Hit'n Those Notes Ch. 02

The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Tuesday, March 27th, 6:44 a.m.

I entered the conference room dressed business casual; what I was wearing wasn't my first choice, but I was too tired to fight clothing choices at 5:30 AM. My nerves were certainly trying to get the better of me, but my biggest problem was not getting enough sleep. I slept like a rock; I just didn't sleep well or deeply. Without some strong coffee, I was going to crash and crash hard.

There were four other women already seated around a long conference table, coffee cups in hand, plates of food from the buffet setup along a wall of windows with a partial view of the pool, and they were quietly talking amongst themselves. I smiled back at those who acknowledged my presence.

In the corner of the room were two people gathered around a camera, one of them holding a microphone on a boom. They looked engrossed in what they were doing. I noticed a number of microphones on the table. I guess we're now on stage. That was a little unsettling. I got in line behind a guy getting food.

"Morning..."

"Good morning," I replied with a smile, trying to match his as he was appraising me.

"Dana," he said, extending his hand after putting his plate down.

"Brea..." I shook his hand.

He had a perfectly trimmed goatee and close-cropped hair, with the beginnings of salt and pepper gray showing. Dana looked fit, like he worked out daily; the muscular definition of his arms and what I could see through a loose-fitting shirt and shorts were impressive. He was a decent-looking guy who exuded confidence but not to the point of being cocky, and he had a friendly vibe. I'm not sure why I thought this contest was going to be all women competing; I felt foolish and hoped he didn't read minds or that my face showed any surprise about him being here.

"You must be our missing contestant? Little 411 from dinner last night -- you didn't miss anything. It seems like a pretty nice group of singers, at least so far. I'm really hoping it doesn't get catty."

"Oh... That's good to know. I was worried I'd be on the outs...," I said.

"Hey Michelle," Dana said, as if he were looking through me.

I turned to see that a woman had joined us in line for food.

"Hi, I'm Michelle; you must be Breanna?"

She had perfect teeth, and I found it hard to concentrate on anything else about her except her ultra-white smile. "Nice to meet you...," I got out before the pause got too long.

Michelle was a little taller than I was, dressed as if she were going to an interview, which made me feel a little self-conscious, and her voice was silky smooth. If her control was this good for just chatting, I could only imagine what her ability to sing was going to be like. It would be a lie to say I wasn't intimidated by both Dana and Michelle already, and all we'd done was introduce ourselves. Lovely, was I in over my head before this contest even got going?

Together, we joined the others at the table, and there was a round of quick introductions - which was repeated when the last five contestants entered the room just before seven. I was going to fail a test of names if I was asked or ran into a few of these people outside this room. Dana, Michelle, and another man, Wyatt, were the easy ones to remember. Augh...

I resisted looking back at the camera; I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like being in front of it these next couple days. Don't let there be doubts about why you're here, I thought. I am valid, and I am worthy.

Tuesday, March 27th, 7:12 a.m.

The volume in the room had gotten pretty loud as we all sat around eating and talking. The most common comment made was that this contest was a pretty big deal for the Trans community. There was a lot of Pride talk, being proud to represent, which I found pretty cool that others were feeling the same as I was. By the time the staff running the show arrived, I was pretty sure I knew the names of ten of the other eleven contestants. What's that eleventh woman's name? Jill, Jane? Augh! Damn it!

"Good morning, everyone." The room fell silent. "I'm Karen Cole; I met most of you last night; we've also been corresponding via email and had the occasional phone call. I want to welcome you again to The Grand Cayman Hotel and Casino and to our first 'Transgender Day of Visibility Vocal Competition'. I hope everyone had a chance to meet our final contestant. Breanna Calloway," she said, looking toward the end of the table I was sitting at, "She comes to us from San Diego and should fit in nicely."

I smiled politely, and then Wyatt chimed in, "Everyone, 'Welcome Breanna!'" Some in the room sang in chorus. That was followed by a few giggles and laughs.

I'm pretty sure I was blushing a bright shade of pinkish-red. The cameraman was moving to my right and pointing his shoulder-mounted camera at me. Lovely... I wanted to melt into the carpet or escape out the window behind me.

Karen wasted no time getting the meeting moving. The first topic was security, which she explained would be tight on site, but on the strip we should not roam around alone. Vegas as a whole was fairly safe, she explained, but we needed to stay vigilant. Someone asked about the protesters outside the hotel.

"The Vegas police have made it clear they are not welcome on our property. We have also surveillance video these people, and our in-house security personnel are monitoring them. We have extra security onsite for the competition and a response team in reserve. You shouldn't have anything to worry about; we've got better security on site than most prisons and airports combined. Our facial recognition capabilities, I'm told, are better than what the federal government uses. Please don't let a few narrow-minded people ruin this event for you. I promise we've got the situation handled."

Protestors? I hadn't thought about that being an issue; I guess I should have expected something like this given the prevailing right-wing attitudes on anything Transgender. I had been to Vegas a few times while in college, so I'd seen enough of the strip to know there was certainly safety in numbers. I didn't have any desire to go exploring since I'd seen enough of the strip in those previous visits. We were going to be so busy with all the activities for the show anyway; no way would we have down time to go run around.

The rest of our morning was laid out: we'd break into three groups of four and follow a schedule for each of the pieces of the show.

Group 1 would be off to hair, makeup, and stylist consultations, where we were to present our clothing, hair, and makeup needs. Group 2 was to meet with the stage manager, audio technicians, and band to go over everything in regards to our songs and any performance needs. Group 3 was to meet the PBS crew for our initial interviews.

Every four hours, the groups would shift stations until we were all through them, culminating in a group dinner party starting at 8:00 p.m. Basically, they were allowing an hour per contestant for each piece of the preparation process for the show.

Thank God, the schedule was printed out for us, and after going over it verbally, one of Karen's assistants passed it out on a sheet of paper. There was even a map of where our groups were to meet. Amen! The handout also had the names of contestants assigned to each group, and I saw that I was in Group 3 with Michelle, Wyatt, and contestant number eleven, Janet.

Ah! So, close! I smiled about almost remembering her name. Being in Group 3 was a good thing for me, not just because I had good vibes about those in the group, but because we wouldn't hit the stage portion of the process until 4:00 PM. Bill and Charles were supposed to arrive by 10 a.m., so if there was any downtime, I would have a chance to coordinate meeting up with Bill.

Karen went over a few more details, including telling us about the first elimination show, which was to start tomorrow evening at 7:00 PM. The show's finale would be on Thursday at the same time and only feature the six contestants who were judged to be the best. I guess it's 'sing your ass off' or you're out.

She also added that the pre-sale of tickets to the event showed we were just over halfway sold out for tomorrow night. I had looked up the main theater's capacity - seven hundred and forty-eight, so a touch bigger than the one hundred and 12 patron shows I'd done recently at the jazz club. I chuckled to myself, and then felt a lump in my throat when Karen said the finale was sold out.

Karen's presentation was completed, the groups gathered, and mine was following a production assistant; she'd introduced herself, but I had already forgotten her name. She was taking me to the conference room where the interview would take place. Augh... I hated when I did that! Forget someone's name two seconds after being introduced!

When we entered the conference room, there were two distinct sections: one contained two makeup stations with lights and hair stylist tools, and the other, which I was dreading, was a lighted stage area akin to a television interview show. I guess this wasn't going to be Jerry Springer-like, there was no crazed audience that I could see. I smiled to myself, thinking about Jerry Springer, which just happened to be on cue because I was being presented to someone who looked like they were in charge.

"Breanna, welcome. I'm Gale Spence, producer for the PBS documentary we'll be filming in conjunction with the Transgender Day of Visibility Vocal Competition. First things first, we'll need you to silence or turn off your cellphone," she requested politely.

I pulled my phone from my wristlet clutch and set it to 'Silent'.

"Thank you... We just don't want it going off during filming." After she looked at her clipboard quickly, she continued, "So, I'm going to turn you over to Marty and Tasha. They are going to get your makeup and hair prepped -- nothing too technical because we want you looking as you do on any normal day, but with the lights, we don't want you looking washed out on camera. Any questions for me before I send off with Marty?"

Questions? Ah... Can I go back to my room and change my clothes? I had a dozen or so others but I was drawing a total blank having been put on the spot. Think!

"I was wondering what the focus of this documentary was going to be," I asked, sounding like I wasn't sure that's what I really wanted to ask and just asking a question to ask one. Augh! What a stupid question - I already knew the answer!

"Good question... The goal is to show people you're no different from them. You've got dreams, quirks, desires, and many of the same struggles they have. Knowing you were born in the wrong body is confusing to many people. This is a chance for you to tell your story and maybe demystify some of your journey for them. I promise you, Leza Howell gets where you're coming from; she's a very good interviewer. Do you recognize the name?"

Leza Howell? Are you kidding me! She was a Trans Woman, a Transgender activist, and a part of the coalition for Transgendered People's Rights that started the Transgender Day of Visibility. No pressure! Augh!

"Yes, I know who Leza Howell is..."

"Excellent! How this is going to work is that after makeup and hair, you'll be brought over to the set," she pointed to the lighted stage, "And filming will begin as soon as you enter the stage area. Leza will introduce herself, shake hands, and you'll obviously introduce yourself. You'll both sit, and then it's going to be a freeform conversation between you both. Leza will keep the conversation going, so don't worry about having to carry the interview. You aren't here to interview Leza, but she will respond to questions or may add to a topic you comment on. Just ignore the cameras; all three will be recording, and in editing, we'll take the best angle for the content being discussed. It would be best if you didn't look at the cameras; you are having a conversation with Leza, and watching the camera will look odd. Just relax, be yourself, and don't worry about sharing with..."

"How long is this going to take?" I asked, interrupting her, my nervous energy getting the worst of me.

"We would like to get about thirty, maybe forty minutes of you and Leza talking. Trust me, we'll be cutting you off before you realize that much time has passed. We've tentatively agreed to edit down the interview to five to eight-minute segments per contestant, depending on subject matter and how the interview flows. It could be that we edit it to bounce around from contestant to contestant; I haven't decided yet to tell you the truth. I need to see what we end up with, and I can assure you we will present your story in an honest way and in the most flattering manner possible. I don't want to coach you; we're looking for the true you to come out in the interview. Just be you, and you'll do perfectly." She finished her instructions with a smile.

I wish I felt more confident after hearing the format. I mean, I talk to people daily, but that's about their car financing and trying to slip in up-selling options like maintenance plans, extended warranties, and whatever. I didn't talk about me, my fears, or my aspirations - even with friends - generally. I could make small talk, but that's not what this documentary was about.

Someone walked over to where Gale and I were standing.

"Hi Breanna, I'm Marty. Are we ready for some makeup?"

I nodded and followed her to the hair and makeup setup in this makeshift studio. Just go with it, I thought... It would be over before I knew it - that's what Gale said, right?

Tuesday, March 27th, 9:16 a.m.

"Breanna Calloway, welcome... Welcome. I'm Leza Howell," she began, extending her hand, which I took and shook.

"Hi, so nice to meet you. I'm a little star-struck right now; I want to apologize for that in advance if I can't hold a coherent thought," I replied nervously.

"No worries, Breanna, you'll do fine. Sit, sit, please." She waved a hand to a cushioned chair on the left side of a small table placed between two chairs. "How are you feeling about the singing competition so far?" She led off the interview questions with an easy one.

"It's a little overwhelming; it's moving pretty fast... I just hope I can put on a good show and make it past tomorrow's first cuts."

"I'm sure you'll do fine. I heard someone came out to your home town to audition you. Well, San Diego isn't really a town," she said with a giggle. I was smiling and feeling a little more relaxed -- maybe this wasn't going to be so bad. "How did that go?"

"I actually didn't know he was there to audition me. Honestly, I thought he was stalking me."

"Really? Have you experienced someone stalking you before," she asked. There was a hint of concern in her voice.

"Online certainly. I've had a lot of hate spewed at me on my Instagram and Tumblr accounts over the past couple years. I call it the 'Division of Thirds'. A third of the people I interact with are Trans or curious; a third are those fetish junky types; and the last third are the hate mongers. I had to delete my Facebook account because of the haters. I generally ignore those hateful posts. I do report the really creepy ones, especially if there are threats involved. I'm pretty careful about what I post online, so people can't just pop in on me someplace I frequent."

I wrapped up that thought because I felt like I was rambling. Did I say anything meaningful? Augh... Don't look at the camera. Don't...

"If you had to describe the person posting the hate, how would you," she asked.

Her voice was like silk, mesmerizing. I felt like I could talk to her all day.

"Conservative maybe, very right-wing," I paused to consider where I was going with this answer, "A lot of religion is involved in these people's lives. That's kind of confusing, they throw so much hate at me and don't even know me, and think their God would approve of their behavior. I'm really in the middle of the left and right extremes, a centrist."

"Do you believe in God, Breanna?"

"Wow, nothing like putting me on the spot." I smiled uncomfortably and said, "Yes, I believe in God. I've asked him a million times why, why I got put in the wrong body. He still hasn't answered me, but I think he gets me out of jams sometimes. It gives me the strength to battle on." I tried to chuckle, but it felt as uncomfortable as trying to answer the question.

"If he ever does answer you, ask him about me; I've been asking that same question for a long time," she said with a smile. "What bothers you the most about the haters attacks?"

"I don't enjoy the 'I hope you die...' or 'You will burn in hell...' type of posts; those are relentless; I easily get a couple dozen posts like that a day. No one has ever screamed that in my face at any Trans event I've ever gone to, but with the anonymity of the internet, it certainly makes it easier for the haters. I think what bothers me is that I've got struggles, and they just don't understand any of this path I'm on."

"When did you make up your mind to transition?"

"I was eighteen, midway through my high school senior year. I talked to my mom about how I was feeling, and after a month of conversations, she set up an appointment with a psychologist specializing in gender counseling. That went well; I needed someone in the medical field to talk me down off the ledge I was on. My mom joined my sessions after the first couple, and pretty much we all decided I wasn't crazy. I started growing my hair out - it was already pretty long - and making subtle changes before the end of my senior year. HRT didn't start until I was nineteen due to insurance issues."

"Do you think people who feel the way you do are crazy," she asked, concerned.

"Oh no... The best thing I ever did was come out to my mom, and she insisted I seek help. Only you know who you are both inside and out; trust that little voice inside your head. The depression, the anxiety, the disassociation, all of that crap will eat you alive if you don't get it off your chest, out of your mind, and out in the open. You can't become the gender you know you are alone; you need the help of those running the system. Certainly, the system can be a battle in itself, but if transitioning is what you believe in, you can battle through it. If you don't come out into the light, you might make yourself crazy."

Was I preaching? Augh... Please don't use this dribble in your documentary. I wanted to scream.

"What did your father have to say about you knowing you were Breanna?"

"My parents divorced when I was nine, and the last time I heard anything from him was when I was eleven, maybe twelve."

"Do you think not having a father figure around contributed to your gender identity and to becoming Breanna?"

Huh? Why would not having a dad around have anything to do with what was going on with my gender identity?

"No, I'm pretty sure I knew I was different by the time I was seven or eight. My mom told me in preschool that I was showing signs of being 'gender confused'. That's the way the teacher described it to her; I was 'confused'. The teacher based her observations solely on me wanting to dress in the dresses they had in the 'dramatic play area' and then I would play with the kitchen toys. I have no idea what my dad thought about that or if he even knew. I'll have to ask my mom tomorrow... I don't remember preschool, but I think it was the right move for the teacher to not try to correct my behavior. Just so happens I worked it out on my own, and I think that's the way it was meant to be."

"Is your mom coming to watch you compete?"

"Yeah, I asked her not to, but she doesn't listen to me sometimes... Pride Parade, Trans community events, she's always tagging along. We're pretty close."

"She sounds like a strong woman, a good role model."