7
A/N: Sorry for the delay. There's been a bit of a heat wave here, and I can't focus when that happens. Also, I'm really quite depressed that Chord Overstreet aka Sam Evans aka Trouty Mouth is either being cut, or having his role reduced. Here's hoping that's not the case, and that he'll have at least the same amount of screen time this season as last. Going to slow the action down a bit for this chapter. Still don't own Glee. Feel free to let me know what you're thinking.
Code Name Porcelain
Chapter 4: Introductions and Investigations
KurtPOV
My phone beeped with the tone indicating an incoming text. It was Puck, indicating that he wouldn't be able to meet up with me tonight, but that the situation had been addressed. I sent a text back indicating that I was ok with that, that the opening night of Paris Fashion Week had a party that went along with it, and that I would be alright seeing him later in the week.
It would have been nice to have met up with Puck after the show. It would have been a good excuse to avoid attending a party with rival designers, as well as the socialites and social climbers that would be there. Conversation tended to stop if I revealed things like where I was from, what my father did for a living, and the like. At the same time, these people were our customers. There would be further distance between us if they knew that I had helped orchestrate the capture and probable torture of two known terrorists who desired to kill as many people here as possible. I could picture the various stuffed shirts condemning my American Cowboy mentality of handing over suspects to US government agents operating in a foreign country. The events of earlier this afternoon had only widened the gulf between me, and the people I worked and interacted with.
On the other hand, I also realized the necessity of putting some distance between Puck and myself considering the separate nature of our worlds. It would be better to meet him as a person, outside of his role as a government agent.
Distance was nothing new for me. I had been distancing myself from the rest of the world writ large for ages.
Even though distancing myself from people was nothing new, I thought it odd that I felt the need to place more distance between Puck and myself. We should have been distant already, given our roles. Yet we didn't seem to be. There was a certain Je ne sais quoi between us.
8pm came and passed. The show was officially a go. I took careful notes gauging audience reaction, to determine what would sell, or not. I cataloged reactions that people had to the various outfits that the models were displaying. I smiled, both internally and externally when my model, Brittany Pierce came out. Flashbulbs popped as she struck a pose.
The collection that finished off the evening was Vivienne Westwood's. It would be a real treat for the "what not to wear" columns of various magazines. An odd statement to make about a world famous fashion designer, I know. To my mind there were several different underlying explanations to what her brand was doing. The first, was that she was deliberately being gauche with the majority of her fashion statements, which made the more conservative things that she did stand out and would make people more likely to purchase those items. The second theory was that she was appropriating punk culture and commercializing it. Which was kind of nauseating in it's blatancy, but there you go. The third theory was that people might actually want to wear the stuff. Finally, it was entirely possible that in a culture where no publicity is bad publicity, she was taking the Kardashian route to keeping her brand popular.
The show drew to a close to applause from the assembled audience. Closing my notebook, I placed it in my satchel along with the list of attendees and models. I figured that information might be of some use to Mr. Puckerman in his investigation. The fact that it also gave me a reason to contact him didn't factor into my mind at all.
The series of rooms off to the left of the stage all had their retractable walls brought in, so that an open area was created for people to mingle. The bar area dominated the middle, and that's where I eagerly went.
Brittany intercepted me on my way there.
She was holding two glasses, "Kurtie, I already got you a red."
I pecked her on the cheek, "I see you got a white, sweet, just like you."
"Where were you at earlier this afternoon? I missed my favorite dolphin."
"I had to save the world you know, nothing major. Met a total hottie along the way." I said in a droll tone.
"Was he a fellow dolphin?"
"I dunno. More of an equal opportunity sex shark you know."
"Oooh. Maybe you could introduce me?"
"Maybe."
"Meaning no."
"Meaning if I think he's not my type and is yours, then yes."
We air kissed, and she went off to mingle. She was far better at that than I was. She was good with people, which was more than I could say about myself. I was more the small group type of person, whereas Brittany could charm a room.
I milled around for a bit, flitting around the room. I didn't stay in one place too long, I was more than content to observe the various goings on of the room. I doubted I would overhear another plot tonight, but you never knew. A couple of investor types were opining on the state of politics in the United States, so I decided to inject myself into the conversation.
"Seems to me that the Republicans don't have a shot in 2012 against President Obama. Their field is weak, and they can't raise enough money." A gentleman with salt and pepper hair stated.
"The only question to my mind is whether or not he'll replace Vice President Biden with someone who he thinks is presidential material for 2016." An older woman responded.
"I think he's beatable." I responded.
"How so?" The gentleman inquired.
"Well, the economic indicators in the States are still poor, he's failed to act on a number of issues that are important to his base of supporters, and he's been lukewarm at best toward GLBT issues, meaning that he might have trouble with the GayTM."
"GayTM?" The older woman asked with a puzzled expression.
"Portmanteau of Gay and ATM. The Democratic party treats GLBT people as a cash machine in my opinion. We're good enough for $35,000 dinners with the President, but we're not good enough for equal rights. At least until it's a safe enough issue for him."
"Who else are they going to support though?" She pressed me.
"They should withhold their support."
"Then you'd have a Republican in the White House." The gent said.
"So?"
"So? They could undo things like the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell." The lady replied testily.
I kept my cool. "Unlikely. They haven't been able to undo Roe v. Wade, and that's their signature issue. It'd be the same with that."
A smooth voice behind me interjected into the conversation. "I hope you don't mind if I step in?" He said.
Our group unconsciously moved slightly apart to make way for the newcomer. I turned my head to take a look at him. He had beautiful glossy black hair, dark blue eyes, and a dark complexion. Savile row by the appearance of his suit. Obviously good taste in mens wear. Wealthy enough to afford a suit tailored to his specifications in London nonetheless. Good at projecting confidence too.
Before I could speak, the lady in our trio replied, quite happily, "Oh, we don't mind at all. . .Mr.?"
"Dalton. Blaine Dalton. You have me at an advantage Ms.?"
"Lilian Adler." She said. Blaine kissed her hand like a courtier out of old.
The gentleman cut in, "You wouldn't be Alan's son would you?"
"You know my father?" Blaine replied.
"It's been awhile since I've seen him. I'm Charles Howell, by the way." He said extending his hand, which Blaine took.
"When I go back to London, I'll give my father your regards." He turned toward me, his eyes capturing my own. "Now, I'm afraid we're all at your mercy, Mr.. . ?"
"O-oh, I-I'm, Kurt. . .Kurt Hummel."
Blaine extended his hand toward mine, capturing it. His handshake was firm. He maintained his grip while his thumb lazily rubbed my pulse point. Well. . . that clued me in on his intentions as far as I was concerned. A little too blatant for my taste, especially with other people around.
"I daresay, Charles, we should probably leave these two alone." Lilian said, as they both went away.
Blaine finally released my hand. "Would you like to go somewhere more quiet?"
I internally waged war with myself regarding this decision. Though I thought him perfectly harmless, I didn't want to be at the mercy of a stranger in a city where I was a foreigner. "I think it's best that we just stay here. I'll be transporting some of our people back to the hotel where we are staying at."
I quickly added, in an attempt to be civil, "We could try to find an empty table, or quiet space to chat if you wanted."
Blaine scanned the room, finally spotting a small table off to the side that was empty. He pointed at it, and asked if it was ok. I replied in the affirmative, and we made our way over there.
"So, Blaine, what do you do?"
He handed me his card, by way of explanation. It read, Dalton Organization, with his name and the title of Investments Manager beneath it. His phone number and email were also thoughtfully provided, on the chance that I wanted to call him. Family organization, he was about my age, where most people in the business of financial investments would be interns or day traders, he was presumably managing full accounts. Or, maybe it was a fancy title with no responsibility.
"Are you here for networking purposes? If so, I'm afraid I probably won't be able to help you very much." I stated.
"Partially. We have investments here in some labels. Vivienne Westwood, for instance." Blaine clarified.
I laughed more than would be considered polite. "Your company will be pleased. If she profits, you profit, and if she generates losses, you can write it off on your bottom line."
"I suppose that is an advantage." Blaine said drily. I didn't think he appreciated the quip about Ms. Westwood's label. Oh well.
"So, did you have an opinion on the conversation that Ms. Adler, Mr. Howell, and myself were engaged in earlier?" I inquired, curious to know what drew him over to us.
"I thought your interpretation of politics in the States was interesting. Specifically, that President Obama is beatable next year, and that he should be more open in supporting rights for members of the gay community. It seems to me that if the President had come out in favor of gay marriage in New York, for instance, no Republicans would have supported it. They wouldn't want to be seen taking orders from the President that their party has made it a mission to destroy."
"At the same time though, it would be nice to see him take a stand in favor of it." I agreed
"I'm not denying that at all. I just don't think he will until it's expedient for him to do so."
"Precisely. People voted for change and got more of the same."
Our conversation ebbed and flowed around various subjects throughout the evening. We were both fans of the Impressionist school, as well as Kandinsky. I thought that portraits were tacky, he thought that they preserved history.
Blaine liked to hear himself talk. Normally that would be a bad thing, especially if one were a boor. He wasn't though. He could at least be interesting in the subjects that we talked about. He had an opinion on everything, or so it seemed. Eventually, things began to die down at the venue as people began to leave.
Looking down at my watch, I saw that it was nearing midnight. Handing him my card, I indicated that it was time for me to head out, as we had to set up for the second day early in the morning.
I signaled to Brittany that we had to go and she disengaged from the conversation that she was involved in. As we were leaving, a voice shouted my name. I turned, and saw Blaine striding over with my satchel. I must have been more tired than I realized to have almost forgotten it.
"You forgot your bag, Kurt." Blaine said, handing it over to me.
"Thank you Blaine. I'll call you tomorrow if I'm free, or maybe I'll see you here again?" I said.
"That sounds great! I'm here through Wednesday." he replied.
Brittany and I left and made the drive back to the hotel we were staying at.
"Who was he?" she asked.
"Investment manager for a firm in London. Liked to hear himself talk. Could hold his own in an argument.
"Sounds like it might be lurrve." Brittany said a little sarcastically.
"Not likely. The firm belongs to his dad. I'm not necessarily opposed to that, mind, but it just seems a little tacky. He also seemed pedagogical with his knowledge. Like he knew things, but didn't experience them. You know?"
"Sort of. Like Will Hunting in Good Will Hunting?"
"Exactly. Meet anyone interesting?"
"Unfortunately, no. No one that could hold a candle to Lord Tubbington."
I grinned at her. "If a quarter of the things you've claimed that cat had done are true, it'd be difficult for anyone, even ME to hold a candle to him."
"Ok, Lord Tubbington didn't walk on the moon. His mother did though." she replied.
"You make me smile you know that?"
"You should smile more Kurtie. You shouldn't be sad." Brittany said simply.
It was impossible to disagree with her. "There's not much to smile about. Hopefully that will change soon though."
"That hottie you met while saving the world?"
"I was being sarcastic about that."
"No you weren't. You were being dry about it. Maybe you didn't save the world, but you didn't go back to the hotel this afternoon did you?"
"I'll tell you about it in the room ok?"
"Fair enough."
I parked the SUV and we went into the hotel. I allowed us the luxury of using the elevator, as we took it to the 4th floor. We went into our room, and set our bags down. We both changed into our sleepwear and I made a gin and tonic.
I took a healthy drink and began to tell her what happened.
"So, this afternoon, before the show started, I overheard a couple of the hired hands discussing in Arabic that they had a bomb and where to plant it. They settled on planting it under the stage that was being built for the show tonight. I didn't know what to do about the situation, so I went to the embassy where they put me in contact with a security specialist there. He's the hottie. Dark hooded eyes, serious guns, and a mohawk! Him and another person came back here with me and took the two into custody and got rid of the bomb."
"Maybe you can hold a candle to Lord Tubbington. Does the hottie have a name?"
Trust her to focus on what was important, "Noah Puckerman, but he goes by Puck."
"Any interest from him?"
"YES!" I squealed excitedly.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Well, I got the list of event attendees, I figured that might help figure out who they were targeting, if they were targeting anyone specific."
"Hmmm. It also gives you an excuse to see him again."
"That's true. I think I'm going to try to get some sleep though." I said, settling into the king size bed that the room boasted.
The gin and tonic had hit me over the head, and I was out before I could count to 10.