"Okay, Jane, let's take that last stanza again. I need to hear more emotion. You're opening up to the group about your HIV status —you're vulnerable in letting them in, you never let people in, but you're still defiant that you're not going to let the disease define you. I want to hear that vulnerability—a little softly at first and then building in volume." Blaine plays the bars again on the piano and nods in her direction.
Jane sings on cue, her voice sweet and young.
There's only now
There's only fear
Give into love
Or live in fear.
"Better!" Blaine calls out in encouragement. "I can hear your uncertainty there, but I want you to build in confidence over the next lines. You're trying to convince Roger to give you a chance. Beseech him, convince him. There is no day but today."
"No other path
No other way
No day but today!"
"Don't get breathy there—make sure you expand your diaphragm fully before that last measure." He corrects firmly. Jane scratches down his directions on her sheet music. "Let's take it one more time." He nods again and listens carefully as she sings through her part again. "Much better. Did you hear the difference with the timing of your breath? And you really came through with the emotions there. Well done." He nods and checks his watch. "Let's call it a night. We'll meet tomorrow with Mason to run through it again and then I think we'll be ready to add in the full orchestration."
"Thanks, Mr. Anderson!" Jane says as she gathers her stuff, her earnest face glowing after his compliments. "You've helped me so much; I don't know where I'd be without you."
"It's my job. You just make it easy." Blaine smiles and watches her leave. Jane is one of his favorite students, brimming with talent and enthusiasm; it's been a joy helping her flourish. Watching her develop confidence on the stage reminds him why he chose to pivot careers nearly a decade ago. He had gone to Berklee Conservatory in Boston majoring in musical theater, fully expecting to graduate and take on Broadway as an actor. Instead, it was the theory classes, the ones that focused on the "whys and how-tos" in making theater magic that had captured his attention. So when his professor had kept him after class and invited him to be her TA the following semester, Blaine jumped on the opportunity with hardly a second thought. By the end of his time there, he had switched his degree focus to music directing and vocal education. Instead of seeking the bright white lights of New York City, he set off for a master's degree at the University of Michigan.
The first few months after graduating from UMich had been discouraging, as job opportunities were scarce. Any dreams about working in New York City or Boston vanished—his glowing letters of recommendations weren't enough to inspire producers to overlook his slim resume. As the months slipped by, with only piano and voice lessons making his rent, he became more desperate for any kind of job in his field. His first job after he graduated was in the town of Lima, Ohio, which had just transformed its high school into the first performing arts high school in the country. Principal Schuester may have had some odd ideas about last minute rehearsals but, under his leadership, McKinley High had become a renowned flagship for high school choir and theater, as more than a half dozen of its students had won Tonys and Olivier awards.
Seven years later, Blaine has settled into his job as McKinley's music director, overseeing the orchestration and vocals of the four school musicals as well as two community hosted events that he somehow picked up, directing the acapella choirs and the choir band, and teaching music theory to the freshmen. It keeps him busy. Too busy, maybe, as he can't recall the last time he hadn't spent his evenings making lesson plans or changing the orchestration. He gets a beer once in a while with fellow teacher Sam Evans, but even that has dwindled recently.
His phone rings, breaking him from his reverie. His smile widens at the name dancing across the screen. "Wes!" he says.
"It's been a long time, Warbler Blaine." Wes intones seriously. "You did not show for the biennial gavel ceremony last month."
"I—" Blaine coughs. "I was in the middle of rehearsals and couldn't get away."
"We are all busy. Do you think that I can easily break away from my responsibilities?" Like Blaine, Wes had also started out his studies in theater, before switching to law. "I do it because it's important. Unless, now that you're working for the competition, maybe that's not so anymore."
"Of course not! Once a Warbler—"
"Always a Warbler," Wes finishes with him. "I did not call to guilt you for your absence, although your presence was sorely missed, but to congratulate you on your success. I heard that your theater production of Pippin won a national award."
"One of my students, Skylar, won a Jimmy award last year, yes."
"For a performance that you directed, with a controversial gay retelling that has got the theater blogs exploding. There's talk of a new revival on Broadway."
"Our Catherine got sick," Blaine explains, "so Alastair stepped in and it just made so much sense to have Pippin make a truly difficult choice."
"It's the talk of the theater world, Blaine, and I want you to take advantage of it."
"What? What do you mean"
"I've just signed on as the production lawyer for a new musical that's being developed. Have you heard of Ryan Durphy?"
"Heard of Ryan Durphy? Wes, I don't live that deep under a rock."
"Right, so he's writing this musical. He's collaborating with those two songwriters whose musical went viral a few years ago, Bridgerabbey, I believe it was. He's calling this the first gay musical comedy."
"Wouldn't that have been La Cage Aux Folles?"
Wes huffs audibly. "You're missing the point. Although, yes, you are correct. They need a music director and I've given your name to the stage director."
"Me! Wes, I don't have the experience for that."
"Blaine. I'm telling you. This is your moment. Sure, maybe not the music director this time as it's your first time on Broadway and I don't have that kind of pull, but the assistant director? You would be perfect."
"But I don't—"
"I don't want to see you stuck in Ohio. You have done amazing things at McKinley, but you've always been destined for more."
Blaine is silent for a moment, thinking back on the ephemeral dreams of seeing his name on Broadway. "I'll… I'll think about it, okay?"
"Send your resume to me this weekend and I'll pass it on. They will want you to come out for an interview and audition. Do you think you could arrange some time off?"
"I- Maybe. We're not too far into Rent that I wouldn't be missed for a day or two."
"Splendid." Wes enthuses. "I'll take you out for lunch when you are here. I look forward to being in the same city with you again."
"Yes. The same. Of course. Bye." Blaine stammers, not even hearing the last of their conversation, his mind swirling.
Could he? Could he just up and leave his kids for a pipe dream? Surely, Ryan Durphy will have dozens of other candidates who have far more experience than he does—he knows all too well of how cutthroat competitive the city can be. His resume won't even make it out of the pile of rejections. And yet. Something stirs inside, a memory, a longing. He's felt restless here for the last few months. His colleagues are great and his students—they're his source of pride. Why does he need more?
A knock at the door startles him. "You okay there, Blaine? You've been staring at that piece of paper for a while now."
"Oh hey, Will," Blaine greets his principal. "No, no, it's okay. I'm fine, I just," he laughs shortly, "got some unexpected news."
"Oh?"
Blaine considers for a moment. He's never really confided in his principal before. Will Schuester had worked at McKinley for a decade before his unorthodox methods of choir directing had led the New Directions to national championships, ultimately inspiring the superintendent to form the arts focused public high school. Will cared deeply for his students and was supportive of his teachers, but was ultimately, mostly hands-off in the day to day management of the teachers' curriculums.
"I. An old friend called. About a job possibility. On Broadway."
William laughs and claps his shoulder warmly. "That's fantastic, Blaine. Congratulations!"
"I haven't decided if I'm going to apply or audition or …" He trails off.
"You should. Let me know when you need time off. We can arrange for a substitute."
"You really think I should consider it?" Blaine feels dazed at the unexpected support.
"Of course I do. It's an incredible opportunity for you." Will pauses. "Several years ago, I had a similar opportunity to open a new Broadway musical. And I didn't take it, because, well, because the glee club here was so fresh and the kids needed me, but also because I was a little bit of a coward. I don't exactly regret it, as I've had an amazing time here over the last decade and it's been the right decision. But that doesn't mean I still don't have the 'what if' questions. We all do."
"I just don't know."
"Take a couple of nights and think about it. But, I think you should do it. You're insanely good at your job here, Blaine. You have an innate sense of directing and bringing the best out of people and I agree with your friend that your talents are not fully appreciated here."
"Thanks, Will."
Blaine slowly gathers his stuff after Will leaves. He has a lot to think about. And an audition to plan.
"Come in," a gruff voice announces from behind the closed door in response to Blaine's rap.
Blaine wills his nerves down. "You can do this. One last step." He whispers to himself.
His palm is a little sweaty, so he wrenches the door open with a little more force than anticipated and it flies open noisily.
He takes a deep breath, straightens his bowtie, and pastes on a confident smile and he strides into the room.
There's a piano in the front and a long table facing with, where a half dozen people sit expectantly, and otherwise, the small, white room is void of other decoration. Of all of the rooms and stages that Blaine's been in these last few days, it's the most sterile and does nothing to help that rolling pit of anxiety in his stomach.
Blaine startles when a bearded man with glasses and the most morose expression Blaine has ever seen (and he's sung at retirement homes!) pushes back from the piano bench as if he's been evicted and sits down at the end of the table.
They all stare at him, four men, all middle-aged, and two women that Blaine would guess are around his age. Blaine tries to keep the smile on his face and his fingers from fidgeting at his side. He recognizes them all, some more than others. He met Ryan Durphy on his first day here a week ago and hasn't seen since. Robert Alrich and Zak Woodsee, the executive producers are much more familiar as he interviewed with them back in New York for the first interview and then has been working with them on a daily basis. And of course Mercedes Jones and Marley Rose, the songwriting duo of Rose Jones and the composers/writers of this musical—he hasn't formally met them yet and is only slightly starstruck to see them. As 'Rose Jones,' the singer-songwriter duo had sprung to popularity when they wrote and performed their songs had become viral TikTok hits and they wrote and. Three platinum albums followed, but this was their first musical. Blaine has followed them for years on Instagram and he holds himself back from gushing about how much he admires their music.
There's the fourth man, the piano man. Blaine has seen him around, but hasn't paid him attention. He's not sure he's ever learned his name this week and Blaine knows everybody's name.
"Hi, Blaine," Robert finally breaks the growing silence. "Thank you for coming to this last session. I don't know if you've met Mercedes and Marley yet. They will be writing the score for this musical project."
"Hello." Blaine greets politely.
"Hi, Blaine," Mercedes says brightly with a warm smile. "It's good to see you."
"We've been really impressed with what we've seen this week." Marley says
"You were watching?" Blaine questions. He knows that they had filmed him over the week—he signed a large stack of releases, permissions to film, and nondisclosure forms when he arrived last week. But he had assumed that only Ryan Durphy was reviewing the video.
"We just reviewed some of your projects with Mr. Durphy." Marley echoes.
"Tell me more about your thought process with the children's choir." Ryan Durphy says and Blaine takes another deep breath before answering.
It's the last day of a week-long "immersive" audition. After a routine audition in NYC a couple of months ago, Blaine had heard nothing from them for weeks. He had called to ask for an update and figured that the response that they hadn't made a decision yet was a polite dismissal and he had shrugged off his disappointment. If nothing else, this had gotten him to brush off his portfolio and look at a couple of job offers around the state. It really might be time for a change, even if it's not his dream job.
Three weeks after he had put the play out of his mind, he got a call inviting him to Los Angeles, this time for a more prolonged interview. He flew into L.A. after the school year ended, expecting to stay with Cooper for a couple of days to meet with the producers and interview with the rest of the creative staff. The fact that it was in L.A. and not New York City was odd enough, but he supposed that Ryan Durphy was probably used to making the world revolve around him.
However, when he checked in with the studio, he discovered that he was one of six finalists for the position of assistant music director and he would be staying with the others in a small hotel for the week. He swore he heard one of the producers refer to them as contestants.
"It's not reality tv," Robert reassured when Blaine questioned. "There's no script as we would prefer things to develop organically. But Mr. Durphy wishes to film this week to review when making his decision as well as retain the rights to explore future productions should this be feasible."
To say that this week has been unexpectedly grueling would be an understatement. His days have been stuffed with sessions conducting a string quartet and a theater orchestra, directing a children's choir in a rendition of "Daydream Believer", and remixing a fresh take of "Don't Stop Believin'". There have been small group sessions with one of his fellow competitors where they worked together with a singer to create a short jingle for a commercial—Cooper had given all kinds of unhelpful tips when Blaine met up for dinner one night.
Blaine has felt thoroughly out of his element the entire trip. He's surrounded by exceedingly talented people vying for the same position, people who have been in the business for years and have loads more experience, and there are some, like his suitemate, Jean Baptiste, who sneered openly when Blaine said that he had been doing high school theater productions instead of regional theater work in Chicago like Jean.
On the other hand, it reminds him of the craziness of college and he feels like he's stretching long forgotten muscles of innovation and imagination and by the end of the week, Blaine wants the position more than he had when he had started the process. He's done his best and by the end, he is very proud of the work he's produced in the last week, so he's enthusiastic in his responses to the panel of judges.
Robert smiles encouragingly. "Your resume is quite different from the others in the group. You have been doing high school theater, is that correct?"
"Yes." Blaine nods. "I've directed theater, choir, and band over the years, but my primary focus has been theater."
"Community theater?"
"Some. Lima has a small community theater and I assist with a production every year or so."
Ryan looks down his glasses. "Is there a reason why you have stuck to high school?"
"I really enjoy working with high schoolers." Blaine says. "They're in these plays because they love it and I love helping them improve their voices and watching them grow in confidence. They're bright and eager in ways that adults rarely are."
"And how do you think you will do managing professional actors?" Ryan probes again. His stare is intimidating.
"Have you worked with teenage girls before? If you can deal with their torrents of emotions and hormones, you can deal with just about any challenge." Blaine quips and they all laugh. "In all seriousness, while my experience may be a little different, I am trained for a job like this. I have experience in all aspects of music directing. I believe that my unique perspective is just what your musical needs."
"Well, we've certainly been very impressed with your ability to think on your feet this week." Zak says.
"And you work remarkably well with others, including people who were distrustful of you." Robert adds.
Ryan still has his gaze fixated on Blaine. He leans back abruptly. "I like you. I like your energy and your focus. The job is yours."
Blaine blinks, certain that he's misheard. "What?"
"Unless there are any objections from the others here," and all except for the bearded man shake their heads, "then we'll have you sign the contract for the position. Congratulations, Blaine." He extends his hand across the table.
Robert shakes his hand as well, a broad smile on his face. "Rehearsals start at the end of July. Brad will let you know the schedule. Welcome to the team."
Blaine's mind is reeling from this sudden change. "Okay. Who's Brad?"
Robert points out the bearded man who is slinking out the door. He gives Blaine a blank nod. "Brad's the music director for all of Ryan's productions. You'll be working under him. A good guy—don't let his gruffness get you down. He's like that with everybody." He gathers his papers and the three men all shake his hand again and leave.
Marley squeezes his arm. "Congrats. I really was cheering for you."
"Well that was an odd way of doing things." Mercedes says, echoing Blaine's thoughts. "But you did good. It'll be fun working with you."
"Although, I think we'll probably be working more with Brad, at least from my understanding."
"Who really knows?" Mercedes says. "This songwriting business is more complicated than I thought it would be."
Blaine can understand that.
Marley leans in and gives him a hug. "Again, congrats on the job. You really will be great."
They both leave Blaine alone with his swirling thoughts. He fishes out his cell phone. "Hey, Coop. Yeah, I got the job. Looks like I'm moving to New York in a couple months."
The excitement builds as he tells his brother about his success. He did it. His life will never be the same after this.