Good news and bad news: It is my birthday and there is a new chapter, just like I promised! But I'm getting old, and this is the final installment of Diva!Kurt. I'd make some joke about babies and bathwater, but it's entirely possible the memory fog of age is already setting in. Because this is the final chapter, it's a little different than the first four: there's less yelling at strangers involved, but an extra helping of sass to make up for it. We'll see how it goes.
I'm normally not a review-asking type, but as I Am King only once a year (and it's raining), I figure I can request politely and you can just call it a birthday present :]
If Glee is in one of the boxes on my coffee table, you will be the first to know.
Chapter 5: "I prefer to think of it as 'Freelance Agent'."
"You ready?"
"Please, I was born ready. Did you bring the name tag?"
"Like I'd forget. Here—don't poke at it though; if your name peels off, you'll be Dr. Allison for the rest of the day."
"Dr. Allison? You still wish I was a girl, don't you?"
"You're high maintenance enough without a uterus—if you were a girl, I'd have piano-wired you in your sleep by now."
"Thanks a lot. How do I look? Don't even answer that, I look fabulous."
"Of course you do. I'd lose the scarf though, it's a little too Sassy Gay Friend."
"…you're right. Oh Dear Givenchy, how did I miss that?"
"Breathe, Harvey Milk. If you pass out on me now, someone's gonna notice and we'll be over before we even get started."
"Right. Breathing. I'm calm."
"Base, do you copy? This is Team Gothic Wheels reporting to Base, over."
"Artie, that hasn't gotten any less stupid."
"I maintain that code names only add to the awesomeness of the mission."
"Homeboy, shut up and give Tina the headset."
"You're a buzzkill. Hang on."
"Okay, it's me."
"Hey babygirl, we're ready to roll on our end. Do we have a target?"
"There's a thirty-something woman in a green sweater set having some trouble in the Ladies' section. She's about fifty feet to the left of the dressing rooms."
"Did she just say 'sweater set'? We may be too late."
"All right, we're on it. Thanks Tina."
Mercedes turned to look at Kurt. "It's Showtime," she informed him, straightening his newly-freed collar. "Let's do this."
Sixty seconds later, Kurt strode confidently through the aisles, adjusting the earpiece of his headset. The woman was right where Tina said she'd be, although her confused expression was more pronounced than he'd been led to believe: she was holding up a pair of black, long-sleeved shirts and was biting her lip with such intensity that Kurt was afraid she might draw blood.
Time to be a superhero.
"I'd go with the one on the left, definitely," he said kindly, trying not to startle his prey. "The blue trim around the collar highlights the undertones in your complexion—that's a very good thing."
The woman blinked in surprise, blushing slightly. "Oh," she said, smiling shyly, "thank you."
Kurt smiled beatifically. "No problem," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "My name is Kurt, and I'll be your personal shopper this afternoon. So, what else are we looking for today?"
It had all started a week ago.
"I just don't understand it," Kurt was saying to Mercedes as they waited in line with Artie and Tina at the movie theatre. "I mean, I know that this town is full of idiots, but it's like they've taken over lately. Everywhere I go, there are rude, badly dressed morons in desperate need of both a makeover and a couple rounds of etiquette classes."
He shook his head in distaste. "I'm starting to have nightmares about beer bellies and bad home perms."
Mercedes clicked her tongue in sympathy. "That does suck," she agreed. "Just wait until you get your show on TLC. They'll be falling all over themselves to follow your advice."
Artie nodded along. "Or you could always just get a job where they pay you to boss people around for a living," he offered.
Tina brightened. "Yeah," she chimed in, "like a life coach. Or a stage mom!"
Kurt rolled his eyes. He highly doubted anyone would take life advice from the gay kid who got thrown in the dumpster on a regular basis. Even if he was the town's reigning fashion expert.
However, fashion advice…
"Guys," he said, with a smile that made Artie shudder slightly with dread. "I have a really bad idea."
Half an hour after helping the woman—whose name was Sarah—pick her black shirt, the two of them had managed to put together three outfits for her upcoming 15th High School reunion.
"The shoes you're wearing will be fine for Friday and Sunday," Kurt advised, "and you'll wear sneakers to the picnic, of course. But you'll need something devastating and flashy for Saturday night. Do you have anything in silver or red? Preferably between 1.5 and 3 inches?"
Sarah nodded. "I have a pair of red heels I've only worn a few times," she reported, earning a delighted smile.
"Excellent," Kurt praised. "I think you're all set. Now have a great time, and remember what I said about the makeup."
"Waterproof, emphasis on the eyes, carry powder and concealer in case of emergencies," she recited. Kurt felt his heart warming. He loved the eager to please.
Kurt watched Sarah go, heading toward the register with her small pile of clothing. With a final, contented sigh, he ducked behind a rack of garish prom dresses and reached for the slim, black walkie-talkie clipped behind his right hip. Holding down the grey button on the side, he adjusted the mouthpiece of his headset. "Mercedes, Tina," he murmured quietly, scanning the area for any store employees.
His earbud crackled to life. "How did it go?" Tina asked, sounding nervous.
"Fabulously. What's wrong?" Tina's tone was making Kurt wary. If Mercedes or Artie had gotten caught…
"Everything's fine." Mercedes. "She's just freaked out because Mister Rogers is on a coffee run and the makeup counter ladies keep looking at her like they're plotting something."
Kurt snorted, glad he had control over what the girls could hear him say or do. Too bad he couldn't use it to communicate with everyone all the time.
"They're scary looking!" Tina was defending herself. "They look like they're made of plastic, and they're wearing more blush than all the Cheerios combined!"
Kurt flinched. That was a lot of blush.
"Whatever," Mercedes dismissed. "If you get kidnapped, I'll come save you. Eventually. Kurt, are you ready for your next victim?"
Kurt put a hand over his heart. "Client, not victim," he stressed. "And yes. Who do we have?"
Three hours later, Kurt was still on a roll. He'd helped a man pick out a dress for his wife, a college kid pick out shirts and ties for an internship, an older couple select coordinated outfits for their niece's wedding, a harried mom choose vacation clothing for her three children, and had teamed up with a young mother to convince her ten year old daughter that ruffles and sequins in the same outfit was simply too much. Along the way, he had distributed countless hair, makeup, and accessorizing tips. And not once had his advice been brushed off, blatantly ignored, or scoffed at. People loved him. People listened to him.
He loved the mall.
"Gothic Wheels, who has the walkie-talkie?" he asked his headset, scanning the junior's section for any potential targets. It was fairly empty, with only a couple of shoppers picking through the racks.
"Tina, Artie," he tried again. No answer.
Kurt frowned. "Mercedes?" he tried. The last time he had talked to anyone had been ten minutes ago, when Tina had sent him after the thoroughly bedazzled fifth grader. Mercedes had just left to hit the ladies room, which was on the other end of the mall near the food court. Even if she'd gone straight there and back, she'd still probably be out of range.
That didn't explain Artie and Tina's literal radio silence, though. They ought to have been standing by in Home Furnishings, waiting for his call. Kurt turned around with a sigh to go track them down.
And walked straight into three adults, two of whom were dressed in mall security uniforms.
"This is the kid," the stringy looking man in front declared, pointing at Kurt. Kurt eyed the name tag—Paul, who was apparently the assistant manager. Shit.
The mall cops, a stocky blonde man and a petite Hispanic woman whose bored-yet-annoyed expression reminded him eerily of Santana, stepped forward. "You the one impersonating a personal shopper?" the man asked, smiling humorlessly.
Kurt gave him a shaky smile in return. He hadn't planned on getting caught, so he hadn't planned a cover story in advance.
"I don't suppose I can interest you in a makeover?" he offered hesitantly.
Kurt had been sitting for an hour, and he was not happy. His chair was stiff and uncomfortable, and there was a spring poking through the upholstery. His body was stiff and aching from trying not to shift in his seat—his pants were D&G, and he really did not want the spring tearing a hole in them. Plus, it had been a long day's effort, and he was hungry. Yeah. he was not happy.
An annoying, ticking clock that was five minutes fast. Paltry air circulation and no windows to distract himself with. Olive green walls that clashed horribly with the industrial tiling of the floor and ceiling. And they'd taken his phone. Kurt sighed.
He hated the Mall Security Office.
Finally, eons later, the door opened. It was the female security guard. "You're free to go now, Kurt," she told him. "Your stepbrother just arrived to pick you up."
Kurt quickly masked his confusion before it could show on his face (he didn't want it to stick that way). He technically didn't have a stepbrother, but the only person who the name could possibly apply to was—
"Hey." Finn Hudson stuck his head around the door frame, a good foot and a half about the woman's. "Are you okay? Mercedes called me."
Kurt sighed, standing up. "I'm all right," he promised, stretching his stiff muscles. "I'm guessing I probably won't be allowed back in the mall anytime soon, though. Will I?" he asked the guard, adding just a hint of puppy dog eyes to his contrite expression.
She pursed her lips slightly. "Well, you didn't steal anything or cause any real trouble, and you don't have a juvenile record," she rattled off. "So we're letting you off with a warning this time. But I'm telling you now, kid—pull another stunt like this one, and you're shopping on eBay until you graduate. Clear?"
Kurt gulped. "Clear. Thank you," he eked out. eBay was fine for some things, but it was not mall-interchangeable.
Finn held his tongue while Kurt retrieved his phone, apologized profusely and believably, and was escorted out of the office. As soon as the muted glass door closed behind them, however, the dam broke.
"What the hell just happened? Mercedes called me and told me you got arrested by the mall police and that I needed to pretend we were related and come save you or they'd send you to, like, actual prison! What did you do?"
Kurt held out a hand. "Slow down, I've been under heavy fluorescent lighting all day and I have a headache," he commanded, and Finn reluctantly obeyed.
Kurt sighed. "Mercedes…may have exaggerated the seriousness of the situation," he explained delicately. "I didn't break any laws, or even do anything that bad, really. I like to think that I was a benevolent force of nature unfairly maligned in this state of affairs, actually."
Seeing Finn's look of utter confusion, Kurt sighed again. "Nevermind. I really appreciate you coming to my rescue, though," he said gratefully. "I doubt they would have let me go without a family member coming to collect me, and having to tell my dad that I was being held captive by the mall cops…ugh. It's just too humiliating. Thank you for sparing me further embarrassment."
Finn reached out a hand, hesitating momentarily before clapping Kurt lightly on the shoulder. "It's okay," he said, discomfited. "I'm glad you guys called me. How long were you in there?"
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Over an hour," he responded. "It was excruciating."
Finn absently rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortably worried. "Kurt, uh…I mean…shit, this is awkward," he broke off. He tried again. "What I mean is…none of the other prisoners, they didn't, like, try anything with you, did they?"
It took every ounce of self control that Kurt possessed not to burst out laughing. But Finn seemed legitimately concerned that a hardened criminal had tried to taint Kurt's innocence, so he did his best to keep a straight face. "No, nothing like that," he said reassuringly, "I'm fine."
Finn let out an enormous sigh of relief. "Oh thank God," he exhaled. "I wasn't sure what I'd do."
Kurt reached up and patted the boy on the back. "You're a good brother, Finn Hudson," he appraised.
Finn reached over and ruffled his hair slightly, making Kurt cry out in alarm and indignation. "I'm glad you're not in jail," Finn said seriously, as Kurt frantically clawed at his hair, trying to put it back in place. "I don't think you'd last very long. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, "I can buy you one of those weird salads with the seeds that you like, if you want. We're supposed to be meeting Mercedes at the food court anyway."
Kurt brightened at the idea, and happily trailed after Finn as he strode through the atrium.
While Finn bought his salad, Mercedes gave him a bone crushing hug and explained how Artie and Tina had gotten caught only a few minutes before he had, right as Mercedes was returning from the restroom.
"So many people had mentioned 'the sweet young man with the headset' at the register, apparently," she explained, "so they were on the lookout for anyone rocking an earpiece. Artie played it totally chill though—he got all outraged that security would target a young professional in a wheelchair for having a headset—"How am I supposed to move and talk to clients at the same time without one?"—and then, right when they were practically peeing themselves waiting for him to pull a Rachel and threaten to sue everyone, he snarls that he and his PCA—what does that even mean?—have to go because it's time to change his catheter bag."
She shook her head. "And I am telling you right now, I don't even want to know if that was the one part of his bullshit story that's actually true," she said emphatically. "But Tina said we could all come over once the Incredible Hulk busted you out of the mall slammer. And speaking of which, if your boy toy doesn't come back with an extra salad, you are totally sharing."
As the trio left the mall fifteen minutes later—Kurt with his salad and a second fork, Finn with two burgers and an extra-large order of fries—Kurt couldn't keep the smile off of his face. He had made a stunning debut as a fashion consultant, coordinated a low-tech but high-style mission that would make a charming anecdote in his future biographies, and he had been heroically rescued by his best friend and almost-stepbrother. And he had a strawberry walnut salad with flaxseed and lite raspberry vinaigrette.
Oh yeah. Kurt Hummel, diva extraordinaire, loved the mall.