Prologue
Brittany S. Pierce did not do nerves. At least, she didn't allow her anxiety to bleed through and display itself for the rest of the world to see. The same way sharks can sense blood in the water and eagerly move in for a kill, most human beings seemed ready to react pretty much the same way, although - so far - only metaphorically, when they sensed a person's vulnerability. Brittany, being somewhat different from most people, had tremendous reserves of vulnerability and so had learned to hide her anxiety behind a combined front composed of confidence (partially assumed) and quirkiness (100% true). But on this particular day, her anxiety was showing and that simply wouldn't do. She stood, alone and irresolute, in the dingy, dark hallway, and looked around for a temporary escape where she could pull herself together. Game face on, Pierce. Game face on.
She walked quickly toward a nearby restroom, double-checking that it was in fact a women's restroom (some mistakes only need to be made once), and soon faced herself in the mirror. She looked flushed, and nervous, and even a little tearful, none of which is part of her normal game face. So she ran her wrists under the cold tap, while taking deep breaths and forcing herself to calm down. She could do this. The first reading of Joy!'s script was being held soon, and everybody would be there, all the personnel associated with the show. She'd finally be meeting the cast. She knew Mercedes, of course, but every one else was a stranger to her. She was looking forward to meeting them, especially Kurt Hummel and Santana L-
"Fuck!" The door to the bathroom was thrown open with such force it slammed against the wall. A group of women entered, led by a petite, stunning dark-haired beauty ... oh no. Maybe Brittany wasn't ready to meet Santana Lopez quite yet, after all. Fortunately, none of the women so much as looked her way. Had she finally turned invisible? That would be cool on so many levels but probably not really ideal. Could this be a weird waking dream? A mere fantasy? She'd had more than her share of Santana-inspired dreams over the years, after all, and had recently been hyperventilating up a storm, so maybe this was not really happening at all? But Brittany dismissed this almost immediately. In her Santana-dreams, there had only been one blonde, whereas right now there were four, counting Brittany. And that was three too many in her considered opinion.
"I mean, for reals? DL is a freakin' genius, we all know that, but why am I so convinced that pretty soon I'm gonna be best known for starring in his biggest bomb?!" If Brittany was trying to rein her nerves in and contain them, it was clear that Santana Lopez was taking the opposite approach, and doing a great job of broadcasting them as far as her beautiful voice could carry them, with her little posse of pretty blonde girls hanging on her every word. "I mean, hello, I'm supposed to be a cheerleader?! Do I look like a fucking cheerleader to you? I've only spent the last three years of my career trying to escape that last cheerleader role and just - ! Fuck me now! I can't escape it! Like, fuck's sake, 'being a part of something special makes you special'? Really?! Who the fuck writes shit like that?!"
"Um." Brittany raised her hand, wondering vaguely if her apparent invisibility had an off switch or not. "That would be me, actually."
Santana Lopez, and her posse, turned in a strangely synchronized movement, and stared at Brittany.
Awkward.
~some months earlier~
"All right, DL, we are here, and we are ready to hear your about your latest 'hit' show idea."
DL looked up with suspicion, having caught the shade in the word "hit" and puffed out his chest a bit before looking hurt and woebegone.
"I am not just a showrunner," DL said with emphasis, "I am a hitmaker." He was about to mention that he owned his own plane, a bright purple-red Learjet he called PhallicSymbol, but checked himself. (It was perhaps telling that in terms of success, he would first consider how much money he'd made and not the quality of his actual work.) Instead, he paused for effect and to take a deep breath, in order to run through the highlights of his monstrous career, but the Faux executive did not let him get any further.
"Yes, DL, we here are all aware of the success of Slip and Tuck ..."
"Damn fucking straight you should be!" DL's face took on a somewhat alarming purplish hue. "That fucking show made millions for your fucking network! And it was groundbreaking! I always do groundbreaking shit!" Arms flailing around for emphasis, flecks of spittle appeared in the corners of DL's mouth. It was a grotesque sight.
DL did not lie. Slip and Tuck was a unique show about a maladroit transsexual plastic surgeon as its (anti)hero. There were bets around the network offices that DL had gotten the idea after a riotous night gone badly awry in West Hollywood. It was equally true that the show made millions for the studio, before gloriously falling to ruins in the third season and limping to an unsatisfying conclusion shortly afterwards. DL had never forgiven the network for not renewing the show so he could "fix it" but given the nonexistent base upon which the flimsy storylines had been built, there was no saving the show and Faux had cut its losses with its normal ruthlessness.
Slip and Tuck was no Firefly, and its much-abused fanbase had quickly moved on, licking its collective wounds and vowing never to watch another DL show. That sort of thing happened to DL a lot, and he had no idea why.
As the meeting wore on, it was clear that DL still felt the sting of the loss of Slip and Tuck, and it was equally clear that the executives and their flunkies viewed DL with the deep suspicion of people who had been had. This was entirely understandable. Nonetheless, it was a pitch meeting and DL made his pitch with his customary class, manners, and grandiosity:
"Okay, okay, shut up you fuckers. I have a hit right here in my hands, and I'm not talking about my dick." He pantomimed a very rude gesture and then held up a script with his usual flourish. The script actually consisted of a cover sheet saying JOY! By Dinky Littelmann and two pages of half-assed dialogue, followed by 47 blank pages. The 51st page said THE END WHILE ALL AMERICA CHEERS.
"This is the story of the Warblers, a glee club at a private boys school in rural Ohio. It's the story of underdogs, of outcasts, but they're not ugly and they have talent, so America will root for them. This," DL flourished the script again and looked proud and very nearly sane, "is a story that will resonate with all America, especially the masses of people with no talent who think they're something special. Guaran-fuckin-teed to bring in big ratings. And here's the thing, since they sing and shit, we can also sell the songs! Show'll pay for itself with a thirteen!"
The executives and flunkies exchanged skeptical, worried glances with one another. The chief of programming, a very fat man named Stephen Hyde, cleared his throat.
"This is a private boys' school, you say?" Mr Hyde asked. DL, whose face was suffused with pride, nodded his head sharply. "So. It's a place of white privilege with no girls?" The prideful expression on DL's face slipped a tiny bit. He didn't see any problem with this. He, DL, knew there was no underdog like a white privileged male outcast.
"I think this idea has merit," Mr Hyde finally said, after enjoying a moment of watching DL squirm. "But with, perhaps, one or two very minor changes which you will, of course, implement. My assistant will get back to you with a list." Here Mr Hyde looked with longing at his assistant, Aleska Janson. She was young, lithe and gorgeous, with long limbs and glowing black skin, and everybody who knew of her position with Faux assumed she'd had to fuck her way to her current place of merit. Like many Hollywood "facts" there was no truth to this widely held belief whatsoever. Mr Hyde may have occasionally (or frequently) hoped that one day it may become true, but deep down he knew he had no chance. He also knew that Aleska was whip smart, with incredible instincts, and did her job with admirable ruthlessness, fueled in large part by the rumors about her, which had initially left her shaking with fury. She'd managed to harness this anger as so much fuel, and used it to feed her business acumen and career. DL was one of the worst purveyors of the Aleska-slept-her-way-up rumor factory. And having heard DL's views about her rise to the top echelon at Faux, she let the stony mask on her face slip for just a moment, as she contemplated the enjoyment of the task at hand.
One thought was uppermost in her mind: Joy! needed lesbians. Joy! with lesbians would make DL break out in hives. And all America would cheer.
Aleska Janson's office was a marvel of color located in Faux's main office building (known by all as the obie), a building known for its cut-rate drabness, where even the windows were tiny and opaque and unhelpful. There were brilliant, though fake, African tribal masks in dramatic blacks and reds on the walls, complete with recessed spotlighting. In one corner there was a large spear, with a deadly looking, suspiciously red, tip, that had been fashioned into a coat rack, three additional blunted tips growing out of the original base. She did not hang her coat there, preferring to leave the unusual bit of furniture empty and thus sharing its subtle air of weaponed menace with visitors. She found this helpful. The large couch, squarish, unyielding and uncomfortable, was upholstered in a large black and red checkered pattern and looked like a surreal, Dali-esque checkerboard. It was somehow deadly and disconcerting at the same time, as if it were fully capable of swallowing visitors whole. She found this helpful as well. She had also somehow managed to acquire a large, bright red desk, which she liked to show off when she had to meet with people she detested. It was entirely bare for her meeting with DL.
After an insincere exchange of greetings, they got down to business. It was clear from the first that DL was deeply insulted to be meeting with Aleska and not with Stephen Hyde. Aleska picked up on the outrage immediately and savored it. She gestured to one of the red and black checkered chairs, which matched the sofa, across from her desk and DL took the seat with a childish thump of umbrage. Then Aleska calmly opened the center desk drawer, brought out a single sheet of paper and slid it across the surface of her desk. DL made no move to pick it up and instead stared at the woman, nursing his imagined grievance. Aleska wanted to make that grievance real, so she briskly outlined the minimal changes Faux required in order to greenlight Joy! for production.
She took great joy in watching DL's face turn a mottled purple as she told him that, first, Joy! would now be centered around a bunch of misfits, boys and girls, at an Ohio public high school. At least one of the boys would be gay, and at least one of the girls would be a lesbian. DL started violently at the word "lesbian" and absently began scratching his neck. She went on to note that the Warblers would indeed be part of the show, namely the necessary bad guys against which the plucky heroes would learn valuable life lessons and overcome adversity. The main stars would be the lesbian and the gay boy. Final approval for casting decisions would be shared by DL and Faux, but Aleska stressed that it would be a very good thing to use an actual gay young man and an actual lesbian in the roles, and she had a short list – listed right there on the the paper she'd given him – of people she thought would work for the parts.
"They aren't especially well known performers, especially the boy, but they are talented and can carry this show. They're double threats, too, since they can act circles around most actors in their age group AND also they can sing like angels." Aleska opened up the desk drawer again, extracted a CD case and placed it on top of the paper. "Demos," Aleska said succinctly. The list was certainly short, since it consisted of two names only. DL reluctantly picked up the paper and read Kurt Hummel, male lead, and Santana Lopez, female lead. He had never heard of either performer but hated them already.
"And finally – I confess I'm really excited about this idea ..." here Aleska smiled and DL broke out in a sweat of terror, "Faux wants a newbie writer for the show's staff, someone who will be chosen by the network." DL's mouth fell open in mingled shock and horror, but he didn't realize he would shortly feel that much worse. "She will be a lesbian or bisexual or transsexual, and we'll have a contest to find her. It'll be a fantastic way to get some early buzz for our show! I'm thinking we can start publicizing the contest at universities and on pop culture blogs and websites. I've already begun drafting the post for tumblr!"
Poor DL was still grappling with the word "she" and therefore unable to process anything further.