likesboys | the gardens wearing haute couture

Leaving the apartment has become an increasing struggle in recent weeks. The fact that new year's day turned out as disastrously for Darrow as it did only makes Kurt feel more justified in spending more time at home. He's been grabbing fewer hours of work, and going into spring semester, he'll have a slightly lighter class schedule than before. Slowly, he's trying to ease everything down, finding a balance of work and home that sways towards the latter, giving him more of an opportunity to spend time with Blaine.

This is always what happens, he thinks. Losing someone, whether metaphorically or literally, makes him want to camp out at home, with the people he loves, savoring every second that he has with them. It might be uninspired, cuddling up with Blaine on the couch and watching film after film, but it feels safe and it feels sustainable and it feels right.

The problem is, pulling the least of one's weight isn't good for retail. The amount he gets on commission is lessening, and the patience of his manager along with it. Unless Kurt wants to throw everything at that job again, he needs to find some way to make up the difference, and he wants to try. He wants to see if there's any way that he can keep the household comfortable, while still spending more time at home.

Which is why he's hanging up fliers for voice lessons on the corkboard at The Bean Counter, carefully stepping back to make sure that he's pinned it level with the frame.

"You think anyone will actually take me up on this?" he murmurs to himself with a soft sigh. He's not too hopeful that he'll find students, but honestly, even one would be nice. Singing is always a good release of tension and emotion, and spreading the joy of it to more people is something Kurt doesn't think he'd ever tire of, if they only gave him the opportunity.

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I think The Bean Counter's become my home away from home. Between the odd open mic night and my caffeine addiction, it's just convenient. Besides, it's homey. Reminds me of the cafe I performed at back home. I half expect to see Pete or Myka in the back after my sets. Which is good and bad, I mean, after being alone for so long, having a family again and losing it, to this or whatever's going on back home, it just sucks.

But today's an in and out day, I'm doing something I know Jinksy doesn't like, getting ready to case another illegal gambling operation. Sure the freeish rent is nice, but a girl's gotta have her toys and the equipment I've been buying and reworking isn't always cheap. So, every few weeks I do a Vegas run. No biggie, but I can tell Steve doesn't like it. So I try not to tell him.

I'm leaving when I see Kurt posting a notice. "Hey, you, what're you putting on the board today?"

I jump, not expecting to have someone walk right up to me as I'm asking the question of thin air. That's been a recurring theme for me lately — jumpiness. But can you really blame me? When a night that's meant for celebration quickly turns into a frozen bloodbath, when this city insists on telling me things I can't help at home, I'm bound to start expecting bad luck at every turn.

This time, I'm safe. It's just Claudia. Thank goodness.

"You scared me," I admit, briefly resting my hand on my chest before smiling sheepishly, nervously. Most of my friends at least have some idea that I sing, but I don't know if they'd think much of me offering to coach people. I'm still going through the courses myself. "I was putting feelers out to see if anyone would be interested in casual voice lessons. Nothing professional, nothing intense, but exercises in pitch and breathing. I'm trying to cut back on hours at the boutique, but... my spending habits won't allow it."

"Huh." That was a thought wasn't it? And it's not like I don't already have copious amounts of free time. Not having to run inventory, dash across the globe, or avert catastrophe every week really frees up a girl's time, you know? And I would get to spend some more time with Kurt, who seems to be a pretty cool guy. One who obviously sings and has musical talent which is another alley I'm fond of running up on. Maybe I could pursue this music thing more... professionally? Get a real paying gig instead of monopolizing the occasional open mic?

"I'd be interested. How much you charging?"

I haven't given it quite that much thought, to be honest. I know what voice lessons typically went for back in Lima... and figure I should probably bump it up a little bit in Darrow. Then again, I can't exactly call myself professional by any means, even if I'm spending a fair amount of the government's money while trying for a musical theater degree here.

Then again, I don't want to put myself down so low that people don't take me seriously. Even if I doubt Claudia would try to shortchange me.

"Fifteen dollars for a thirty minute session?" I suggest with a tilt of my head. "Twenty-five for an hour's session, if you want something more intensive. And usually it's good to have one vocal lesson a week? I'll let you use my sheet music and stuff without cost, since I have so much of it for auditions and school anyway."

"Sounds like a deal." I have no idea if that's a fair rate or not, but it sounds good to me. I'm planning another gambling haul anyway, I can splurge a little. Who knows, maybe it will help me with the whole music thing.

"Do you mind if I bring my guitar, too, if I get the songs down I can practice more at home instead of singing to what I already know."

"You should definitely bring your guitar. Whatever instrument best helps you access music is completely welcome at my apartment. Whatever gets the creativity flowing," I tell her, though I don't have much experience with guitar, myself. Blaine might be able to provide tips, though. He's pretty quick at picking up on how to use an instrument.

I'm a little more 'learn by the book.'

"So, I'm guessing that you play as part of a band? And are looking to be able to provide guitar and vocals?"

"I'm kind of just me at this point. I do the occasional open mic night thing." Being part of a band? That would be cool. I liked it back home on the rare occasion I was actually there to, you know, play, and not somewhere staving off catastrophe. 'Staving off,' I've always wondered where that phrase came from.

I wonder if it's artifact related.

Topic, Donovan. "But yeah, I sing and I play. I figure getting better at one or both might make me some money."

"That's really neat," I say, nose wrinkling in my amusement at the thought. Claudia definitely has that kind of rocker chick look to her, which I imagine would be pretty popular with that type of music crowd. I try to picture her with a guitar strapped across her shoulder, a hand wrapped around a mic.

It's pretty electric.

"I love open mics. Hearing people share what they come up with on their own, it's a lot more fun than incredibly produced performances. Even if I enjoy those too. But I should be able to get you in mic-shape, no problem. In three weeks, you'll already start to see a difference. Pinky promise."

"Ohhh, that, I'll hold you to." I stick up my pinky for the obligatory shake. I mean, if you're going to do something, you have to do it. And I've got no doubt that Kurt can hold up his end. "Hey, maybe I can teach you a few chords here and there, too, if you want to learn. Maybe we can do a double-team-y thing."

I easily take her pinky in hand. It's kind of nice, having someone who bears the same kind of enthusiasm that the members of New Directions did, and I'm pretty confident that no matter what her type of music is, both Blaine and I can find a way to adopt it and make it all the more fun. I find myself looking forward, more and more, to what I can experience by offering these voice lessons.

If nothing else, I'm sure I'll be deepening friendships.

"That would be great, actually. I've been meaning to polish on my skills outside of the piano. Never hurts to have a few instruments in your back pocket. And hey, my boyfriend Blaine's working on learning the guitar, too, so we can make a jam session out of it."

"Sweet. You sound like my kind of people. Rock on." Reaching into my bag I pull out... huh, I think that's a receipt for, yeah, not that one. Here we go, grocery receipt. I'm totally down with letting him know how much yogurt and doughnuts I go through. Rummaging again, I find a pen that seems to be working and I scribble a few things down.

"Here's my e-mail and number, my schedule's totes flexible these days, so just drop me a line and I'm all yours, musically speaking."

the gardens wearing haute couture

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