A/N: This story, as mentioned above, is heavily borrowed from Meg Cabot's "The Boy Next Door." A few things to be aware of:
Pairings: Kurt/OC (in the past), Mercedes/Sam, and, of course, Klaine. This story also features a host of other OCs and a less-than-gentlemanly Wes. Please note that this is non-canon!
I hope you all enjoy!
And for people who are wondering about eRomance, I'm working on it... slowly. :)
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Human Resources
Subject: Tardiness
Dear Kurt Hummel,
This is an automated message from the Human Resources Division of the New York Journal, New York City's leading photo-newspaper. Please be aware that according to your supervisor, managing editor William Schuester, your workday here at the Journal begins promptly at 9AM, making you 68 minutes tardy today. This is your 37th tardy exceeding twenty minutes so far this year, Kurt Hummel.
We in the Human Resources Division are not "out to get tardy employees," as was mentioned in last week's unfairly worded employee newsletter. Tardiness is a serious and expensive issue facing employers all over America. Employees often make light of tardiness, but routine lateness can often be a symptom of a more serious issue, such as
·alcoholism
·drug addiction
·gambling addiction
·abusive domestic partner
·sleep disorders
·clinical depression
and any number of other conditions.
If you are suffering from any of the above, please do not hesitate to contact your Human Resources Representative, Harmony Fuller. Your Human Resources Representative will be only too happy to enroll you in the New York Journal's Staff Assistance Program, where you will be paired with a mental health professional who will work to help you achieve your full potential.
Kurt Hummel, we here at the New York Journal are a team. We win as a team, and lose as one, as well. Kurt, don't you want to be on a winning team? So please do your part to see that you arrive at work on time from now on!
Sincerely,
The Human Resources Division
The New York Journal
Please note that any future tardies may result in suspension or dismissal.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: You are in trouble
Kurt, where were you? I saw that Harmony Fuller from Human Resources skulking around your cubicle. I think you're in for another one of those tardy notices. What is this, your 50th? You better have a good excuse this time, because Will was saying a little while ago that gossip columnists are a dime a dozen, and that he could get Liz Smith over here in a second to replace you if he wanted to. I think he was joking. It was hard to tell because the Coke machine is broken, and he hadn't had his morning Mountain Dew yet.
By the way, did something happen last night between you and Aaron? He's been playing Wagner in his cubicle again. You know how this bugs Will. Did you two have another fight? Are we doing lunch later or what?
Merdeces :-)
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Aaron
Subject: Last night
Where are you, Kurt? Are you going to be completely childish about this and not come into the office until you're sure I've left for the day? Is that it? Can't we sit down and discuss this like adults?
Aaron Spender
Senior Correspondent
New York Journal
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Dolly Vargas
Subject: Aaron Spender
Kurt-
Don't get the wrong idea, darling, I WASN'T spying on you, but a girl would have to be BLIND not to have noticed how you brained Aaron Spender with your bag last night at Pastis. You probably didn't even notice me, I was at the bar, and I looked around because I thought I heard your name, of all things-weren't you supposed to be covering the Prada show?-and then BOOM! Altoids and hand sanitizing wipes all over the place.
Darling, it was precious. You really have excellent aim, you know. But I highly doubt Jack Spade meant that fine wallet to be used as a projectile. I'm sure it would have been comprised with less supple leather if it had been intended to be thrown around like a shot-put.
Seriously, darling, I just need to know: Is it all over between you and Aaron? Because I never thought you were right for each other. I mean, the man was in the running for a Pulitzer, for God's sake! Although if you ask me, anyone could have written that story about that little Ethiopian boy. I found it perfectly maudlin. That part about his sister selling her body to provide him with rice...please. Too Dickensian.
So you aren't going to be difficult about this, are you? Because I've got an invite to Steven's place in the Hamptons, and I was thinking of inviting Aaron to mix Cosmos for me. But I won't if you're going to go Joan Collins on me.
P.S. You really should have called if you weren't going to come in today, darling. I think you're in trouble. I saw that little troll-like person (Harmony something?) from Human Resources sniffing around your desk earlier.
Dolly XXXOOO
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: Where the hell were you?
Where the hell are you? You appear to be under the mistaken impression that comp days don't have to be pre-arranged with your employer. This is not exactly convincing me that you are columnist material. More like copy-edit material, Hummel.
WS
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Aaron
Subject: Last night
This is really beneath you, Kurt. I mean, for God's sake, Adam and I were in a war zone together. Anti-aircraft fire was exploding all around us. We thought we'd be captured by rebel forces at any moment. Can't you understand that? It meant nothing to me,
Kurt, I swear it. My God, I should never have told you. I thought you could be mature about this. But to pull a disappearing act like this...
Well, I'd never have expected it from a guy like you, that's all I have to say.
Aaron Spender
Senior Correspondent
New York Journal
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: This isn't funny
Boy, where are you? I'm really starting to get worried. Why haven't you called me, at the very least? I hope you didn't get hit by a bus, or something. But I suppose if you did, they'd call us. Assuming you had your press pass with you, that is.
All right, I'm not really worried that you're dead. I'm really worried you're going to get fired, and I'm going to have to eat lunch with Dolly again. I was forced to go to Burger Heaven with her since you're MIA, and it nearly killed me. The woman had a salad with no dressing. Do you get where I'm coming from here? NO DRESSING.
And then she felt compelled to comment on every single thing I put in my mouth. Do you know how many grams of fat are in that fry? A good substitute for mayonnaise, you know, Mercedes, is low-fat yogurt. I'd like to tell her what she can do with her low-fat yogurt. By the way, I think you should know that Spender's going around saying you're doing this because of whatever went down between the two of you the other night.
If that doesn't get you in here, and pronto, I don't know what will.
Mercedes :-)
To: Will Schuester
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Where the hell I was
Since it is apparently so important to you and Harmony Fuller that your employees account fully for every moment they spend away from the office, I will provide you with a detailed summary of my whereabouts while I was unavoidably detained.
Ready? Got your giant cup of coffee? I hear the machine down in the art department is fully operational.
Kurt's Morning:
7:15-Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.
7:20-Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.
7:25-Alarm rings. Hit snooze button.
7:26-Wake to sound of neighbor's dog barking. Turn off alarm.
7:27-Stagger to bathroom. Perform morning ablutions.
7:55-Stagger to kitchen. Ingest nourishment in form of Nutrigrain bar and Tuesday night's take-out kung pao.
7:56-Neighbor's dog still barking.
7:57-Blow dry hair.
8:10-Check New York One for weather.
8:11-Neighbor's dog still barking.
8:12-Attempt to find something to wear from assorted clothes crammed into studio apartment's single, refrigerator-sized closet. Clearly this does not give enough breathing room for my clothes.
8:30-Give up. Pull on black rayon pants, black rayon shirt, black loafers.
8:35-Shoulder signature messenger bag. Look for keys.
8:40-Find keys in bag. Leave apartment.
8:41-Notice that Mrs. Montgomery's copy of the New York Chronicle (yes, Will, my next door neighbor subscribes to our biggest rival: don't you agree with me now that we really ought to do something to draw more senior readers?) is still lying on the floor in front of her apartment door. She is normally up at six to walk her dog, and takes her paper in then.
8:42-Notice that Mrs. Montgomery's dog is still barking. Knock on door to make sure everything is all right (some of us New Yorkers actually care about our neighbors, Will. You wouldn't know that, of course, since stories about people who actually care for others in their community don't make for very good copy. Stories in the Journal, I've noticed, tend to gravitate towards neighbors who shoot at, not borrow cups of sugar from, one another).
8:45-After repeated knocks, Mrs. Montgomery still does not come to door. Paco, her Great Dane, however, barks with renewed vigor.
8:46- Try handle to Mrs. Montgomery's apartment door. It is, oddly enough, unlocked. Let myself inside.
8:47-Am greeted by Great Dane and two Siamese cats. No sign of Mrs. Montgomery.
8:48-Find Mrs. Montgomery facedown on living room carpet.
Okay, Will? Get it, Will? The woman was FACEDOWN on her living room carpet!
What was I supposed to do, Schuester? Huh? Call Harmony Fuller down in Human Resources?
No. That life-saving class you made us all take paid off, see? I was able to tell that not only did Mrs. Montgomery have a pulse, she was also breathing. So I called 911 and waited with her until the ambulance came. With the ambulance, Will, came some cops.
And guess what the cops said, Will? They said it looked to them as if Mrs. Montgomery had been struck. From behind, Will. Some creep whacked that old lady on the back of the head!
Can you believe it? Who would do that to an eighty-year-old woman? I don't know what this city is coming to, Will, when little old ladies aren't even safe in their apartments. But I'm telling you, there's a story here-and I think I should be the one who writes it.
Whadduya say, Schuester?
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: There's a story here
The only story here is the one I haven't heard. And that would be the story of why, just because your neighbor got whacked on the head, you couldn't come into the office, or even call anyone to let them know where they were.
Now that is a story I'd really enjoy hearing.
WS
To: Will Schuester
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Where I was
Will, you are so cold-hearted. I found my neighbor facedown in her living room, the victim of a brutal attack, and you think all I should have been concerned about was calling my employer to explain why I was going to be late?
Well, I'm sorry, Will, but the thought never even crossed my mind. I mean, Mrs. Montgomery is my friend! I wanted to go with her in the ambulance, but there was the little problem of Paco. Or should I say the big problem of Paco. Paco is Mrs. Montgomery's Great Dane, Will. He weighs a hundred and twenty-nine pounds, Will, which is only slightly less than what I weigh.
And he needed to go out. Badly. So after I took him out, I fed him and watered him and did the same to Tweedle-Dum and Mr. Peepers, her Siamese cats (Tweedle-Dee sadly expired last year).
While I was doing this, the cops were checking her door for signs of forced entry. But there were none, Will.
Do you know what this means? It means she probably knew her attacker, Will. She probably let him in of her own volition! Even more bizarrely, there were two hundred and seventy-six dollars in cash in her purse that had been left untouched. Ditto her jewelry,
Will. This was no robbery. Will, why don't you believe there's a story here? Something is wrong. Very wrong. When I finally did get to the hospital, I was informed that Mrs. Montgomery was in surgery. Doctors were frantically trying to relieve the pressure on her brain from a giant blood clot that had formed beneath her skull! What was I supposed to do, Will? Leave? The cops couldn't get in touch with anybody from her family. I'm all she has, Will.
Twelve hours. Twelve hours it took them. I had to go to her apartment to walk Paco twice before the surgery was even finished. And when it was, the doctors came out and told me it had only been partially successful. Mrs. Montgomery is in a coma, Will! She may never come out of it. And until she does, guess who's stuck taking care of Paco,
Tweedle-Dum, and? Go on. Guess, Will. I'm not trying to get sympathy here. I know. I should have called. But work was not necessarily foremost in my mind at the time, Will.
But listen, now that I'm finally here what would you think about letting me write up a little something about what happened? You know, we could hit it from the Be Careful Who You Let in to Your Apartment angle. The cops are still looking for Mrs. Montgomery's closest relative-her nephew, I think-but when they find him, I could interview him. You know the woman really was a wonder. At eighty, she still goes to the gym three times a week, and last month, she flew to Helsinki for a performance of The Rings. Seriously. Her husband was Henry Montgomery, of the Montgomery twistie fortune.
You know, those twist-ties that go on garbage bags? She's worth six or seven million at least. Come on, Will. Let me give it a try. You can't keep me doing gossip for Page Ten forever.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: You can't keep me doing gossip for Page Ten forever
Yes, I can.
And do you know why? Because I am the managing editor of this newspaper, and I can do whatever I want. Besides, Hummel, we need you on Page Ten.
Would you like to know why we need you on Page Ten? Because the fact is, Hummel, you care. You care about Eva Longoria's dating status. You care that Harrison Ford's had a chemical peel. You care about Kim Kardashian's breasts, and whether or not they are silicone, and did they or did they not explode last month when she was on tour with Kanye.
Admit it, Hummel. You care.
The other thing ain't a story, Hummel. Old ladies get bonked on the head for their Social Security checks every day. It's called a telephone. Next time, call.
Capice? Capice. Now get me the copy on the Prada opening.
WS
To: Will Schuester
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: I do not care about Kim Kardashian's breasts...
...and you'll be sorry for not letting me run with the Montgomery story, Will. I'm telling you, there's something there. I can smell it.
And by the way, Harrison would NEVER get a chemical peel. Han Solo knows better.
Kurt
PS And who doesn't care about Eva Longoria's love life? Look how cute she is. Don't you want her to be happy, Will?
PPS And they didn't explode, they leaked. Because of the altitude, Will. God, don't you even READ my column?
To: Human Resources
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: My Tardiness
Dear Human Resources,
What can I say? You caught me. I guess my
·alcoholism
·drug addiction
·gambling addiction
·abusive domestic partner
·sleep disorders
·clinical depression
and any number of other conditions have finally caused me to hit bottom. Please enroll me in the Staff Assistance Program right away! If you could hook me up with a shrink who looks like Tom Daley, and preferably conducts his therapy session with his shirt off, I'd appreciate it.
Because the primary condition from which I am suffering is that I'm a twenty-seven-year-old man living in New York City, and I cannot find a decent guy. Just one guy, who won't cheat on me, doesn't live with his mother, and isn't turning to the Arts section of the Chronicle first thing Sunday morning, if you know what I mean. Is that asking so much? See if your Staff Assistance Program can handle that.
Kurt Hummel
Page Ten Columnist
NY Journal
To: Aaron
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Can't we discuss this like adults?
There's nothing to discuss. Really, Aaron, I'm sorry for throwing my bag at you. It was a childish outburst that I deeply regret.
And I don't want you to think that the reason we're breaking up has anything to do with Adam. Really, Aaron, we were over a long time before you ever told me about Adam.
Let's face it, Aaron, we're just too different: You like Stephen Hawking. I like Stephen King. You know it would never have worked.
Kurt
To: Dolly Vargas
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Aaron Spender
I did not throw my wallet. It slipped out of my hand when I was reaching for my drink, and accidentally flew through the air and hit Aaron in the eye.
And if you want him, Dolly, you can have him, though you really aren't his type.
Kurt
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Where I was
Okay, okay, I should have called. The whole thing was just a nightmare. But that's not what's important. This, you're never going to believe: Aaron cheated on me in Chechnya.
That's right. And you'll never guess who with. Seriously. Try to guess. You never will.
All right, I'll tell you: Adam Crawford.
Uh-huh. You read that correctly: Adam Crawford, respected senior BBC news correspondent, most recently host of the television news magazine TwentyFourSeven, and voted one of People Magazine's 50 Most Beautiful people last month.
Can you believe he slept with AARON? I mean, he could have George Clooney, for God's sake. What would he want with AARON?
Not that I didn't suspect. I always thought those stories he kept emailing in during that month he was on assignment there were way too smug. You know how I found out? Do you? He TOLD me. He felt he was ready to reach the next level of intimacy with me (three guesses as to what level THAT is) and that in order to do so, he felt he had to make a clean breast of it. He says ever since it happened, he's been wracked with guilt and that none of it meant anything. God, what a putz. I can't believe I wasted three months of my life on him.
Are there no decent men out there? I mean, besides Sam. I swear, Mercedes, your boyfriend is the last good man on earth. The last one! You hang on to him, and don't let go, because I'm telling you, it's a jungle out there.
Kurt
PS Can't go to lunch today, I have to go home and walk my neighbor's dog.
PPS Don't ask: It's a long story.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: That Jerk
Look, the guy did you a favor. I mean, be honest, Hummel. Did you really picture a future for the two of you? I mean, he smokes a PIPE, for crying out loud. And what's with all that classical music? Who does he think he is, anyway? Harold Bloom?
No. He's a reporter, just like the rest of us. He's not out there writing fine literature. So what's with that bust of William Shakespeare he keeps on top of his monitor?
The man is a big phony, and you know it, Kurt. That's why, in spite of the fact you two went out for three months, you never slept with him. Remember?
Mercedes ;-)
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: That Jerk
I never slept with him because of that goatee. And his awful fashion sense. How was I supposed to sleep with someone who looks like Robin Hood and thinks that leather /denim jackets are still a thing? He didn't want me enough even to shave.
What's wrong with me, Mercedes? Am I really not worth shaving for?
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: That Jerk
Give up the pity quest, Kurt. You know you're hot. The man is obviously suffering from a psychiatric disorder. We should sic Harmony Fuller on him. Where are we going for lunch today? And do NOT say Burger Heaven. If I don't get down to a size 12 in two months, the wedding's off. Every girl in my family has worn my mother's dress to her wedding.
I am not going to be the first Jones to schlep out to Klinefeld's.
Mercedes :-)
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch
Mercedes, you know I can't go to lunch. I have to go home and walk Mrs. Montgomery's dog.
Did you hear the latest? Chris Evans and that new girl who's on that CW show. I'm not kidding. They were seen kissing in front of Crunch Fitness Center on Lafayette Street. How could she be so blind? Can't she see he isn't any good for her?
I mean, I know that he is Captain America but he was such a womanizer in The Fantastic Four. You can't forget a man's past!
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Reality check
Kurt,
I hate to break this to you, but Captain America (and The Fantastic Four) is a fictional movie/comic book. You might have heard already that there are these things called TV shows and movies? Yeah, they are fictional. What happens on them in no way reflects on real life. For instance, in real life, I'm sure that Chris Evans is perfectly happy and not at all like the womanizer he appeared to be in The Fantastic Four. And let's be serious, you're still just mad that he's not batting for your team. But what's really frustrating here is that you have to walk that dog, even if he is friendly and belongs to your lovely neighbor who made you those cookies that one time.
Yeah, the dog walking is beginning to suck. That's just my opinion, of course.
Mercedes
To: Kurt Hummel
cc: Mercedes Jones
From: Artie Abrams
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
All right, girls, hold on to your hats. I got the information you requested, the salary increases for next year. It wasn't easy. If you tell anybody where you got this information, I will accuse you both of having gambling addictions, and you'll be yanked into the Staff Assistance Program before either of you can whistle Dixie.
Here goes:
Name: Position: Salary:
Peter Hargrave Editor in Chief $120,000
Will Schuester Managing Editor $ 85,000
Dolly Vargas Style Editor $ 75,000
Aaron Spender Chief Correspondent $ 75,000
Mercedes Jones Food Critic $ 45,000
Kurt Hummel Page Ten Columnist $ 45,000
Harmony Fuller Human Resources Admin. $ 45,000
Read it and weep, girls.
Artie Abrams
Computer Programmer
NY Journal
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
I can't believe Harmony Fuller makes as much as we do. What does SHE do? Sits around and listens to people whine all day about their dental plan. Please.
I'm surprised about Dolly. I'd have thought she made more. I mean, how does she keep herself in Hermes scarves on a mere $75,000 a year?
Mercedes ;-)
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
Are you kidding? Dolly comes from money. Haven't you ever heard her talk about how she used to summer in Newport? I was going to ask Aaron out for an I-forgive-you drink after work-NOT to get back together with him, just so he'll stop with the Wagner already-but now that I see how much more he makes than me, I can't even bear to look at him. I KNOW I'm a better writer than he is. So what's he getting $75,000/yr, while I'm stuck at $45, doing fashion shows and movie premieres?
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: CONFIDENTIAL
Um, because you're good at them? Fashion shows and movie premieres, I mean.
Mercedes ;-)
PS I have to do that new Peking duck place on Mott. Come with me. We'll grab lunch.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch
I can't. You know I can't. I've got to walk Paco.
KH
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Lunch and That Dog
Okay, how long is this going to go on? You and that dog, I mean? I can't be going out to eat by myself every day. Who's going to keep me from ordering the double patty cheddar melt? I am serious. This dog thing is not working for me.
Mercedes
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch and the Dog
What am I supposed to do, Mercedes? Let the poor thing sit in the apartment all day until he bursts? I know you aren't a dog person, but have some compassion. It's only until Mrs. Montgomery gets better.
KH
PS This just in: Paris Hilton and that guy from the rock band? On again. I swear it. His publicist just called. Apparently, she's dumped the surfer dude.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: It's only until Mrs. Montgomery gets better
And when is THAT going to be? Earth to Kurt. Come in, Kurt. The woman is in a COMA. Okay? She is COMATOSE. I think some alternative arrangements for the woman's pets need to be made. You are a DOORMAT. A COMATOSE woman is using you as a DOORMAT. The woman has to have some relatives, Kurt. FIND THEM.
Besides, people shouldn't keep Great Danes in the city. It's cruel.
Mercedes:-(
PS You are the only person I know who still cares about Paris Hilton anymore. Give it up, boy.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Burt and Carole Hummel Hummels
Subject: Quinn Fabray
Kurt, honey, it's Carole. Look, your father and I got the Email! Isn't it great? Now I can write to you, and maybe you'll answer for a change! Just kidding, sweetheart.
Anyway, Daddy and I thought you'd want to know that little Quinn Fabray-you
remember Quinn, don't you? Dr. Fabray's little girl? He was your dentist. And wasn't Debbie Homecoming Queen your sophomore year in high school?-Anyway, Quinn's just got married! Yes! The announcement was in the paper.
And do you know what, Kurt? The Duane County Register is on the line now. What? Oh, your father says it's ONLINE, not on the line. Well, whatever. I get so confused.
Anyway, Quinn's announcement is ONLINE, so I am sending it to you, as what they call an attachment. I hope you enjoy it, dear. She's marrying a doctor from Westchester! Well, we always knew she'd do well for herself. All that lovely blonde hair. And look, she graduated suma cum laude from Yale! Then she went to law school. So impressive.
Not that there's anything wrong with being a reporter. Reporters are just as important as lawyers! And Lord knows, we all need to read some nice gossip now and then. Why, did you hear about Ted Turner and Martha Stewart? You could have knocked me over with a feather.
Well, enjoy! And you make sure you lock your door at night. Burt and I worry about
you, living there in that big city all alone.
Bye for now-
Carole
Attachment:
(Glam photo of wedding couple)
Lucy Quinn Fabray, the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Reed Andrew Fabray of Lima, Ohio, was married last week to Michael Bourke, the son of Dr. and Mrs. Reginald Bourke of
Chapaqua, NY. The Rev. James Smith performed the ceremony at the Roman Catholic Church of Saint Anthony in Lansing.
Ms. Fabray, 26, is an associate at Schuler, Higgins, and Brandt, the international law firm based in New York. She received a bachelor's degree from Yale, from which she graduated suma cum laude, and a law degree from Harvard. Her father is a dentist and oral surgeon in Lima, operating the Fabray Dental Practice.
Mr. Bourke, 31, received a bachelor's degree from Yale and an MBA from Columbia University. He is an associate at the investment banking group of Lehman Brothers. His father, now retired, was the president of Bourke & Associates, a private investment firm.
After a honeymoon trip to Thailand, the couple will reside in Chapaqua.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Dolly Vargas
Subject: Mothers
Darling, when I heard all that anguished shrieking from your cubicle just now I thought at the very least Tom Cruise had finally come out of the closet. But Mercedes tells me it's just because you received an email from your mother. Or, rather, stepmother.
How well I understand. And I am so glad my mother is far too drunk ever to learn to operate a keyboard. I highly suggest you send your doting parents a case of Campari and have done with it. Trust me, it's the only way to shut them up on the dreaded subject of M. As in, Why aren't you M yet? All your friends are M. You aren't even trying to get M. Don't you want me to see my grandchildren before I die?
As if I would EVER give birth. I suppose a well-mannered little six year old would be all right, but they simply don't COME that way. You have to TRAIN them.
Too tiresome. I can understand your anguish.
Dolly XXXOOO
PS Did you notice Aaron shaved? It's a pity. I never realized what a weak chin he has.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Harmony Fuller
Subject: Staff Assistance Program
Dear Mr. Hummel,
You might think it amusing to make light of the Human Resources Department's Staff Assistance Program, but I can assure you that we have helped many of your co-workers through dark and difficult times. Through counseling and therapy, they have all gone on to lead meaningful, profitable lives. I find it disheartening that you would belittle a program that has done so much for so many.
Please note that a copy of your latest email has been placed in your personnel file, and will be available to your supervisor during your next performance review.
Harmony Fuller
Human Resources Administrator
The New York Journal
To: Harmony Fuller
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Staff Assistance Program
Dear Ms. Fuller,
What I find disheartening is the fact that I reached out to you and all the other Human Resource administrators, and instead of being given the aid I so desperately need, I was brutally rebuffed. Are you saying that my chronic status as a single gay man is not worthy of assistance? Do I have to tell you how demoralizing it is to buy Lean Cuisines Fiesta Meals For One every night at the Food Emporium? What about having to order my pizza by the slice? Do you think that isn't whittling away at my self-esteem, slice by disheartening slice? And what about salad? Do you have any idea how many pounds of lettuce I have ingested in an effort to maintain my physique, so that I might entice a man worthy of my caliber?
Even though it goes against every fiber of my being to cater to the misogynistic more that exists in western culture that insists that attractiveness is parallel to one's waist-size? If you are trying to say that being a single woman in New York City is not a disability, then I respectfully submit that you visit a Manhattan deli on a Saturday night. Who do you see crowded around the salad bar? That's right. The singletons.
Face reality, Harmony. It's a jungle out there. It's kill or be killed. I am merely suggesting that you, as a mental health expert, accept that truth, and move on.
Kurt Hummel
Page Ten Columnist
The New York Journal
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: Cut it out
Stop teasing Harmony Fuller down in Human Resources. You know she doesn't have any sense of humor. If you have so much free time, come to me. I'll give you plenty to do.
The obit guy just quit.
WS
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Aaron
Subject: Forgive Me
I don't know where to begin. First of all, I can't stand this. You ask what this is. I'll tell you: this is sitting here all day, seeing you there in your cubicle, knowing that you said never want to speak to me again.
This is watching you walk towards me, thinking you might have changed your mind, only to have you pass by without so much as even glancing in my direction.
This is knowing that you'll walk out of here at the end of the day, that I will have no idea where you will be, what you will do, and that an abyss of time will elapse before you walk back in here the next day.
This-or should I say, these?-are the countless, uncountable hours during which my mind leaves me, and pursues you out the door, following you in an imaginative journey that leads nowhere, right back where I started, sitting here thinking about this.
Aaron Spender
Senior Correspondent
The New York Journal
To: Aaron
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: This
That was really moving, Aaron. Have you ever considered writing fiction for a living?
Seriously. I think you've got real talent.
KH
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Sam Evans
Subject: We Got Email
Cedes! Look! We got email! Isn't it righteous? You can write to me at this foodie email address. Get it? I'm foodie because I'm the chef! Anyway, just thought I'd say hi. Now we can email each other all day long!
What are you wearing? How come you never wear that bustier I got you to work? Do you want to know tonight's specials?
·Asparagus tips wrapped in salmon
·Soft Shell Crab
·Lobster bisque
·Pasta putanesca
·Red Snapper in an orchietta sauce
·Filet Mignon
·Creme brulle
I'll save you some bisque.
Hey, by the way, my uncle George's throwing us an engagement party next weekend. Nothing fancy, just out by the pool at his house in Long Island. So keep Saturday free!
Love you,
Sam
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Another one
Look, Sam's uncle Geo is throwing us an engagement party (yes, another one) and I'm telling you right now, YOU HAVE GOT TO COME. Seriously, Kurt, I don't think I can handle another round of Evanses without you. You know what they're like.
And this one has a pool. You know they're going to throw me in. You just know it. Say you'll come and keep me from being humiliated. PLEASE.
Mercedes :-O
PS And don't you be giving me that damned DOG excuse again.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: I can't
You know I can't go. How am I supposed to go all the way out to Long Island when I have Paco to think of? You know he has to go out every four to five hours. I am wearing out my shoes as it is running back and forth between the office and my apartment building, trying to get there in time to take him out. There's no way I can go all the way out to Long Island. The poor thing might explode.
KH
PS Vivica-you know, the supermodel, and Adam Levine's latest arm candy-has dumped him! Seriously! She's dumped the the world's sexiest man alive! He is said to be devastated, and she's gone into hiding. Poor things. I really thought that one was going to work out.
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Paco
Okay, this is ridiculous. Kurt, you cannot put your life on hold just because your next door neighbor happens to be in a coma. Seriously. There must be someone in the woman's family who can look after that stupid dog. Why do YOU have to do it?
You've done enough, for God's sake. I mean, you probably saved her life. Let someone else handle Paco and his digestive schedule. I mean it. I am not getting into that pool on my own. If you don't find this woman's next of kin, I will.
Mercedes :(
PS Excuse me, I understand your concern for Eva Longoria, but the Adam Levine? And Vivica, the Victoria's Secret water-bra girl? They'll be fine. Trust me.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Paco
It's easy for you to say let someone else handle Paco. My question would be WHO? Mrs. Montgomery's only living relative is her nephew Wes, and not even the cops have been able to find him to tell him what happened to her. I know he lives somewhere in the city, but his phone number's unlisted. Apparently, he's some up-and-coming photographer with pictures in the Whitney, or something. At least, according to his aunt.
And quite popular with the ladies...ergo, the unlisted number, I assume so the ladies husbands can't track him down. And of course, his aunt doesn't have his number written down anywhere because she undoubtedly had it memorized.
In any case, what can I do? I can't put the poor thing in a kennel. He's already freaked out enough about his owner being...well, you know. How can I leave him locked up in some cage somewhere? Seriously, Mercedes, if you saw his eyes, you wouldn't be able to do it, either. He is the sweetest thing I've ever seen, and that includes all my nieces and nephews. Well, the imaginary ones since Finn won't be having any children anytime soon. If only he were a man. I'd marry him. I swear it.
KH
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Sam Evans
Subject: What do you mean you're not going?
Mercedes, you HAVE to go. The party is for YOU. Well, you and me. You can't not go. And don't give me any of that bull about how you don't want anybody in my family to see you in a swimsuit. How many times do I have to tell you that you are the hottest girl in the world? Do you think I care what size you wear? You have it going on, girl.
Only you should wear those thongs I bought you more often.
I don't understand what difference it makes whether or not Kurt goes. Why do women always have to do things together? It doesn't make any sense.
Besides, if you feel that strongly about it, just tell them you have an ear infection and can't get in the water. Jeez. I don't get you dames. I really don't.
Sam
To: Kurt Hummel
cc: Mercedes
From: Dolly Vargas
Subject: Your Little Problem
Darlings:
I couldn't help but overhear your little tete-a-tete in the Ladies just now. Obviously I'm rarely surprised to hear Kurt in there, but I was otherwise occupied, or I would have joined in (we really ought to talk to someone about how narrow those stalls are. Fortunately, Jimmy-you know, the new fax boy-is quite surprisingly flexible, or we never would have managed ;-)
First of all, Kurt, sweetheart, Wes Montgomery did not have just any old picture in the Whitney-which you would know, if you ever ventured outside of your Broadway shows long enough to take in some real culture. He had a stunning self-portrait on display there for the Biennial, in which he was sans apparel. If you ask me, the man's a photographic genius.
Though that may not be where his true talent lies, judging by that photo...if you get my drift. And I'm sure you do.
Anyway, he has, for reasons unfathomable to me, chosen to cheapen his gift by prostituting himself out for photo shoots such as, just as an example, last Winter's Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. And he just finished up the Victoria's Secret Christmas catalog, I believe. All you have to do, children, is contact those so-called publications, and I'm sure they'll know how to get a message to him. Well, ta for now.
Dolly XXXOOO
PS Oh, Kurt, about Aaron. Look, can't you throw him a bone? He's no good to me like this. And all that Wagner is giving me a migraine.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Wes Montgomery
Listen, thanks to Dolly, I think I've finally managed to track down Wes Montgomery! At least, no one seems to have his number, but I've got an email address. Help me draft a note to him. You know I don't do well with groveling.
KH
To: Wes Montgomery
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Your aunt
Dear Mr. Montgomery,
I hope you get this. You are probably not aware that the police have been trying to reach you for several days now. I am sorry to inform you that your aunt, Helen Montgomery, has been seriously injured. She has been the victim of an alleged assault in her apartment. She is currently listed in critical condition at Beth Israel Hospital here in New York. Unfortunately, she is in a coma, and the doctors have no way of knowing if she will ever come out of it.
Please, Mr. Montgomery, if you get this message, call me as soon as possible on my cell phone, 917-555-2123, or if you are unable to get to a phone, please feel free to email me.
We need to discuss how you think your aunt would best like her pets cared for while she is in the hospital. I know this is the last thing you need to be worried about right now, considering how grave your aunt's condition is, but I can't imagine that, being the great animal lover she is, your aunt didn't have some sort of proviso arranged for just this sort of circumstance.
I am her next door neighbor (in apartment 15B), and I have been walking Paco and taking care of your aunt's cats, but I'm afraid that my schedule does not allow for full-time petcare. Taking care of Paco is beginning to affect my job performance.
Please contact me as soon as you can.
Kurt Hummel
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: The Letter
I like it. Short but sweet. And it gets the point across.
Mercedes :)
PS I think it's good you left out the part about all your tardies. No one in the real world cares about tardies. Just at OUR &$%^ work place does anyone keep track of how late we are.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: The Letter
Yeah, but do you think he'll even get it? From what I can tell based on the people I've talked to so far, this Wes Montgomery seems to be taking the role of playboy artiste to brand new heights. In fact, I can't believe he's never hit Page Ten before!
Plus it seems like he's always on the road. The guy was in Thailand on a shoot last month, Hawaii last week, and this week, what do you know? Nobody seems to have any idea where he is. Oh, and it's no good trying his cell phone: According to SI, he lost it scuba diving in Belize. If he even gets this message, does he sound to you like the kind of guy who'll even do anything about it? I'm a little worried.
And it's okay, I guess. I mean, I'm bonding with the cats (well, Mr. Peepers won't come out from under the bed) and Paco's like my best friend now.
But I've gotten five more of those tardy warnings from Human Resources. They are seriously going to put me on probation! But what can I do? Paco NEEDS a good hour long walk in the morning. Still, if I have to ditch out of one more society function because I have to get home to walk that dog, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get fired. I completely missed the Sarah Jessica Parker thing the other night because Paco wouldn't go. I had to walk him for like an hour. Will was furious, because the Chronicle got the scoop on us.
Though what the Chronicle is doing, reporting on celeb gossip, I can't imagine. I always thought they were too highbrow for that!
KH