Lady Luck - Chapter II: Part IV
To his utmost surprise, Santana Lopez of all people is the person who helps him make his decision about what to do with the April situation.
What had started off as a ‘I’m just bored enough stop pretending like I’ve never associated with you in the past’ dinner during a relatively lonely weekend in October (Blaine was busy preparing for McKinley’s Invitations and Rachel was at a music theory review session) quickly spawns into a series of ‘Brits told me that Sugar offered Schuester one thousand dollars for each week that he doesn’t give them weekly assignments’ texts and ‘I’m headlining tonight at work and I needs your queer eye to keep me from crossing the line of appropriately dragtastic to not even Ru-Paul could pull that shit off uber-drag’ shopping trips and ‘I’m so glad hippy-dippy prissy vegan gay is the one stereotype you break because this pizza is just the right type of greasy’ meals during lunch shared breaks.
During the day, Santana works as an assistant dance instruction, at a private K-12 school, something Kurt would pay good money to watch. At night, she’s currently working at a nightclub - she’s either bartending and serving drinks, or up on stage singing at the top of her lungs
They meet up on Wednesday for a shared lunch (something that is quickly becoming habitual) at a small hole in the wall Thai place that has food that is greasy but delicious, cheap but with portions big enough to serve approximately a family of four. Kurt’s certain that at some point this place is going to land them with a horrible case of food poisoning but as Santana points out (in her usual crass way) that doesn’t stop Kurt from “shoveling it down his throat like a fat kid deprived of chocolate cake for a few days.”
(“What can I say,” he sniffs daintily before shoving a baby egg roll in his mouth. “The food is too good to pass up until that happens”)
Santana’s always been fiery, sarcastic, and fierce tongued, but today she’s in rare form. She’s telling him more about the artist she’s been modeling for on the side (his ongoing exploits being a familiar topic of conversation at this point) around mouthfuls of Pad Thai.
“So he says to me - this douchebag actually has the nerve to say to me ‘so when are we gonna stop fighting against the inevitable?’ and when I asked him what the hell he’s talking about because, as far as I’m concerned, the point of our whole arrangement is me sitting there looking hot as shit so that his paintings sell well to perverted old business men that’ll play a ton of money to pretend like they’re better than everyone else by getting their rocks off to a painting instead of porn. But turns out, he’s been expecting us to do the dirty this whole time. Thought I was one of those ‘lesbians until graduation’ type of girls which doesn’t even work because I’m not in college and because I’m one hundred percent lesbian thank you very much and if I had to make an exception it certainly wouldn’t be with him, lord of the unwashed hipster douchebags in this city with a sad excuse for an art degree. And I told him so to his smug little face.”
She tosses her hair back and takes a sip of water before leaning back in and gesturing wildly at Kurt with her chopsticks.
“But that just turned the fucking pervert on or something and since he clearly doesn’t understand how consent works, he thought I was just playing hard to get and must be one of those kinky girls into hate sex or what the fuck ever, and actually grabbed my ass Kurt. Grabbed and attempted to jiggle it. I about fucking killed him,” she snarls. “Touch the ass that I’ve spent countless hours being tortured on the Cheerios to get? Without my permission? That’s ground for murder as far as I’m concerned.
“But I decided to let him live,” she says, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “And tendered my resignation the best way I knew how - by turning around and delivering him a snap kick in the nuts. Then, as he was curled on the ground sobbing his eyes out, I walked right the fuck out of there. Hopefully, that’ll keep him from having the ability to pass on any type of genetic matter to a new generation of kids, though I mostly just hope he gets the message loud and clear that that he should never cross me ever again.”
But for as rare a form Santana is in, and for absolutely despicable Kurt registers the guy in Santana’s story to be, he’s preoccupied. He’d been up practically the whole night the night before, tossing and turning in indecision. So he’s unable to match Santana’s quick tongued storytelling with his own brand of carefully cultivated insults and sarcasm that he knows is half the reason Santana has chosen to continue to hang out with him after high school at all.
“That’s horrible Santana,” he says, unable to deluge with a litany about the masses of presumptuous assholes in New York City and about how grateful he is to be on team homo if guys like him are batting for the other team, as he knows she expects. “I’m glad he won’t be bothering you anymore.” He falls silent again, bring a small piece of chicken up to his mouth and chewing it slowly, eyes downcast in contemplating at the table.
“...and that’s all you’ve got to say?” Santana sounds incredulous.
“I’m just happy you know how to defend yourself Santana. That guy was obviously a creep and needed to have the fear of nonexistent god installed into his body, and you obviously did so.”
Santana narrows her eyes. “Yeah he did Hummel, thanks for pointing out the obvious.” She says narrows her eyes at him “What is with you today? I mean, if I wanted that sort of penny annie bullshit I woulda just had lunch with Rachel instead.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Now spill Kenneth Cole, where’s your head at?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Santana.”
“You’ve been distracted this whole lunch Hummel. Now normally you would have been ragging on this guy up and down. I mean, I know you’re technically not a girl but you’ve always said you consider yourself an honorary member, which is why I was sure you’d start spouting off all that feminist crap Girl Chang had to have indoctrinated into you about during your numerous shopping trips for those ridiculously over complicated sweater sets you two seem so fond of.”
“The triumph of purchasing a perfect sweater is not something I’d expect a plebeian to understand,” he says flicking his eyes dismissively at her. But then he sighs, knows she won’t be phased by him. “You’re right. There is something on my mind but...it’s not something I can really talk about.”
“What, are you planning on breaking up with eyebrows McGee or something? Because you’re not allowed to do that - Brits would be devastated.”
“No, no, noting like that!” He says hastily. “Blaine and I are still very much okay.”
“Then what? What are you worrying your pretty little likely extremely flammable
from all the hair spray you use head about?”
“It...has to do with work. And April.”
“What, did that cougar make a move on you or something?”
“April is not a cougar Santana,” he hisses back at her. “And no. She didn’t. She knows I’m gay!”
“Yeah, but you’re also weirdly pretty in this almost fetishistic way. Maybe she’s into that whole ‘barely looks old enough for a drivers permit’ thing.”
He chooses not to dignify that with a direct response. “No...it’s...” and how can he put it without giving too much away?
“Ya know Hummel, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not Rachel Berry.”
He snorts at this. “Believe me Santana, I could never mistake the two of you for one another.”
“Well I get that she’s your best friend or whatever, but I think you’ve spent too much time around her and not enough time in the real world lately. You don’t have to tell me what’s up with you at all. I’m not going to get all pissy at you because you have a secret. In fact, having a little mystery in your life might save you from being almost unbearably lame - you’d be like a gay James Bond or something, or rather, a gayer James Bond.”
“Santana-”
“And if you can only tell me parts of whatever you clearly need to get off your chest I’m not going to press for details.” She shrugs. “In all likelihood it’s not like I’d be interested in them anyway.”
He thinks, no you’re probably wrong about that, but can’t help but realize her logic is sound. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell her anything too specific to ask for her advice.
“April has offered me a...job of sorts, in addition to the stage managing stuff I’m doing for her.”
“So what?” She asks. “Do you like, not want to do it or something but if you don’t you’ll be in deep shit with her or whatever?”
“No, that’s not it at all. She’s actually been really great about not pressuring me to take it. And I’d still keep the job I have now no matter what.”
“Then I don’t understand the problem.”
“The thing is, I’m not sure what I should do. Because, on one hand I really do want to take it. It’s...an extremely unique job and I’m honored that she asked me of all people to do it. But on the other hand, I’m busy enough already trying to deal with applying to college, adjusting to New York, and working at my job.”
“Well I think you should do it,” she says settling back against her chair and crossing her arms. “It’s not like you’re still in high school and gotta get good grades or anything. What’s one more job, if you really want to do it?”
“The problem is, the nature of the job isn’t at all like the one I have now. It’s not a nine to five thing - it’s an all the time thing, and I’d probably be operating at unusual hours.”
This catches her interest, something sparking in her eyes.
“You’re not going to become the world’s first musical crack dealer or something are you?” She sounds down right giddy at that possibility however. “Because I think the voice would give you away almost instantly, if the plumes of multi colored glitter trailing you like the disco incestuous love child of Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs didn’t lead the Po-po to you first.”
“No Santana,” he responds rolling his eyes. “There’s no laws on the books against the job if I took it.” Technically - though he’s sure there would be if people actually thought time travel was possible. “It’s more of a behind the scenes theater upkeep job.”
“Honestly Kurt, I don’t know why you’re bothering me with this.” She shifts, crossing and recrossing her legs. “In fact, I think you’ve already made your decision.”’
“Really? Because that’s news to me,” he says, a bite flavoring his words. Santana simply smirks at his snark.
“Yeah. Sounds to me like you’re not only flattered that April asked you to do this for her, but excited about whatever weird crap it is she wants you to do as well.”
“Well that’s just the thing Santana. I am flattered. But I’m worried that maybe I’m letting that get to my head a little bit, since I don’t get many compliments for being my admittedly fabulous self.”
“No, you know what? I think that’s not the case here at all.”
“What do you mean Santana?” And he is intrigued, partially because she actually seems to be treating this conversation seriously.
“You’re cut from a different clothe than most Hummel, and one thing I’ve always liked about you - even though you can be annoyingly moral to the point of foolishness something sometimes - is the fact that you don’t take crap from anybody and even in the face of all the nebulous suck that was McKinley you held your head up high.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“Not finished Hummel!”
He gestures at her with one hand, implying a sorry sorry, continue.
“You also never needed Mr. Schuester’s encouragement to believe in yourself and go after your dreams - it might have helped on some very rare occasions, but since we all know that outside of Finn and Rachel his advice did squat for anyone else, all of us were left to do the heavy lifting of getting through high school largely without him.”
“Is there a point to this Santana?” He asks, mostly touched though partially insulted by her descriptions of him (something, he finds, that happens a lot with Santana).
“I think all that NYADA bullcrap, what with Carmen whatshername singing your praises and then turning you away,” and Kurt can’t help but flinch slightly at that, even after all these months “has made you afraid to say yes to a job you so clearly want to take, because you’re afraid April will decide she’s wrong about you after you start the job, and then she’ll ask you to not do it anymore.”
“I...” he trails off.
Kurt’s silent as he processes this, his heart beat in his ears and face flushed, Santana training her gaze on him for a few pointed seconds, before dropping her gaze back down to her noodles and starting to shovel them in her mouth again.
Kurt feels dazed - like her words are an anvil dropping on his head.
Because...Santana is right. All of his life, he’s yearned to stand out, to be important somehow - to make a difference in the world and get validation that all of his struggles haven’t been in vein. And he’s always thought fame and performing and the positive response from an audience after a heartrending performance was the only place he could find said validation.
But here April is, offering him a job that would make him one of a handful of people to ever have possessed it. A job that, yes, could never make him conventionally famous but that would render him universally infamous. He’d be watching over and guaranteeing that time and space itself would continue to function and support the infrastructure of human existence.
What in the world could be more amazing than that?
Santana finishes chewing her food, before snapping him out of his internal musings by starting to talk again. “Live a little!” She says rapping her fist down on the table. “You didn’t come to New York to play it safe, now did you?”
“No,” he says, alight with his sudden moment of clarity. “No I didn’t.”
“Sooooo...” she prompts. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to take it,” Kurt says, voice full of bewildered wonder at his own pronouncement.
“Fuck yeah!” Santana says slapping her hand down on the table. “This calls for a celebration - d’you think I could charm that waiter into giving us sake without carding us?”
“Santana, we have work in thirty minutes.”
She lets out a long suffering sigh. “I guess you’re right. Fuck, maybe I should have gone to college. Less of a consequence for getting wasted in the middle of the day.”
He laughs. ‘There’s still time to apply if you want to Santana. I could help you get started and edit your essays.”
“Puh-lease, Hummel. I may be hot, but I ain’t dumb - if I wanted to apply I could more than handle that shit myself thank you very much. But I’ll pass for now, thanks.”
They sit in contemplative and compatible silence for a few moments, before Kurt - ready to move on from their current topic of discussion and back into the flow of lunch - leans forward, and deftly maneuvers his chopsticks to grab a few of her noodles and pop them in his mouth, batting away her protests. “Now tell me all about that douchebag artist’s his face after you kicked him in the balls. “ He queries. “Did he cry like a baby that just had its favorite toy taken away? Or like the football player that lost the Superbowl because they threw an inception?”
“It’s called an interception Hummel, didn’t you learn anything during your short stay on the football team? And, honestly, he didn’t cry like either of those. No, how he reacted was much better. Fucker wept like a spoiled heiress at their grandparents funeral after learning their dear departed gramps left them nothing in their will.”
***
The next morning he arrives at Feinstein Theatres fifteen minutes early and heads straight to Aprils office, hoping to catch her early before rehearsals start.
He ends up sitting outside of it waiting for her for at least thirty.
When she finally urns the corner and sees him sitting there, her face lights up. He stands, and when she reaches him she opens her arms for a hug which he quickly returns.
“So good to see you punkin!”
“April,” he says laughing, “You saw me yesterday.”
“I did,” she agrees sagely. “But yesterday you were avoiding me. Ran out like there was a fire hot on heels away from me as fast as you possibly could. Not that I don’t understand of course,” she says patting his arm as he opens up his mouth to explain. “And besides, people have avoided me for far lesser things.”
“I’m sorry April,” he says, needed to explain anyway. “I just hadn’t up my mind yet one way or the other, and I know you said I didn’t ever have to but I’m not good at leaving things hanging.”
“Then if you’re here right now, it means you’ve made a decision, doesn’t it?”
Her demeanor appears to have taken a complete 180 degree turn - she’s solemn suddenly, instead of her normal bubbly self.
“I’ve decided...” he says, face neutral and words drawn outin a decidedly dramatic way that he knows would make Rachel proud of him if she were here to witness it.
“Yes?” And April is the perfect captive audience, hanging on to every word.
“I”m going to take you up on your offer!” He cheers. His face breaks into a smile as April lets out a high pitched shriek of what he assumes to be joy and launches herself at him.
When she draws back they clutch hands and bounce up and down on their toes, squealing and laughing and spinning on the spot in this pseudo celebration. Because Kurt finds he’s truly happy to be taking this job, as crazy as that may seem, and April is obviously ecstatic as well.
After a few minutes of bouncing, they settle down and simply grin at each other.
“Just so you know,” Kurt says, pointing a playful finger down at her. “I expect the most amazing and glowing letter of recommendation for this.”
She draws and ‘X’ with her finger over her heart, before holding up three fingers, palm facing up and out towards Kurt.
“Scouts honor,” she says. Then, contemplatively, she lowers her arm and quirks her head to the side.
“Though, I suppose that’d mean more if I hadn’t been kicked out of girl scouts.”
(Chapter III)