“‘Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness,’” Kurt reads aloud, eyes glancing over the pages even though he memorized this particular passage months ago. His copy of The Great Gatsby sits on his lap, already worn from the amount of times Kurt’s read the words and turned the pages. The story is simple and Kurt never tires of it, rereading about Long Island and lost love. It’s love that Kurt dreams about, longs for as he day dreams out his window. It’s all very abstract, no names or faces, just the idea of romance in the summer heat.

He lounges in the window, legs stretched out across the cushioned bench, and sips on his iced tea. His room is on the third floor and he has a wonderful view of the ocean, blue waves with white tips crashing into the cliffs. It’s unbearably hot out, the breeze off of the ocean only barely making it in through the windows, and Kurt is content to sit in the window seat, reading and fanning himself while watching the gardeners tend to the flowers. In the back of his mind he knows he would rather find love with Gatsby, not Daisy, ignoring the green light across the Sound and instead laying poolside.

He moves the gauzy white curtains out of the way and glances at the house next door. There are trees and hedges lining the property, but Kurt can still see the white marble columns and big open windows of the Anderson estate. It’s been empty since Kurt and his family arrived the week before, Kurt’s father mentioning how Cornelius Anderson had passed away over the winter. Kurt watches curiously, wonders if Cornelius’ family will occupy the house over the summer. It would be unheard for a family to let one of the summer cottages sit empty all summer, especially the Anderson’s. It’s the grandest of all the homes in Newport and Kurt has heard rumors that there are over seventy rooms inside the house.

Sighing, he gets up slowly and wonders over to wardrobe, fingers pulling at the different fabrics, debating. It’s too hot out to change into the tweed suit he actually wants to wear, so he grabs a light weight cream colored jacket instead. He loosens the knot in his tie and pulls it over his head, replacing it with a bright green scarf that’s light enough for summer. He makes his way down the central staircase and heads outside before his father can comment on how wide the legs of his trousers are.

The sun is even hotter outside, but the breeze is amazing, the air off the ocean hitting Kurt square in the face, and it’s not stuffy like his room had been. He walks the grounds, admiring the view of the sea. The Hummels have been vacationing in Newport since Kurt can remember, the long train ride up from Philadelphia always worth it the first time he steps outside and smells the salt from the ocean. He lets his mind wonder, watching as the gulls dive down into the water to catch fish.

The sound of the waves breaking lulls Kurt into day dreaming, his forearms leaning against the fence that separates the perfectly green lawn from the steep drop down into the water. He lets his mind wonder, thinks about a big jazz band versus a classical orchestra for the start of summer party his family always throws the first week of June.

He’s caught off guard when he hears a car pull down the driveway next door, tires crunching on the gravel. He can’t see much from his view on the lawn, the trees blocking out the house almost entirely. Kurt walks over curiously, finding a hole in the thick hedges. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his vest and peeks through.

He sees a family emerge. A father, a mother and a boy who looks about Kurt’s age. He’s wearing a pale pink bow tie around his neck, brown vest with no suit jacket in sight, and Kurt covets his shoes immediately, two toned black and cream. The boy stretches arms over his head, working out the kinks of what Kurt assumes was a long train ride, when the boy’s mother scolds him, slapping at his arms. Kurt can’t hear what she’s saying exactly, but her face is stern and the boy drops his arms immediately. She reaches up to fix his tie, straightening the knot at his neck, and Kurt can see the boy roll his eyes.

The boy’s parents turn to walk inside and the minute their backs are turned, the boy undoes the buttons on the wrists of his shirt and rolls the sleeves up to just underneath his elbow. Kurt can’t help but smile. There is no doubt the boy is wearing expensive clothing, probably more expensive than Kurt’s own outfit, but has his sleeves rolled up as if he’s going to work on the railroads.

Kurt pulls back, brushes off a few leaves from his shoulder, and starts walking next door before he can think twice. He needs to meet this new boy, find out his name and his story and where he got those amazing shoes, and Kurt thinks up some weak conversation starter, the weather or the train ride up.

The gate that separates the road from the Anderson’s driveway is still open from when the car drove through earlier and Kurt momentarily freezes, foot half way in the driveway and half way out. He straightens his back, flattens the front of his vest, and holds his head high as he walks up the path.

“Hello,” Kurt calls out. He catches the boy’s attention, who turns around and gives Kurt a small wave. The boy smiles and Kurt feels butterflies kick up in his stomach, the kind he’s supposed to have for Brittany Pierce when he takes her down to the surf on dates. Kurt is tongue tied, the entire speech about the party and welcoming the new family to Newport gone. “Do you have a light?” He asks, quickly feeling around his pockets, hoping he brought his cigarettes with him.

The boy raises an eyebrow and fishes into his pocket, pulls out a matchbox and strikes a light for Kurt. He leans in close, cups his hand around the match and the end of Kurt’s cigarette to prevent the flame from being blown out. “Came all the way over here just to find a match?” The boy asks, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. Kurt breathes in until the tip glows red, buys a few more seconds until he has to speak.

“I was just welcoming you to the neighborhood,” Kurt says, cigarette pressed between his fingers. “I’m Kurt Hummel, I live next door.”

“Well then, Kurt Hummel, it’s a pleasure meeting you.” The boy offers his hand and Kurt shakes it. “My name’s Blaine Anderson.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather,” Kurt says as he takes a pull off his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly drift out of his nose.

Blaine just shakes his head. “Don’t be. I only ever met him a handful of times, but from what I gather, he was an old man who disliked everyone he met.” He pauses, head tilted to the side, before continuing, “but he did leave my father this house. And I got to meet you.”

“Well, yes. That is true.” He lets a bit of ash fall from the end of his cigarette, lets his eyes drift up towards the sky. “I’m throwing a party a week from Friday. The whole of Newport will be there, so I expect to see you,” Kurt says. He eyes take in the way Blaine’s vest hugs his chest and then clears his throat. “I’ll have a formal invitation dropped off for your parents.” There’s something in Blaine’s eyes that Kurt can’t pinpoint, but it makes his toes curl in the tips of his shoes.

“It will be swell, I’m sure,” Blaine says and Kurt swears his can feel Blaine’s eyes on his lips when Kurt blows a perfect circle of smoke out of his mouth.

Blaine reaches inside his vest and pulls out a pocket watch, the gold shining from the sun and right into Kurt’s eyes. He flicks it open, checks the time, and sighs. “I have to get going inside, but I’d be thrilled to finish this conversation later. Perhaps we could go for a dip tomorrow, if the weather allows?”

Kurt can’t seem to find his voice. He coughs twice and blames the burning in his throat on the cigarette smoke. “Come over after lunch tomorrow? We have steps down to the ocean.”

“It’s a date,” Blaine says with a wink.

Kurt is immediately flustered and blurts out, “remember to roll your sleeves down.”

Blaine laughs, shoulders shaking, and tosses a “thank you” out to Kurt before turning up the driveway and walking inside, fingers tugging at his sleeves and flattening out the wrinkles.

Kurt feels as though he’s walking on air as he makes his way back to the house, arms opened wide as he walks in the front door. His stepmother is stretched out on a couch in the parlor, talking quietly on the telephone. Kurt offers a wave as he walks through and she smiles back, lips pressing together in an air kiss.

Kurt hears the words of his own mother echo in the back of his mind, ‘a gentleman never hurries’, as he rushes up the staircase and to his room. He sits down at his desk, takes out stationary and a pen to work on the party invitations before they’re sent to the printers in the morning.

Come celebrate the start of summer!
The Hummel family requests your presence for a masquerade ball on the 6th of June.