Chapter Ten
Humpty Dumpty's Got Nothing On Us
Last week of July
The dark-haired teenager reclined in the lounge chair by the pool and watched the party planner direct caterers, florists, and construction crews through dark-tinted sunglasses. He couldn't keep the sardonic smile off his lips, and his mother caught the expression as she bustled by to double check some detail or other with the party planner.
"Wipe that smug expression off your face, Nicholas!" Anna Duval chided. "Do you know how much work I put into your birthday party? And your sisters and Quinn are even helping too!"
"What?" Nick cried, sitting up straight. "When did Quinn get here?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but leapt up the gently inclining stone walkway glancing left and right for any sign of his girlfriend. Navy party tents had appeared on the Duval's back lawn overnight, and scores of men set up tables and chairs in the wee hours of the morning. Elaborate centerpieces appeared around 8am, and within the hour bags of expensive party favors appeared under each seat. Silk streamers in blue, red, and white – either in homage to Dalton or the American flag – fluttered in the wind over the patios. He supposed it was all very elegant and classic.
All of these decorations had been carefully selected by Anna for the "official" party when Nick's friends would come by with their parents and mingle like the high society boys they were. Anyone and everyone from Dalton and Crawford had been invited, whether Nick knew them or not. Mostly, though, the afternoon party was for the Congressman's associates. Nick would grin and bear their presence on his eighteenth birthday because he had to, but also because the "official" party came with a consolation prize: the unofficial party.
Sneak peeks of the second birthday party had already slipped into place. The DJ booth set up on the far left lawn would blast music loud enough to wake the dead tonight, and the generous expanse of lawn between it and the pool would serve as a dance floor. The multitude of lounge chairs around the pool would occupy half-clothed teenagers in the later hours. Nick knew from experience with his older sisters' landmark birthdays that the fully-stocked open bar would "accidentally" remain once all the adults left after five o'clock, and the bartender would be conspicuously absent.
Nick spotted three figures wending their way through the sea of tables. His oldest sister, Natalie, cradled the seating chart on her forearms and pointed at each place setting. His other sister, Nichole, would then put down the name placard. Both his sisters had his straight black hair and lack of height. Quinn stood head and shoulders over them in a red and white sundress. She had her hands full of name cards and shuffled through them, handing each off to Nichole as she found the name Natalie had read off.
"Hey, you," he said softly, grinning at Quinn. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips that sent his sisters into fits of fawning giggles. "So I see you've met my sisters. They were supposed to come get me when you got here, not force you to do their work." Nichole stuck her tongue out at him.
"I don't mind," Quinn said. "It's been fun getting to know your sisters."
Nick provided her with an excuse to get out of the blistering sun, but she declined in favor of placing the rest of the seating cards. He tagged along reluctantly, occasionally trying to throw off Natalie's directions by claiming so-and-so was in a feud with what's-her-name or that this-one was sleeping with that-one's husband.
"Go get dressed!" Natalie snapped at last. "The guests will start arriving in less than an hour. Mom hung your outfit on the back of your door."
"Speaking of outfits," Nichole said, turning to Quinn, "you'll need a hat if you're going to be out here all day. I can lend you one of mine that will look amazing with your dress."
After they put down the last of the placards and returned the seating chart to the party planner, Nichole led Quinn up to her room with Natalie following along. Paraphernalia from Dartmouth littered Nichole's room and upset the theme of the décor in the same way Nick's Dalton things did in his room. Natalie smiled fondly at a Dartmouth t-shirt flung over the desk chair; she had graduated in May.
"How about this?"
Nichole held up the most ridiculous hat Quinn had ever seen. Red, black, and white lacy ribbons and feathers formed a high pouf on the white hat. The broad-brimmed monstrosity looked like something worn by English royalty or at the Kentucky derby. She tried to school her features into something that didn't resemble repulsion.
"Something simpler, I think," Natalie laughed.
She walked into Nichole's spacious closet and come out with another option. Quinn still thought it looked hideous, but in a less ostentatious way. The white hat had less of a wide brim adorned with a simple red ribbon bow tied to resemble a flower. She allowed Natalie to put the hat on her and examined her reflection in the mirror. A slow smile spread over her lips.
"I've honestly never worn a hat like this before, but I think I like it," Quinn said.
"You look like a country club regular," Natalie said fondly. "Have you been yet? To the country club?" When the blonde shook her head, Natalie went on. "I'll tell Nick to invite you next time we all go. We could finally play tennis doubles!"
Quinn didn't mention that she didn't know how to play tennis. Gym class with Coach Tanaka had covered the sport, but like everything that man taught, the lessons hadn't been all that instructive. She let Natalie and Nichole tell her all about the country club's amenities and make plans for what they would do together there. She couldn't help but wonder what she had done to earn their immediate approval, other than look the part.
Nick came to "rescue" her after he'd dressed in slate gray slacks and light blue button down. The rescue went south when they encountered Nick's dad on the stairs. Quinn thought Anna Duval seemed like a pleasant enough woman, if slightly harried by the party plans. She had paused to warmly welcome Quinn and say how she looked forward to a time when they could sit down and get to know each other. Benjamin Duval, however, gave Quinn a whole other vibe. He observed her closely, as if cataloging every feature and judging if she was good enough, before offering a tight, half-smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Quinn." Something about the way the Congressman said her name put her on edge. "Nick's told us so much about you." Again, something in words sounded predatory to her ears.
"I'm pleased to meet you as well, sir."
The Congressman didn't stay long to chat. He had to change into a better suit for the party and left with a word of criticism for Nick – he needed to wear a tie.
The party guests began arriving at noon and slowly made their way into the backyard to take their seats for the meal. Nick hovered in the front yard, welcoming guests and mingling as he was expected to do. Having Quinn on his arm made it less painful for him. She didn't seem to mind being the topic of conversation (because after introducing her as his girlfriend, they always wanted to know more about her) or repeating herself. Plenty of Dalton and Crawford students arrived, but Nick really only cared to talk to the Warblers, Starlings, and Mathletes. They all knew social etiquette precluded them from talking too long, so broke off their conversations early with promises to talk later – meaning at the second party they really wanted to attend.
The afternoon crept by painfully slowly in a torturous stream of small talk. Nick reminded himself mentally that dealing with these people would appease his father and that the birthday cards piling up on the gift table were probably packed with cash. Untraceable expenditures were a luxury for Nick. Normally, all his purchases and withdraws were logged by credit and bank statements.
At last, the adults began to depart, and the teenagers were free to lose their ties or change into more comfortable clothes stashed in their messenger bags. Gossiping girls spread the word that Kurt and Cameron had set up a veritable salon in Nichole's room for anyone needing to transform their look from country club to party girl. Lounge chairs were abandoned in favor of cooling off in the pool, and red Solo cups replaced the heavy tumblers and wine glasses at the bar. Nick's friends not invited to the "official" party – the rest of New Directions, Nichole and Natalie's friends – started showing up a little after. The party kicked into full swing when the DJ showed up at six o'clock.
o o o
When the DJ cranked up "Barbra Streisand," the members of New Directions not occupied elsewhere rushed onto the makeshift dance floor. Rachel tottered into the mass of dancers, jumped around unsteadily, and screamed for Kurt to join her. The countertenor did not appear, so she settled for dancing with Finn.
"How are you all choreographed?" Jeff asked the nearest McKinley student.
Brittany didn't stop dancing as she explained about Rachel wanting a nose job and Kurt's intervention. Her dance moves had become legendary after Sectionals, and Jeff marveled at her ability to dance and talk without sounding breathy or losing the beat. The Warblers crashed like dominos if they tried to dance and sing at the same time.
"Teach me?"
The blonde girl took up the challenge enthusiastically. They didn't have long left on the song, and Brittany seemed determined to get every step right. Instead of slowing down for Jeff, she manhandled him into position. Luckily, he was one of the Warblers' more coordinated members and didn't trip over his own feet. He also didn't mind being bodily maneuvered around the dance floor.
"New Directions is just full of forceful personalities," he said teasingly in her ear. "I didn't really suspect you of being that type, though."
Brittany smiled sweetly while putting her hands on his upper arms and spinning him around. Jeff picked up the next two steps from watching Rachel. He knew better than mirror Finn. Even drunk, Rachel danced better than her boyfriend.
"I just like getting dance moves right," Brittany answered.
She did a shimmy-turn-jump combination that had Jeff's eyes glued to her hips. She noticed and put an extra oomphinto the next move. The song ended too soon for Jeff's liking, but Brittany continued dancing with him into the next song.
"I thought you liked boys, but you're staring at my ass a lot, and I'm a girl."
Jeff grinned at the sweet girl and nodded. "I like who I like. I don't care if they're a boy or a girl."
"Me too. But I can't like you."
"Why not?" he inquired. "Things didn't work out with Simon, so I'm single again. Unless you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"
Her brow furrowed for a moment, and he expected her to say that she did have a significant other. Instead, she shook her head so that her ponytail bobbed over both shoulders.
"We're related."
Jeff immediately took a step back. He mentally ran through a list of all his first and second cousins and strained his memory to recall the others that he might not have seen for a while. He didn't remember Brittany from any family functions, and wouldn't have his parents said something about a family member going to McKinley sometime this summer.
"Are you sure, Brittany? Do you know how we're related?"
She nodded. "Mr. Schue showed me a program for the musical when I went to talk to him about the overture choreography yesterday. I saw your name there: Jeff S. Sterling. And I knew then that we're family. I'm Brittany S. Pierce."
Jeff forgot about the heavy beat thrumming through the speakers. He stopped dead on the dance floor, his head cocked and lips twitching. Brittany stared up at him, innocence shining from her eyes. He could flirt with anyone he wanted later, but he was sure he'd never make another friend quite like Brittany. Without warning, he wrapped her in a tight hug, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
"It's okay, cousin," Brittany said, squeezing him back and placing a kiss on his cheek. "Now that we've found each other, we'll be family forever."
Too far away to hear the exchange over the blaring music, Santana watched the scene play out with a growing pit in her stomach. She felt hot tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she turned and fled the party before she saw any more than the kiss.
o o o
Artie enjoyed the Duval's sloping walkways a lot. With two Solo cups in hands raised over his head – one his, one Puck's – he cried out a wordless whoopas Puck released the handles of his wheelchair and sent him flying towards the crowd around the pool. Behind him, he heard Puck cheering wildly and Lauren awarding him a 9.4.
Truly, Artie didn't remember imbibing enough alcohol to make careening towards a swimming pool that much fun, but apparently he had. The walkway leveled out, and Richard stopped Artie's chair before he toppled into the water.
"I congratulate you on your muscles, my friend," Artie said, patting the beatboxer's elbow.
The cute brunette with a pixie cut giggled and wheeled Artie to safety. A couple of college guys trying to impress Nichole looked like they wanted to use the slope as a skateboard ramp. Artie ditched the cups on a low garden wall and took over propelling himself around the pool. He rolled to a stop beside a pretty redhead in a tiny navy bikini.
"Heeey, girl. How's about you get up on this?" Artie pointed two-handed to his lap.
"I don't know if you can handle all this," the girl giggled. She tottered tipsily before deciding she needed to sit down and landed in Artie's lap. The force of her fall would have hurt if he could feel his legs. "I might be a little buzzed."
"Hells yeah! But I lost my drinks."
"Then let's go get some more."
The girl wrapped her arms around Artie's neck, and he wheeled them through the crowds to the patio where bottles of liquor had spread out from the open bar. The redhead had her heart set on body shots, and Artie was only too happy to oblige. He was licking a line of salt off her breastbone when Wes stormed up to them.
"Seriously, Ros?" he demanded. "You're going to do this here, in front of all our friends, three weeks before I move to New York?"
The redhead pushed herself up from Artie's lap clumsily, leaving him with the sharp taste of salt on his tongue and no shot to wash it away. She managed to stand upright, but didn't strike a very imposing figure in her bathing suit.
"Seriously, Wes?" she parroted, although slurred. "You're leaving for New York in three weeks; I'm going to California. What did you think I was going to do? Waste my freshman year in SoCal pining over my boyfriend?"
Artie wisely began rolling backwards to get away from the lover's spat that was quickly escalating. Wes's cheeks colored, and his expression twisted up into a mixture of fury and pain.
"You said we could make this work; that a semester is only sixteen weeks, and we could look forward to seeing each other over winter break. But that was just words, wasn't it? You were never planning on even trying because you're incapable of fidelity."
"What are you saying, Wesley?" Ros demanded hotly.
David had made his way over and gently laid a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Don't say it, Wes." Even if it was true – and David thought it was – calling his girlfriend a slut in front of all their friends would blow up in Wes's face.
"What I'm saying, Ros, is that I've had enough of watching you flirt with other guys when I'm around and doing God knows what else when I'm not. I'm saying that we're through for good this time. Have a great time in California. And, by the way, you won't be in Southern California because you're going to Stanford, not that I understand how you got in with that dismal level of intelligence."
David dragged Wes away before the insults could go any further. Some of the watching Warblers who hadn't liked Ros much or the way she ran the Starlings laughed at her expense, but David knew his best friend was going to crumble into a weepy sop in a few minutes.
o o o
The party in the backyard faded to distant noise for the two boys wrapped up in their own moment inside the guest room. Moans and pleasant hums from a musical tenor voice drifted through the closed door, until suddenly they stopped, replaced again by the pounding music outside.
Kurt sat back on his heels, watching in stunned silence as Blaine scrambled away from him and yanked his pants back up around his waist. His boyfriend looked wide-eyed and terrified, but his body told another story.
"Blaine, wh – "
"You can't just do that, Kurt!"
The pain of rejection replaced Kurt's confusion. He felt vulnerable on his knees, so he stood up a little shakily and wiped his spit-covered fingers on his pant leg. Right now, he couldn't even remember the name of the designer whose pants he'd just so mortally offended with the gesture. He blinked to fight off the tears and clenched his jaw to keep his lips from trembling and betraying him.
"You don't have to freak out, Blaine. We don't have to do it, but I thought you wanted me to."
The statement caused Blaine to blanch and recoil more. He stood across the room, pressed against the door. His fingers twitched toward the doorknob, and Kurt had to fight back the sob growing in his throat. He'd pushed too fast again, and this time it was too much for Blaine.
"Why? Why would I want you to do that? I don't want that from you," Blaine said shrilly, and he sounded even more panicked than when Kurt first pressed a finger to his entrance.
Kurt looked away, unable to keep the tears at bay now. They slipped from his eyes despite his best efforts to blink them away. He didn't understand what had happened. Blaine had toldhim he wanted to bottom, so Kurt had taken the first step to make that happen. And now Blaine had completely changed his tune. Kurt waited for his boyfriend to realize he'd made him cry and apologize. That was how Blaine worked, it was what Kurt had come to expect.
"O-Okay. Can we talk – "
"No! I – I can't do this, Kurt."
Blaine turned and fled the room. The door bounced off the wall with a thud drowned out by the loud music, and Kurt collapsed onto the bed, crying harder than he had since prom night.
Blaine bolted down the stairs, heedless of David lugging a dazed Wes upstairs or Natalie screaming at her fiancée about groping one of Nichole's friends. He needed air, and he needed to be far, far away from Kurt right now. Kurt and his roaming fingers that had felt so, so good there. He physically shook his head, as if that could wipe away the memory.
Less party guests claimed the front patio of the manor as their spot, but too many eyes watched Blaine as he barged through the front door. He wouldn't find peace here, so he kept striding forward until he found himself past the driveway and onto the street.
He stopped abruptly in front of the Duval's mailbox. Another person looking equally distressed stared back at him. Without a spoken word, Blaine and Santana fell into step with each other and marched towards Blaine's Mustang. She fished the keys out of his pocket without asking permission, and he climbed into the passenger seat without caring.
They drove around for two hours with the warm night air blowing through the open windows, silently ignoring the other's tears and speaking not a word to each other. They ended up back at Blaine's house because they had nowhere else in Westerville to go.
"I'm not talking about it," Santana declared.
"Neither am I."
"Good."
"Do you want to stay here tonight?"
They made their way into the house and up to Blaine's room, where they laid down on his bed to talk about anything and everything but the party and fell asleep holding hands.
o o o
Sam sat on the cold stone bench hidden in an alcove within the Duval's sprawling garden. He worried the red Solo cup between his teeth as his eyes darted around the expensive home and opulent garden. A permanent frown had formed on his lips since he'd arrived at the party three hours ago with Mercedes. He wanted to leave now, but last he saw his girlfriend, she was giggling in a corner with Tina and Cameron. They were having a great time. None of them had requested off work to come here tonight and have wealth shoved in their faces, none of their families needed the $48 plus tips he wouldn't be making tonight.
Footsteps approached from the direction of the house, and Sam tried to melt back into the deepest shadows. The Moon betrayed him, though, lighting the path just enough for the approaching guest to see him. Mercedes. He cursed inwardly. She was the last person he wanted to see right now. She got so happy when she was drunk.
"Sam," she giggled. "Found you! You're it!"
"We're not playing a game," he sighed.
She lowered herself onto the bench clumsily, and he reached out to steady her. For a few moments, it contended her to sip at her drink in silence, but too soon she wanted to talk.
"Why are you out here all alone? Mike and Tina and Cameron and me, we're going to play Capture the Warbler and we need your help to kidnap Richard. He's too big for all of us to get."
Sam sighed. He was not in the mood for this. He stood up to walk away, but Mercedes didn't get the hint. She trailed after him, giggling about how Capture the Warbler had been invented during a blizzard to keep the Dalton boys entertained. Hearing about the school only reminded Sam of what else he had lost. Not so long ago, he had worn a uniform similar to Dalton's and felt the camaraderie of being a prep school boy.
"Stop, Mercedes," he ordered, more harshly than he'd intended. "I – I can't do this right now. Just go back to the party and have fun, okay?"
She finally noticed something had gone amiss in their conversation and stopped chattering happily about Warblers and Dalton. With a surprisingly steady hand, Mercedes guided him onto a low garden wall.
"I want to talk to you, Sam, but I'm a little tipsy right now," she admitted. "Wait here. I'm gonna go get me some food."
Sam sighed again, this time irritated. He crossed his arms and scuffed his tennis shoes on the flagstones, expecting Mercedes would be gone for quite some time trying to convince someone to make her tater tots. Instead, she returned fairly quickly with four slices of pizza. Two, she pushed into his hands and the others she polished off quickly along with a bottle of water.
"Is that enough to counteract whatever you drank?" he asked, a little snappish. "Not entirely, but enough. What's going on, Sam? Why aren't you partying with everyone else and having a good time? It's not like we get to have this kind of party every day in Lima."
"No, but I went to these kinds of parties every weekend in Tennessee," he admitted. "I went to an all-boys private school, Mercedes. I was the equivalent of a Dalton boy. I had all this, all the time." He gestured to the manor house and surrounding lawn. "I can't party and have fun because all of this just reminds me of everything I don't have anymore."
Mercedes listened quietly, but she didn't know what she could say to that. She felt like they'd had this conversation a hundred times this summer. She'd tried to reason with Sam, but he couldn't get past what his family had lost. Only now did she understand how much they had lost and how quickly it had disappeared.
"Sam, I – I don't know what to say. Do you want to leave?"
He wanted to say yes and walk away with her right now, but he didn't. Sam knew other people in this world had much less and that he shouldn't wallow. Staying at the party and making himself feel miserable felt like some kind of twisted form of penance for his self-pity.
"Just … go have fun, Mercedes. Text me when you're ready to leave."
"I'm ready now."
Sam didn't answer her. He walked away without looking back and disappeared in a group of Starlings making their way back up to the house. Mercedes looked for Sam in the garden, but couldn't find him. The dancing lawn and patio also turned up empty. In a last-ditch effort to find her boyfriend and get the hell out of this place, she went searching through the house.
Most of the doors on the upper floors were closed, and she knew better than to knock or barge in. If Sam had barricaded himself in one of these rooms, she'd never find him. But just in case, she had to look. Up on the third floor, she came to one door only partially closed. Hoping it was Sam, she peered inside. A slight figure sat on the bed, arms wrapped around torso, crying and shaking silently. But it wasn't Sam.
"Kurt?" Mercedes asked in a small voice.
Her best friend looked up sharply and tried to dash away the tears she had already seen. A long time had passed since she and Kurt had had a heart-to-heart. Sometimes, she felt like Kurt had moved on and Rachel had replaced her in his life. That didn't matter right now, because he needed a shoulder to cry on. However sad she felt right now, Kurt looked broken. She eased onto the bed and drew him into her arms. For a few minutes, he allowed himself to let out the hurt.
"What happened, Kurt?"
He sat up then and wiped the moisture off his cheeks. He had stopped crying, but his red-rimmed and glassy eyes filled with anguish.
"I – I think Blaine just broke up with me."
Mercedes sucked in a breath, and then covered her mouth with one hand. Her own troubles disappeared entirely. "Oh, Kurt. Baby, I am so sorry. What happened?"
He refused to answer for several minutes until Mercedes prodded him enough. "We were up here … you know." She thought she did, so she nodded for him to continue. "He's been a little reluctant, but he said he wanted me to do something when we were in St. Louis, so I tried to do it tonight, and he completely flipped out."
She shifted around a little uncomfortably. She and Kurt had never talked about sex beyond the simple fact that they both like boys. With her own conflicted feelings about Sam still unresolved, she wasn't the best person to talk to about this, but she wanted to help.
"Maybe you should give him some time to calm down, and then talk to him. Blaine is crazy in love with you, Kurt. Anyone with eyes can see that. I'm sure you can work this out. Haven't you ever wanted something sexual that scared you a little because you thought that you would never be thatkind of person?"
Kurt eyed her knowingly. "I – Yes, I have."
Kurt promised he would take Mercedes's advice before texting Rachel and Finn to tell them he was leaving. If they wanted a ride with their designated driver, it was time for them to leave as well. He was grateful they were too tipsy to notice his distress, but could have lived without seeing the make-out session in the rearview mirror. It only make him that much more weepy and scared that he'd lost Blaine.
o o o
Two figures sat on a wall winding through the Duval's garden, sipping from red Solo cups and leaning into each other. Tina hummed happily as Mike twined his fingers through her long hair. They had been together a year and two days, not that anyone other than themselves had acknowledged their anniversary.
"Are we boring?" Mike inquired. "Everyone else is fighting or hooking up, and we're sitting here cuddling."
Tina sighed contentedly. "Stable doesn't have to be boring. And as long as you've got those abs, I'm not bored."
The boy chuckled genially, relishing in the pleasant buzz from the alcohol. "Our friends are nuts."