Blaine

"Dude, I need you to do me a favor."

I sigh, switching my phone to the other ear to grab my takeout coffee and pay. My brother always needs me to do him a favor, and that usually involves time, expense, and doing something that I really don't want to do.

"What is it this time?"

"Good," he says, taking my question as confirmation of my compliance. "So, you know Kurt Hummel?"

"No."

"Yeah you do. He's in town for six months, and wants someone to teach piano to his kids."

"No." I push my way out of the coffee shop and onto the busy streets of New York. "No, no way."

"Come on, dude! You'd be great."

"That's not what I do, Cooper. I don't teach, I write, and perform. Big difference."

"Yeah but you're not exactly raking in the cash, are you, little bro? He'll pay, and he'll pay well. Please?"

"No! Whoever this guy is, tell him to Google piano teachers and I'm sure a pretty decent list will come up."

"You seriously don't know who Kurt Hummel is?"

"No. Why would I?"

"He was that sidekick in that sci-fi movie thingy."

"Well that narrows it down."

"He's kinda huge. Just landed the lead role in some new superheroi show, but his face is everywhere. He does modelling. Fronts some campaign... I don't know. Point is, he's rich, and has kids that need piano lessons."

"Like I said, Google. How do you know him, anyway?"

"I don't. I'm fitting the kitchen in his new place. Super nice. Anyway, he called in to check on progress and he asked if anyone knew a piano teacher."

It hits me as I'm waiting to cross the road. "Oh my God, you told him I'd do it, didn't you?"

"I kind of did, yeah."

"I don't even like kids, Cooper! Not to mention the fact that I'm busy with my real work, you know, my actual job. Jeez! Cooper, I swear, I..."

"I said you'd call by next week. I'll text you his address but you're not allowed to share it with anyone, or tell anyone what you're doing, okay? Bye!"

He hangs up before I can yell at him, and I'm left alone with my coffee and my anger.

After my dull, never-ending shift at Home Depot, I'm looking forward to spending an evening with my feet up, writing songs on my guitar. That's not to be, though, because something in my brain is reminding me to do something, and then I remember what.

Google Kurt Hummel.

In all honesty, I'm surprised to find that he's exceptionally famous; my brother has a tendency to exaggerate. A couple of years older than me, Kurt turned twenty nine last month and is listed on countless rising star lists. He's gone from one to watch, to the only one to watch, it seems, because after co-starring in a smash hit movie, Kurt Hummel shot to fame and is now in demand everywhere.

Cooper is right; he's also a model, and very striking to look at. He's distinctive, I think my mom would say. His features are almost...elfin? I don't know. I have no idea if that's an accurate or acceptable way to describe a guy, but he's very angular and his eyes- probably enhanced by photoshop- are a bright, brilliant blue. He reminds me of Zelda.

I see no mention of kids, though, or of a wife, girlfriend...anything. The only mention of any private life I do find, says that Kurt Hummel is the rare Hollywood exception of a star without scandal. It's that comment which makes me arrive outside a smart looking brownstone the following week, having been told to call at ten sharp.

His wife answers the door, a smart, beautiful, blond woman in her late twenties, and seems surprised when I say I'm here about piano lessons.

"Teaching them, I mean," I add as I follow her down the hallway. "Not um... taking them."

"Obviously. But teaching Mr. Hummel?"

"Oh, no. His um... your children?"

"My children?" She frowns, then laughs. "I don't have any children. I'm not his wife, if that's what you're thinking. I'm Quinn, his manager."

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry." I feel myself flushing, and I clear my throat. "His children, then. I'm here about teaching piano to his children."

"His wards?"

"His what now?"

"Mr. Hummel doesn't have any children either, but he does have three wards as of about three weeks ago."

"Right. That's... right. I see." I glance about, briefly admiring the kitchen that Cooper has just finished fitting, and trying to think of a way out. "You know, when I text Mr. Hummel he didn't seem all that sure about the lessons, so..."

"Come through. I'll introduce you to the children. Mr. Hummel isn't here right now."

"Maybe I'll come back another time? I mean, he did say ten, but..."

"He'll be back soon enough. Come on."

She leads me through a dining room with a huge marble topped table and an elaborate chandelier, and into a bright and airy playroom, where a baby sits on the floor, chewing a bright pink giraffe, and a small girl lies on a pile of cushions, watching the TV.

"Polly?"

I'm expecting the girl to answer, but Polly turns out to be a woman in her fifties, who appears from around the corner, with about six brightly colored hairbands in her hair. She looks kind, friendly, if slightly crazy, and she smiles warmly.

"Hey, Quinn."

"Hi. This is... Oh, um?"

"Blaine Anderson."

"Mr. Anderson," Quinn says with a nod. "He's here to teach piano."

"Oh. Right, well I knew nothing of that," Polly says, "but that's wonderful anyway. Welcome. I'm Polly, the children's nanny."

"Um..." I glance down to where the baby sits staring up at me with large, dark eyes. "I mean, I can teach piano, but... They're perhaps a little young?"

"Ha!" Quinn pats me on the back. "I'll leave him with you, Polly. Good luck."

Confused, I watch as she leaves the room, ruffling the little girl's hair as she passes. I find it strange that there's still silence from the children, and very little curiosity.

"I'll introduce you," Polly says, as if teaching piano to someone who can't even walk is entirely natural. "This is Joshua, he's coming up eight months, and this over here is Alice. Tell Blaine how old you are, Alice, what number?"

"Free."

"Right, good." I nod, and try to smile at the girl. She's cute, definitely, with blue eyes and blond hair, but she looks nothing at all like Joshua, whom I assume is her brother.

"And around here," Polly continues, leading me around the corner. "We have Maggie. Maggie is five, and she's the one you'll be teaching, or I assume so, anyway."

"Ah." Suddenly everything makes sense. The girl sits at a table that's covered in mirrors, hairbrushes, and a vanity full of hair bands, bobby pins, and whatever else women use for their hair. Several dolls are scattered about, all with pigtails, plaits, or ponytails; presumably she ran out of models, and resorted to using the nanny.

The girl herself is the image of her sister, only older. Her hair is a darker blond, but she has the same rosy cheeks and big blue eyes. Like Alice, she sits politely, but doesn't smile.

"Maggie, darling, this is Mr. Anderson. He's going to give you piano lessons."

The girl nods solemnly. "Okay. Hello," she says, turning to me.

"Hey. So uh... So I don't know if you want a lesson now, or..."

"Hmm. This is all a bit awkward, isn't it?" Polly says, looking about as if she too is unsure of how to proceed. "Did Quinn mention if Mr. Hummel is home?"

"She said he's out."

"Right. Do you know him?"

"No. My brother fit the kitchen, and apparently recommended me as a suitable piano teacher."

"I see. So where do you usually teach?"

"I don't."

This alarms her, and she sits down at the table, indicating that I should join her. "Maggie, sweetie, go play with Joshua and Alice for a moment."

"Okay," the little girl whispers. She glances at me as she passes, and I try my best to smile, but I have a feeling it comes off as a grimace.

"Mr. Anderson, please explain?"

"Um... I don't really know what to explain," I say with a shrug. "My brother called me and told me to come, I text the number he gave me, and got given an address and a time to be here, so I'm here."

"But you've never taught piano before?"

"No. I mean, I can play it, but teaching it is... No."

"I see. What about working with children?"

"God, no."

She raises her eyebrows, and I know that was the wrong answer to give. "Mr. Anderson, what exactly is it you do for a living?"

"Well, I'm a musician by night, but that doesn't pay the rent, so I also work in Home Depot. Which is fine, you know... fine, because music is what I really want to do, and it gives me time to concentrate on that, so..."

"Do you have a safeguarding clearance?"

"Excuse me?"

"For working with minors?"

"It's uh... I don't know what one of those is," I admit, embarrassed. "Look, truth be told, I don't want to be here. My brother just said to do it, and I kinda need the cash because I'm saving up to pay for studio time to make an album and... Yeah. I don't know the first thing about kids, or how to teach them, but I do know a lot about piano, and music, and how liberating and joyful that can be."

She nods, then stands. "Come along, then. The piano's in the conservatory. For now, since you don't have safeguarding clearance, I'll have to stay in the room with you. Let's see how you get on."

The house seems to go on forever; we go back through the dining room, through the kitchen, into some kind of office, and then into a large, bright, airy conservatory. A grand piano sits there, waiting to be played, far more luxurious and opulent than anything I could ever hope to own.

And I am to teach a five year old how to play it.

"Right." I smile down at the little girl, who looks pretty terrified, while the nanny settles the other two on a large mat with an assortment of toys. "So, Maggie, um... come sit here."

I take out the large piano stool and she sits in the middle. I perch uneasily on the end, all too aware that Polly is watching and that I don't have whatever clearance it is that I need. I don't want to do anything to accidentally cause alarm.

"Do you know your alphabet?"

Maggie nods. "Like my ABC's?"

"Yes."

"In Spanish, or English?"

"Oh. Uh... We'll stick with English for now. So, every key on a piano, has a letter name. A, B, C, and so on, up to G. When you get to G, you start over again. Got that?"

"Yes." She nods again, solemn and serious as she stares down at the keys.

"Now, with a piano, we always have this note here, as the center point, because it's in the middle. But the funny thing is, you'd expect it to be an A, right? But it's not, it's a C, and this one right here, is called middle C. For now, we'll just use the white keys, and worry about the others another time. A lot of the stuff you'll start with, will use middle C as a base, okay? So you need to remember its name, and where it is. Can you do that for me?"

She looks up at me then, her blue eyes wide. "It's not that hard."

I swallow. "No. Right. Okay." I can't help but laugh at her answer. "So you tell me then, what this note might be called?"

I play the D next to it, which she correctly identifies, then the E, F, and G. I move back down, to the B. Maggie thinks a moment, then says "B?"

"Very good. Smart girl. This?"

"A."

"And this?"

I play the G below the A, and wait as she scrunches her nose. "C?"

"Ah, I got you! It's a G, look." I take her tiny hand, and play from the lower A, up to the G, and then up to middle C, naming each one as I go. "See? Good note naming, though, Maggie. Very well done."

"You did got me." She gives a small, brief smile, and then looks up again. "Are you mad that I got it wrong?"

"Mad? No, I was just having a little fun, that's all. I think you're super smart."

"Oh. Mr. Anderson?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to play, or are you just pretend at it?"

I laugh loudly at this, and so does Polly. "I can play. I was just a little bit older than you when I started, actually. Nearly seven."

"That's a long time ago. In the old days."

"Yep. Want me to play you something?"

She nods, and scoots to the other end of the bench to listen. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star seems like a good place to start, so I play and sing that and a couple more nursery rhymes, then stop.

"You sing pretty."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Anderson, do you know how to sing the Toy Story song? My daddy sings that one."

From her position on the floor, Polly looks up sharply. "That's not Mr. Hummel," she says quietly, and I understand her meaning.

"Call me Blaine," I tell Maggie, suddenly feeling desperately sad. "The song... Is it You've Got a Friend in Me?"

"Yes!" Her whole face lights up momentarily, and she looks so alive, so full of wonder, that my heart could burst, but she shuts down in an instant. "Yes," she says again, quietly.

"I know it. Want me to play it?"

She merely nods, and sticks her thumb in her mouth, but when I start to play and sing along, she slides closer and closer to me until she's pressed against my arm.

"You got a friend in me." I finish, and smile down at her, but there are tears swimming in those sweet blue eyes, and I've managed to make a child cry during my first ever piano lesson. Great. "Maggie?"

"I think that makes my heart sad," she decides. She stares at her hands that twist and turn in her lap. "I don't know why, because I thinked it did make me happy when daddy singed it."

"Hmm, well, music has a funny way of doing that to us," I tell her honestly. She listens, waiting for more and I flounder for a moment. How honest and forthright can one be with a five year old? In particular, how much can this one cope with, when she seems to have been through so much already?

"I love music," I say, "because it can take me places, like dreams do, you know? It can make me laugh, make me cry, make me feel all things in between, and it can remind me of things, or places, or people. Like this.." I play the Star Wars theme. "This music reminds me of the first time I ever watched Star Wars, with my dad and brother. And this," I play some Beethoven, "reminds me of waiting in a room, ready to play for an audition to get into college. When I was nine, my nana died. There was this one song she would always sing with me, and I loved it. You wanna hear it?"

"Will it make you cry?"

"No, it'll fill me up with... with rainbows and sunshine. Here, listen."

I play Puff the Magic Dragon, something I haven't done in many years, and sure enough, it does bring a big smile to my face. Alice and Joshua watch me from the rug, but the best reaction comes from Maggie, who ducks under my arm and fuses herself to my side.

"I like that a lot," she says when I'm done. "The dragon is funny."

"He is. You know what, though? When my nana died, I couldn't listen to that song without wanting to cry, but I still wanted to sing it, because it was our song, and it made me feel close to her. Gradually, over time, the sad feeling, and the tears, kind of stopped, and I managed to be happy when I thought of her. I expect, with your daddy, you have lots of happy memories of that song, but maybe right now, your heart is sad about that. I think, if you keep those memories in your heart, and don't try to shut them out, then over time, they'll fill you up with rainbows and sunshine, too."

"I think I'd like that."

"I think you would too. It'll happen, you just gotta give it time."

"Hey."

I jump about a foot when I hear the other voice; I'd even forgotten Polly and the other kids were in the room, but I turn to find Kurt Hummel standing there, looking like he's just come from the pages of a fashion magazine, which he possibly has, of course. He wears ripped blue jeans and a black shirt, with a light blue scarf at his neck. Impossibly fashionable, even for the hipster streets of Brooklyn, I think. His hair is high on his head, and I am very surprised to see those blue eyes really are as sharp and piercing as they seemed online. No photoshop needed for this guy.

I get to my feet, because in all honesty, I'm a little intimidated to see him for the first time when I'm sitting there with my arm around the shoulders of a girl who is not his daughter but clearly means something to him.

"Hi."

"Mr. Hummel, this is Mr. Anderson, the new piano teacher."

"Oh, hi." He offers his hand and a warm, friendly smile. "So, is she as good as Mozart?"

"Better." I shake his hand and wink at Maggie at the same time.

"Mr. Anderson isn't vetted, yet," Polly explains. "Which is why I'm in here with him. But Maggie is thoroughly enjoying herself."

I wouldn't go that far, but it's still nice of Polly to say.

"Okay, well, Mr. Anderson, ask my manager to arrange the necessary documentation for you. You'll also need to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I take my privacy very seriously, especially right now."

"Of course. Oh, and you can call me Blaine."

He looks me up and down. "I'll stick with Mr. Anderson. Kids, I'm going to be gone for the rest of the day. Be good."

And with that, he is gone.

"Wow."

"He's uh... Well, I think life has changed a lot for him, in a very short space of time," Polly says diplomatically. "But he's not here much, if that concerns you at all."

"I'm not here to teach him."

"No. So you'll come again?"

I look down at Maggie, who is sitting on the edge of the piano bench, trying to look as though she's not listening.

"Sure."

A bright, brilliant smile lights her little face. "I like that."

"Three times a week?"

"That's a lot of piano," I tell Polly, but she shrugs, and glances at Maggie again.

"Of course. Yes, three times a week is fine."