Hit'n Those Notes Ch. 01

Heads up: This story will run roughly a dozen chapters, with releases every couple days of the next chapter. It tells a story from the perspective of a Trans Woman. It is not heavily laden with sexual scenes, so read for the story and realize this isn't that kind of story (I'm trying to save you time if that's what you're looking for). The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

March 15th, 9:18 p.m.

"...I think I'm ready now... Intoxicate me now with your lovin' now... I think I'm ready now..." I sang softly into faded silence.

Bill continued to play the out bars one last time and, on the final note, let it hang -- to fade away hauntingly. We were very much in sync tonight; he emphasized the lulls in the arrangement, helping me to recover after getting into those higher registers and then pulling back when I was in control and powering through vocally.

Masterful -- he had so much talent! Slowing the song down as we did was risky, but it really flipped the pop song on its axis. Then, of course, Bill injected it with some jazz roots and undertones -- so very different from Spears' original pop version of the song 'Toxic'. Bill was truly a musical genius.

The applause was polite and appreciative, but not over the top for the half-filled jazz club. I stood from the stool I had been sitting on center stage and pointed towards Bill, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, arrangement by Bill Carter..."

The applause picked up a bit louder, the stage lighting swung over to the piano, and I walked over to Bill and kissed him on the cheek before making my exit.

Gary was on the mic as I made my stage exit: "Breanna Calloway..."

There was a second round of appreciative applause before he was announcing the next singer, and Bill was slowly building an intro on the piano: 'Dog and Butterfly' by Heart. I was pretty sure that's what the next song was.

"Love that rendition, Brea."

"Thanks, Mike," I replied, trying to smile but not feeling I'd done very well.

I made my way through the dim backstage area, pulling my monitor earpieces out and turning them off. I made it around a couple corners backstage and casually reentered the club near the back bar area.

I caught a couple nods from a few regulars, a few hands touching my arm with whispered encouraging words, and a few smiles as I walked towards Kaley at a standup table close to the bar. Most of the patrons were now focused on the stage, though, so my moment in the spotlight was just that -- a brief, fleeting moment.

"That was harsh," I offered after nudging her.

She looked at me, confused. "Like when?"

"Second chorus, felt like I was mumbling... I need better monitor earpieces; I couldn't hear myself a few times."

"Come on, Brea, you know that's not true. You sounded good to me. You've been performing here for like three months now; take the win, and it sounded like everyone liked your performance, and Bill was on tonight."

"Was he ever! My only saving grace," I looked around the club; people were mostly watching Gina sing a straight rendition of the Heart song, and a few were having quiet conversations - typical scene on any given night.

"I'm gonna say 'Hi' to JJ. You want anything," Kaley asked.

"Nah, just finish up my water, and I think I'll call it a night. Get out of here."

We hugged, and I watched Kaley make her way to the end of the bar and hug JJ. They were cute together, and I wondered when he would figure out she was flirting every time she came here. The man was kind of dense. Then again he didn't seem to lack from attention from the women patrons who frequented the club.

Movement at the far end of the bar caught my attention as a guy appeared to be walking towards my table. Okay, where'd you come from? He smiled and nodded his head when our eyes met, and a few seconds later he was standing at my table. He moved like he was on the hunt, fit, attractive, and had a smile that exuded confidence. This wasn't going to end well I thought just before he spoke.

"Hi, mind if I join you?"

I could feel a lump lodge in my throat, and now I felt a little weary. Sure, I interact with people all the time at work, but I'm guarded, and 'pop-up' meetings were a bit spooky to me no matter where I was. I was the queen of flying under the radar; being barely noticed was my 'thing', unless I was singing.

"Actually, I was just about to leave. You're welcome to the table if you want."

I wasn't lying, but I wasn't going to give this guy an opening either by making up some lie that would trip me up if I let him start a conversation.

He looked confused and said, "Oh, well, I actually came here tonight to meet you. I had heard you were singing tonight and..."

I cut him off. "Ah, look... I don't mean to be rude, but I don't... I don't do meeting people in clubs." I was nervous, and any control of my surroundings I thought I had felt was quickly slipping away. "I think you probably need to be talking to someone else..."

I added for good measure, "Trust me..." I could feel my heart thumping in my ears even over the music playing, and I looked toward the stage involuntarily. I could see Gary just off to the right. If I waved, would he see me? Probably not; he was watching Gina sing. I looked back toward the bar, JJ. I could flag him down; he was closer. Would this guy follow me out of here? Fuck! Slow it down.

"Ah, I think you have me all wrong. Here," he said, pulling a card from his jacket and handing it to me.

The card read 'Blake Schultz, Grand Caymans Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas, NV' with multiple phone numbers, an email address, and a website. I read it and looked at him blankly - so what? I could print this on my computer in thirty seconds or less with the right card stock.

"Sorry... Blake, I'm not interested." His card told me nothing, and I hoped my bluntness registered.

He reached over and took the card. "Augh, sorry about that, old card." He handed me another one after inspecting it.

'Blake Schultz, Chief Marketing and Experience Officer', with the same information as the first card he'd handed me. OK, you now have a title, congrats on that! I wasn't feeling this and put his card on the table.

"I'm sorry, I don't... I gotta go." One last look at the guy, and I didn't hesitate to make my exit.

When I was at the host stand, I looked back; the guy hadn't moved, and he wasn't even looking at me. I slipped my jacket on, and I prayed there was a cab or Uber out front. I did not need any drama from some kook with a pocket full of 'talent scout-wanna-be' business cards from a casino in Las Vegas I had never heard of. I was out the door quickly and walking south on Fifth.

This kind of thing wasn't new; I could pass, generally speaking, but that didn't mean those with heightened radar didn't suspect something was off about me. It wasn't Transgender night at the club; it was amateur night, so my singing tonight wasn't meant to be a draw for freaks and chasers.

Sure, a few people in the club knew I was Trans, but they totally didn't care. People who didn't know - well, those were usually ones that had whatever flavor of bias ingrained in them and were the most dangerous to someone like me.

I'd been singing since I was a kid, progressing from church choir to Honors Choir in high school to even a little singing in college. In college, I was told I might be a countertenor due to being able to sing so high effortlessly, but in reality, I was probably more of a falsettist. I had decent voice control, so there was no way that guy could figure me out by singing or even in the few sentences I spoke to him back there. Some crazy peeps out tonight. I looked back at the door twice before getting into a cab a block from the club.

March 22nd, 9:44 p.m.

The Gaslamp District was hopping tonight. The crowd inside the jazz club was electric, charged even. By the time I got on stage, the eighth amateur of this week's showcase, the crowd was really into the performance. I sang 'Lights' by Journey, a song I really enjoyed singing and knew inside and out.

Bill and I had rehearsed it five, six times since Monday at the community center in Sherman Heights, a few blocks from the car dealership I worked at. Of course, I had recorded the intended arrangement and, as was my typical preparation mode, had been practicing every waking moment up until tonight.

He had changed the timing, so it flowed quicker. It almost felt like a Bruno Mars spin had been laid on the melody. It certainly worked, musically speaking, but I know there were a few spots tonight where I was flat, and no amount of willing from Bill's keying the piano could save my flawed singing.

The crowd was appreciative with their applause when I was finished singing, but really, Bill was the one they were applauding. Oh, well... Next time, I'll do better. I shrugged backstage after Mike said I sounded great. I thanked him, but honestly, he was just being polite. I mean, really, was he going to say I sucked? That thought made me chuckle to myself.

I pulled my monitor earpieces out, turned them off and thought yet again that I needed to invest in a new ones with better fidelity and upgraded Bluetooth. An upgrade would actually help more than hurt my singing. Bottom line though: this was amateur night, so these people just got a big dose of amateur. Sure, I felt a little discouraged, but that was just part of the gig - I'd survive it. I'll be better next week.

When I entered the club from backstage, I couldn't see Kaley, so I just found a spot near the pass bar area. I was trying my best to stay out of the way of the women working their asses off hydrating the crowd with all manner of alcoholic beverages. JJ and the other bartender, Mark, I think his name was - were moving quickly to fill drink orders. I had been to this jazz club a few times on weekends; this crowd tonight rivaled a weekend crowd. I have no idea why tonight was so special.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a server, Dee.

"Hey...," I greeted her.

"That was a cool change to that song. So very Stevie Nicks, even Melissa Etheridge like. You want anything," she asked.

"Ice water, Thanks... I think I like singing the original version better. I'm no Stevie or Melissa." I chuckled nervously, but I'm sure with all the noise she didn't hear me. I knew the lower I sang, the more problems I would have with control. Oh well!

"It was cool when the crowd lit up their phones... I haven't seen that for a while," she said, dumping ice into a rock glass.

"Didn't Gina get that treatment on the Neil Diamond 'Sweet Caroline' song a few weeks ago," I asked.

"I wasn't here that night... Lemon?"

"Nah, Thanks..."

She handed me the glass, picked up a few drinks JJ had just put down on the pass bar, and she was gone. When I turned to face the stage, there was a familiar face standing in front of me. Shit! Brad... No, Blake... Blake something... Fuck! I felt anxious, uncontrollably so.

"Nice job tonight. I'd offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you have something," he said, leaning in towards me.

Go away! Don't be nice to me; don't give me some lame bullshit lines. You seriously don't know what you're getting with me. Augh!

"I was flat..."

He interrupted the beginning of what would have been a critical review of my failures tonight, saying, "The song was up tempo, probably a little more than it should have been, especially for a good singer. That rendition might have been better sung like Steve Perry had sang it."

What? No, it was sped up on purpose; the key was changed on purpose. The 'fuck' you know about our arrangement! The tempo was on point; I was the problem.

"I disagree, but what do I know - I'm just a 'good singer'," I said snarkily, but with the noise of the bar, I doubt he heard my bitchy retort and tone.

"Yes, you're a good singer. There was not much to complain about with that performance honestly. The crowd seemed to like it. Kind of cool, they lit up their cellphone flashlights."

Why am I talking to this guy? Was I succumbing to his handsome good looks or his confidence? Augh! OK, I was going to stay until the end of the showcase, but this guy just changed my mind on that. Time to leave...

"Nice talking to you; I'm out."

Without so much as a chance to let him get a last word in, I set my glass down and began weaving in and out of the crowd lining the bar area as if on a mission. At the host stand, I looked back and didn't see him; good 'nuf for me! Later dude! My anxiousness was making my stomach roil; it would do a flip and then flopped - I have gotta get out of here!

Outside of the club, there was still a sizable crowd of people milling around, not to mention twenty or so people waiting to get into the club - there must be a convention in town or something. I headed south on Fifth, intent on catching a cab in the next block like I had last week escaping that nut-job.

"You ever hear of the Transgender Day of Visibility?"

I stopped dead in my tracks and spun quickly, ready to defend myself from an attacker.

"What the fuck!" He'd scared the shit out of me, and feeling like I was, this stalker tactic he was laying on me wasn't going to work.

"Whoa... Look, I'm not some crazed chaser, but I do have something you might be interested in hearing about."

Well, aren't you cute? Really, not a 'chaser'? Like you're not some fetish junkie? Yeah for you! Oh, and you know I'm Trans; congrats! I'm so impressed! Are you really about to threaten me right here with all these people milling about?

I felt my stomach drop, and my hands felt oddly cold and tingly. I needed to decide my next actions carefully and quickly. The street was crowded with people, so he wasn't about to pull any shit right here. Think... Wait... What did he ask me? Do I know about the Transgender Day of Visibility? Fuck you! I decided to swing back and hard...

"Why are you stalking me," I asked in a loud voice, which caught the attention of a couple people walking by us.

"Oh, no... That's not what this is," he said to a couple of guys who decided to stop to see where our conversation was about to go.

"Well, you better fucking explain yourself, or I'm sure those cops across the street will need to know what your problem is..." I was on the verge of puking and could taste the staleness of my breath. I should have had lemon with that water. I was putting on a big show of bravado, but truth be told, I really just wanted to crawl under a rock. Your move, Blake...

"Look, I'm looking for singing talent for the event I just mentioned. It will be held at our hotel in Vegas next week. I'm only here to see if you're interested. If you're not, you will not see me again."

I thought about how he put that: 'the event I just mentioned'. He did that for me, since we now had an audience of two blue-collar types that would probably have no trouble ripping into this guy if I were to ask for help. Of course, worst case these guys could make things tougher on me if he'd outed me. OK, he was doing me a favor by not drawing any unnecessary attention to my not being what I appeared. I could see the cops across the street looking our way. Fuck!

I looked at the two guys and said, "I'm good guys. Thank you for stopping, though."

"Are you sure," the bigger of the two asked not taking his eyes off of Blake.

"Yeah, I think those cops over there are gonna be checking us out in a couple minutes."

Everyone looked toward the cops, and one of the two guys waved. My two champions, likely sailors from some ship just into the navy base, figured things were handled and began to move on.

Okay Blake Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you dodged getting your ass handed to you. The cops - well, unless you have a compelling story to tell me, it's going to go south pretty quick for you.

"You have about three minutes before those cops make their way over here. Tell me what you want, and we can go from there."

"It's basically a singing contest to showcase Transgender singers next week, culminating on the Transgender Day of Visibility. You get coaching and an allowance for wardrobe, room, and board. It will look a bit like those reality TV singing shows. Everyone is filmed in an interview style; the competition is filmed; and the whole event gets edited into a PBS documentary for a later date."

He paused to think, "Oh, there are prizes for first- through third-place finishers. Top prize: twenty thousand dollars. Here," he fished another card and handed it to me, "Check our website - this contest has been advertised for about six months. This is totally legit and above board. You can contact me directly at those numbers or by email. Research it..."

He'd said a lot, but why me? How did he find me?

"Why me," I asked.

"Well, you were a whisper on the wind to tell the truth," he said, smiling, but continued when I didn't look amused. "So, someone I know in LA mentioned hearing about someone new to the San Diego jazz scene, and I decided to come see for myself. Do you know how many jazz clubs there are in San Diego? Plenty," he complained.

"The problem was that no one knew who I was looking for when I started inquiring - subtly mind you. Then I met Gary, who said if I was interested in someone with talent, I should come see the Thursday amateur night showcase. Even after explaining what I was looking for, he said nothing about you specifically. Anyway, I show up last week, and he says, 'Make sure I see Breanna perform...'. I thought you had a great voice and were what we're looking for. Then you blew me off when I tried to introduce myself. What else is there? You have any other questions?"

I was about to speak when I noticed a pained look on Blake's face. I turned to see what he was looking at - the two cops were now less than twenty yards away. Shit... It's not like we could run away or fade away into the crowd, so I resigned myself to having to deal with them and just waited for them to approach. I would just explain to them that we had a misunderstanding and everything was...

A scream from the opposite direction stopped them, and they were looking toward the other side of the street, where two women were posting up after one or the other had just screamed for some reason. The cops jaywalked quickly to get over to the women; we were no longer their focus. Jesus! What next?!?! I just wanted to get out of here.

"Let's do this; you go that way." I pointed up Fifth and said, "I'll go this way. I'll check into your story, and if I'm interested, I will call you. Until then, no more stalking shit... Fair enough?"

"Fair enough... But I'm sort of under a time crunch. We lost a singer who had auditioned. At this point, we either replace her or cut the competition down to ten from twelve. There were others we cut, but they really wouldn't be able to hold their own in this competition without looking," he struggled for a word, "As if they were just casual singers. I think you could really add to what we're putting on and trying to accomplish."

"I don't understand..."

"We auditioned somewhere around thirty-five singers. From that group, we selected twelve singers, but with the dropout, we are down to eleven. My GM wants to replace the one who bailed on us or cut one of the singers so we have an even number. I'm not sure why he's so set on that - a field of ten or twelve singers, but that's what I've got to get figured out," he said frustratedly.

"I'm heading back to Vegas at noon tomorrow. So, I'm offering you a spot, or I'm going to have to cut someone since we're live with this event starting Tuesday. Give it some thought overnight and call me tomorrow one way or the other, please," he asked, extending his hand, which I took after a moment and shook.

He turned and started walking up Fifth without another word. I stood there for a second, wondering if I should have asked him a few more questions. No, get out of here, get home, and see if this guy's story really was as he said it was. I certainly was left wanted to know more about this competition, though. Grr! Curiosity has killed many a cat!