CHAPTER 3

WEDNESDAY

BLAINE

"You're cutting it close this morning, Anderson," Clark bellowed at me from his desk as he saw me run past with an apple in my mouth and messenger bag tugging at my coat. I had nearly overslept and had to dig my coat out of my closet when I walked outside and realized a cold front had come through overnight, bringing the chilly fall weather into the October air.

"I'll be there in a minute," I said, hoping he'd understand what I was saying with the apple still in my mouth. I dropped my bag in my chair, took the laptop out of its compartment and plugged it into the power source and booted up. After I got home from the venue last night, I pulled together some basic information about Atticus Finch for Clark to look at - where they had played for the past few months, photos of the band, posts from fans on their Facebook page, and the band's contact information. I took a bite of my apple and watched as the information I compiled printed out from the printer at my desk before throwing it all into a file folder. I dropped the apple, grabbed a pen and the folder, and headed to Clark's office.

"You ready for me?" I asked, knocking lightly at the door. Clark was sifting through some files on his desk - probably bands that other people in our department had compiled like I had - and motioned for me to sit.

"So, you think you found a band?" he asked me as he placed the folders on his desk. Clark was an older guy, in his mid-40s, who previously worked for a music magazine before it went bust. While he was at the magazine, he had developed close relationships with artists, publishing houses, band managers, PR teams, and record labels and decided to branch out into the recording world. His connections were what brought him to Rialto and he always emphasized the importance of networking and maintaining connections with people in the industry because you never knew when you'd need a favor.

I nodded. "I think they're pretty good. They're young, but that doesn't impact their ability to perform or captivate a crowd."

He raised an eyebrow. "Telling me that they're 'pretty good' doesn't exactly give me confidence in their abilities."

I sat back for a second, collected my thoughts, and spoke again. "Let me rephrase that. I think they're a good bet. They're young, have a solid fan-base in New York already, and have been performing together for six years. They have an established collaborative relationship with each other and I think their ability to write, record, and sell albums would not present a huge risk for Rialto."

He smiled. "That's more like it. Tell me what you've got. I'm all ears," he said, sitting back in his chairs with his arms folded behind his head.

I presented him with the folder I compiled, had him pull up a few YouTube videos of the band that they had uploaded over the years, and told Clark about my impressions of the band based on their show that I saw. I gave him a few minutes to contemplate after I finished talking, knowing the man was very intentional with his words. Clark always thought intensely and thoroughly before speaking - a trait I certainly was jealous of since I tended to spew whatever came to my mind without thinking about it for even a second.

"Let's give them a shot," he said with a wink. I beamed.

Atticus Finch would be the third band I'd discovered and I hoped that they would be more successful than the last band I found who had so many disagreements during the production of their album that even Fleetwood Mac would have been disgraced with their lack of professionalism and communication.

As I left Clark's office, I found Santana perched eagerly at my desk with two Starbucks cups in her hands. "How'd the meeting go?" she asked, extending one of the cups in her hand into mine.

I took a sip and practically moaned as the pumpkin spice latte hit my lips. God, I loved fall if only for the fantastic coffee selection. "It went well. Clark signed off on a band I found last night, but we're going to give it some space and one more show before we approach them and offer them a contract. You'll probably end up working publicity for them if it works out. I'm sure you won't mind us working together."

She laughed and nudged my shoulder. "You should be so lucky to work with me, B." She took a sip of her coffee and shifted to face me as I slouched into my office chair and turned to my email. "Speaking of working, how is the whole online dating thing working out so far?"

"I just joined last night. It's not like I'm going to get a ton of traction in just over 12 hours."

She shook her head. "Actually, people usually get the most emails from potential dates within the first week that you join. People on that site are always looking for something - rather, someone - new. Besides, you're attractive. I'd be surprised if you didn't have a few guys already hitting up your inbox."

I pulled up my email and frowned. No notifications. "The last email I received was from NYCDate thanking me for joining. That and an email from Cooper, which I'll probably just delete."

She looked at me, confused. "Didn't you get an email saying that your profile has been approved?"

I peered at her, equally puzzled. "Uh, no? What does that mean?"

She grunted and brought her eyes to her forehead as she shut her eyes. "Did you submit your profile for review or did you just save it, Blaine?"

"I have no idea." I typed in NYCDate into my browser and logged in when the site popped up. After I looked at my profile, I noticed in the top righthand corner it said 'Not Active.' "It says 'Not Active.' What does that mean?"

"B! It means you didn't finish your profile and people can't see it!" she said practically screaming at this point. "Ay dios mio, por favor. Dime, que estás haciendo? Quieres novio? Pienso que no!" I just looked at her with deer in the headlights eyes, not realizing that she'd get that upset over something so trivial.

I lightly rubbed the hand she had on the desk and spoke to her, quietly. "San, what's going on? Why are you upset about it? It's really not a big deal."

She sighed. "Blaine, I've seen you achieve so much in your career and you're so happy. I just want to see you share that happiness with someone because you really deserve that," she said as he looked at me, care exuding from her chocolate brown eyes. "You're one of my closest friends and I just want the best for you. Because you're amazing."

I smiled and squeezed her hand. Santana might act all tough, but she really was such a wonderful, caring person and I was so lucky to be a recipient of her kindness and affection. "Thanks, Santana. I want that for me too. It was an accident, I swear. But I think I should give it some time before I activate my profile. Now that we're trying to work out a deal with Atticus Finch, I won't have enough time to regularly talk with folks or be able to respond to emails."

She nodded in understanding and took another sip from her coffee, her gaze shifted from my eyes to the computer in front of me. "So when do you think you'll turn the thing on? It seems like a waste for you to have the profile and not use it."

"This is true. How about I turn it on next Friday? We'll hopefully have Atticus Finch's next show out of the way and their contract would be in negotiation if all goes well. Once they're locked in, it's just a waiting game for awhile and I'll be able to juggle all of New York's eligible bachelors who are vying for my attention," I said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. "Please, B. Friday sounds good, but I'd guess that a good amount of bachelors in New York will be wanting your attention... and in your pants."

I smacked her hand lightly. "Yellow light conversation at work, Santana? Tsk tsk. I should report you," I added with a wink. "Next Friday, I promise, okay?"

She nodded and grinned. "Okay. Now enjoy that coffee and remember how much you love me for bringing you your favorite coffee. I might need you to repay me one of these days," she said walking toward her desk. Santana never paid for coffee - one of the baristas at the Starbucks down the street had a massive crush on her and she used that to her advantage every once in awhile. Poor guy, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

I chuckled and focused on the screen in front of me; closing out of NYCDate and focusing on my work email.
I checked my email and read the most recent message from Clark, asking me to reach out to the Atticus Finch's band manager to set up a meeting for next week. I grinned as I pulled out the card that Zach had given me and thumbed over the familiar name that was raised beneath my fingers.

I grabbed the phone on my desk and punched in the numbers and soon the phone rang.

"Hey, this is Blaine Anderson. Is this David Randall, formerly of the Dalton Academy Warblers?"

KURT

It felt weird to have time off, but it felt even weirder to wake up in the my own bed in New York for three days in a row. I had forgotten how comfortable my bed was. Dad and I picked it out just before I moved into my apartment with Wes, a present he gave me after I graduated from Parsons. The comfortable bed combined with the sheets I had agonized over purchasing made my bed feel like a cloud and on mornings like this when I didn't have to do anything, it made it nearly impossible to get out of bed.

I glanced at the clock and noted the time, nearly 10:30am. Since I worked at the theater, we would usually wake up late and go to sleep late. It was a lifestyle I didn't always like since I tended to be a morning person, but I couldn't wake up at 7am if we have to be at the theater until 1am on any given night. My sleeping preferences would probably be better suited for a 9 to 5 job, but my personality would never allow myself to be a corporate guy; I would stick out like a sore thumb.

Around 11 I finally managed to drag myself from my bed and get in the shower. I had agreed on Monday night to meet with Wes for lunch today since I had nothing better to do during the day and it'd give me a chance to re-experience New York now that I was finally a permanent resident again. After 45 minutes, I was out the door - hair coiffed, dressed warmly for the considerably cooler weather that had appeared overnight, tumbler with tea in-hand - and walked the three blocks to meet Wes for lunch.

It was a nondescript diner that Wes and I discovered when we were in college. The New School, which Parsons is a part of, was located near here which is part of the reason we decided to stay in this area once we graduated. Parsons was near the Flatiron District and Wes' classes at The School for Public Engagement were concentrated in Greenwich Village, but Chelsea had always been where we spent most of our time. Our third week in school, we found this diner after a particularly rough rehearsal for our college's a cappella choir and decided it would be Our Place ever since.

I walked in the door and the bells on the door jingled to signal my entry. I looked around and saw Wes speaking animatedly into his phone, gesturing with his hands as they flailed wildly around him. I sat in the seat across from him, apologizing when the booth squeaked and he stopped wiggling around.

"Hey, David, I'll have to call you back. But definitely count me in for Friday night. I can't wait! I can't believe... yeah, I know. It's been awhile since we...totally. Friday will be great. See you later, man!" he said as he ended his call.

"So what was that all about?" I asked as I took a menu from its slot next to the ketchup and salt and pepper shakers.

Wes was practically beaming. "I just got a call from a buddy of mine from high school and it turns out one of our good friends is in New York City and might have given him a huge boost in his career without realizing it."

"Is this guy in town for the weekend?"

"Nope. Apparently he lives here. David and I had no idea. We kind of lost touch once I went to college since he was a couple of years behind me, but I'm just glad to have another Warbler in the area."

"Ah, one of your singing friends, right. I still can't believe that we grew up near each other but never met," I added.

"Well, there are people that live in Hoboken that we've never met, Kurt. It's notthatweird. We're not all interconnected somehow," he stated as he perused the menu. I didn't know why he bothered to look - he always ordered the same thing.

"True. But New York is huge. It's less likely that we'd meet everyone here. But Ohio isn't nearly as densely populated. It could have happened. Especially since we both competed in show choir."

He shrugged. "Well, we're friends now so there's no use in dwelling on what could have been, right?"

I nodded as I took another look at the menu. The waitress came by and took our orders and just as she placed coffee in front of Wes, we broke our comfortable silence.

"So, I didn't ask you the other day, but has anything happened with the online dating thing?"

"Well, I emailed one guy," I said quietly and looked around the restaurant. I could practically feel his intense stare after a minute before I turned to him. Yup, dude was giving me a pretty heated glare right now.

"Kurt. You emailed one guy. That's all that I get?" He looked a little hurt, to be honest.

I sighed. "Look, I just - I don't want to get my hopes up, okay? You know I've been really selective about who I introduce to my friends. I just don't want to get other people involved with anything until I know it's something with potential. Someone that I feel is worthy to bring around you and maybe, one day, my family." I looked at the table as if it had the most interesting thing in the world written on its surface.

As I looked up, his gaze had eased to one of compassion. "Why do you have to wait, though?"

"I just want to be sure of something - rather, someone - before I bring him into my life fully."

He looked at me, confused. "That kind of seems like you're distancing yourself on purpose. How will a guy get to know you unless he sees how you are with other people?"

I sighed, a little afraid to utter the words out loud. "I kind of am distancing myself. But more than anything, I'm distancing my relationships from you guys." I heard him gasp as I kept my gaze on the table. "I'm just not sure that I'm going to pick the right guys and I'm afraid that I'm going to pick another guy that you and everyone else will hate. I haven't exactly picked winners in the past. I mean, you met William and he was a disaster."

"Kurt," Wes said. I looked up at him. "Not every guy you date is going to be like William. You said it yourself, you know more now about what you want. And you know you don't want someone like William. So you won't pick someone like him again."

I took a gulp from my tea as Wes continued. "I get that you don't want to introduce us to just any guy - I know I'm incredibly intimidating." I snorted and he winked at me. "But if the reason that you're not introducing me to guys is because you're afraid of what I'll think or what Mercedes will think, then we're not doing a good job at supporting you. You are so much wiser than you give yourself credit for. Just go with your gut on this one. And whenever you want to introduce me to whatever guy you want, I'll do it with a genuine interest to get to know the guy."

I smiled, but I had to get one thing off my chest. "But if you don't like the guy, can you please tell me sooner rather than later? The way that things unfoiled with William... they were horrible. And I think if you had told me about how you didn't like him before, I would have been more inclined to realize that we had issues."

"I can try. But Kurt, have you tried to talk you out of something? You're pretty damn stubborn," he said as he sipped his coffee. I rolled my eyes. "Honestly. I will try. I can, for you."

At that moment, the waitress dropped off our lunch and we sat quietly for a minute; me thinking about what Wes said, Wes probably doing the same. I placed a bite of home fries on my fork before getting in one last thought about the issue before we moved on to less dense subjects. "Thanks again, Wes. You really are a good roommate. And I know we don't want to dwell on the past, but I do wish I had met you earlier. You're pretty awesome."

He looked up from his sandwich and smiled. "Thanks, man. That means a lot coming from someone as picky as you."

"Bitch, please," I said with a chuckle as I took another bite.

We finished our food, talking about everything from Wes' upcoming deposition (it was his first), to my excitement about coming into the fold at Bring It On! The Musical, to his plans to reunite with his friends that Friday night. As we were preparing to pay, my phone buzzed with a notification from my NYCDate app. I stared at it for a second before unlocking my phone to read it. Reading its contents, I looked up and couldn't wipe the grin off my face.

"What is it?" Wes asked.

"That guy. He messaged me. He really liked my profile and wants to go out next week."