Chapter 5—Doubters and Champions

To those reading and commenting Thank You!

Warning quite a bit of dialogue in this chapter.


Potluck

They held the third potluck of the semester at Rachel and Jesse's. Blaine and Kurt arrived early to catch both hosts up on the band's progress. Rachel had a demo of the recorded music, giving Blaine seven pages of constructive criticism. Blaine gave it to Kurt. In a low voice to his husband after scanning through the critique, 'Rachel wrote a comparative essay on her and Jesse's voices versus the leads. Not helpful'

Jesse offered Blaine a glass of wine. Then strolled over to the sofa to relax before their guests arrived as Rachel and Kurt finished preparations in the kitchen. "I've got to give you credit, Blaine, sticking your neck out with Dolloway for a cover band that'll entertain at casinos and state fairs for years. That takes balls."

"I'm sorry you think that way, Jesse. You must not have listened to the demo I gave Rachel."

"Oh, I did. I thought the song choices puerile. The arrangements withered. The harmonies lacked any cohesion from all the vocalists." He sipped from his wineglass, "If they make it, their destiny is cult status among rural radio stations. Locked in between Saturday polka nights and classical Sunday mornings."

Blaine reflected on Jesse's harsh evaluation, at a loss for words to how to react to his under whelmed opinion. He often disagreed with Jesse on nuances of an artist's performance, but to hear Jesse rip apart something he took pride in was more than a low blow. "You know, Jesse, I spoke with Madame Tibideaux. She listened to the demo, and she had nothing but praise for the music. I have it in an email."

"Blaine, let me be honest with you. You're not meant to be a producer of pop artists. Sure, you can belt out a Katy Perry song whenever the need arises, but you're a gifted composer and lyrist who'll waste your time on a one-hit-wonder band."

"Sure, Kurt and I want to write a Broadway show, but that still years away. And we feel working with the band on their goals is an excellent step toward our goal." Jesse and Blaine's conversation disrupted by a knock on the door and the arrival of Elliott and his date, Patrick.

Elliott's curried red lentil and pumpkin soup Rachel added between her roasted carrot salad with feta cheese and Kurt's chicken tikka masala.

The band members arrived next with Olivia in tow. Lennon handed Rachel a plastic grocery bag from Wal-Mart. It contained their contributions to the potluck. Rachel responded at seeing the contents 'Lovely, I'm sure someone will want a ham and cheese sandwich on white with ketchup.' And for dessert, pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough, along with half a bag of Doritos. Jon apologizing that they had gotten hungry on the subway ride.

Artie rolled in the door with Sushi for one he'd picked up on his way over to the potluck. Kitty and Roderick brought a spinach chickpea and quinoa salad. Kitty pointed out Roderick didn't help in the preparation, but held the dish in one hand while standing as the subway train made its rocking way into the city. Dani and Mel added their leftover sesame glazed salmon dish when they arrived. Dani admitting she took no credit in the preparation just watched her chef in action.

Santana and Brittany were last to arrive. Santana warned Rachel that Brittany had added salami to their Dominican spaghetti dish. Brittany confessing that she couldn't remember if Rachel practiced veganism or vegetarianism this week? Or had Rachel moved to a pescatarian diet this month? Maybe she should try beeganism or flexitarianism diets? It was all so confusing. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if Rachel stayed a vegan before 6pm.

Another knock sent Rachel running to the door, "Oh my god! Mercedes! Mike! And Sam!"

"Hey, girl! Hope ya don't mind us crashin' the potluck. Blaine told me about the preview tonight, so I swung through Chicago to pick up Mike. Then met Sam at Kennedy."

Sam gave Rachel an enthusiastic bear-hugged. "Ya, this is like my first New York movie premiere, sorry I left my tux back in Lima."

"Uh, help yourselves to the food and drinks. Honey, can you get the extra folding chairs?"

"I'll help you, Jesse," Mike gave Rachel a warm hug then followed Jesse.

"You should know everyone." She glanced around the room, "Oh, I don't think you've met everyone's dates. That's Mel, Dani's partner" Mel waved her hand "Olivia is with Cam. Uh, is it Michael or Matthew?" Rachel pointed to the man next to Elliott, "Oh, OK, Patrick, is with Elliott. These are our amazing friends Sam, Mike, and the fabulous Ms. Mercedes Jones, one of our backers."

Mercedes turning to Rachel, "Our backers, Rachel?"

"Well, I've been providing moral support to Kurt."

"We've all been providing moral support to Kurt."

"Quinn! I didn't see you back there, and Tina!" Mercedes threw open her arms as she went up to her blonde friend for a hug. "Oh my god, it's so good to see you both. How's Yale? And Puck?"

"He's found a new mistress, San Antonio. He's fallen in love with the city." Quinn blew off an easy laugh, "And my LSAT score is." A coy smile formed on her face, "Harvard good." Followed by a grin that lit up her green eyes.

"Quinn, you're going to Harvard? Oh, my god!"

"No, Mercedes, I've applied to Harvard, Columbia, N.Y.U., U of Chicago, Stanford and Yale."

"So how long are ya here for?"

"I go back tomorrow morning, after I see Beth. I can't slack on my studies at this point."

"I'm so proud of you, girl! How about you, Tina? Still playing arm gay?"

"No, Rachel, I've been on two dates. His name is Ken, like me, a Korean adoptee. He's an engineering major. And he's spent both of our dates talking about embedded processor design." Her shoulders dropped with a sigh, "He loses me at microarchitectural thermal modeling."

Mercedes let a giggle escape from her lips, "Don't worry, there's a guy out there waiting for you."

"How about you, Mercedes, anyone new in your life?"

"Nah, I mean, I still text with Tank, and we met up when we're in L.A., but no, still not in the market for a steady man."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You band guys need to up your game if you expected to be invited to another pot luck."

Franco jutted his chin out, blowing air through his mouth that sent his bangs flying upward. "Artie told us to bring whatever. We all live in the dorm."

"Don't listen to Kitty, I appreciated the ham sandwiches. I mean, there isn't any actual food here." Sam chopped down on a baked cookie. "When I was here with Kurt and Blaine, I lived on ice cream." He picked off the crumbs that fell on his shirt, adding them to the cookie already in his mouth. "It's like you all moved to New York and forgot how to cook. They even ruined spaghetti, putting that green sauce on it."

"It's called pesto, Sam, it's made with fresh basil that's why it's green and it wasn't spaghetti, it was linguine." Kurt annoyed that Sam would bring up their petty argument over one meal he made while they were roommates.

"Yeah, well, I remember noodles with shrimp and spinach covered in green sauce. Who does that?"

Kurt's narrow lips bent into a sneer at Sam, "People who've moved on from canned spaghetti your mom served you as a kid."

"Did anyone get sushi, cos I sure didn't." Artie pushed his plate away, to lean over the table to look toward Brittany and Santana.

"San and I were thrilled that you thought about us. Next time, though, buy enough for everyone."

Mercedes let out a low chuckle as she listened to the old squabbles of her classmates and Glee's companions, "Well, I, for one thought, everything was delicious." She stood up, "Thank you, Rachel, for letting us crash the potluck. I miss this living in L.A.," she lifted her plate, setting it on Sam's empty plate "I can at least help clean up."

"Here I can help too, Mercedes. Tina?" Stacking Roderick's and Dani's plates onto her own.

Tina grabbed the plate in front of Mike, "Oh, yeah sure, Kitty." She stacked it on her's along with Artie's.

Under Kitty's direction, she assigned everyone a task for the cleanup of Rachel's dining room. She ordered the band guys to help clear the table. Gave Lennon and Blaine plastic champagne flutes to assemble for the celebration. Kurt uncorked the champagne bottles, careful not to spray the contents over the room. Told Mike to help Jesse reorganize the chairs while she assisted in the kitchen. The rest of the guests moved into the living area. Brittany took the center of the couch to read over the typed pages of Rachel's notes. Passing each page as she finished to Elliott, who'd pass it on to Dani, then to Roderick. Sam sat with Artie, talking about a new video game.


Q and San - Interlude

Santana grabbed her smokes from her bag. Yes, she'd have to suck on a breath mint before returning to the party. And brush her teeth twice and use mouthwash before going to bed if she expected her wife to cuddle with her, but this habit was hard to break. She took the emergency exit. Like a child called to dinner, Santana bounced down the stair, she'd have to take the elevator back up.

Santana saw the rain out the lobby door, the drab black pavement shone with oil tainted colors of the neon signs. As she exited the building, she could hear the water flowing in the gutters to gurgle into the street drains. The colorful blend of taxies intermixed with private autos speeding by with water spraying up from their tires, and wipers swishing across windshields. She watched as people rushed with umbrellas on the sidewalks or to cross the street. Santana dashed over to a secluded spot in the entryway of a closed shop to stay dry. She pulled a Marlboro Light from the pack, her lighter from her jeans pocket. The glow from the fire danced in the air. She cupped her hand around it.

"Guessed, right, that I'd find you down here."

Santana turned, "Jesus Q, you scared me." she held her hand to her chest. "You following me now?" The cigarette wobbled between her lips. She lit her cig, exhaled the smoke that drifted between her and Quinn. "Want one?" she offered her the pack.

An uneasy smile played along the edges of Quinn's lips as she grabbed the Marlboro's and the lighter, lighting it with the same skill as Santana, "Thank you." She gave both back as the smoke escaped her mouth. Quinn crossed one arm at her waist, resting the elbow of the other on her fold arm, "So, you're going all Pink to be a rock star now?" She inhaled.

"What if I am? Didn't you accuse me of not following my dreams?" she flicked ashes onto the step.

"I never thought you'd follow on Rachel's skirt tails to Broadway either. Or Mercedes dreams of being a singer."

"And what did you think?"

"You'd stick with commercials. A backup singer. A writer, maybe. Even modeling. But I never expected you to join a band and forget about your education."

Santana snorted, "Too short for modeling." She inhaled on her cigarette, holding the smoke in a second before blowing it out. "Would you want to be recognized as the Yeast-I-Stat girl for the rest of your life? Or fade into the background of a singer you can sing circles around in your sleep?"

"I hope you excluded Mercedes from that comment?"

Santana rolled her eyes upward, "Rachel too." The old friends looked at each other. The silence broke when Santana interrupted with a sputter, Quinn followed with a snort.

"Seriously, Santana, the only reason I took the LSAT test was that I know the odds of me earning a living as an actress are slim. Even with a Yale education. And unlike you, I can't make money as cage dancer."

"Sounds to me like you're giving up your dreams." She took one last drag off her cigarette, tossing it toward the street. The smoke curled around the edges of her mouth, "Q, I'm still in school. No one is knocking down our doors with a record contract. The plan is simple, earn a few bucks doing gigs at music halls, weddings, bar mitzvah's, private parties, whatever while hawking a cd of original music. I haven't dropped out yet. Brit and I have plans for our future. I'm a little more realistic than given credit here."

"I suppose you are." Tossing her butt into the street, "but I know how you are when you make the wrong decisions. Or react when you've been wrong. It's not pretty, San. And as Rachel discovered one incorrect career move and you're reviled or become the butt of endless jokes."

"Well, I'm not Rachel."


Potluck Continued

As they gathered in the living room, Kurt tried to get everyone's attention, while Lennon and Blaine handed out the filled flutes. Santana took her spot next to Brittany. Quinn hung back by the door, "Excuse me, I have something I want to say."

Franco stood next to Jon who sat on the floor, "Let me guess, you just realized there isn't enough seating capacity in this apartment for everyone?"

"I liked you band geeks, better when you didn't talk." Kurt raised his glass to his shoulder level. "As you know, we're here tonight to watch the premiere music videos of L.H.A. Formerly..."

"Didn't we do this? Premier the videos?"

Artie shoved his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Looking over to Elliott, "We did, but Rachel emailed 13 pages of notes to Blaine and me, so we went back and re-edited the video's."

"Did you include the lap dance?" Franco winked at Artie.

"Sadly no, Britt isn't giving up the master video. And hard as I tried, I couldn't recover it from the scratched cd." Stretching over to grab the remote from the coffee table, "Believe me, I tried."

Kurt cleared his throat, "As I was saying, we're here tonight to watch the premiere music videos of L.H.A. It's humble beginnings as Pamela Lansbury. Changed to One Three Hill. Now revived and re-branded to L.H.A." Feeble applause followed. "This has been a collaborative effort of not only Elliott, Santana, Dani, Roderick and the band but Kitty, Brittany, Blaine, Artie, Marley, Mike, and myself." Kurt inhaled through his nose, allowing for a few seconds of dramatic pause. Sam, though, thought Kurt finished, drank the champagne in his glass. "We need to thank June Dolloway for her financial help. Blaine's brilliant idea to create both a home recording studio and label. Franco, for the label's name. Brittany et al." waving his hand to point out the band "their support. Isabelle Wright from Vogue, com. And to our friends at NYADA, B.F.A., and 5678 Dance Studio."

Jon cupped his hand around his mouth, "Get on with it!"

Blaine refilled Sam's champagne glass before passing next to his husband in a low voice. "Keep this short Kurt, we don't have enough champagne for over one serving."

"Really, come on, Kurt, you're jinxing us." Brittany concurred with Jon.

"Hey, Kurt, you forgot Nero and his car!" Kitty, her voice high and piercing to be heard, "I'm pretty sure Artie and Santana won't forget it."

"Guys, listen up! Let Kurt finish, or we'll be here all night."

"Thank you, Blaine. To wrap up. Whether this project is an over the top success. Or a futile attempt to jump-start our friend's musical careers. It's something we should all take pride in. It's not that they're extraordinarily special. It's that we, as a team, made something extraordinarily special."

"Was that a backhanded compliment, Kurt." Elliott grinned.

"You noticed that too?" Roderick pushed his glasses up his nose.

"For god sakes, just start the damn videos, Artie!" Kurt huffed. "Oh, cheers, everyone!" raising his glass in a salute, he gulped the liquid from the glass.


Kurt and Blaine

"Blaine! Blaine! Come on Boo, wake up," Kurt shook his husband the next morning.

"Uh," rubbing his face, "What is it, Kurt?"

Kurt shoved the laptop in front of his husband. Blaine raised from the bed to rest on an elbow as he shoved the duvet down with his hand, "What am I looking at?"

"Hits! YouTube hits, just the overnight hits, we had eight thousand! That's like I don't know… like,… incredible! And that's just for Marley's song. Can you imagine what will happen when you post Dani and Santana's songs?"

Blaine kicked his feet to move the duvet, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He took the laptop, adjusting the screen for a better angle to read the comments. "'W.O.W.! Where have these guys been hiding?' 'Love'em and who are they?' 'Best song I've found on Y.T.!' 'Draining my battery to keep this song on repeat' 'H.O.T.! H.O.T.! H.O.T.! H.O.T.!' 'O.M.G., I love this song!' 'This is professional, way better than the basement crap people post to get noticed!" Blaine read as he scrolled through the comments. He scrolled past the languages, he didn't understand. He started laughing, "I can't believe this, I mean I expected a few hundred overnight. Even with the promotional views and our other media accounts."

"Oh my god, Blaine, they're a freaking hit! Not in the Katy or Taylor million hits in an hour kinda way, but still a hit!"

He raised his palm toward his husband, "Calm down, Kurt." Clicking over to Twitter, he signed in "57 followers on twitter that's good." Then to Facebook, "76 followers, not bad" On Instagram, "101 likes and 12 comments," scanning the comments "all good!"

"Good! That's all, Blaine? Why this stupendous! It's better than we ever expected!"

"But like you said Kurt, it's only one song, we still need to upload the song to iTunes, and Spotify, SoundCloud. But it's a good start. We need to get them before a live audience, get critic reviews, post those for people to read."

"Rachel, she can post a review. She was on Broadway, her T.V. show."

"No. Rachel doesn't have the pull. We need someone in the music business. What time is it?"

"5:18, I doubt if anyone's up."

Blaine reached over for Kurt's arm, pulling him toward the bed. "What would you say if we take a page from Brittana's book and rewrite it to have dirty gentlemen kisses?"

"I would say, to my gifted husband, that's a rewrite I'd enjoy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"The band is taking over my life. I literally woke up this morning to check the number of hits on YouTube." Artie rolled into Kurt and Blaine's loft. "12K and only one comment on the video quality itself. Nothing positive on the director. Even though I'm credited."

"Maybe that's because those watching don't understand what a director does," Blaine took Artie's coat to hang up in the entryway closet.

"Or they're morons who don't care who directs the video's," Kurt refilled Artie's travel cup with fresh coffee. "Were you able to get ahold of Franco or Cam to upload the tracks?"

"I did Franco's waiting for Blaine's text to link the URL to the channel."

"If that's the case, I'll text him to make it so," Blaine taking his phone from the counter.

Sam stepped from the bathroom, wearing jeans, his feet bare, hair wet, with a t-shirt in his hands. "Morning Artie," he walked up behind Kurt at the sink, "What's for breakfast?" Sam listened as Kurt elaborated on his crustless spinach & mushroom quiche with feta cheese along with various fresh fruits on the side, "Got any real breakfast food?" Sam pulled his shirt over his head.

Blaine looked up from his phone, pointing to the cupboard, "Honey Nut Cheerios in the cupboard, top shelf, Sam."

"Cool, thanks." Sam took the mixing bowl from Kurt, "So what's the plan today?"

"The plan is you're going with Artie to hang out with Mercedes, Mike, Tina, and Rachel today. Did you forget?"

"Yeah. Well, you know she's still seeing that Tank guy."

"I still hang out with Tina, even though we date other people. What's the difference between us and you two?"

"Yeah, but Artie, you and Tina just don't have that animal-like magnetic chemistry that Mercedes and I do." Sam poured milk into the cereal bowl. He left the open carton on the counter, he went over to sit on the couch near Artie. "No offense. I mean, you two are cute and everything but me and Mercedes, we're like a nuclear bomb when we're together. Pure fizzle material. Just BOOM, and our love explodes."

Artie thought about Sam's analogy, he rolled his eyes with a groan, "Sam, don't you mean a nuclear reactor where they control fission to create usable energy?"

"Isn't that what Brittany said last night when she was telling us about her psychic's class?"

"Finish your breakfast, Sam. Mercedes shouldn't miss a minute of that magnetic fizzle you two share."

Sam fed a spoon of cereal into his mouth. "See, I knew you got it, Artie. What Mercedes and I have." He chewed on his honey oats as he talked, mixing the cereal in his bowl. "Since we're all guys, what's this story about Santana giving Roderick a lap dance? Jon said it was an awesome, total hard-on moment for him. Do you guys have a copy?"


Next Steps

All members of the band and their significant others were squeezed around Kurt and Blaine's extended kitchen table. Kurt beamed with pride after Mel complimented him on the flavor and texture of his quiche masterpiece. As the host, he'd kept the conversation in check, to avoid his breakfast meal becoming a business meeting. As the evitable drew near, Kurt allowed Blaine to take over the conversation.

"Before I forget, I had a message on my voice mail from the booking agent from the Williamsburg Music Hall this morning. In three weeks, the Hall has a weekend open. I guess the scheduled band broke up because of creative differences. So, he needs to fill the spot. He liked the demos I played for him and doesn't think he could get an established band in on such short notice."

Santana looked over at Elliott. "We need to jump on that, ASAP."

Dani nodded, "I agree. But we'll need more songs and a shitload, more practice to cover two nights."

Blaine jotted down a note on the pad of paper he had next to him. "Agree, Dani, but Roderick suggested an idea to me I'd like him to tell us about, it's called RouteNote. Go ahead, Roderick."

It surprised Roderick that Blaine asked him to speak. His voice a reedy gasp as something blocked his airway, he cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, well, uh... RouteNote is a music distribution service. Instead of us uploading singles to each site, they'd route them to any of the streaming services like iTunes, Amazon, Spotify, SoundCloud, or any other international sites for us."

Santana, elected meeting secretary, stopped writing, "And the cost?"

"Well, it's not free. We'd have to meet a minimum target before we'd receive any royalties."

"Yeah, I don't see why not? You don't buy a carton of ice cream to eat it in one sitting. Good suggestion, Roderick."

Thanks, Dani. I can't take all the credit. A guy in my Tech Fundamentals class clued me in on the app."

Blaine watched as everyone nodded in agreement over Roderick's suggestion. "Santana, can you add that to the notes that all voted in favor?

"Noted gel leader."

Blaine shook his head, befuddled that Santana would start up with her nicknames. He crossed off an item on his notebook paper, then took a swig of coffee to focus back on his list. "The other item I wanted to bring up is to release the video with an E.P., not the entire album like our original plan. Wait, see how that pans out, then another video of whichever songs gets hits. We've just got the one which doing well when you consider we're only beginners."

Elliott raised his hand, "I vote yes." He elbowed Jon next to him

"Second."

Santana didn't bother with any strict adherence to Robert's Rules of Order. The surrounding faces were glazed over with boredom at the table. "All in favor?" She glanced around the table, "No objections. The motion passes. Next?"

"Wow! We're going faster than I thought, I expected to be here all day." Blaine drew a line across another item on his list.

"We came prepared, Blaine." Kitty aimed the pointless gibe at Blaine.

"I also think we need to be more serious about the band's web page. We've let it flounder for too long. It needs photos, an e-press kit, videos, bios, band history, gig dates and a link to Triad Seven Music. Brittany, Kitty, can you take care of that? Be our webmasters and social media specialists?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to help."

"Thanks, Cam, I'd ask Artie, but he's overwhelmed right now with school. Did you get all that, Santana?"

"Britt, Kit and Cam webmaster. Got it."

Blaine crossed off another item off his list. "What we need is a newspaper review. Elliott, that means you need to call that guy at the Village Voice. An interview is free advertising. I've also been contemplating our media presence. If someone in the industry drops our name in an interview, that would be a marvelous piece of advertising too."

"Like Cedes?" Brittany awoke at the mention of a journalist interviewing the band.

"Yes, like Mercedes. But business people with juice." Blaine jotted down another idea on his notepad. "I've put in a call to June, she wields influence within traditional media she might convince one of her friends to endorse the band."

"I don't think a bunch of old geezers will turn out at the music hall to watch a band they never heard of play cover songs."

"No, you're right, Santana, but they might show up for a private show."

"Yeah, but won't they be more interested in chamber music than hearing me belt out a Queen song?"

Blaine quirked an eyebrow as he set his elbows on the table. "True, Elliott, we'd have to tailor it for the audience. But that doesn't mean we could re-arrange say a Bon Jovi song."

"OK, but we still need practice space. Most of you are in school or like me working, so we're talking evenings."

"I'm glad you brought that up, Elliott. Kurt and I talked about it. He's willing to reach out to the new director of Adam's Apples to see about using their practice room."

"Adams Apples only has four members. It seems their reputations has fallen even further into the sinkhole after they revealed that five of its members weren't students. The new director who succeeded Adam brought them in as ringers. It was quite the scandal from what I hear."

"I'm shocked!" Brittany deadpanned, Santana, snickered next to her.

"Santana, reach out to those folks you worked with when you did P.R. work for Rachel. Yes, I realize they were Broadway reporters, but they might have contacts within the music industry that could help us with reviews." Blaine sensed a protest, "Remember, it's not what you know, but who. We have to have cast a wide net if we want to trap the right people." Seeing she wouldn't argue, Blaine exhaled.

Dani moved a lock of hair behind her ear, "So, what am I doing, Blaine?"

"Work your network of friends. Also, I want you to work on the setlist for next weekend. Help the guys with the arrangements too."

"Oh, make sure you include Winehouse songs for Santana." Kurt interjected, "Santana's rendition of Amy's cover of 'Valerie' is a classic."

"I'd like to take a stab at Fleetwood Mac's 'Go Your Own Way' Rachel killed that song once, but I could do it better. And Gloria, too. Elliott and I sang that with Rachel, and we killed it. Have Dani sing Rachel's part. We could be even better."

"I think My Cup should be part of the setlist" Brittany started the chorus "My cup, my cup. Sayin', what's up? To my cup, my cup,"

Kurt stopped her, "Although My Cup is an N.D. classic. I'm not so sure the audience would catch on to the uh… playful humor. Not to mention inside joke of that song."

Kitty, Blaine, even Santana, and the band members snickered as Kurt spoke. Dani, a look of confusion on her face as she looked around at the former N.D. members, "What's the song about?

"It's not a cup you drink from," not wanting to hear more about Brittany's silly twat song, Kurt changed the focus. "And since my original idea was a Madonna cover band, don't forget her."

Blaine to get the focus back on the next steps for the band after Brittany's suggestion looked over at the drummer and bassist "Franco and Jon work with Roderick. Reach out to Marley, see what other songs she has tucked away that we could use. And if you guys have any songs you want us to hear, bring them forward."


The Out of Towners

Mike and Sam walked back to the table with drinks they'd bought at Jamba Juice and Starbucks. They were in Penn Station with Tina and Quinn waiting for trains back to Brown and Yale. Mercedes, Mike and Sam would take a cab to the airport to catch their flights. "Here you go, ladies, Sam has your green tea smoothie, Tina."

"Tina and I appreciate the good stuff, can't get treats like this in Lima." Sam sucked from a straw in his Razzmatazz smoothie.

Tina glanced at Sam, a genuine grin spread across her face, "I hope you never change Sam." Holding her smoothie out, Sam tipped his plastic cup with hers.

Mike removed the lid from his Starbucks cup, giving the fiery liquid a gentle blow, before sipping his coffee. "So, your thoughts about the band?"

Mercedes pulled off a bit of pretzel that Sam had bought her at Jamba Juice "My opinion they're putting the cart before the horse. They don't even have a setlist." She popped the bite in her mouth.

"Yeah, and no place to practice, they're not much more than studio musicians at this point."

Tina wrapped a napkin around her cold smoothie. "That's what I heard too, Mike."

"Guys, it's New York, they can play in the subway and call it practice."

Mercedes patted the arm of her ex, "What I love about you, Sam, your positive spin."

"Santana wouldn't enjoy that busking lifestyle. I mean, she's not that person. She likes her control."

"Ya mean, she likes to be the leader, Tina?" Mercedes took a sip of coffee. "But I agree she likes her some stage. If ya know what I mean."

"She played Anita, that's a supporting role.

"And she brought the house down, Mike. Nobody cared about Maria after hearing her sing 'America' and 'A Boy Like That.' I sat in the audience and watched it."

"You're quiet, Quinn. No opinion?"

"Oh, I have an opinion, Tina," Quinn looked at her friends around the table "I agree with Mercedes, they've got the cart before the horse. Next to Rachel, and you Mercedes Santana was the best singers in Glee."

Sam nudged her elbow, "We sang a song or two together." He smiled at the only girl he'd ever given a promise ring. "And as I recall, Mike could sing by the time he left Glee."

"Something I've given up except in the shower or car, to be fair."

"Elliott or Dani, I don't know them at all. And I was never friends with any of band guys and just about remember Roderick's name, but I know Santana. She's outgunned vocally with Dani and Elliott. In fact, both Roderick and Santana are."

"Aren't you confusing music styles with vocal range? I mean no one belts a Broadway classic better than Rachel, but that's not my style, I like R&B, Pop, Rap."

"Perhaps I am. But Santana has a direction at N.Y.U. If the band fails, she may end up floundering in the wind, like when she first came to New York to live."

"With all due respect Quinn, you're going to law school, but you're graduating with a degree in theater arts. It's not because you can't act or that you don't want too."

"I will, that's somewhat true, Tina. But that's what a college education does, not just train you for a career. It broadens your interest. Tests your beliefs and values. Shapes and influences your thinking, how you view the world, beyond a post on I.G. and Twitter. Makes you want to do something substantial with your life." Quinn rolled her eyes. "I would just hate for Santana to miss that and find herself down the road working a mundane job while going to night school. Because of her high school insecurity to be rich and famous."

"Quinn, my parents wanted me to go to med school. I would have died in that environment. I'd tell Santana, if she asked, to go for it."

"Tina, Mike, do you, in all honesty, expect to star in a Broadway play or a featured dancer at a major company?

"Being a featured dancer isn't my goal. I want to go on tour. Choreograph shows. Own a dance studio. Enjoy my life while I'm young."

"OK, I'll admit starring in a Broadway play might be out there for me, but writing isn't. And if it means I have to get a teaching certificate to survive, I will. But I want the opportunity that dares me to dream of what is possible."

"Nothing says the school of hard knock wouldn't teach you something, Quinn. Probably more than any Ivied league classroom that teaches concepts. Getting my cd recorded, released, and promoted taught me more about the business then I thought I'd know."

Quinn felt a blush on her cheeks at the affection she kept for the women who were friends, rivals, enemies and confidants during her teen years. "We spent a lot of time together, not just Glee Club but Cheerios, especially our freshman year." For a second, her emerald eyes fixated on the T.G.I. Friday's sign as she relived her last year of teenage innocence. "After high school, we drifted apart, as happens with friends." She folded her hands on the table, "They were always at their best together. It's what San has always wanted a home with Brittany. What happens if the band takes off, and it all falls apart?" she drummed her fingers on the table, "Mike, you were close with Brittany. Would you say that about her?"

Mike's forehead creased with concern. "I get what you're saying, Quinn. And no, I wasn't clueless about what they had, either." He scratched a faint itch on his nose. "Brittany's attitude is loving the one your with, and she'll love you even after a break-up. That said, it doesn't apply to Santana." His hands on the table, palms up. "Those two have genuine love." Mike glanced over at Tina, her shoulders slumped. Next to Sam, a slight bow of his head, tapping his fingers on the table. He understood Tina found his words distasteful and unwanted. She craved what Brittany and Santana shared. Perhaps Sam understood the same with Mercedes.

"Your thoughts, Sam? You're awful quiet."

The warm timbre of her voice cut across his thoughts, "What?" he tilted his head, relieved of his own heartbreak by the one he loved.

"Do you think Santana chasing fame and fortune in the band is wrong?"

"Uh," his brows lifted in surprise, "Uh, Spencer Porter."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, he wants a football scholarship to play quarterback in college. Kids good. Good arm. Reads the field. Understands the plays. Has leadership skills. He wants to play in the N.F.L. What am I supposed to tell him? Gay men can't be quarterbacks." Sam looked around at his friends, "That's like the 80s when the N.F.L. didn't have Black quarterbacks, or even before that when pro-sports were all white. I tell him to go for it. He's going to have the same chances as any high school player with the same dream. If I can support Spencer to get that dream, I will."


Roderick

Roderick heard the click of the tumblers as he unlocked the door to the studio apartment he shared with Kitty. The landlord carved the space out of a Victorian-era brownstone. All he remembered when they found the apartment was the assurances of Rachel, Kurt and Santana that it wasn't the hood. Their space comprised a small foyer which led into an open rectangle. A kitchen at one end, and a combined living room and bedroom at the other. In between doors for the bathroom, a clothes closet and a small storage cupboard. Their furnishings were sparse, a bunk bed, with Kitty taking the upper bed. For any unexpected visitors, a futon. On a stand, they'd mounted a flat-screen T.V. Kitty used the bookcase, found at a flea market with Kurt, for photos of her horses. Plus, a small desk and a small kitchen table with two chairs. On a wall hung a vintage Rolling Stone Tongue tour poster. Kitty protested, stating it reminded her of oral sex, which made Roderick's face go as red as the poster. Other than Roderick's guitar resting on its stand, they stacked two bean bags in a corner, and Kitty's vivid floral duvet, the room was modest even for poor college students.

Kitty started on the groceries they'd bought on the way back from breakfast, "OK Hot Rod, you haven't said a word since we left the Klaine's. Not even a protest when I grabbed the kale in produce" holding the small bag so Roderick could see it, "So what's going through that muddled mind of yours?"

"In all honesty, Kit," using his new nickname for his roommate, "I don't think I can do this." He waved his arms around, "I'm not an arranger, studio engineer, dancer. I'm the ugly fat introverted geeky nerd who stood in the back and swayed." Used his index finger to push his glasses up his nose "My entire life is trying to stay invisible. I'm not like them. Imagine me standing next to Elliott, the confident I want to fuck you, handsome guy. Not happening."

"Well, I'll ignore what you said about the gay golden boy." Exhaling as she removed a bag of spaghetti from the grocery bag. "Look, Rod, you don't to be the face of the band, trust me, Santana and Elliott will scratch each other's eyes out to claim that position." She tossed the bag of spaghetti noodles onto the top shelf. It fell back down into her hand. Roderick came up from behind his shorter roommate to put the package on the shelf. "Finn Hudson couldn't dance for the life of him. Yet somehow won a nationals title and choreograph a sectionals and regionals competition." An uncomfortable sensation coursed through her at the closeness of Roderick. Kitty stepped away from her roommate, taking the eggs from a grocery bag. "And to be honest, I doubt Dani is clinging to her guitar or standing behind the keyboards, cos she's a much better musician than Jon. She's no Santana, and she knows it. As far as looks, she's adorable, but the girl could stand an extra hour in the gym." Setting the egg container in the fridge. She grabbed two water bottles, giving one to Roderick. "And you know when they're not jamming Cam, Jon and Franco are playing video games or building new computer gadgets. They're nerds, too." She twisted off the bottle cap to take a sip. "Crazy composers sitting at a piano, creating symphonies don't happen. Commercial pop or country music is one person stepping forward with a beat, or a lyric, or a complete song. Then building a team of talented people to make the music happen. And despite your own perceived weaknesses, they're all assets. Your nerdiness. Hipster glasses. Your stupid wallet chain. Cowboy shirts. Even your clumsy dance moves have their charm. You know, not everyone will think Elliott is the only fuckable cute guy in the group."

An embarrassed grin crossed Roderick's face, "You consider me cute?"

"Let's say on a few women's arms you'd be eye candy."


Dani

Mel watched Dani shift the broccoli on her plate like a toddler, hoping the motion would make the undesirable green to disappear. "You're not feeling the Mahi Mahi I slaved over while you hung out with a bunch of straight boys this afternoon?"

"No. No, it's delicious, babe. Lost in thought, I guess." Dani speared the floret to shove the much-maligned green into her mouth. The sauteed vegetable tender, yet the taste overwhelmed by Mel's liberal application of salt.

Mel considered her girlfriend's body language since she'd arrived at the restaurant. Her usual cheerfulness, now strained and withdrawn. "Second thoughts on joining the Lima cult?" she glanced down at her plate, using her fork to shred slivers from the fish on her plate.

"They're not a cult." Dani's hand reached around to gather her hair, then lift it off the back of her neck, to let in drop back in place.

"OK, regrets over letting Santana slip through your fingers?" She looked down, and with her fork, Mel slid the fish to the center of the plate. "After seeing her with her idiot wife. I wouldn't blame you?"

Disapproval gleamed in her eye. Dani let out a harsh breath, "That's beneath you, Mel. I told you she was at M.I.T. when Santana and I were together." She popped the fork into her mouth. Her lips cleaned the utensil as she glided it passed.

"Still not seen that side yet. Santana," She lifted her fork up, it lingered in her hand "I wouldn't mind 20 minutes with her in a locked bathroom." She saw a sneer on her lover's face, "I'm making a joke."

"Not a funny one."

A groan accompanied the roll of Mel's eyes. "Sorry, babe. It's not like we don't tease each other about our fangirling. Grey's Anatomy? Scandal? Orange?"

"I get it," Dani taking a bite of fish from her plate.

"So, what is it?" Mel waited only to perceive a slight shrug Dani's shoulders, followed by an uttered mumble 'I don't know,' between bites of food.

Mel spoke but huffed out a breath first, perturbed at her girlfriend. "Do you not trust this, Blaine dude?" He seems like he knows what he's doing." She paused, waiting for a response when none came, "Does the band suck? Least talented, which I would argue you're the most talented of the lead singers. Fear of failure?" She watched as Dani shook her head, "Or are you scared of success? Embarrassed that your douche bag parents see you're a successful out and proud lesbian, and all the world knows it? Cos I've never known you to hide or back down to anyone on who you are."

With a clink, Dani dropped her fork on the plate, her voice laced with apprehension. Pain marred her face, "I've dreamed of this my entire life. Mel. And this group, the people it all seems so right, yet my head tells me it'll blow up. I'm waiting for something to make sure it does." She shifted back in her seat as if this made it easier to change her thoughts.

"It's OK, you're right where you need to be, Dani." She reached her arm over the table, her palm up so she could wiggle her fingers to entice Dani to take her hand. "You know what I find amazing about your Lima cult?" Dani shook her head, "They believe in themselves and each other. And they trust in you and your talent. All you need to do now is say I'm worth it."

"And what if we fail?" she scratched at her cheek to pacify her rising doubt.

"Then, it fails. History is full of people who failed. Including successful people." Mel rubbed her thumb across Dani's hand, "Sweetheart, don't let the fear of failure stop you from doing something you love."


Elliott

With a cocktail glass in each hand, Patrick walked over to his CD collection, where Elliott stood as he inspected each title with a musician's skill. "See anything of interest?" he offered a glass to his date.

Elliott accepted the glass from Patrick, taking a sip he scrunched his face over the dryness of the cocktail with a faint smile and nodded. "You're a musical theater nerd."

"I can't believe how fucking lucky you are to be so close to success. The next Freddie. Maybe Elton, or a George Michael." Followed with a subtle wink.

Elliott blushed, a charming bashful smile assumed at the comparisons to several idols growing up. "Nah, not yet. We're a cover band without a gig. Dreamers." He set his drink on the dining table, making sure it landed on the placemat.

"You're kidding me? Hummel and Berry are like Tibideaux's pets. Even the students remember Anderson at NYADA." Taking a sip from his glass, "You've never told me how you meet them."

Elliott, with a shrug of his shoulders, let out a soft laugh, "Uh, answered an audition in the Voice. Played a few gigs with them, and then we disbanded."

Patrick smiled, tilting his head to the side, "Why a band? You're much more talented than any of them." He took an extended sip of his martini "Go solo, instead."

"I've flirted with the idea. I won't lie." Elliott tipped his head in a nod of contemplation. "But I don't have any problems sharing the limelight, at least not with this group of friends."

Patrick craved the limelight, the attention, the applause, the success that came with it. Elliott could accomplish something he might only wish for in his career. His nonchalant attitude toward this chance frustrated him. "Elliott, the band is an opportunity for you to get recognized." Patrick shrugged, "Let them play backup to your lead."

"You believe that?" Elliott watched as Patrick nodded, "Well, that's not what I want." Patrick furrowed his brow as he listened to Elliott. "I wanted to be in a band cos it would be fun. And I auditioned for Kurt, and he turned me down," Patrick's eyes widened. "He didn't like my alter-ego. I had to change. Once I did, Kurt let me join."

Patrick's response a skeptical, 'OK.'

"When we practiced together, it was magic." Patrick noticed how Elliott's eyes lit up as he recalled his time with the original band. "Then Rachel and Santana developed a personal issue between them, so they left. Dani followed a short time later. Kurt went back to Ohio. The magic stopped. It left this large hole." Elliott reflected for a moment, the emptiness when his friends disappeared. "Worked on my bucket list, tried another group, but the chemistry wasn't right. I realized that I needed these people. We needed to come back together."

Patrick listened as he picked lint off his black shirt, "Yeah, but you lost Kurt and Rachel to Broadway. That leaves you with the two Hispanic chicks and a cowboy." The corners of his mouth curled upwards as he discredited Elliott's bandmates. "They're still backup."

Elliott nodded, seeing Patrick's actual character. His superiority and scorn were not character flaws or a haughty gay stereotype, but jealousy. Patrick was a sycophant, Kurt had warned him NYADA crawled with them, but he waved the comment off as silly. "Tell me, were you ever cast as the backup to the lead in a show? Even performed on Broadway? Booked a national commercial? Signed a recording contract? Toured as a backup singer? Professional dancer?" Patrick shook his head, 'no,' with each question. "Yeah, well, neither have I, but Santana has. She's done all those things. So don't dismiss her or her talent. Dani is as talented a singer as Santana. Some might even argue better. Roderick is an unknown, but I trust Kurt and Rachel and Santana."

Patrick cleared his throat with a withered expression on his face, "I wasn't aware that Santana had such an impressive CV. I guess I owe her an apology."

"Listen, the one thing you need to understand about me if you want to hang out, Patrick, is I'm not into drama queens, or jealousy, or choosing sides. I want what's best for the band."

"You're so different, Elliott. Most people I know would sell their souls to the devil to get the chance you have with the band. "

Elliott eyed Patrick, wondering if he were one of those who'd make a deal with the devil. "Come on, hurry, finish your drink. I want to talk to the manager at the Music Hall about the gig."


Santana

Santana stepped out of the bathroom, "Why are you still on your phone?" stepping over to the bed, lifting the duvet she crawled in next to Brittany. "Come on, babe, put that away. I need to get my cuddle on before I fall asleep," she yawned.

Brittany raised her right arm so Santana could rest her head down on her shoulder. "Hang on, I'm just reviewing the comments like Blaine Warbler asked me too."

"Baby, you spent all day replying to comments and texting with Kitty. Let's call an end to it," reaching over with her free hand to grab the phone away, while Brittany stretched her arm out of reach of Santana's.

"Honey, like this is exciting! All the positive comments about you and the band." A pleased smile raced across her face. "Your numbers are ticking upwards. The analytic app I downloaded are graph rainbows. And it's useful information that Blaine Warbler can use to plan strategies."

In an instant, Santana's pouting lips stretched into a beaming smile, exposing her dimples. Tickled by her wife's love of numbers, "Yeah, I'm positive it's a mental math organism for you, but all I want to do is fall asleep in your arms." She sensed Brittany would not put down the phone, "So what is the hit count?"

"200K and counting. Over 90 comments on YouTube." Moving her thumb to bring up Instagram. "A 300 likes on I.G. with 48 comments" her thumb moving again "Twitter is at 332 likes, 43 comments, 76 shares, and" her thumb bounced on the screen "83 followers." She flipped to another screen before Santana could try to take her phone from her again, "102 followers on Facebook." Setting the phone on the bedstand. "That's not bad for the first 24 hours."

Santana shifted her head on Brittany's shoulder, stroking her hair back. The belief of a dream coming true, fed into her sense of insecurity. It was only one of three wishes she'd ever dreamed. One came true, Brittany. The other two children and success were only imaginary visions of her future. Would the genie in the bottle grant her a second and then a third? "Is this what you want, Britt?"

Brittany gazed her eyes toward her bride's face. She saw Santana bite at her bottom lip, "huh?"

"We're in New York to go back to school. If this takes off, then it won't be easy to stay in school. I'm having a hard time squeezing in study time between the diner, videos and the studio. Practices and weekend gigs, that's time away from us." She peered up at Britt, "It's wonderful that Dani and Elliott have the time, but the rest of us have classes to attend. Books to read. Papers to write."

Brittany stroked Santana's arm. She picked up the doubt in her tone, a nagging disbelief that she'd kept to herself, "But this will make you rich and famous. Isn't that what your wish?"

"I do, but with my history, they'll kick me out." Her memories of disappointments obscured those of her success. "At least with an education, I can call my own shots. Not rely on someone else to watch my back."

"Honey, you don't need a college degree to make it in the music business. Look at Mercedes, Gaga, or Katy. Taylor, or Britney, or Beyonce. Whitney didn't go to college. Neither did Barbra, Adele, nor Kelly. They all either dropped out of high school or college or never went."

Santana pressed hand against her forehead, rubbing it as she considered her options, "They're superstars. I'm a married Hispanic Lesbian from Ohio. If I drop out of NYU after dropping out of Louisville, the only school that would accept me is a few lame unknown college in Podunk, Iowa."

"Well, they rank the University of Iowa in the top 25 for its Fine Arts programs. College dropout Ashton Kutcher attended. Plus, it has the Iowa Writer's Workshop. And famous mathematicians like Oswald Veblen. And space scientist James Van Allen. Course you'd have to cheer for a bird of prey instead of a shrinking violet." Santana's body rippled with delight as Brittany felt her wife's breath waft across her chest.

Santana moistened her lip with her tongue, biting down on her lower lip, "We made all these plans. Remember how proud my mom was when we told them we both got accepted into NYU? Your parents too."

"Remember what I told you?" squeezing her wife a little closer as she made circles with her index finger on Santana's arm.

"Uh, that walking away from a dream, I don't care about is still a win."

"Yes, it's still a win. You can't live someone else's dream, Honey. And you can't lose sight of your own. My mom wanted to illustrate children's books. She works as a county administrator. Dad wanted to be an astronaut, he's a garbage collector. Maribel only dreamed of college, and she's a bank teller. They all lost sight of their childhood dreams except your Dad. He followed his dream."

She slid her hand beneath Brittany's pajama top, the warmth of her skin. Toned abs beneath her touch, "Dreams are great, babe, but they don't pay the bills." Santana exhaled, "We want to start a family that takes money. IVF. Insurance. Baby stuff. We'd need a bigger place, that would mean a mortgage. We'll have student loans due."

Brittany beamed as she imagined a future with a mini Santana or two dancing around their home. "And we'll have all that, but it's still a few years away," Exhaling, "Honey, you love to sing. To dance. To act. And you're the most awesomeness person I know at that. Look what you did when you moved to New York? Book a commercial."

"So, you want me to stay with this loser band?"

"I want you to do what makes you happy. Anyway, NYU has been around for 184 years, even if you take a year off to chase your dream, it'll still be around, waiting for you."

"What about us?"

"Honey, no matter where we are, we're always together and we've been together in our past lives. And we'll be together in our future lives. And one day, when my time machine is working, I'll prove it to you." Brittany caressed Santana's body. "Santana, our love is constant. It's eternal. It's infinity."

Santana squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears as calm words of promises mingled with her own qualms surged within. She was flawed and insecure. Yet Brittany amazed her every day with her faith in her and her displays of love. She just wanted her to be herself. Maybe they had been together in the past, as Brittany believed, yet what Santana knew for certain, what she'd always known, they belonged together. "I love you, Britt."


Notes:

Trademarks are implied with all the streaming & social media services mentioned. I'm sure they don't mind a little advertising.

Those paragraphs between Sam and Artie, not pertinent to the storyline, Sam and Artie are fun to write.