The characters from Glee do not belong to me; I'm just using them because I love them, particularly Rachel and Finn. Please don't sue me. I'm broke anyway so there's really no point. The characters not from Glee are mine, all mine with the invaluable help of my wonderful beta, wood-u-like-2-no, who, contrary to expectations, can spell but more importantly makes what I try to do better. Please drop me a review if you like this story. Unlike Reunion, this one could have longevity but it's also different from the norm so it would help to know if the interest is there to keep it up.

Conceit: Chapter titles are song titles. This one made its first appearance in the film Hollywood Hotel in 1937, sung by Johnnie Davis and Frances Langford.

+...+

Chapter One: Hooray for Hollywood

He was waiting for a call.

He tried to concentrate on the script of Waiting for the General that his agent was pushing as his next movie project. He suspected that Saul's motives were less than pure. It was written by the best-selling writer who was one of the agency's new high profile signings. He had never read any of the guy's books. He'd stopped equating popularity with quality after his first foray into Dan Brown when he was in the army. All he knew was that as a scriptwriter, the guy was crap, at least as much as he'd managed to absorb, which was so far to page eight. Finn Hudson's name on the bill would land it a credence it didn't deserve. Finn would have been surprised that Saul even thought he would be interested in this piece of shit but Saul was trying to make a point. Saul was dead set against Finn doing Drumm. Saul was old school. Movies and TV didn't mix in Saul's perfect world. It mattered not how many acclaimed actors and actresses had proved him wrong. Saul was convinced that doing TV would kill Finn's movie career and was showing him the kind of scripts he could expect after he was tainted by TVitus.

Saul was so Old Hollywood that he wanted to relive the 1930s and 1940s, the days of the real stars, when the Hollywood legends were made, like that of Lana Turner being discovered when she was skipping school to take in a Coke at a drug store counter and made a star overnight. He'd admitted that love of nostalgia for a time he was too young to have ever experienced was what drew him to Finn, whose own start was similarly laced with luck and circumstance; that and his talent. The fact that Finn didn't know the legend or worse, that he didn't have a clue who Lana Turner was Saul ignored other than to consider it a condemnation of an American education system that didn't give appropriate priority to film appreciation. It was a topic on which he frequently lectured his young charge. What Saul knew for sure was that Finn was another legend in the making and Saul got on board early.

After two years active service in the army, Finn had decided to pursue acting. He moved to California, took up residence on the floor of an old friend's one room apartment, and signed up for as many acting classes as he could. His leading man looks and screen presence had been spotted by a slightly deranged film-maker who no one took seriously. The man cast him in his low-budget independent that made a ton of money, much as The Blair Witch Project had for its producers. Finn being flavour of the month led him to a superhero movie which, contrary to all expectations, proved to be the summer's blockbuster. That's when he met Saul and that's when Saul proved his worth. Sultan wasn't a tent pole production based on a comic and the costs and effects were kept down to Monsters-like levels, but they still wanted him to commit to sequels in case of franchise potential. That was a deal-breaker for Finn, who wanted to do as wide a variety of roles as he could on the advice of his first acting coach and who was fielding a number of attractive offers. The studio really wanted Finn for Sultan and brought Saul in as a fixer to help persuade him to sign. Instead, Saul ended up brokering a script change whereby the character was poised for a Doctor Who-like regeneration and everyone walked away relatively happy. Finn also walked away with a new agent. Sultan's success and the freedom to choose new projects led to four more well-received films, including a two-hander with Clooney, and two Oscar nods. The six years he owed in the Army Reserves was paid off when the army decided that securing his agreement to front a long-running recruitment campaign was worth more than having him back as a soldier.

Puck came into the study and threw himself down on the other leather couch.

"Any word?" he asked.

"Nope. Where's Ben?"

"Last I saw him; he was down at the pool, trying to chew his fingers off."

Finn had met Ben Shapiro in the army. They'd been assigned buddies, having to eat, sleep, train, patrol and shit together, and a friendship blossomed. Both had aspirations to go into the arts, Finn as an actor and Ben as a writer. Between long marches and bouts of combat, they'd talk about what they wanted to do when they got out. One night, a little drunk and glad to be alive after a particularly vicious fire fight in Afghanistan where they'd saved each other's lives in turn in the course of one night and agreed to never talk about again, Ben had come up with the outline for Drumm as a vehicle starring his wannabe-actor friend. For the rest of their time in the army, the two of them spent every spare moment thinking and talking about Drumm, honing and shaping it into something they liked.

Finn got out after two years. Ben had signed up for four. In the two years without his friend and on his failure to find another with whom he bonded as well, Ben spent his spare time turning Drumm into a novel. He wanted Finn to take co-authorship, but Finn refused. The story was Ben's, the talent was Ben's. All Finn did, as far as he could see, was act as template for the main character and throw in a few ideas. Drumm was published and while it wasn't a best-seller, it did well enough to give Ben the financial cushion once he left the army to write a second book. The new novel proved more popular and shared nothing with Drumm except genre. The second book didn't attract film offers, but it did bring Ben to Hollywood as a writer at the invitation of the show runner of a popular-with-the-critics-if-not-the-audience TV procedural.

It was Finn who put together the team to get Drumm made. He'd sold the idea to a small production company and specifically to Amy Trudeau who'd produced two of his movies. Amy told him point blank that there wasn't a chance in hell of getting it made unless Finn attached his name to it as star. Finn's intention had been to be an executive producer but he knew Amy was right. He decided to go all in and commit to the project sending Saul on a rant of universal proportions. Doubling his sessions with his therapist, Saul swallowed his overt antipathy to his client's insanity, but still tossed in barbs whenever he could about actors who threw their careers away by being stupid.

"Is Saul coming over?"

"Saul is still sulking," Finn said with a heavy sigh. "If he's not actively campaigning to sabotage us, he's hiding in Cabo. I have a really bad feeling that he's not in Cabo."

"That dude needs to get laid."

Finn grinned. That was Puck's belief about anyone at anytime and it was an opinion frequently expressed. Puck had moved to LA after high school with the conviction that so many swimming pools meant his fledging pool-cleaning business would thrive. Puck forgot to factor in that many pools meant many more competing pool-cleaners. Also omitted from his business equation was the ubiquity of unemployed, very good looking actors with spare time who needed to make a living until their breaks came. Puck wasn't the hottest guy in town who could clean a pool any more. He managed to get enough work to make rent but he had to rely on his charms with some of the older, lonelier ladies for extra cash.

When Finn arrived in LA, he turned up at Puck's door, hoping for a bed for the night. He stayed despite the bed being made of floorboard because Puck was happy to see him and because Finn wanted to put as much cash as he could on his lessons, having so much catching up to do. Finn also wanted to pay Puck rent. Puck kept refusing until he got so fed up with the debate that he suggested Finn clean pools for him in lieu of rent. It worked well for Puck. Finn, honed by two years of army training, had the traditional good looks that made him popular with all the ladies, even the hot ones. Puck never felt like a pimp, seeing it merely as effective marketing. The business gained more customers, Puck had a wider and more attractive group of ladies to serve and even after Finn had to quit being his front man and being shown off from time to time when he got his first acting job, Puck was able to keep the majority of his customers satisfied.

With the first pay cheque from the superhero movie, Finn found a decent apartment and invited Puck to join him. They had been living together ever since and as the apartments and subsequently the houses got bigger and more luxurious, so Puck's passion for pools faded in every way except the joy of having a cold beer while lying in one. Puck instead made himself useful, becoming Finn's general factotum. Puck would roar with laughter whenever he or Finn put on old episodes of Entourage, Puck's favourite ever show-discovered-long-after-it-aired. He saw himself as Turtle to Finn's Vincent Chase. The analogy wasn't misplaced.

Finn finally dropped the script, abandoning the attempt to give it attention. He threw his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, willing the phone to ring. He could call Amy but she'd just send him to voicemail. She'd call as soon as she knew.

+...+

Puck started to fidget. Waiting was fucking boring. He got up to find the iPad and started perusing the entertainment sites. These were his people now. He liked to keep up with the gossip. He checked the home pages of a few of his favourites until he saw a photo. He zoomed in. It was a group photo of a large cast standing in front of one of New York's theatres. There was something familiar about one of the figures.

"I don't believe it," he said softly.

He glanced over at Finn who looked like he was falling asleep. Puck returned his eyes to the screen and selected the link under the picture. It took him to the site's Broadway News page, a section not on Puck's bookmark list. Theatre people, in his experience, were definitely not his people. Reading the story quickly, he took in a long, slow breath. He considered whether or not to show Finn. Puck knew how soft-hearted the big man was about some things. He didn't consider long.

+...+

"Finn, bro, take a look at this."

Finn jerked his head up to see what Puck wanted. Without warning, Puck threw him the iPad. Finn had to scramble to catch it without damaging it. Years of life with a cash-strapped single mom had given Finn a respect for money and property that Puck had lost somewhere between the Porsche and the Lamborghini, despite growing up in similar straits. Finn glared at Puck and shook his head. Puck widened his eyes to let them say "What?" for him and shrugged, pointing to the iPad.

Finn looked down at the screen and saw the Broadway News banner at the top. It was followed by an article reporting on the end of a long-running musical. Finn didn't have to read the story to know which musical so he scanned it quickly to see if she was mentioned. She was.

Second lead Rachel Berry spoke for the rest of the cast. The show's ingénue "Betty," despite pushing thirty, said that everyone was emotional about the end of the show's run. "I've-We've loved working here and I love, love, love all my fellow cast mates. I-We will miss each other so much!" When asked what her plans were now, the normally effusive Ms. Berry just smiled and said "No comment." After her critically regarded guest appearance as a remorseful serial killer on Law & Order: Riot Squad, this reporter thought that Hollywood might be calling but word on the street is that she's up for a part in the new Sondheim revue. It's no surprise that this little lady loves New York what with her rumoured beau, financier Bradley Jackson, setting Wall Street alight. Watch this space.

"Berry's doing well," Puck said casually, "hooking up with big money. Smart girl."

Finn smiled tightly. Puck had stayed in LA the last time Finn went to New York to do Letterman. Afterwards, Finn had slipped into the theatre to watch Rachel, the first and only time he'd seen her perform since they left high school. Her voice was even better than he remembered and she shone on stage. Watching her caused his heart to do somersaults and he slipped away before the curtain closed. Puck wouldn't have understood. Puck had always been a love-'em-and-leave-'em kind of dude – or more accurately, fuck-'em-and-leave-'em – and Finn didn't think he'd understand ache, particularly as Finn could have any woman he wanted.

"She is," Finn agreed absent-mindedly, wondering who the guy was. Finn tried to keep up with events, but he was clueless on this Bradley Jackson. If nothing else, he hoped the guy made Rachel happy. He thought about googling the name until he reminded himself sharply that it was none of his business. What good would it do him knowing anyway?

Damn, he thought, laying down the iPad. Now I'm not just waiting for a call that's probably bad news, I'm sitting here thinking about Rachel. This day is not going well at all.

The phone rang. Puck leapt off the couch to grab it. Finn saw Ben, pale and visibly shaking, appear at the patio door.

"Yeah?"

Puck was, as ever, efficient.

"Yeah, got it."

Puck put the phone down and turned solemnly to his friends.

"That was Amy."

He stared down at the floor. Finn's heart sank and Ben looked like he was going to puke.

Puck grinned and shouted, "HBO is a go!"

Finn abandoned his scruples and threw the iPad hard at Puck. Puck caught it and danced a jig, waving it around in the air before tossing it on the couch. Finn jumped up with a yell of "Yes!" He raced over to Ben, giving him a bear hug before returning to high-five with Puck. Finn was elated and started banging on invisible drums. Ben was clapping his hands. Puck supplied a song.

"It's a go and you are Drumm! Nineteen-eighties, here we come!"

Drumm: Chapter One

11am

To the casual observer, Drumm was daydreaming or, maybe, sleeping off a rough night in the driver's seat of his old Ford Galaxie 500. More careful observation may have just glimpsed the blonde head that occasionally bobbed above the window. Yet Drumm's attention was on neither his dreams nor on the blow job –hardly anyway - but on the door of the grossly inappropriately named Grand Hotel on the corner of 15th and Vine.

Theo would have yelled at him if he'd known Drumm had engaged in such diversions while on a job. He should have told the groupie to get lost but he wasn't one to turn down sex. He could have told Theo that he had tried to brush her off but that the girl's enthusiasm and insistence threatened to expose his carefully arranged anonymity. There wasn't a hope in hell that his brother would believe it. It would be another example of Drumm screwing up. Drumm had screwed up a lot in his life.

Ten years older, Theo has just joined the police force when their parents died in a car crash. Raising the family afterthought, an unruly ten-year old, when Theo was not much more than a kid himself had proved hard. Drumm had been stupid, running wild and getting hooked on drugs. There was a lot about his mid teens to early twenties that Drumm didn't remember. What he'd never forget was the day of Theo's dishonourable discharge from the force for corruption. The corruption was Drumm; Theo had let his brother walk after catching him red-handed breaking into a convenience store to get money to feed his habit. It came out and it was bye-bye Police Detective Theodore Drummond. On the same day, Theo's wife Lisa, never happy to be parent to the overgrown baby that was Drumm, walked away too. Drumm ruined his brother's life. It was the last day Drumm touched any drug that he couldn't buy at Sears.

Wasting his youth left Drumm ill-suited to most careers and bereft of any skills except those associated with thievery and guile. There was one exception – the one that made his nickname stick. Thomas Drummond played the drums. A gift from his parents when he was seven had been put to immediate use and even at his heroin-fuelled worst he'd never sold his drum kit. Hanging around the outskirts of the local music industry had given him access to drugs and the opportunity to do some gigs, when he could be bothered with them. It was to that industry he turned when he cleaned up. His epiphany on what he owed his brother, who was now reduced to running a small detective agency, made him immune to the ever-present temptation of the lifestyle he'd turned his back on. He'd joined a couple of people he'd hung with in the past who were putting together a band and Pandemic was born. It did okay. It was popular locally, hence the girl in his lap but although providing regular work, it wasn't really enough to make rent on a decent place, particularly when split five-ways. That's why Drumm was sitting in a car waiting for an adulteress to arrive at the Grand Hotel so Drummond Investigations could invoice her suspicious husband. He was supplementing his income.

Drumm felt his eyes start to glaze over as the activity in his groin became too intense to ignore and his mouth dropped open. He tried to focus on the street around the hotel, determined not to close his eyes but they started to roll back of their own accord. He blinked hard and in a flash, he spotted Councilwoman Georgina Jensen, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over her platinum blonde bob, heading for the Grand Hotel.

"Shit!"

Drumm couldn't stop himself coming as he tried to push the girl off his cock, resulting in a messy explosion of ejaculate and squealing protests.

"I've got to go," he shouted, frantically eying the back seat for something to cover up the mess he'd made of his jeans and T-shirt.

"You son of a bitch," the girl cried, "you son of a whor-"

Drumm leaned over her and opened the passenger door, shoving her out of the car.

"We're playing tonight, come back stage, I'll make it up to you."

"Fuck you," the girl snorted, "I want Johnny."

Drumm scoffed. "Naturally! Nobody ever wants the drummer."

She drew in a deep breath to shout out more invective. He forestalled it.

"I promise I'll introduce you to Johnny with my highest personal recommendation. Now, go away!"

The girl stormed off, slamming shut the door, as Drumm grabbed a sweatshirt from the backseat and threw it over his head, hoping it didn't make him too conspicuous on this hot day. He shot out of the car, running up to the door of the hotel.

The receptionist sourly gave him the thumbs up. It had taken an extra fifty bucks on top of the room rates to earn his co-operation, although Drumm's 6'3" frame hadn't hurt either. Being that tall made him intimidating without effort. Drumm raced up the stairs and headed for Room 14.

He was elated. Theo had been sceptical that this would work as there was no guarantee as to who would arrive first, Mrs. Jensen or her as-yet-unidentified lover. Had the lover turned up first, the receptionist wouldn't have known to give him/her the key to the right room, the one next door to Room 14.

Drumm and Mitch Ridgeley, one of Theo's two investigators and the one who managed all the specialist equipment, had prepared the rooms earlier in the morning, taking an hour to place and hide the microphone and camera points. The microphones were new or new to the agency at least. Theo was a Luddite who's only concession to advances in technology was to throw Mitch an occasional bone, a bare bone with the budget to match. Mitch had finally talked Theo into giving covert audio recording a try and Mitch was using the Jensen case as an opportunity to test out some of the second-hand equipment. Drumm knew better than to ask where it came from. Mitch had his own well-guarded sources.

There were two cameras trained on the room and Mitch rigged up a way for Drumm to be able to see the view from both at the same time. Drumm would still have to choose what stills to snap but at least he didn't have to run from camera to camera.

Mitch had intended to stay to monitor the audio but when he called into the office after he and Drumm were done preparing, Theo wanted him back. There was no debate. Theo claimed greater priority and the audio was a dry run on a job that didn't need it. Mitch glanced down forlornly at the audio equipment. He showed Drumm the button to push to start recording, the one to stop it, and the one to mute the live sound if Drumm didn't want to listen as he worked the cameras.

Drumm entered Room 14 and turned on the recorder. He checked the cameras. They were capturing the room well and he took a couple of good test shots of the Councilwoman. Drumm sat back to wait for her visitor, listening to her move around the room through the recorder.

Mrs. Jensen turned on the radio. The announcer's voice came through clearly. Mitch will be happy, Drumm thought with a smile before registering what was being said on the news.

"More ramifications from President Carter's announcement of America's boycott of the Moscow Olympics in a moment but today's top story: who did shoot JR?"

Drumm didn't watch a lot of TV so the nation buzzing about last night's Dallas was a mystery to him. He despaired on the state of humanity to think that with the world going to hell, this was what got people worked up.

The news over; music started. Drumm cringed. He liked Floyd but he was really sick of "Another Brick." Drumm muted the audio and returned to his place at the cameras just in time to see the woman jerk her head up and stare at the door to her room. He watched her turn off the radio and head for the door. Drumm stiffened in readiness.

"Here we go."