Author's Note: A bit of historical context for this chapter. The settlement movement was a reformist social movement that began in the 1880s and peaked around the 1920s in England and the United States. Philanthropic organizations established "settlement houses" in poor and immigrant urban areas, staffed by volunteers, offering daycare, English classes, healthcare, and other social services to improve the lives of the local residents. Today, there are more than 900 settlement houses in the U.S. They are still community-focused organizations, providing a range of services including early education, youth guidance and crime intervention, senior programs, and specialized programs for young people who have "aged out" of the foster care system.
President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Social Security Act on August 14, 1935. It provided federal old-age benefits, unemployment compensation, and aid for maternal and child welfare. Before this act, down-on-their-luck individuals were wholly dependent on relatives, friends, and charity to get by.
$50,000 in 1935 was worth about $1 million dollars in 2021.
Nestled in New York City's historic Greenwich Village, the Cherry Lane Theatre opened in 1923. It is New York City's oldest continuously operated off-Broadway theater.
The song "On the Sunny Side of the Street" was composed in 1930 by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields. YouTube (watch?v=nYGxAiCN8VM)
The song "Get Happy" is from the 1930 musical The Nine-Fifteen Revue. Watch the incomparable Judy Garland perform it on YouTube (watch?v=q7d0NRewzW4).
Chapter 12: Planning and Scheming
"Thank you so much for meeting with us, Miss Pillsbury," Kurt said, gesturing politely to a seat at the dining table in the penthouse.
The prim and proper lady settled into a chair and crossed her legs at the ankle, just as her mother had taught her. "It's so kind of you to invite me, Mr. Hummel. We're very flattered by your interest in the settlement houses."
Burt and Kurt took seats across from the social worker, and Adam unobtrusively set down three plates of salmon with asparagus spears and filled glasses with sparkling water.
Kurt had arranged the lunch meeting, leaping at the chance to focus on something productive, something that wasn't his disastrous relationships with men.
"Well, Miss Pillsbury," he said smartly, clasping his hands in his lap, "I've recently become interested in supporting adult literacy programs, assistance to young unmarried mothers, and job training for former convicts. You know, men who've paid their debt to society. I understand the settlement houses help in all these areas. Or, if you don't, perhaps you can advise me on another organization that does. You see, I'd like to make a contribution, an endowment perhaps."
"Why, Mr. Hummel, that's very generous! The settlement houses provide all kinds of social services to the poor, especially since the Great Depression hit. Healthcare, childcare, education, literacy, job training, soup kitchens, clothing drives," she supplied eagerly. "We have so many programs throughout New York City, all worthy of additional funds. They say there will be more help coming once President Roosevelt gets his Social Security Act passed, but I expect it will take a while for that assistance to get going. In the meantime, folks who are down on their luck depend on us, and we, in turn, are totally dependent on private donations."
Father and son exchanged a nod. "Why don't you draw up a budget of your priorities," said Burt. "Say $50,000, and I'll have our accountant look it over."
The red-head's eyes grew huge, so staggering was the amount he had just quoted. "I… I don't know what to say."
Kurt smiled kindly at her. "All you have to say, Miss Pillsbury, is 'yes'. Now please do enjoy your lunch and tell me more about yourself. What led you to social work?"
After Miss Pillsbury had gone, father and son retired to Burt's study, both well-satisfied with the meeting.
"I'm very proud of you, Kurt, wanting to help people like this. It's a wise man who learns from the experience of others, and you clearly learned a lot from your time on the road. Speaking of which," Burt opened his desk drawer and produced Sebastian's article.
Kurt stared in disbelief at the packet in Burt's hands. "You didn't throw it out like I told you to?"
"No. I read it, and I think you should, too. Smythe really captured what makes you so special. Plus," Burt added with a grin, "I think it might surprise you to see your adventure through his eyes."
Kurt hummed noncommittally. He'd been trying hard not to think about either Sebastian or Blaine. Putting Blaine out of his head proved surprisingly easy. Walking out of the man's apartment was like closing a book. End of story. Not a happy ending, but an ending, nonetheless. It helped that Kurt knew he had made the right decision.
Sebastian, however…. The words from his note kept floating around in Kurt's mind. I never meant to hurt you. I will always treasure our time together. You are an amazing man. Were they just more lies, or did he mean them? It seemed to Kurt he both knew Sebastian intimately and simultaneously didn't understand him at all. And that puzzlement, more even than his father's recommendation, is what ultimately led Kurt to take the manuscript from Burt's hands.
He stayed up late that night reading page after page. Smiling, frowning, blushing madly. Every once in a while, putting down the manuscript to pace around the room and cool down, thinking, "Oh, he thought I was being difficult!" The man Sebastian described was naïve and spoiled and infuriating and kindhearted and brave. And the author clearly admired him, but he didn't idealize him. It was, Kurt had to admit, a very fair-minded piece, and beautifully written. Kurt imagined Sebastian composing it, heard his voice reading it, and a warm feeling spread through his body. Then he imagined the story as a headline on the front page of the New York Chronicle and the warm feeling fled, replaced by a dull emptiness.
Kurt wasn't mad at Sebastian anymore, not really, so much as he felt a general sense of loss. His time on the road had been in some ways the happiest of his short life, and Sebastian was a large part of it. Blaine was wrong, Sebastian hadn't encouraged Kurt just for the article. The Bolero, the taller man watching him from the wings, their late night conversations – it had all been real. Kurt was sure Sebastian cared about him, at least to some degree. This story was the proof. So even though he'd broken Kurt's trust, even though they'd gone their separate ways and would probably never see each other again, maybe, Kurt thought, it would be okay to keep Sebastian's story, keep this one little memento of their time together. This slender remnant of his fake 'husband,' who really had helped him become a better man.
The next day, Kurt sent the manuscript to a printer to be hardbound in a slim book with a red cover to preserve it. He thought about writing Sebastian to thank him sincerely for chronicling Kurt's journey so well, but decided against it. What would he even say? No, best to cut that cord cleanly and start fresh.
Now that the settlement houses project was underway, it was time to plan the rest of his future. Blaine wasn't wrong about one thing – Mercedes Jones might hold the key to his path into show business.
And so it was that a rainy Tuesday afternoon about a week later found Kurt practicing "On the Sunny Side of the Street" on the piano in the penthouse. Mercedes had agreed to audition him for an appearance with her band and suggested that song because it was popular and upbeat. Kurt was nervous but determined not to disappoint. The lyrics appealed to him.
¶ I used to walk in the shade / With those blues on parade
But I'm not afraid / This Rover crossed over
If I never have a cent / I'll be rich as Rockefeller
Gold dust at my feet / On the sunny side of the street ¶
Burt was ostensibly reading his paper, but actually just listening, impressed with his son's vocal chops, and reminiscing about Kurt's mother Elizabeth, who also loved to sing. He didn't mind that Kurt wanted to go on the stage instead of taking over the auto empire. As long as he was happy and not throwing his life away on a man who didn't deserve him.
Burt was also making plans. Although he loved Finn, he knew his stepson couldn't handle running things when Burt stepped down. But Burt had his eye on the Midwest branch manager Jane Hayward. She was a smart cookie. Perhaps with some mentoring she could run the business, freeing Kurt and Finn with generous trust funds to pursue their own interests. Yes, Burt resolved to fly Jane out to New York for a conversation soon.
Just then, Adam interrupted to announced, "Misses Rachel Berry and Shannon Beiste to see you, sirs."
Kurt rose from the piano in surprise. "Oh! Well… show them in, please, Adam, and bring some tea."
"Very good, sir."
"What do you think they want, buddy?"
"I don't know," Kurt said, puzzled but excited to see his friends.
The first 10 minutes of their visit were spent with Ms. Beiste and Rachel regaling Burt with stories about Kurt's triumphs on stage, much to Burt's delight. Kurt's ears burned when they spoke glowingly of his striptease, but his dad just laughed.
"Hey, I wasn't born yesterday. I know what 'dancing' in a vaudeville show means. I didn't think you were doing the Charleston up there, kiddo."
"Which brings me to why we're here, Mr. Hummel," Ms. Beiste began, smiling. "We've had a good run in Manhattan, and our show is closing Saturday night. We'd like to invite Kurt to perform with us one last time, as a kind of wedding present. With your fiancé, of course."
Kurt's face fell. Misinterpreting that signal, she hurried on. "Now, I know it's not Broadway, but the Cherry Lane Theatre is a good-sized space with great acoustics. It holds nearly 200 if we pack 'em in, and that's not nothing."
Kurt heaved a big sigh and cast his eyes down. "I'm sure it's grand," he said quietly. "It's just that there's not going to be any wedding. I broke it off with Blaine."
Ms. Beiste quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?" she said, struggling to keep her grin from getting wider. "Sebastian know about this?"
"No," Kurt replied defensively. "And it's none of his business!"
"True, true," said Beiste, still trying to hold her smile in check. "Anyway, you don't have to dance. Come sing something. It'll perk you right up. You were born for the stage, Kurt."
"Oh, please say yes, Kurt!" Rachel chimed in, practically bouncing in her seat. "We all miss you and I'm sure Mr. Hummel here would love to watch you perform. You can sing anything you want. The show has all new acts now. Jesse and I duet "Get Happy" and tap dance. Audiences love it!" she added proudly. "Not a peanut shell in sight."
"Come on, Kurt," Burt said eagerly. "Your friends came all this way. Don't send them back empty-handed. Plus, I really want to see your off-Broadway debut."
Kurt grinned, unable to withstand the enthusiasm of the trio before him. "Well…" he said, feigning great reluctance, "… okay! It just so happens I've got a new act myself."
Blocking out the noise and bustle of the newsroom around him, Sebastian's nimble fingers flew across the typewriter keys.
According to his bookie Tina Cohen-Chang, Councilman Ryerson was heavily in debt by the time he won his second term. "He likes to play the ponies but his luck is always lousy," she stated bluntly. The Chronicle's investigation indicates he financed his gambling addiction from illegal payments he received for government contracts. Michael Chang (no relation), owner of the bar The Dancing Jug, said Ryerson used his place to rendezvous with Townsend and Rubinian, among others. "It was pretty clear money was changing hands across the table," Chang said. "They weren't subtle about it."
He paused to think of the next paragraph. It felt good to be back in his day job. Sebastian was a cynical guy and liked covering cynical stories. Exposing the crooks and fakes, defending the little guy versus big business, getting the scoop, that was his strength. Not dancing on stage. And certainly not playing babysitter to some spoiled brunette with a lilting voice and ocean eyes who was determined to throw his life away on a gold digger. No, being alone wasn't so bad. Nobody to hurt him, nobody to disappoint. If only –
Sebastian startled when Sue snapped her fingers under his nose.
"You're doing it again," she said impatiently.
"What?"
"Zoning out. Daydreaming. Thinking about that Hummel heir, I'm guessing."
"No," Sebastian shot back defensively, but Sue gave him a knowing smirk.
"It's been two seeks since he got back in town, Twiggy. Don't you think you'd have heard from him by now if he wanted to contact you?"
"I guess," he moped. "I just wish I knew what he thought of the article. Or even knew that his father gave it to him."
"Oh, I'm sure he did. Burt Hummel is a straight shooter. He'd have shoved it back in your face if he didn't intend to pass it on."
Sebastian sagged in his chair. "I can't blame Kurt for cutting me loose, really," he said glumly. "What I did to him was pretty lousy. Plus, he's probably busy planning his dream wedding to Anderslime."
"Hey, don't beat yourself up. You were just doing your job," Sue replied matter-of-factly. "Speaking of which, how's the City Council story going?"
"Pretty well," Sebastian said with false cheer. "The Councilman is a real sleaze, so lots of people are willing to spill their guts on the record. Tonight, a source is passing me documents that prove he was taking kickbacks from Townsend and Rubinian. I should be able to wrap up the article by Friday."
"Excellent. Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but it's good to have you back, Beanstalk. By the way, this came for you." She casually flipped a card onto his desk.
Sebastian picked up the envelop and opened it.
The Beiste Show in Town cordially invites Mr. Sebastian Smythe to attend its farewell appearance at the Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce St, New York, NY at 8 P.M. on Saturday, June 29, 1935.
Underneath, written in a flowery, feminine script it read We'd be honored if you join us, Sebastian. – Shannon
Did he want to go? It wouldn't be the same without Kurt there, but maybe that was a good thing. Sebastian kind of missed the troupe, even the hyperactive wardrobe master, and this way he'd get some closure. With the story done, he could just enjoy the show and say a proper goodbye to everyone. Yes, it might help put Kurt in the rear-view mirror so Sebastian could focus on getting his life in order.
He turned the card over and read the messages on the back, both written in the same crude hand.
Please come, Sebastian. Then you can see me in my new costume. – Brittany
Be there, Meercat, or I'll have Puck break both your legs. – Santana
That settled it. Sebastian laughed. "Looks like I have plans Saturday night."
A/N: We're getting near the end of our story. Drop me a line if you have a chance. I'd love to hear your thoughts! – Ella