Chapter Text
Blaine props his chin on one hand and contemplates the stage. The last in a long line of hopefuls finishes his audition with a respectable glory note. Blaine takes a moment to admire his cravat.
“Thanks for the opportunity,” cravat guy says. Behind him, Savannah, the accompanist, closes the piano and takes her sheet music. Blaine nods to her as she leaves. It’s been a long day. “I hope you’ll remember me,” cravat guy adds.
“Definitely. We’ll let you know,” says Blaine warmly. Infusing warmth into his voice is as natural as breathing. Blaine is both kind and sincere but not always both at the same time. He might not remember this guy, though he’ll probably remember the cravat. That kind of neck tie takes practice. But there were better auditions – one with truly impressive vocals, a couple of guys with stronger acting resumes. There was no lack of talent.
The trouble is that Blaine developed this character during two years of creating and writing and arranging music. So of course he has constructed a particular image in his mind. It’s going to be tough to let that image go.
Beside him at the table Devi tips back in her chair. Wes shuffles through headshots.
The show is starting so far off Broadway that they’re in San Francisco. It’s Blaine’s very own piece of musical theater. He’s poured his heart into the show, along with his extensive knowledge of popular music from basically forever and the theater music he’s picked up from every theater guy he’s ever dated. Truth is, that’s every guy he’s ever dated with the exception of Hal, who was a short order cook and listened to alt country, which Blaine found a bit depressing. The breakfasts were awesome though.
“We’ll take another look at number three,” says Wes.
“I guess,” says Devi to the ceiling. “At least he could sing.”
“But-” prompts Wes. Devi has experience as an assistant director with the American Conservatory Theater. Even Wes has to listen to her.
Devi lets her chair drop to the floor. “He didn’t show any delicacy. I mean, he has to play a sixteen year old kid as well as an older guy. Look, I’ll keep an open mind. You can give his agent a call.”
“We’re not going to be able to put on a show without a lead,” says Wes as he rustles through papers some more. “I think we should take a look at number twelve too.”
Devi tilts in her chair again. “Really, Wes?”
“What is the problem?” he asks.
“Look, I won’t argue that he was technically proficient. He just had so little charisma.”
“Did you think anyone was adequate?”
Devi groans theatrically.
“Weigh in here at any time, Blaine,” Wes says and Devi elbows Blaine.
“Ouch.”
“Number twelve?” asks Wes waving the headshot.
Blaine tilts his head to look at the photo dangled in front of him. “He was fine,” he says. “He lacked the charisma I’d like to see in David.“
“Exactly!” says Devi. “I thought you’d side with Wes because he was your schoolboy crush and your very favorite TA. But he was right, you’re a good guy.”
“Blaine was always a genuinely first-rate kid,” says Wes. Somehow the praise still makes Blaine smile - though obviously he never had a crush on Wes. “What did you think of this most recent guy? With the weird neck scarf.”
“Cravat,” supplies Blaine. He takes a breath, “Look, it’s possible I’m too close to the whole thing but I felt like they were all missing something.”
He counts it as a victory when neither one of the others rolls their eyes.
Blaine has written the best thing of his career. Of course, he’s only twenty-four and this is really the third thing he’s completed so there’s not much competition. Still, he’s proud of it. He has some limited financial backing; he has a producer in Wes and a director in Devi. He even has a choreographer and a copyright attorney. Everything is set for success. Or ripe for failure.
And now they’re casting the pivotal role. Blaine sighs wretchedly and drops his head into his arms. He’s pretty sure he knows where this is all heading. He lifts his eyes to look at the others. “I might know the right guy,” he says.
Devi shoots a look at Wes. He nods slowly. “Okay. We’ve got some wiggle room here. A tiny little bit of wiggle room, Blaine.”
“Work your charms, Anderson. He’d better be good,” says Devi.
“He is,” says Blaine.
“Oh ho,” she laughs.
Blaine doesn’t bother to tell her it’s not like that.
This show is Blaine’s baby. The madness is that the only person he can picture in the lead role is a boy he has been failing to forget for six years.
**
Blaine doesn’t have Kurt’s number any more. He does have Sam’s.
“Hey dude,” says Sam cheerfully. “I forgot to tell you that we bought a puppet!” It feels like they last talked yesterday though in reality it was three months ago.
Blaine smiles into the phone. “Great! How’s the show?”
“Not just a show, it’s an educational touring performing arts experience. It’s called: Me and You Make We!” says Sam happily. “And bro it is awesome. Yesterday I got to talk to third graders about why their math problems were racist. Also their math teacher.”
“Huh. That is awesome,” says Blaine.
“We sang it out,” says Sam. “I wore a cape.” He starts singing Nobody loves a racist, everybody loves the Hulk and soon they’re talking San Francisco and Blaine’s musical and Sam’s girlfriend and whether the newly named Lima Heights Hamlet is a real place or some kind of gap in the space-time continuum.
Eventually Blaine gets to the point. “Hey Sam, I need a favor, if you don’t mind. Do you still have Finn’s number?”
“Dude, I didn’t even know I had your number.”
“Look in your phone?”
“Oh, man, I’ll probably hang up on you.”
“How about if you look and I’ll call you back if you lose me?”
Blaine calls back and Sam has Finn’s number and Blaine’s a step closer to speaking with Kurt than he has been in six years.