alcohol anymore. The world was much kinder to him now than it had been, that was for sure, but it didnt mean that everyone in the country had awoken on the morning of June 30, 1969 and suddenly felt the need to support gay freedom.

The problem with trying to point that out, he knew all too well, was that Mercedes would inevitably point out that given her years of experience with invidious discrimination, she would recognize if Kurt were being treated the same way she had been, which meant that - in her mind, anyway - if she didnt see mistreatment, then it must not be happening. He had tried pointing out once that she sounded like Rachels intense and ill-fated dabbling with the womens liberationists, claiming that if one type of discrimination wasnt obvious to someone who had never experienced it, it must not apply to anyone. He had never seen Mercedes so mad at him as she had been when he had suggested she was akin to a group of white upper-middle-class women who claimed they were "the new negroes,"and Kurt knew better than to imply any such thing again, especially without Ricky around to try to compare the two from experience.

He knew she had a point, and the analogy wasnt exact - he hadnt meant it to be, which might have been his first mistake. He remembered how horribly she had been treated - and just as the world hadnt suddenly embraced him and his ilk, the country hadnt suddenly embraced their black brothers and sisters the day after the Civil Rights Act was signed into law. Even if tv and music were more racially diverse than ever, it didnt mean things were fixed now and he wouldnt try to claim otherwise. But none of that meant homophobia didnt exist just because Mercedes didnt see it.

But in the interest of their friendship, and in keeping their remaining time in LA a fun adventure, he didnt say anything.

"There he is," he pointed past Mercedes shoulder to the familiar car braking in front of the hotel. "Shall we?" Mercedes slipped her arm through his and they strode through the automatic-open door together as Marvin popped out of the drivers side and leaned against the car to watch them over the roof. He looked Mercedes over and, with a grumbling sigh, shook his head. Standing a little taller, Kurt asked, "Is there a problem?" When Marvin just kind of huffed and looked like he might be rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, Kurt challenged further, "You didnt give me any details about the lunch, but I have plenty more options upstairs if this isnt appropriate for the event yo put together."

Marvin looked from him to Mercedes, who stood awkwardly at her friends side, and backed down a little. "Its fine."

"Are you sure?" Kurt prodded, pushing a little more. "Id hate to be accused of doing my job incorrectly just because you didnt quite do yours."

"Down, boy," Mercedes warned out of the corner of her mouth.

"Its better than I hoped for," he replied cooly, then added for good measure - lest Kurt count this round as a win - "You look great in that colour, Mercedes. And its nice to be able to see you without the usual haze of sequin glow. Now - lets go. Were supposed to be there in 15 minutes."

As Marvin slipped out of sight behind the car, Kurt shot Mercedes a look. Did she get it now? The eye-rolling, going right for the sequins? Did she see what he meant? "Dont look at me,"she replied to the unspoken question. "It seems mutual to me. And besides, I do look great in this colour." Kurt sighed to himself as he opened the door for Mercedes, then slipped in after her. With the mood in the car starting this icy, he had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

* * * * *

Of all the stupid, over-eager, sure-to-be-regretted, ridiculous things he had done in his life, Blaine thought as he stared up at the front of the building, this was certainly going to end up toward the top of the list.

What was he even doing here? Just because Ted had told him that he could come hang out with the crew and watch a tech rehearsal didnt mean he had to. He could have said no. He could have gone on that tour of stars homes he kept meaning to take, or he could have gone in search of a new sheet music store to start thinking about his classes and choirs for next year, or he could have gone swimming in the algae-filled pool at his complex, or done anything but come here.

She either wouldnt remember him at all or wouldnt remember anything good about him - which was his fault. He understood that. Hed been awful to her at the dance, so caught up in his own fears that he had constantly felt like he couldnt breathe, and all that had taken up every last bit of energy hed had back then. Shed be right to remember him as that preoccupied jerk who had ignored her all evening when she wanted to dance.

He had been so miserable that night, too - wanting to be able to give Kurt what he asked for, what he longed for, but completely unable to do anything about it and feeling guilty for both being powerless to help and for even considering it. Why in the world did he want to go tripping down memory lane and relive all of that?

Closure, he reminded himself. Proving he hadnt ruined Kurt, learning about the mans dreams coming true,and finally shutting the door on the agonizing parts of his past. Hed made peace with everything else; this was all that was left.

He could do this. He could-

Why did he have to do this? Couldnt he just accept that he had been awful for a valid reason, reassure himself that no one had the power to irreparably break another human being - certainly not one as strong and sure of himself as Kurt had been - and forgive himself and move on? If he was thriving as an openly-gay music teacher in spite of everything his father had tried to beat into his head over a lifetime, then Blaine had no doubt Kurt was doing much better than fine. Why did he need to go stalk a girl he had dated once and met twice to prove to himself that he was worthy of absolution?

He should go. The bus stop was just down the block, and it went all the way to the beach in a straight shot. That would be a better way to spend the afternoon - he could still reflect if he wanted but wouldnt be bothering a very busy performer who had more than enough going on without him showing up.

The door swung open and a man in black pants and ill-fitting black short-sleeved button-down shirt emerged carrying a rolled-up rug beneath his right arm. "We dont open until 8," he stated, voice gruff and face grizzled as he dug a cigarette out of the pack sticking halfway out of his right pocket.

Blaine blinked and took a step back. "Im sorry. A friend of mine- nevermind. Thank you." Clearly the universe or fate or whatever was out there was telling him this didnt need to happen. It was a great day for the beach anyway.

The man fixed his gaze on Blaine as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and fished out a lighter. "You with Ted?" he asked around the smoke.

"Yes?"

"Go on in," he replied, head jerking toward the door. "Hes up on a ladder backstage, said you dbe stopping by."

Or the universe couldnt make up its mind anymore. Blaine tried to force a smile even though he still wasnt sure this was a good idea. Maybe he could just fake an emergency or something.

* * * * *

Surely enough, by the time they got to the venue, Kurt was ready to be back in his hotel room, eating room service in his pajamas and pinning together the sparkliest, ABBA-ified jumpsuit ever just to prove he could. It had been that kind of a day. The meeting at the label had lasted until well past lunch, a seemingly endless stream of Very Important Executives ducking in for a few minutes and ducking right back out as soon as a more established star arrived in the building for their own meeting. Kurt couldnt help but notice that every person in the room except Marvin had liked his ideas for Mercedes image and wardrobe, which did improve his mood for awhile. One could only stay excited for so long during a 3-hour block of meetings, though. Even Mercedes had been sick of it by then. But everything was still moving forward, which Marvin stressed (for the entire 20 minutes en route to lunch) was a great sign and kind of rare. Hed been just an observer at the lunch meeting that took place about two hours later than expected, which had given him a chance to stuff his face unnoticed and politely pretend to listen to the songwriting team while he doodled croquis. Three pages and five napkins later, they had finally departed for the showcase venue where they now had only 2 hours to figure out what was supposed to take 4 and a half hours to decide.

Soon, he told himself. Theyd be done soon. And at least for this leg of the day, he would be responsible for doing his own part instead of waiting through everyone elses presentations, at least in theory. He needed to figure out what to dress Mercedes in - what would look best under the lights, at the angle where the audience would be, at the distance from the stage...none of which was he usually responsible for doing, at least not officially, but the more he thought about it the more he realized it wasnt unlike planning an outfit for Ricky or Milan or any of the girls: it was all about being seen by the whole room and looking equally stunning under all possible light settings. The only real difference was that Rickys boobs could be resized to fit the dress,and he didnt think Mercedes would be okay with that. He chuckled to himself at the thought but stopped as one of the stagehands turned to see what was so funny.

The inside of the club was a little darker than he had expected, a lounge-like atmosphere with dim, moody lighting and a combination of booths and bartop tables - much closer to the little bars up in Harlem where he had gone to watch her more than a decade ago than to a venue befitting a rising superstar. He wasnt sure whether he should say anything, but luckily Mercedes said it for him. "Are you sure were in the right place?"

Marvin paused to glance back at his star. "Whats that?"

"This is like where I used to sing when I was 19. I was expecting a lot bigger."

"You only have two original blockbuster songs so far," Marvin pointed out. "Youre not ready for sold-out stadiums by yourself yet. This is just a chance to get you some exposure while you record."

"And how am I supposed to get exposure here? Therell be like eight people, all of them gettin it on in that corner booth."

"Theyve got some big acts coming this summer," Marvin assured her. "Youll see."

"Who would-"

"Humour me, Mercedes. Besides, its you, a piano player, and a stage. Are you saying youd turn it down?"

They were the magic words, and Marvin knew it. Even a small show was better than no show at all. "I guess it cant hurt," Mercedes allowed, and Marvin grinned.

"Thats what I thought. Now lets get started. We kept these guys waiting long enough." As Marvin led Mercedes toward the stage, introducing her to an assortment of people along the way, Kurt moved into the center of the lounge to set up shop. He set his satchel on the table and pulled out his swatch board. After adjusting it for a moment, smoothing down the sample fabrics, he moved to the stage and propped it against the monitor at center stage, then stood back to make notes. Mercedes stepped onstage and leaned against the piano as she discussed the paritculars of songs with the pianist while Kurt stood back and glanced at his watch. He might end up with quite a bit of down-time here, too, he realized; a cue-to-cue rehearsal for the lighting guys was one thing and usually went fast enough, but if she was doing notes with the musician he wouldnt be able to do much for awhile. With a tired sigh, he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped to a blank page. He was used to at least dragging Ricky along with him when he would have time to kill, and his best friend could make even sitting around a mostly-empty club fun.

He wondered what Ricky was up to right now - face? No, not quite yet. It was a little before 8 back home, so he was probably about to leave the bookstore. Grab dinner on the way home from that great little char-grilled chicken place up on 125th, then eat it before applying his fake nails. Even if it didnt make sense to do nails before makeup, he always did it that way.

He needed to find some way to get Ricky out here. Then things would be perfect.

He began to sketch a non-traditional gown pieced together in sculptural waves - like the red Spanish roof tile he saw practically everywhere out here. Waves at his sides to create hips, over one shoulder like a sash to create drama...it would take a lot of facing, but he could do it. And Ricky would either say it was brilliant or ask if Kurt really didnt know the difference between Mexico and Puerto Rico. But it would certainly turn heads when he got back.

If he went back. He still wasnt really sure; it was too early to plan anything long-term yet.

The lights changed, and Kurt looked up, ready to figure out which fabrics were the best contenders. To his dismay, the board was in a dead zone, wholly enveloped by shadows and barely visible. He needed to move it - but where? Leaning it against the leg of the piano would create the same problem, and even if he could find something to use to prop it up on top of the piano somewhere, the lighting there would be different than the lights on Mercedes through most of the show. He could stand behind her holding up the board, but then he couldnt see it - and would be in her way, so he couldnt send a low-level lighting assistant up there, either (if there even were one in a venue this small). So unless Mercedes could hold it for him - and she had too many more important things to do...unless...

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small bag of safety pins and walked up to the front of the stage. Plucking up the board from its resting place, he began to peel the swatches up one by one while he waited for a good moment to interrupt. After about four minutes, they paused to figure out something with the travel spot - Kurt didnt hear what exactly, but he took the opportunity. Pulling himself up onstage, he opened the bag of pins. "Bear with me," he requested as he began to, one by one, pin the swatches to the bottom of her shirt. He hated to think about what this would do to the organza, but if it was low enough he could fix the hem and hide it. "You sound great, by the way, the accoustics are surprisingly good."

"What do you think youre doing?" Mercedes asked, looking down at him but having enough sense not to try to move.

"Seeing which dress will look best in these lights. Just ignore them. Ill fix the shirt tonight."

"Is this another weird thing I pay you to do?" she teased.

"Of course,"he replied as he pinned the last one into place and double-checked that all the safety pins were closed. "Hard to believe neither of us thought to mention this as a future ambition during career day when we were 17," he chuckled, and Mercedes rolled her eyes at him, then froze. "What?"

She glanced offstage in the direction she had come, trying to see something Kurt couldnt find; there was no one there, at least not that he could see, and he didnt know of any props she needed. "I knew I knew him. He-"

"Who?" Kurt asked.

But before she could answer, a voice behind him asked, "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Ill be out of your hair in-" he stated, gathering the safety pins and turning to exit the stage only to come face-to-face with a pair of painfully-familiar golden brown eyes.