IV
~ Model ~
Popular, you're going to be popular
I'll teach you the proper poise when you talk to boys, little ways to flirt and flounce
I'll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair
Everything that really counts to be popu-
Slam! Kurt brought his hand down hard onto his retro iPod alarm dock before moaning to himself, his arm coming to his wincing eyes as the bright sunshine of Tuesday morning bore into his room like nothing else. It was about time he bought himself some real curtains. The flimsy ones he had at the moment, though modern looking and stylish, were so sheer that they did absolutely nothing to at least soften the light as it came streaming in. However, in that moment he realized how many times he'd walked past that window in the evening with the lights on with only underwear for coverage. Ooops, he thought as he removed his arm from over his eyes in favor of his thick cream duvet, his sight now blocked from the rays. Well, at least the neighbors know I've settled in well.
Monday's work experience had not gone as well or as smoothly as Kurt would have liked. Gordon, the nasty theater director, had attempted to make every minute of his first day at work a hellish nightmare, working him solidly to the bone and swamping him with errands which half the time weren't any use to anyone. Tasks like fetching brain food for various members of the female cast in the form of wheat germ and grass juice was just an example of what he'd been ordered to do, and to this hour he could still hear the shouting sessions he'd received to the point where he swore the flesh from Gordon's face was going to melt right off, like some 'Hell on Earth' attraction one only witnessed in horror films.
He'd learned the hard way that the hobbit-sized director wasn't happy or at least content unless everyone around him was panicked, nauseous or suicidal or, in some unfortunate souls, all three. No one had been spared from his vicious mouth with the victim toll having risen to a high of twenty by the time the day had ended. Kurt was amazed some kind of social revolution hadn't already strapped him on a guillotine and chopped his head off. It would take more than one fall of the blade to slice through that fat neck, Kurt thought maliciously as he borrowed deeper into his soft bed. Even then there's no guarantee the device wouldn't come off worse.
Later that afternoon, after a grueling set of hours meant to match the strain of nineteenth century workhouse boys, Kurt had been allowed to leave around six with Carlson, his newfound friend, walking him home. The man had claimed that he'd not wanted Kurt returning by himself, worrying whether he would actually survive the trek alone after his supremely awful day. It was a fair thing to be concerned, especially after Kurt had ominously 'joked' earlier on about traveling to Grand Central Terminal just to jump onto the railroad tracks and get killed by an express train, anything to ease Gordon's torture. However, it wasn't until they were half-way to the brunet's apartment that their path had been blocked by a large crowd that had gathered in front of the largest of the city's theaters, the Radio City Music Hall.
Powerful spotlights that had been constructed on the rooftops, giving the whole event an air of Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age glamor, had been directed into the night, illuminating the clouds above like giant lighthouses for the sky. Screaming fans alongside flashing paparazzi, busy journalists and chatting interviewers were crowded around what Kurt could only make out as a rich red carpet that stretched from the road all the way up to the entrance of the theater. This only meant one thing. This whole occasion was a movie premiere but of what movie Kurt didn't know or care. His interest had been long stolen by the possibility of celebrity sightings and the famous faces that appeared from within the sleek black limousines, the cars' heavy coats of chic black paint reflecting the millions of lights dazzling all around.
"Damn my height, I can't see a thing," complained Kurt as he struggled to regain his precious view of the premiere after someone had annoyingly blocked it from in front. The small crowd of people on their side of the pavement was already increasing in mass after about five minutes. This led to Kurt wondering how on Earth they were ever going to escape from its confines before it turned into some music concert mosh pit from a heavy metal tour. "I'm not really appreciating the sight of a back in my face."
"Here, sit on my shoulders," proposed Carlson as he offered his hand to Kurt, the pale boy looking around nervously with a worried expression on his face as he pondered the offer. He wasn't entirely sure such an action would receive kind gazes from behind, seeing as resting on Carlson's shoulders would result in other people's view being obscured.
"It's okay, Kurt, I'll be strong enough to hold you and I'll make sure not to let you fall. I promise," Carlson encouraged as a smirk appeared on his lips. Kurt had no doubt the man could keep him supported what with his shoulders that looked as if they belonged on a football player, but that wasn't what he was worried about. Finally giving into the gentlemanly offer and his need to see a celebrity, Kurt accepted Carlson's hand and he swiftly proceeded to lift him. Before he knew it, the brunet was sitting comfortably on his friend's shoulders, his vision now clear and free as a bird's as he could now see what exactly was going on.
A large poster of Sam Mendes' latest action movie and the twenty-third James Bond film, 'Skyfall', loomed over the premiere as the actors and accompanying celebrities strutted their way along the famous carpet to the theater's doors, posing, giving interviews and signing autographs as they journeyed. Damn it! This is the second time I forgot my camera, thought Kurt as he kicked himself for abandoning his head in the clouds. What is wrong with me?
Feeling Carlson suddenly adjust his position on his shoulders, Kurt glanced down at him with pity. He didn't want the man to have to stay home tomorrow due to back problems. It wasn't fair on the ones who had to go in and endure the Gordon Ramsey of theater. No, Kurt was not going to allow that to happen on his watch. Announcing that he'd had enough of the view and that it was high time for them to head home, Kurt instructed Carlson to put him down. However ,that was before an ear-splitting scream from fans nearby brought his head right back up to attention, his eyes searching widely for the source of the newfound excitement.
Stepping out of a gorgeous limousine that had recently pulled up was none other than New York City's very own young Casanova, Noah Puckerman. Kurt could only gape at the sight as his eyes widened to cartoon proportions as he observed the tanned man flashing a smile worth a million dollars. Never before had he seen the notorious lady-killer in the flesh but what he saw before him, with the Golden Hollywood theme in the background giving off a perfect setting for the man who could have outshone even Daniel Craig himself, he liked a lot.
Noah was wearing an exquisitely tailored Calvin Klein tuxedo with a fully lined three button jacket which only served to further show off his muscular build very nicely. Single-pleated pants with an elegant satin side stripe clothed his lower half and, to finish off, the look was completed with polished black shoes that seemed to give the limousines' shining coats a run for their money. Hair-wise, the mohawk Noah had been sporting throughout his high school career had long been freshly shaved to reveal a handsome buzz cut that gave him a more mature appearance, an appearance that not only boasted a well-shaped head but also enhanced his sex appeal.
However, as soon as Noah exited the car, he smirked invitingly at every female onlooker within a mile radius and then he whipped around and helped a beautiful blonde woman out of the limo and onto the carpet. She was dressed in a flowing red silk dress by Lanvin that fluttered ethereally in the evening breeze.
Red for red carpet? Seriously? Kurt snarked internally as he criticized the woman's personal stylist and the source of her credentials. She's just a walking head. He watched as Noah snaked a large hand around the girl's waist and they both sauntered up the carpet with the blonde bombshell snuggling romantically up close to him as they posed in front of the press. The woman's delighted laughter could be heard even over the shouts of the photographers.
"Who is she? The woman with Noah Puckerman," Kurt asked Carlson, surveying the couple with focused eyes as they floated their way up the carpet, the aura they emanated supporting the boy's opinion that they were undoubtedly the best-looking couple there. However, he hadn't seen the blonde before in any of the gossip magazines or newspapers around. Not once had he seen her face. Then again, he hadn't read trashy publications for months now, citing the journalism as too intellectually inferior for those having graduated with top marks in literature.
Shifting his position to obtain a clearer view, Carlson himself attempted to catch a glimpse of the grinning couple. He tightened his grip on Kurt as the brunet swayed ever so slightly from the move. The last thing they wanted was Kurt falling onto the filthy sidewalk below.
"That's Quinn Fabray, his new fiancée," Carlson replied drily, the enthusiasm in his face now waning as he realized who they were looking at. "Yeah, Puckerman popped the question a few weeks ago and the press went wild, as they do when trillionaires propose marriage to hot babes."
Smiling to himself, Kurt looked down once again at the top of his friend's head. He'd discovered earlier that day when the two of them had had lunch together in Central Park that Carlson had never understood the hype surrounding the personal lives of the rich and famous. He'd used the excuse 'they were merely humans after all' to dismiss the topic in favor of new subjects more invigorating to the mind, like women fighting in Jell-O or women pillow-fighting in only skimpy underwear. Scratch that, the definition of 'invigorating' was the only thing that had been dumbed down. Men…
"All I can say is that she must be a real fireball in bed if Puckerman's settling so early on in the game," Carlson continued. "I mean he looks seriously whipped when he looks at her; look."
Gesturing to the pair as they turned to enter the cinema, Kurt followed Carlson's pointed finger and glanced towards the theater doors. Noah's bright smile had indeed never faltered with his eyes ninety percent of the time always finding their way back to his fine future bride, but something wasn't quite right. Kurt didn't know what it was and he certainly couldn't pinpoint it but as he inspected the couple more closely, his eyes squinting to near slits, he shook his head in dismissal. No, it almost looks... staged.
.
Glee
.
Kurt rose groggily from his bed and set about undergoing his arduous morning routine of cleansing his body and mind. After yesterday evening's surprise event, he wasn't about to forget his camera yet again. Who knew what today could bring, possibly acrobats or stilt walkers on the streets or even romantic gestures as simple as offering a seat to someone on the subway? It all sounded very well until the thought of spying on Gordon with surveillance equipment came to mind. Kurt would have dirt on that horrid man in no time, that was for sure.
Clothing himself in a Timberwolf grey turtle neck sweater and milk white skinny jeans, Kurt grabbed his baby blue bag and hurried out into the city. The weather's warmth had not dissipated since yesterday; in fact the sidewalk still felt a little warm even through his plimsolls. He really hadn't been anticipating such heat. All the city could offer to save those from frying on the road were soothing breezes that could often bring along the chill factor on occasions. It really was a matter of extremes. Let another beautiful day go to waste as I begin my second day in hell, Kurt thought as with a hop off the pavement and a round of the corner, he found himself once again in front of the Monarch Theater's doors.
The work experience itself wasn't actually that bad when he came to think about it. It was just Gordon. He presumed now that the director had instilled fear into him, the torturous tasks would lessen to menial little jobs like fetching tea or coffee, running errands out to local stores and assisting members of the crew. It sounded about right and it's what he signed up for, but he just hoped that when everything was done and completed, he wouldn't attempt to approach anyone before forcing them to get him to do something. Nothing he assumed could be more annoying than a pesky little runner on your back. Then again, he didn't want to be sitting around doing nothing all day.
Kurt's knowledge of Broadway had almost tripled even after one day. He'd taken in so much more than he had in his measly drama classes back in high school and the research he'd done on the internet, that it was just mind-boggling. The secrets, the drama, the truth, everything was just fascinating. However, he supposed nothing was as good as taking an inside look into the business. In fact, nothing was as good, period. Entering the theater and casually greeting Martha with a 'good morning, rise and survive' wasn't enough to uproot the thoughts of his now-blossoming theater knowledge tree and as he retreated to the dressing rooms towards the back of the building, his head was still perched high up in the clouds to even pull a face at the run down sight of it all.
The dressing rooms, unlike any other ones Kurt had come across in the past, looked nothing more than high-end Roaring Twenties brothel chambers. Aging red velvet, the smell of expensive yet erotic perfume and the countless rows of old Hollywood vanities with their oversized yellow and dusty bulbs surrounding the mirrors graced the large room. The sight always reminded Kurt of old-time glamor, money and lingerie. There were still hints of the Art Deco style peeking through symmetrical designs on the walls and ceiling but generally this had been the ultimate lipstick-lathering, powder-facing and diva attitude-ridden honeypot of a golden age gone by.
Putting down his bag before adjusting his hair's side parting in the mirror, Kurt caught sight of a television's reflection. He couldn't see what was on it from this distance but it looked like it had drawn in quite an impressive crowd. Carlson and a few other members of the crew and cast had huddled around it, watching it intently but since the screen was no less than thirty inches wide and propped up on a plush chair set to snap at any second, they really were scrunched up and popping each other's personal bubbles like crazy. Whatever was on must have been worth watching, especially when Kurt knew there were some there with as many claustrophobic issues that was sane to have.
Whispers, murmurings and a cacophony of giggles and chuckles were enough to draw the inquisitive brunet in but when a certain billionaire's name passed a certain set of over enthusiastic lips, Kurt rolled his eyes, his curiosity dying quicker than road kill. Of course, Noah Puckerman was the subject of universal conversation, but did the man have to enter the realms of an opulent dressing room? It was as if the Puckermans were now the east coast equivalent of the Kardashians, with Noah at its reigns, steering his family further from their business roots and toward celebrity super-stardom and L.A. air-head superficiality. Kurt wouldn't have been at all surprised if a Puckerman reality show hadn't already hit the airwaves, convincing everyone of their desire for fame. After all, it would have been a piece of cake, knowing that they now owned a whole bucketful of highly-rated networks.
"Sorry, ladies, this ride's closed," Noah announced cheekily as he smirked at the camera, eliciting a laugh from the interviewer. Sure enough, as Kurt neared the television, footage of yesterday's premiere had appeared on the screen with a particular interview with Noah and Quinn in mid-session. It took Kurt every sliver of self-control not to vomit all over the screen in disgust. This man's ego must be so far up his own ass, I doubt it can even see the sun, he thought as he turned away from the still-smirking seducer and perched himself on one of the desks. Can't stand the man.
"What is this town's obsession with this player anyway? Someone please enlighten me," Kurt announced loudly so that all ten pairs of eyes landed on him. His agitation was building up from everything in his mind but before he could prevent himself from giving an impression that he didn't care one bit about Noah Puckerman, his annoyance had already seeped its way into his voice. So much for self-control. "He treats women like disposable objects, for Christ's sake; it's sexist and it's wrong."
"Calm down, Mr. Complain-a-lot," retorted Lola, a baby-doll looking blonde with fair skin and lush pigtails neatly tied with white ribbons hanging about her ears. She swiveled herself back to face the screen when all she got as a reaction from Kurt was an unimpressed expression that seemed to ooze a 'don't mess with me' look. It was enough to give anyone the threatening message. "It's not him we want to know about, it's the Fabray woman he's with."
"Why so pissy?" Carlson asked as he approached Kurt, inspecting his pale face for some sort of answer. Kurt, who had at this point folded his arms in an angry form of defiance seemed to deflate from the combination of the question and worried look on his friend's face. He didn't mean to be a party-pooper. He just guessed he was sick and tired of hearing Puckerman's name at every turn.
Flashing Carlson a tired smile, Kurt jumped off the desk and enveloped him in a friendly hug.
Carlton grinned at him. "Oh you want a hug? You've come to the right person. I'm a master at giving the hugs."
"I'm not looking forward to what Gordon's got in store for me," Kurt replied, resting his head on the taller man's athletic chest as his eyelids threatened to droop like ton weights. He could have stayed there all day, sleeping against his friend, and the idea was increasingly inviting though he didn't think Carlson would have appreciated it all that well if he were to have Kurt plastered to his front for the entire day, his little feet resting on his own like some baby Eskimo. Damn Carlson and his amazing hugging talent. "After yesterday's catastrophe I won't be surprised if I end up shredded to pieces in a cubicle."
"Don't worry. He's always like that with beginners. He'll calm down after a while and then he'll treat you like everyone else," Carlson soothed as he began rubbing circular motions into Kurt's back, reassuring him that bit more that the reign of terror only lasted for the first day's work before the monster threw you away in the used pile. Nevertheless, it was an action appreciated by the brunet. Swiveling his head to face the television once again, Kurt noticed that Noah's interview had long been over and in his place now stood Bérénice Marlohe, the flashing cameras behind the sultry French actress reminding him of the little device in his bag.
"Oh, I brought it along this time," Kurt exclaimed gleefully as he tore his sleepy body away from one of the best hugs he had ever had and picked up his bag, his nimble fingers doing quick work of loosening the straps and delving deep into its depths. Observing the brunet with an amused smile on his handsome face, Carlson watched with curiosity as Kurt rummaged through his bag, witnessing how close Kurt was to sticking his pretty little face in it. "I swore to bring my camera along with me every day from now on. Back in Lima, nothing was worth a second glance but I'm telling you now, this city has been making me do more double takes than is healthy for my neck."
"Oh, come on, where are you?" Kurt cried exasperatedly as he narrowed his eyes to peer closer into the bag. He was sure he'd put it in this morning and he if hadn't, he wasn't going to be responsible for his own actions. "Oh, for God's sake!"
Kurt tipped out the contents with a little too much force than was really necessary and Carlson watched as various items ranging from a packet of Madeleine's, a tin of home-made rose and almond oil for the lips and an iPhone clattered onto the desk below. "There we go!"
Kurt swiftly picked up the camcorder and inspected it for any scratches it might have obtained from the brief fall before quickly repacking the bag. However, as he was about to reach for the final object that had been hidden under a packet of tissues, Carlson swiped it up and brought it up to his eyes.
"'The Girls' Generation Heptology'," Carlson read aloud as he inspected the black writing, written in permanent ink on the ash grey DVD. Snapping his head at the sound of the name, Kurt's eyes bulged as he recognized the object. He hadn't realized he'd even packed the DVD. The last time he'd recalled its presence was when he had been stacking his movie shelf in his living room days ago, but clearly the little thing must have sneaked its way into the bag. The DVD itself was enclosed in a translucent casing and hadn't made a sound when it had landed on the table, yet it had caught Carlson's attention, feeding his curiosity. "Who are Girls' Generation?"
"They're a nine-member South Korean pop girl group," Kurt replied hastily as Carlson's inquisitive eyes shifted from the DVD to his face. "They're relatively unknown here in the West but they're very successful in the East especially in Japan. In fact, all the songs on there are in Japanese."
"The name sounds familiar," muttered Carlson, gently waving the DVD up and down against his palm as his thoughts stirred his memory into action. "Were they those girls on David Letterman and Live! With Kelly a few months back? I sort of remember them. The song was alright, choreography was good and the girls, whoa, they were smokin' hot."
"They are, indeed, known for their high-charting songs, impressive dance skills and beauty," Kurt admitted, his eyes never straying from the DVD. The chance to snatch the thing out of Carlson's loose grasp was presenting itself well, what with the taller man now gazing absentmindedly into reminiscing space but Kurt had no idea how quick his reflexes were. He supposed there was nothing wrong with finding out. "That's a set of fan-made Girls' Generation music videos I was in back in high school. My friend Artie Abrams is an aspiring cinematographer and we collaborated together to create seven video promos. He had a copy as well that he thought he would send off to his college of choice."
"Hey, guys, guess what I found!" shouted Carlson, whisking the DVD away from Kurt's lunge as the brunet attempted to snatch it back to no avail. It wasn't fair. Carlson was much taller than he was and apparently had reflexes as quick as a hunting woodland creature. There was no way he was ever going to get it back now.
Watching warily as his friend frantically waved the DVD in the air in front of expectant eyes, Kurt prayed it would slip out from its case and smash against the wall into a million irreparable pieces but, no, as soon as it had reached the television and slotted itself into the player, Kurt knew no smashing of any kind would be happening. "Kurt's brought along a DVD for all of us to watch," Carson announced.
"I'd actually prefer it if you didn't watch it. It's nothing, I mean it's... they're not even that good," Kurt pleaded as he rushed over to the television, shoved Carlson aside and quickly stood in front of the screen, his hands pressed in between his back and the warm, staticky glass behind him. If fate wasn't going to help him, he was going to have to help himself, though the round of mischievous smirks inching their way across the faces of his colleagues seemed to scream in the wake of yet another overpowering obstacle. He really thought he'd convinced them all somehow, what with the desperate tone of his voice and innocent expression. He'd thought it had worked, until he was violently pushed aside.
Moaning, Kurt returned to his bag, slumped down into a seat and buried his head in his hands. The melodies and beats of Girls' Generation's Mr. Taxi, Genie, Run Devil Run, Bad Girl, Gee, Hoot and Time Machine were filling the air and all he wanted to do was get to work. No doubt after this he was going to be referred to as 'Mr. Taxi' or 'Genie Boy' or 'Run Kurt Run'. His original name was only going to become a distant memory by the end of his second day of work experience and even though he couldn't see the reactions of those gluing their faces to the screen, their eyes darting over every speeding frame, he dreaded their upcoming waves of teasing.
Teasing. That was something that had haunted Kurt for most of his life. All through kindergarten when he'd played by himself, all through elementary school when he'd watched from the playground sidelines, all through Junior High and High School itself always feeling like the outsider. It was enough to bring a tear to the eye but as Kurt raised his head to the unexpected sight of his colleagues one by one turning their heads to face him with gaping mouths and utter shock on their faces, his time as the invisible boy was over. The surprised expressions of his friends were bringing him in a kind of attention only popular kids had been illuminated with, and it was something to bask in but also squirm under. Intense stares were searing into him until a question he'd never thought he'd hear in his life was asked.
"Are you a model?" Lola asked as her shocked expression morphed into more of genuine curiosity. Blinking at the absurdity of the question, his brows frowning as they begged the girl and all the others who thought the same to explain themselves, Kurt's mouth gaped with only a string of barely incomprehensible sounds coming out. Everyone was so still, so motionless that this was just becoming too uncomfortable to bear, yet it was the looks of their constantly changing faces of shock to wonderment to appreciation that had him shaking his head in response.
"Kurt, with all the lip-syncing, dancing and posing you were doing, you looked like a professional model," Lola continued as she gestured towards the screen as it replayed Bad Girl, the volume on mute but the video very much alive. Gulping, Kurt could only manage to follow the pointing finger as it pointed to his dancing figure in a somewhat objectifying manner, outlining slowly everything from the back up dancers to his rose petal plimsolls, dark leather leggings, black vest, unruly hair and heavy Goth like makeup. What was going on? "I mean look at you! No wonder all the boys and girls are all over you, you're gorgeous!"
"Thank you, Lola," Kurt blushed heavily as he glanced down at his shoes before looking back at Lola, his eyes now shimmering with unshed tears. This was all too much. Since he was a child he'd always been criticized for being odd-looking. Everyone else's faces had seemed to either be blessed with classic beauty or rugged handsomeness whilst he had been the one with the face that belonged on a Malibu Ken doll, strange, off-putting and odd enough for him to have avoided every mirror except for his own vanity for years. Now, however, with the kindest word that could have been attributed to a boy like him, Kurt shone with gratefulness. "You're the first person to ever call me that."
"Are you okay," Carlson asked gently, approaching Kurt fast and in fear that the boy was about to burst like a blocked garden fountain. Kurt did, indeed, look overwhelmed. It was enough to sense another sleep-inducing hug was in order and as he sat the sniffing brunet on his lap, pulling him into his arms as he did, he lightly kissed the top of his head comfortingly. Reaching over for some tissues, Carlson offered them to Kurt who gladly accepted them. Kurt swiped at his eyes before leaning back against his friend's warm chest, allowing him to support his heavy head as he regained his composure. "You alright, Kurt? You okay?"
"I feel… great," Kurt admitted, giggling as he realized how silly he was being right now. He must have seemed weird, getting emotional over a compliment but it only seemed to the others that there really was more to him than had met the eye. Of course they didn't know of his school life, they didn't know anything about his previous life in Lima simply because it was too painful to recount, especially when the topic brushed up on his appearance. "Throughout my life, I've been described as the washed out looking, unhealthily thin gay kid but never... gorgeous."
"I've got an idea!" Carmen announced as she rushed to her backpack before rummaging urgently inside it. Carmen Bizet was one of the most eccentric people Kurt had ever had the fortune to meet. She was an actress but that didn't mean that just because she was an artist she went around demoralizing everything, though her cynical, pessimistic side could get the better of her at times. However, just as he was about to inquire into what she was doing, Lola resumed her praises, fully ignoring her friend's frantic scurrying.
"Bear with me, Kurt," Carmen muttered. "I should have it with me... if I can only find it..."
Lola looked at Kurt. "Kurt, do you mean to tell me that no one's even called you good looking? Please, I would kill for your skin, your eyes, your lips, your nose! Scrap that – I'd kill for your whole freaking face," Lola gushed as several of the other girls surrounding her engaged in a sort of nodding chorus, their exact same forms of agreements making them all look like robotic minions of dreaded female cliques, except Kurt had nothing to fear with his lot. Lola's statement had laid on top of him a blanket of appreciative if envious eyes and it was beautiful to behold. "Seriously, if your Sweet Pea looks aren't the working of a model, I don't know what is. I just... can't believe I didn't see it before."
"Found it!" Carmen shriek almost startled them as she pulled out a professional-looking Sony camera from her black backpack, brandishing it like some Olympic medal fresh from the award ceremony. Walking briskly towards Kurt, she wrenched the bewildered boy from his Carlson-shaped perch and led him towards a plain white section of the room, positioning him in front of it.
Flash! Kurt blinked as his photo was taken. Flash! Flash! Great, now he was seeing spots. Flash! Flash! Flash! Was this a photoshoot or a blinding session? It was getting hard to tell. "Don't smile, Kurt! That's it, like that! Okay, now turn to your side, I need to get a profile shot! Great!"
"Let me see, let us all see!" Lola exclaimed as everyone huddled around Carmen, the camera now the center of attention. Lola muttered to herself as they all admired the photos. Kurt didn't know what to do now. It had felt as though he'd just been convicted and ordered to have his picture taken at a police station downtown. The only thing missing was a height measurer in the form of black painted lines behind him and a plaque with his details. Yet that image seemed to lighten as everyone admired the photos, as if it were candy to their eyes. "Wow, Kurt, you are so photogenic it's unfair!"
"You want to see?" Carmen smiled as she handed him the camera. Barely catching the device, Kurt nodded before scrolling through each photo. Now that people had started to notice his newly-discovered 'good looks', Kurt was eying his photographs in a much clearer light. These so-called envious features they were going on about were the exact ones he'd grown to detest in the past, the exact ones. Yet now those days had passed, judgment had lifted and the boy staring back at him, although confused and anxious looking, had never appeared freer in all his life.
Coming to stand in front of the enraptured boy, Carmen smiled. She knew talent had walked in on them all, she just didn't know when it would come shining for all to see. Kurt had no idea how beautiful he was. It was a face to break hearts, a face to match the likes of Helen of Troy, Queen Cleopatra and the Goddess Aphrodite combined, the ultimate seducer, the ultimate tempter. Yet, what really upped her excitement and anticipation was that Kurt had no idea of it all. Innocence had kept her motherly hands around her baby and as Kurt lifted his head to meet Carmen's smirking gaze, little did he know that her next words would change his life forever.
"Congratulations, Kurt. New York City has found itself its new model."
~ PLEASE REVIEW ~
(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)
Author's Note: I suggest checking out Girls' Generation on YouTube or iTunes. Don't be put off by the fact that they sing in Korean and Japanese, because their tunes are killer. They're really good.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee since I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I mean only to please whoever stumbles upon my Love Story.
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