My gift is my song, at least that's what they always told me. As of now, I'm sitting here staring at this god forsaken laptop trying to get the words down fast enough. Every song comes from emotion; and hell, if my story couldn't be turned into a song then I don't know if songs could ever be written again. It started a few years ago when I left home crushed and slightly broken, but with a burning desire to do what I loved.
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I came to Hollywood to be a writer a little over a year ago. I wanted fame and fortune and my name on movies. I left Chicago a close-to-broke college graduate, shunned by my father for not choosing a better career for myself. I moved to a shabby apartment complex on the outskirts of Hollywood, living off of the publishing of a short story here and there. What I wanted more than anything though, was to write the greatest love story of all time. There was only one problem; I had never been in love.

At that moment a loud crash was heard from the apartment next to mine. I rushed over to make sure everyone was ok and was greeted by a boy who was covered head to toe in paint. "Finn" he said, sticking a hand out towards me. "Finn Hudson."

I stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of the room behind him before shaking his hand and introducing myself. "Blaine Anderson, I live next door."

Before I could say anything else another boy was shoving Finn out of the way. "Noah Puckerman, but everyone calls me Puck."

"Um hello Puck, is everything ok?" I was a bit taken aback by these men; they seemed a bit off their rocker so to speak.

"Oh everything is quite alright, we were just rehearsing a screenplay and Finn here accidentally knocked over the ladder Sam had the paint resting on."

"A screenplay you say?" I ventured, wondering why I was even asking in the first place.

"Yes!" Puck exclaimed. He waved his hands in arches while saying, "Spectacular, Spectacular. It's sure to be the next Broadway hit, if we could ever get Finn to stop messing up and causing us to lose our place."

Suddenly a man in a wheelchair knocked Puck out of the way. "Puck, if we don't hurry up we are never going to be ready to meet with the financier tomorrow and 'Spectacular, Spectacular' will never see the light of day!"

"Well, pray tell me where we are going to find someone less clumsy than Finn to stand in as the part of the young, dashing goat herder in the Swiss Alps?"

Both men stared at me momentarily before grabbing me by the shirt and dragging me into the room. "Guys, I really shouldn't…" I tried, but they were having none of it.

A few minutes later I was staring at all of them as complete pandemonium broke loose. Puck was singing a whole jumble of words that made absolutely no sense, Artie, the guy in the wheelchair, was testing out the line 'the hills are vital, atoning the descant'.

"No, no, no!" Finn exclaimed. "I've got it! The hills quake and shake-"

"Nah, no!" The man I had found to be Sam interrupted. "The hills intonate with the sound of melodies."

If there was ever a group that had artistic differences, it was this one. I tried in vain to throw out my idea, but their incessant chatter drowned out my words.

"The hills" "Chanting their" "The hills" Their voices rose as they began to get more agitated with each other and my anger grew with them because they wouldn't even listen to my opinion.

After a few more minutes of their nonsense I was so fed up that I cleared my throat and sang as loudly as I could, my tenor voice cutting through the air. The hills are alive, with the sound of music!

There, that got their attention quickly. They stood there, stunned momentarily before breaking out into a chorus of "the hills are alive with the sound of music." Artie found the chords on his keyboard while Puck strummed along on his guitar. Artie turned, wide eyed to me. "It-it fits perfectly Blaine!"

I was so happy that they had finally decided to listen to me that I continued on. With songs they have sung for a thousand years.

Puck turned to Mike, who was in charge of the words to the show. "Mike, you guys should write the show together!"

Those words were not what Mike wanted to hear. He left, banging the door loudly and yelling at everyone. "Fine! Replace me with him! I'll find another group of people who appreciate me and my lyrics!"

Puck ignored the rantings of the Asian and turned to me, holding out a beer. "To you! And joining our group of merry men!"

"Pardon me," Artie cut in, looking a bit worried. "Have you ever written anything like this before?"

I turned, a bit stunned. "Why no" I answered, "actually I haven't."

"I'm ok with that." Finn said, returning from the bathroom paint-less. "The guy has talent!"

Puck pulled Artie to him. "The hills are alive with the sound of music. He came up with that! With Blaine we can truly write the most breathtaking movie Hollywood will ever see! It's just like we dreamed guys!"

Artie looked at Puck questioningly. "But how are we going to convince Sylvester?"

Finn, oddly enough, had a plan. "Porcelain. We dress Blaine up in the finest tux we can find, maybe gel down his hair and make him prim looking and we will pass him off as a famous playwright from the Big Apple itself. We'll let Blaine read a bit of his poetry to Porcelain, woo Porcelain with his words and then Porcelain will convince Sylvester to let the show happen!"

I stood there, staring and heard my father's words pop back into my head. "Whenever you get over your silly infatuation with boys, then you can return home, if I hear of you canoodling with any male though, you will forever be cut off from your inheritance."

"I-I can't write a show for an all-male strip club! I'm not even sure if I can write a play at all and sell it."

The guys gave a collective gasp before Puck cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Are you homophobic?"

"What? No! I-I'm gay." The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them and I looked away quickly waiting for the leering comments to begin.

Instead I heard Artie say, "Well, that might work to our advantage! Instead of pretending to woo Porcelain, you can actually woo him. As for writing, let me ask you this. Do you believe in beauty?"

"Yes."

"Freedom?"

"Yes, of course."

"Truth?"

"Yes."

"Love?"

"Love? Love, above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love is a many splendid thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!"

"See, you can't fool us!" Puck said. "You're a writer, through and through. This stuff is the blood in your veins!"

It was a fool proof plan. I was to audition for Porcelain. Also that night; I was to taste my first glass of Absinthe. Absinthe was a type of alcohol that was completely illegal in the United States and I had a feeling that Puck got it shipped straight from Mexico. It was a devilish drink, going down hotly and pooling in your belly, causing strange hallucinations and all around good feelings. The alcohol content was through the roof and I had no idea what I was in for.
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After the Absinthe began to wear off enough where we could function properly we were off to Suspenders. Puck had called in for a favor from a friend who he said, 'owed him', and we found ourselves seated in a sleek black stretch limousine. I was dressed in a tux borrowed from Artie who was the closest to my height. I looked around at the other passengers of the car, people who I had met just a few short hours ago, but whom I felt I had known for years. Sam was dressed in a tux with tails, his blonde hair slicked to the side and his bangs up and out of his face.

Puck was wearing a black tux, his baby blue cummerbund drawing just a little less attention than he Mohawk that he was so proud of.

Artie sat next to Finn, both of whom were dressed to the nines, black tuxes and bowties, ready for a night of rubbing shoulders with people who had more money than they would ever know what to do with.

Then there was me. I was dressed in a black tux with sleek lapels, a silver cummerbund around my waist. My bowtie was silver, matching the cufflinks on my sleeves. Sam had slicked my hair back, my curls tamed for the night, sitting under the sleek black top hat that sat perched on my head. My calloused fingers were hidden by white silk gloves and clutched in my hand was something that I was referring to in my head as my pimp cane. I didn't dare ask how they had the money for outfits this nice, instead, chalked it up as another 'favor' someone owed Puck.

According to Finn I screamed money and no one would think twice about me being led away by the very good looking Porcelain at the end of the night.

That was the one thing no one would tell me about, Porcelain. He was a dancer, Sylvester's best, and the most expensive man on the stage. He was basically his own show. Men came from far and near to see him perform, but only a select few ever got to go backstage with him. The price was steep, but Puck assured me that Finn had set up a time in which I would be allowed to read some of my writings to Porcelain in hopes that he would convince Sue to put on Spectacular, Spectacular.

We arrived at Suspenders, and walking in I gasped slightly at the mixture of people in there. There were men and women, celebrities that I knew and recognized sitting at tables around the place, holding onto glasses of wine and champagne. Sam leaned over and whispered in my ear at my shocked reaction. "Sue has both women and men dancers, she caters to everyone's taste, that's why she has so many places in business. Suspenders is made up mainly of male dancers, but once Porcelain comes out, you'll understand why so many people come. As for the fact that there are A-list celebrities here, there's a no-tell policy here. They don't tell the press that you're here, you pretend you didn't see them either. There's been a time or two where word's leaked to the press, but this place is so upscale that no one actually cares if you're here."