A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of this fic! Hard to believe! Thanks to everyone for the support and love and I'm glad you all have loved this story as much as I have!
And to shamelessly plug myself, I quietly posted the fic "His Wicked Games" which is an MA story that might be worth your while! Please note that IT IS A SERIES and is COMPLETE, but will be posted weekly just like I did for this fic. :) Please check it out!
And now back to our originally scheduled programming.
To: johnlives
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Kurt
Dear Blaine,
I got your email address from Sam. I hope you don't mind. I don't normally get involved in Kurt's personal affairs if I can help it, but I am making an exception in this case. I really can't restrain myself any longer.
WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? You and that stupid Wes Montgomery. What could you have been thinking, trying to pull off something so incredibly asinine? Now you've broken my best friend's heart, something for which I am sure I will never forgive you. But even worse, you have left him to the mercy of the real Wes Montgomery, whom I am convinced has got to be the biggest idiot who ever walked the face of the planet.
How could you? HOW COULD YOU? That's all I have to know. I hope you're satisfied. You have ruined the life of one of the sweetest guys who ever lived. Because of you, he got suspended from his job, has a moron for a next door neighbor, and missed the annual fall shoe sale at Cole Haan, because he was too depressed to go shopping.
I hope you're proud of yourself.
Mercedes Jones
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Blaine Anderson
Subject: Kurt
What do you mean he's at the mercy of Wes Montgomery? What's Wes doing to him?
To: Blaine Anderson
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Wes
Geez, calm down, will you? Wes isn't doing anything to Kurt. He's just being...well, Wes, near as I can tell (I mean, it's not as if I know him). One of the cats turns out to be diabetic and Wes is not being real cooperative about taking care of him, is all. And you know Kurt. Listen, will you think about what I said? If you care about Kurt at all, there's got to be some way you can make all this up to him. Can't you think of SOMETHING?
Mercedes
To: Wes Montgomery
From: Blaine Anderson
Subject: Diabetic cats
Hey. I hear those pesky pets of your aunt's are proving to be more trouble than you expected. Want me to give you a hand with them? If you gave me permission, being Mrs. M's next of kin and all, I could move back in. You could have my place. What do you say?
Blaine
To: Blaine Anderson
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: Diabetic cats
What would I want to move into your place for? Don't you live way the hell in Brooklyn? I hate the subway. Plus, if I remember correctly, you don't even have cable. Aren't you doing that whole bohemian writer thing? You know, milk crates and a futon and all?
Thanks, but no thanks.
Wes
To: Wes Montgomery
From: Blaine Anderson
Subject: Diabetic cats
Okay, how about this? I'll pay to put you up somewhere-anywhere you want-if you'll let me move back in. I'm serious. The Plaza, if you want. Think of all the supermodels you could impress...
Blaine
To: Blaine Anderson
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: Diabetic cats
You are pathetic, man. You've really got it bad for this guy, don't you? It must be the pale skin. *I* certainly can't see it. If you ask me, he's a nosy bitch. Worse, he's one of those weird cat guys who think animals have feelings and all of that. God, I hate that crap. Anyway, nice try with the hotel offer and all, but if things go the way I'm expecting them to, I'll be living in my own place not too long from now. So thanks, but I'll pass.
Wes
PS You really are pathetic, you know. I could hook you up with guys way better looking than the one in 15B. Seriously. Just let me know.
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Blaine Anderson
Subject: Wes
Well, I tried to see if I could get back into 15A. It didn't work. Sounds like Wes has some kind of grand scheme in the works. It doesn't seem like he'll be in Kurt's hair for much longer, if that's any comfort to you.
Blaine
To: Sam Evans
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Men
Why are men so stupid? I mean, excluding you, of course? I write to Blaine Anderson-I take time out of my busy schedule to write Blaine Anderson a moving and deeply felt email asking if he can't think of anything, ANYTHING, he could do that might make Kurt forgive him, clearly hinting that if he proposed, he might very well say yes-and what does he do?
What does he do? He emails stupid Wes Montgomery and tries to get him to let him move back into the apartment next door to Kurt's. How STUPID can he be? What do I have to do to get the message across to the guy? Take out a stupid sign? What is WRONG with you people?
Mercedes
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Sam Evans
Subject: Men
Mercedes, when are you going to learn not to get involved in other people's business? Leave Blaine Anderson alone. Let Kurt work out his own problems. He doesn't need your help.
Sam
To: Sam Evans
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Men
Let Kurt work out his own problems. He doesn't need your help. That is a typical male response. Plus I can't even begin to tell you how wrong it is.
Mercedes
To: Dolly Vargas; Tim Grabowski; Will Schuester
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: All right everybody
Kurt is returning and I think we should plan a little something to welcome him back, since he is feeling really down about this whole thing with Blaine. So let's have a party with some cake and ice cream (I will supply that).
Tim, why don't you put your decorative flair to good use and tape some streamers around his cubicle?
Will, I think a small gift would be appropriate-and this time, how about something you didn't purchase at the newsstand downstairs? I mean, Jujubees are nice and all, but not exactly special.
Dolly, since you're so good with the phones, why don't you spread the word about the time and place. That way we'll be sure to get a good crowd.
And above all, try to act positive. I'm telling you, he's so low these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned tail and slunk back to Ohio. And we can't have that. DO NOT, whatever you do, mention the words Blaine Anderson. I'm telling you, he's on the edge.
So be there or be square!
Mercedes ;-)
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Welcome back!
We missed you so much! It was completely dead around here without you. No one to tell us what celebrity weddings were coming up, or keep us posted on the latest Leo-sightings. I nearly expired from boredom.
So, where are we going for lunch?
Mercedes ;-)
To: Mercedes Jones; Dolly Vargas; Tim Grabowski; Will Schuester
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Thanks
for the welcome back party. You guys really outdid yourselves this time. I was completely surprised. I bet there isn't another employee at the Journal who got a party after returning from a mandatory suspension. Let alone with cake and ice cream. I really love my plastic Statue of Liberty keyring with the torch that actually light up. It's obviously something every guy needs, but doesn't have. You shouldn't have.
Now I'd appreciate it if everyone would let me get back to work, as a lot has happened in Hollywood and beyond, so I have tons of work today.
Fondly,
Kurt
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: I'm going to kill you
I mean, the party was sweet and all, but you know I'm in no mood for parties. I practically split my face in two, pretending to be happy about it. And what's the deal with you and the cake? You must have had four slices. No offense, and I don't mean to be your diet police, but I thought you'd finally gotten down to a size twelve and intended to stay that way until the wedding.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: What's the deal with you and the cake?
I can't take it anymore, all right? This stupid dieting thing is for the birds! What is the point of being alive if I can't eat what I want? I don't care about fitting into my mother's stupid wedding dress anymore. I'm buying my own wedding dress, one in which I can actually breathe. And I won't have to starve myself for the next six weeks either.
And when it comes time for the cake during my reception, I'll actually be able to eat a slice without having to worry about splitting my seams. There. Are you happy? I've said it.
I AM A BIG GIRL. That's all there is to it. I will never be a size six, or a size eight, or even a size twelve. I am a size sixteen, and that's all there is to it. I won't give up spinning class, because I know that's good for me, but I will be damned if I'm going to eat salad with dressing on the side every meal for the rest of my life just so that I can squeeze into a dress that some magazine says is the right size for my height. How do THEY know what the right size for my height is? They don't. They don't know me.
They don't know that my fiancé happens to LIKE the way I look, that he says I'm the sexiest woman he knows, and that when I walk down the street, garbage men and truck drivers whistle and ask for my number. So I can't be doing too badly, can I? Now, where are we going for lunch?
Mercedes
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch
Um, sorry, Mercedes, but I already have lunch plans. I'm going to Applebee's with Vivica, the supermodel. Please don't hate me.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Lunch
Applebee's? With a supermodel? There are so many things wrong with that sentence I can't even begin to describe them. Hate you? Why should I hate you? Just because you've chosen to lunch at a place I wouldn't be caught dead in with a size 2 supermodel?
Sure. Go ahead. See if I care.
Mercedes :-(
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch
Oh, get over yourself. You know I'll always prefer size 16 food critics over size 2 supermodels.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Vivica
Subject: LUNCH
DEER KURT,
YOU ARE THE FUNNEST PERSON. THAT WAS THE BEST LUNCH I'VE HAD IN A REALLY LONG TIME. I'M SO GLAD I MET YOU. I HOPE WE CAN BE BEST FREINDS. I HAVEN'T HAD A BEST FREIND SINCE I MOVED HERE FROM SANTA CRUZ. ANYTIME YOU WANT TO GO OUT, JUST CALL ME. EXCEPT NOT NEXT WEEK, SINCE I WILL BE IN MILAN, WHICH IS IN ROME. OKAY, BYE!
LOVE,
VIVICA
To: Vivica
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Lunch
Hi, Vivica! I had a great time at lunch too. Between the two of us, we really managed to pack it away, huh? I can't think about jalapeno poppers without wanting to throw up.
I would love to get together with you again. Maybe we could invite my friend Mercedes next time. I think you would really like her. She is a food critic here at the paper, and she knows of some restaurants that are even better than Applebee's. What do you think about that? Anyway, I've been thinking about something you mentioned at lunch.
Remember when I told you where I live, and you said you'd been there before, the night before you and Wes left for Key West? When exactly was that? And did you meet Wes's aunt then?
Just curious.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Vivica
Subject: WES'S AUNT
DEER KURT,
I WOULD LOVE TO MEET YOUR FREIND MERCEDES! FOOD CRITIC? THAT SOUNDS LIKE A HARD JOB. LIKE IF I WERE A FOOD CRITIC, I WOULDN'T KNOW WHICH I LIKED BETTER, FRIDAY'S POTATO SKINS WITH CHEDDAR AND BACON BITS OR APPLEBEE'S POTATO SKINS WITH CHEDDAR AND BACON BITS.
ANYWAY, THE TIME I WENT TO WES'S AUNT'S APARTMENT WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE I LEFT FOR KEY WEST. WES WAS SUPPOSED TO GO WITH ME, BUT AT THE LAST MINUTE HE GOT A SHOOT IN LA, SO I ENDED UP GOING DOWN FIRST, AND THEN HE MET ME ABOUT A WEEK LATER. SO WHAT HAPPENED WAS, THE NIGHT BEFORE WE LEFT, HE SAID HE HAD TO GO PICK SOMETHING UP FROM HIS AUNT'S APARTMENT, SO I WAITED DOWNSTAIRS IN THE CAB WHILE HE WENT AND GOT IT. I NEVER DID GET TO MEET HIS AUNT. WES SAID SHE IS KIND OF A BITCH AND WOULDN'T LIKE ME ON ACCOUNT OF ME BEING TOO YOUNG FOR HIM, WHICH HAPPENS WITH A LOT OF MY BOYFRIENDS. ANYWAY,
AFTER A WHILE WES CAME BACK DOWN AND WE WENT TO CHILI'S. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN THEIR? THEY HAVE THE BEST ARTICHOKE DIP. WE SHOULD GO SOMETIME!
WELL, THAT'S ALL FOR NOW!
VIVICA
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: I just walked by your desk
and noticed you were deeply immersed not in today's column, as one might hope, but in your email. I know this might come as a surprise to you, but we don't actually pay you to correspond with your friends, Hummel. We pay you to work. WOULD YOU MIND DOING SOME?
Or would that be asking too much of you?
WS
To: Will Schuester
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Geez, Will
No need to SHOUT! Look, something is bothering me. I can't put my finger on what it is, exactly, but it might...I don't know. Lead to something big, Will. But the only way I'm going to find out if it's true is if I ask the right questions of the right people.
So please let me do my work and STOP LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER AT WHAT I'M WRITING! It might very well be about you.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Will Schuester
Subject: Guess what?
If it doesn't go on Page Ten, I'm not interested.
WS
To: Vivica
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Wes's aunt
Vivica, it's kind of important that you try to remember what night, exactly, you and Wes were at my building. Maybe you still have your boarding pass from when you flew down to Florida, or somebody at your agency wrote it down somewhere?
Please let me know as soon as you can.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Genevieve Randolph Anderson grAnderson
Subject: My grandson
Dear Mister Hummel,
We have never been formally introduced, but we have met, most recently at a benefit at Lincoln Center. I believe you will remember me: I was the elderly woman sitting beside Blaine Anderson, whom you believed at the time was Wes Montgomery. The two of you spoke for some time. I, of course, was not permitted to say very much, as my grandson did not wish you to discover the truth of his identity, for reasons which I believe are clear to you now.
I cannot apologize for my grandson's behavior...that is something he must do for himself. I trust that he has done so. It is my understanding that you have chosen not to accept his apologies, and that, of course, is your prerogative. But before you dismiss my grandson completely from your life, Mister Hummel, I would ask that you consider the following: Blaine loves you. I understand that after the way he's treated you, you might find this hard to believe. But I ask that you believe it. I would very much like an opportunity to convince you of the truth of this in person. Would it be possible, or am I asking too much, for us to meet? I would so love to have a chance to speak to you. Do let me know.
Genevieve Randolph Anderson
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Blaine
Oh my God, now he's got his grandmother writing to me, begging me to forgive him. I'm not kidding. How pathetic. Like anything *she* says is going to make a difference. She's related to him! Besides, she was probably forced to write all that. They probably threatened her. They probably said write this letter, or we'll put you in a home, Grandma. I so wouldn't put it past them. They could do it, too, and she would be helpless to stop them.
Everyone knows those Andersons have every single member of the judiciary system, all the way up and down the eastern seaboard, in their pockets. I am so lucky I escaped all that. It could have ended up being just like that Sally Field movie where she has to escape with her daughter. Only instead of fleeing Iraq or wherever that movie was set, I'd be fleeing East Hampton.
Really. Think about it.
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Blaine
Okay, you have officially lost it now. Put her in a home? Where do you come up with this stuff? And how did you get all of that out of that perfectly sweet email she wrote you? They aren't the Kennedys, for God's sake. No one in that family has ever been accused of murder. Possession, maybe, but nothing violent. And the grandmother, at least, is a well-known patron of the arts, and a huge supporter of many of the same charities, you, young sir, have been known to write about admiringly. So where do you get this stuff?
Your imagination is working overtime. You should maybe give up journalism and go into fiction writing, because that seems to be where your real talent lies.
Mercedes
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Blaine
Oh, yeah? Well, then you probably won't believe me when I say I think I have an idea who might have conked Mrs. Montgomery on the head. And it wasn't a member of the Anderson family.
Meet me over by the water cooler, and I'll tell you. Will keeps walking by and reading over my shoulder to make sure I'm working. And then I said, "Are you kidding? Will Schuester is the sexiest man alive. Any man with that much hair on his back has to be a veritable repository of testosterone..." HA, WILL! CAUGHT YOU!
Kurt
To: Stacy Anderson
From: Genevieve Randolph Anderson
Subject: Kurt Hummel
Well, I sent it. And he hasn't written back. Stubborn little thing. I think it's time we move on to Plan B.
Mim
To: Blaine Anderson
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Kurt
Dear Blaine,
When I suggested that you do something to get Kurt back, I didn't exactly mean get your grandmother to write to him. In fact, I don't think that was such a hot idea at all. I think it had sort of the opposite effect that you were looking for. When I suggested that you do something to get Kurt back, I was thinking of something more along the lines of, oh, I don't know, stringing a massive sign out the windows of the building opposite ours with the words, "Marry me, Kurt" on it. Or something along those lines.
However, you chose to take a more passive approach...and often, that can work just as well. I congratulate you for trying, I really do. A lesser man might have given up by now. Kurt has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and takes the saying "once burned, twice shy" to shiny new heights. But I think you ought to know that now Kurt is convinced that your family is filled with women who will do anything you tell them to, because they are afraid that otherwise, you will put them in a home. Just thought you might be interested.
Mercedes
To: Genevieve Randolph Anderson
From: Blaine Anderson
Subject: What is wrong with
you? Did you write to Kurt? What did you say to him? Whatever it was, it didn't work. He's madder at me than ever, according to his friend. Look, Mim, I do not need your help, all right? Kindly stay out of my love life-or lack thereof. And that goes for Stacy, too, in case the two of you are in cahoots, which I am beginning to suspect. I mean it, Mim.
Blaine
To: Stacy Anderson
From: Genevieve Randolph Anderson
Subject: Blaine
Oh, dear. I just got a very angry email from Blaine. It appears that he's found out about the letter I wrote. He was quite put out about it, and warned me on no uncertain terms to stay out of his love life. He added that I should tell you the same.
I suggest we move on to Plan B at once.
Mim
To: Sebastian Leandro
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: I know there's probably
no point in asking, but you haven't found any work for me lately, have you?
To: Wes Montgomery
From: Sebastian Leandro
Subject: Look
I could live without this attitude of yours. I have presented you with plenty of assignments, none of which you have chosen to take. I can't help it if you won't take less than two thousand a day, have a prejudice against unnatural fibers, or refuse to even consider shooting fashions for teens. My job is to find you work, and I have found you work. YOU are the one who's turning it down.
Wes, you are just going to have to face the fact that you must lower your rates. Your work is good, but you're no Annie Liebovitz. Photographers who are every bit as talented as you are are charging way less. That's just the way it goes. Things change...either move with the times, or get left behind. When you drop out and spend untold months in Florida with last year's It Girl, you get left behind. I hate to say I told you so, but, well, I told you so.
Sebastian
To: Sebastian Leandro
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: Yeah well
you know what? I don't need you, or your cheesy Sears portrait studio assignments. I am an artist, and as such, am taking my services, as you call them, elsewhere. You can consider my contract with your agency terminated as of this moment.
Wes Montgomery
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: My aunt
I know you've visited my aunt since she's been in the hospital. What are the visiting hours there?
Wes Montgomery
To: Mercedes Jones
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Wes Montgomery
Mercedes! Remember when I told you that I thought I knew who attacked ? Well, I sort of started thinking it might have been Wes. I mean, Vivica says he was at his aunt's apartment one night right before they left for Key West, and that had to be close to when Mrs. Montgomery was struck, although of course I can't get her to pin down the exact date. I mean, the girl can't even remember her wallet, how is she going to remember a date?
And now Wes wants to know the visiting hours at his aunt's hospital. The visiting hours, Mercedes. He's never visited her before now... And that's because he could never figure out how he was going to finish her off before. But he knows now, because I told him! Remember?
I told him about Sunny von Bulow and how Klaus injected her with an insulin overdose, and how he should have done it between the toes where no one would notice a needlemark... Yes! I actually said that! I mean, you know how I read mysteries, and I was just talking, you know.
I didn't think he was going to actually take one of Tweedle Dum's syringes and some insulin and go visit his poor comatose aunt in her hospital room and KILL HER! Mercedes, what should I do? Do you think I should call the police? I never actually believed Wes would do something as heinous as try to kill his own aunt-I mean, I was going to write a story about it and give it to Will, to show him I can do hard news, but
I never actually thought, I mean, I didn't really believe...
But Mercedes, I do now, I really believe he's going to try to kill her! What should I do?
Kurt
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Mercedes Jones
Subject: Wes Montgomery
Kurt. Calm down. Wes Montgomery is not going to kill his aunt. All right? You are letting the stress of your breakup with Blaine and the whole suspension thing get the better of you. Wes Montgomery is not going to inject his aunt with her cat's insulin.
Okay? People don't do things like that. Well, they do in the movies, and in books and things, but not in real life. I think you've seen "Shadow of a Doubt" one too many times. Just take a deep breath and think about it. Why would Wes do something like that? I mean, really, Kurt. He is a big loser, it's true. He treated Vivica-not to mention you- very badly. But that doesn't make him a murderer. A big stupid jerk, but not a murderer.
All right? Now if you want to take a little walk with me outside the building, get a little fresh air to clear your head, I'd be happy to go with you. I heard there's a sale over at Banana Republic. We could go look at some nice silk blend sweaters, if you want. But please do not call the police to report that Wes Montgomery is contemplating killing his aunt. Please. I beg of you. You will only be wasting their time and your own.
Mercedes
To: Vivica
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Wes
Vivica, please. I am begging you. Can you remember anything, anything at all, that might help pinpoint what night it was you and Wes were at my building? It could be a matter of life and death.
To: Vivica
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: WOW
IT SURE IS IMPORTANT TO YOU TO KNOW WHAT NIGHT ME AND WES WERE AT HIS AUNT'S, HUH? DID YOUR DRY CLEANER LOSE A SWEATER OF YOURS THAT DAY OR SOMETHING? I HATE WHEN THAT HAPPENS. I REALLY WISH I COULD REMEMBER WHEN IT WAS EXACTLY, SO I COULD HELP YOU.
OH WAIT. I KNOW THERE WAS SOME KIND OF PLAYOFF GAME, BECAUSE ALL THE CARS THAT WENT BY WHILE I WAS WAITING IN THE CAR, THEY HAD THE GAME ON. AND WE WERE LOSING, SO EVERYBODY WAS REALLY MAD. OH, AND THERE WAS NO DOORMAN. IT WAS WEIRD, BECAUSE WES JUST WALKED RIGHT IN, AND NOBODY STOPPED HIM. BUT WHILE HE WAS GONE THIS CHINESE FOOD DELIVERY MAN CAME, AND HE LOOKED ALL AROUND THE LOBBY FOR THE DOORMAN, SO HE COULD CALL UP TO THE PEOPLE HE WAS DELIVERING TO AND TELL THEM HE WAS COMING.
THE REASON I NOTICED WAS BECAUSE THE CHINESE FOOD DELIVERY MAN WAS WEARING ACID WASHED JEANS, WHICH ARE SO TOTALLY EIGHTIES, BUT I GUESS IF YOU ARE AN IMMIGRANT YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THAT. AND I WAS THINKING WE SHOULD REALLY START SOME KIND OF EDUCATION PROGRAM FOR THE IMMIGRANTS SO THEY WOULD KNOW WHAT TO WEAR, SO AS NOT TO STAND OUT SO MUCH.
KNOW WHAT I MEAN? LIKE YOU KNOW HOW CHRISTIE AND NAOMI AND CINDY STARTED THE FASHION CAFE? I WAS THINKING I COULD START LIKE A FASHION SCHOOL, FOR PEOPLE WHO COME TO NEW YORK FROM CHINA AND HAITI AND THE MIDWEST AND STUFF.
ANYWAY, FINALLY MR. ACID WASHED JEANS FOUND HIM—THE DOORMAN, I MEAN-AND GOT BUZZED UP. THEN THE DOORMAN WENT AWAY AGAIN, AND RIGHT THEN WES CAME DOWN, AND THE TWO OF US LEFT. DOES THAT HELP?
VIVICA
To: Wes Montgomery
From: Kurt Hummel
Subject: Your aunt
Dear Mr. Montgomery,
Your aunt is in the ICU, which means she can't have visitors. Ever. In fact, they get mad if you even ask if you can visit people who are in the ICU. Because people who are in the ICU are in very, very unstable condition, and the slightest germ from the outside world might make them worse. So not only are there no visitors allowed, but the room is constantly monitored for movement with motion detectors, so even if you tried to sneak in there, you would get caught right away. So I wouldn't even try to go visit your aunt.
Sorry. But I bet if you sent a card, they'd show it to her when she wakes up.
Kurt Hummel
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Wes Montgomery
Subject: My aunt
I just thought you might be interested to know that I found out from her physician that my aunt was moved out of the ICU a month ago. She is now in a private room. She is, of course, still in a coma, but she can be visited any day between four and seven o'clock. Her prognosis, I'm sorry to say, is not good.
Wes Montgomery
To: Kurt Hummel
From: Stacy Anderson
Subject: Blaine
Dear Mr. Hummel,
You don't know me, but you do know my brother-in-law, Blaine. I am sorry to write to this way, seeing as how we've never actually been introduced, but I couldn't sit still and watch what was happening between you and Blaine without saying something.
Kurt-I hope you don't mind if I call you Kurt; I feel like I know you, from all the talking Blaine's done about you-I know that what Blaine and his friend Wes did was very very wrong. I was completely shocked when I heard about it. In fact, I urged him to tell you the truth from the very beginning. But he was afraid you'd be so mad at him, you wouldn't want to have anything to do with him...a fear which unfortunately proved well founded. And so he chose instead to wait for that "perfect moment" to tell you.
Except that, as you or I could have told him, there is no perfect moment to hear that the person you have fallen in love with has misrepresented himself in some way. I am not saying that you do not have ample reason to be furiously, even murderously angry with Blaine. And I absolutely adored the creative manner in which you got back at him. But don't you think he has suffered long enough? Because he *is* suffering, very badly.
Why, when he came by the other night to see the baby-I just had my third, a boy we named Blaine after my twin daughters' favorite uncle (see? He's well-liked by children, which means he can't be all bad) he looked quite dreadful. I swear he's lost at least ten pounds. I know how maddening men can be (do I ever-I've been married to Blaine's older brother Cooper for a decade), but I also remember from my single days how truly hard it is to find a good one...and that's what Blaine is, despite what you might think, based on his behavior towards you so far.
Won't you please give him a second chance? He really is crazy about you-and I can prove it.
I'd like to offer you Blaine's own words, in emails he has sent to me over the course of the past few months. Perhaps, after reading them, you will come to the same conclusion I did: that the two of you have managed to find something very few of us in this world are lucky enough to discover: a soulmate.
So what do you want to know? Did he believe I was Wes Montgomery? I am sorry to say that he did. Did I play the part of Wes Montgomery to perfection? I guess I must have, or he wouldn't have believed I was him. Do I feel like a grade-A heel for doing it? Yes. Self-flagellation and a big scarlet letter A for me. The worst part is...well, I already told you the worst part. He thinks I'm Wes Montgomery. Wes Montgomery, the ingrate who doesn't even seem to care that someone cold-cocked his eighty-year-old aunt.
Kurt cares, though. That's his name. The man with the nice hair and pale skin. Kurt. He moved to the city right after college, which makes him about twenty-seven years old, since he's lived here for five years. Originally, he's from Lima, Ohio. Have you ever heard of Lima, Ohio? He says it's a small town where you can walk down Main Street and everyone goes, "Oh, hi, Kurt."
Just like that. "Oh, hi, Kurt."
He showed me where Wes's aunt keeps the dog and cat food. He told me where to buy more, in case I ran out. He told me what Paco's favorite walks were. He showed me how to lure a cat named, and I kid you not, Mr. Peepers, out from underneath the bed.
He asked me about my work for the Save the Children Fund. He asked me about my trip to Ethiopia. He asked me if I'd been to visit my aunt in the hospital, and if it had upset me very much, seeing her with all those tubes coming out of her. He patted me on the arm and told me not to worry, that if anyone could come out of a coma, it was my aunt Helen.
And I stood there and grinned like an idiot and pretended I was Wes Montgomery. I've met this completely terrific guy. I mean completely terrific, Stace: he likes tornadoes and karaoke, beer and wine, and anything to do with serial killers. He eats up celebrity gossip with as much enthusiasm as he attacks a plate of moo shu pork, wears shoes that look way too uncomfortable and looks fabulous in them-but manages to look just as fabulous in TOMS and a pair of sweatpants.
And he's nice. I mean, really, truly, genuinely kind. In a city where no one knows his neighbors, he not only knows his, but actually cares about them. And he lives in Manhattan. Manhattan, where people routinely step over the homeless in an effort to get into their favorite restaurants. As far as Kurt seems to be concerned, he never left Lima, Ohio, population 38,000. Broadway might as well be Main Street.
I've met this completely terrific guy... And I can't even tell him my real name. No, he thinks I'm Wes Montgomery. I know what you're going to say. I know exactly what you're going to say, Stace. And the answer is no, I can't. Maybe if I'd never lied to him about it in the first place. Maybe if right from the first moment I met him I'd said, "Listen, I am not Wes. Wes couldn't make it. He feels really bad about what happened to his aunt, so he sent me in his place." But I didn't, all right? I blew it. I blew it from the very beginning. And now it's too late to tell him the truth, because anything else I ever try to tell him, he'll think I'm lying about that, too. Maybe he won't admit it. But in the back of his mind, it will always be there. "Maybe he's lying about this, too."
Don't try to tell me he won't, either, Stace. So there you have it. My hellish life, in a nutshell. Got any advice? Any sage words of womanly wisdom to throw my way?
No, I didn't think so. I am perfectly aware of the fact that I've dug this grave myself. I guess I have no choice but to lie down in it. What do you want me to say, anyway? That he's exactly what I've been looking for in a man all this time, but never dared hope I'd find? That he's my soulmate, my kismet, my cosmic destiny? That I'm counting the minutes until I can see him again? Fine. There. I've said it.
I found this particular bit most interesting:
I bought him a ring. An engagement ring. And no, this isn't like the time in Vegas. I have not been perpetually drunk for the pas three months. I genuinely believe that this man, out of all the men I have ever known, is the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I was going to tell him the truth, and then propose, in Vermont. Now he won't answer my phone calls, open his door, or reply to my emails.
My life is over.
Well, there you have it. I hope you won't discuss what you have just read with Blaine. He would never speak to me again if he found out I had shared all this with you. But I had to. I really had to. Because I think it's important for you to know...well, how much he loves you. That's all.
Sincerely,
Stacy Anderson