Hit'n Those Notes Ch. 04

Tuesday, March 27th, 6:11 p.m.

"Hey Brea, how's it going?"

As much as I wanted to really come off as just another woman who was calm, cool, and collected around this guy, it was going to be difficult. He'd been on my mind in one form or another for the past couple days. He was my stalker, my recruiter for the show, and the guy talking to me on the phone naked with only a towel on - at least that's how I envisioned him most times I thought about him. Whew! Was it warm in here?

I had been struggling to control my anxieties all day, and seeing him now amped them up a notch. I didn't know Blake all that well, and with as much as there was going on in my world, I wasn't sure I didn't want to figure him out in some way. That, of course, all depended on his interest, which probably wasn't more than getting me hooked into the show as a contestant. Did I really want something more? Mmmm... I couldn't pin down exactly what I felt, but there was an interest.

"It's going pretty good." I hoped I sounded like I believed my own answer.

Blake raised an eyebrow. "You sure, you don't sound very convincing."

Lovely, so much for thinking I sounded convincing. I was more put together than people probably realized - why was I failing yet again in front of a guy? Could people really see that easily through me not even knowing me that well? I felt another bolt of panic twang my gut.

"Yeah, okay, well, truthfully... It's been a pretty stressful day, and everything feels a little rushed. I'm just trying to deal with my nerves, I think. So, I'm good, I guess."

That was a more honest assessment of my state of being right now without laying too much of a dark cloud over this quick meeting in the hotel lobby.

"You're going to do fine tomorrow night," he said, reassuring me. "I've heard you sing twice now, remember. Oh, and I'm told the odds makers have you down as a favorite to win it all."

What?! Odds makers?! Were people really going to bet on this competition?

"Are you serious," I asked with more concern than I expected to share.

He smiled and said, "No, I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

Thank God! If people were betting on this competition, that would really suck, and I don't want to see where I was really ranked with these supposed odds makers! Augh!

"Ah, okay, you got me... I am glad to hear that we're not being bet on like horses or some sporting event," I replied with a little relief.

He nodded in understanding. "You have a chance to look around the hotel?"

"No, I've pretty much been stuck on the hamster wheel that has been getting ready for the competition," I replied, sounding a little more exasperated than I meant to sound.

What is my problem? Jesus, you freaking Debbie Downer! Get a grip! This is not how I wanted to present myself or be perceived!

"You want the dime tour? I mean, if you're not busy and at all curious about the operation of a couple billion-dollar-a-year casino in Sin City?"

"I should really... I need to practice and get ready for the contestants dinner tonight." I caught a flash of disappointment on Blake's face as I gave up that excuse. It kind of surprised me.

"Yeah... No, I totally understand. Well, if you change your mind, just have someone page me, and I'll show you around."

I could almost hear the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice matching that look he had for a fraction of a second before being replaced with a smile that said he understood. Augh! I had the time and the desire to be around him. Maybe I could get a glimpse behind the towel, that might be interesting. AH! Get a grip!

"On second thought... Sure, I think I'd like the nickel tour if you don't mind."

"Oh no, I'm offering you an exclusive 'dime' tour," he quipped with a grin. "The 'nickel' tour is for the general public, and seeing as how you saved the show, I'd be happy to show you the inner workings of this place, which is the 'dime' tour."

"I doubt I saved the show, Blake, seriously," I complained.

"Well, your joining saved me a bunch of headaches, so in my book, you saved the show. We won't tell anyone that, though," he whispered conspiratorially with a smile.

Sure, and let's not tell people how you stalked me. I was giggling at that thought. I appreciated being here and that he had turned out to not be a stalker or some fetish junkie. And I was appreciating how cute he was being with his attempts to impress me. That meant something, right? Whew, slow down, chica! Might mean nothing and certainly doesn't mean he's even remotely interested. Towel!

Tuesday, March 27th, 6:35 p.m.

The 'dime' tour started with a walk around the complex maze of conference and banquet rooms that seemed to be everywhere. I'd already gotten a taste of that part of the tour earlier while preparing for the show. But this 'walkabout' proved the hotel was massive on another scale. I'd have to check to see how many 'steps' I got in today just walking the property.

We got to peek into the room our contestant's dinner was being held in tonight. It looked very nice and had tables set up to accommodate at least fifty people. There looked to be an open bar area along the back wall; I wouldn't be doing any drinking before performing. Seeing all the tables, I wondered if there were really going to be that many people gathering here tonight. I felt a little panicked at the idea of so many people being in here tonight, which was stupid because I routinely performed in front of many more at the jazz club.

Blake next guided me through the massive kitchen area used for serving the banquet and conference rooms. He explained that the three restaurants on-site had their own kitchens, and just in the cooking staff, there were roughly one hundred and sixty cooks between them. The banquet kitchen was certainly impressive, and there were lots of kitchen and wait staff behind the scenes that the general public had no idea existed.

An interesting trend I noticed as we moved along with the tour was that nearly everyone we saw addressed Blake as 'Mr. Schultz'. I jokingly asked if I should follow suit and get on the 'Mr. Schultz' bandwagon. He told me if I did that, the tour was over. I couldn't help but laugh and appreciate how relaxed he seemed, even though he was obviously someone of importance around here.

A tour of the two nightclubs followed, and he explained that these were his domain and the bulk of his daily angst. Even at this early hour and on a Tuesday night, the clubs were roughly half-full. It seemed early to have a crowd, but he said it was normal.

Blake leaned into me over the thumping bass of a DJ Khaled song and said, "By seven, this place will be packed. By eight, there will be a line of fifty or more people waiting to get in. In less than a year, we've become one of the strip's premier clubs. The capacity is two hundred and twenty-three, and we try not to stuff it to the brim, but we've been over that capacity a lot more than I care to admit."

It was impressive, but loud as hell in here. Blake put a hand at my waist and guided me through the crowd toward the back of the club. Once through a door near the back of the club, the sound, while not totally gone, was nearly gone, even with the thumping bass.

"Wow," I said in the quiet of the back of the house, "You can barely hear the music back here."

"Yeah, the insulation for soundproofing the clubs cost over three hundred grand, and the sound system was five times that in each of the clubs."

He was speaking with just a hint of pride in his voice, and why not? The place was impressive, and I told him so.

"Thanks, I feel blessed to be a part of the Grand Cayman's family," he said, pointing toward a door. "Let's take a look in here."

He opened the door, and inside were row after row of liquor bottles hanging on the walls, attached to pumps and hoses. A couple of rack systems filled up the space between the walls and had soda syrup boxes taking up every inch. It was noisy, and that meant people were drinking out in the club. The room itself was easily the size of a standard three-car garage.

"We'll switch out every bottle hourly on a weekend. I have to staff someone in this room on Friday and Saturday nights to keep up with replacing empty bottles, if you can believe that. Both clubs have their own rooms like this; over there is the storage area for boxes of alcohol, champagne, beer, soda, and the like. The cooler for kegs is back over there. Beer, wine, and stuff we need to keep cold are there."

I looked toward where he was pointing and said, "Whoa. That's an insane amount of booze being served. There must be a lot of drunks in this town."

"Yup... And we have no less than eight bartenders, twenty cocktail waitresses, and ten bouncers working seven nights a week in each of the clubs. It does get a little crazy. When we have our weekend pool parties, I have to double shift those wanting the hours or hire temps. A moderately proficient cocktail waitress can make a grand in tips on a good night - more at the pool with the right crowd. Did I mention we get liquor deliveries daily?"

"Yikes! I'm in the wrong line of business. How late are the clubs open?"

"We open at 5:00 PM and close it down at 4:00 AM... Pool parties generally start at 9:00 AM, just because getting people in tends to be such a pain. We shut those down by 10:00 p.m., usually. Noise ordinances prohibit us from staying open later. By 10:00 PM, we're all pretty much done with the idiots, so it's nice we shut that down early."

"Gesh... And you have a wait starting at 8:00 PM to get in the clubs?"

"I know, right? Crazy busy and one crazy business, for sure."

I was certainly naive about just how much money ran through a major Las Vegas casino - just the club portion of the casino must make a mint daily! While I was in the service industry as a finance officer for a car dealership, this service industry looked to be a fast-paced and high-stress endeavor. No, my quality of life in my simple career with my simple salary was good enough for me. Vegas was just too intense.

"What are you thinking?"

"Ah, I was just thinking that this place is a 24x7 madhouse. It would be too much stress for me. I don't know how you can even get a minute away from this place."

"Yeah, it's a little stressful, but I've got some great people working with me, so it's not as bad as it might seem. I was in San Diego looking for you for a week, and the place didn't burn down."

"Umhuh... And how many times a day did you get called while you were out there," I asked with a knowing grin.

"Okay, so it wasn't exactly the vacation I had planned, so yes, I did work a bit from afar. I also found you, so my time away was a success. My mom didn't seem to mind," he said with a friendly chuckle.

"She was cute on the phone," and as soon as I said that, I wondered if I should have said anything. I mean, we didn't really have a long conversation or anything, but she seemed so nice on the phone. A caring mother for sure, and...

"Yeah, about that... What did you two talk about? She's said a couple of times that she really liked you."

Huh? We didn't talk about anything.

"We didn't really have a conversation or anything; I was just trying to get a hold of you. She just seemed so nice, and given my first impressions of you, well, it was refreshing," I said with a smile that said I was razzing him.

"I can't believe you thought I was stalking you," he smiled, poking back at me in fun.

"You do realize that being Trans rubs a lot of people the wrong way. And if they aren't rubbed wrong, they tend to be perverts with some kind of bullshit fetish..." I knew where this rant would end up, so I dialed it back. "I am very guarded with giving people access to my life, with being who I am. I hate that I have to be on the defensive all the time. I've missed out on a lot of things most women wouldn't think twice about doing..." I needed to stop; I was preaching, and Blake wasn't a problem like so many in society were. I felt bad and looked away.

He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, saying, "It's okay... I think I get it, and I know it isn't fair. I'm sure there are some real shitheads out there; I'm sorry you have to deal with that." He pulled his hand back and looked concerned as a tear rolled down my cheek.

What the hell was wrong with me? Why the water works?! Before I could wipe my cheek, Blake stepped toward me and hugged me. That caring gesture was more than I could handle, and the tears and slow sobbing began in earnest.

"Hey now," he cooed, "You're perfect the way you are. I'm sure plenty of people think that, Brea. You've got to believe it and own it," he said softly.

I couldn't speak and just buried my face in his chest while trying to control the seemingly uncontrollable sobs. I hadn't cried like this in at least a month. My heart ached, and all the pressures from work to performing in the jazz club to coming here for this singing competition just overflowed my ability to cope. I tried to apologize but only got out a raspy "I'm sorry..." after about a minute.

"There's nothing you need to apologize for. Here, let's go to my office. I've got some Kleenex in there," he said while wrapping his arm around my shoulder and guiding me toward his office just down the hall.

In his office, he had me sit down and handed me a couple tissues.

"Thank you..." I dabbed at my eyes and wiped my nose. "I don't know what got into me," I whispered. I figured the pressure and hormones were getting the better of me at the moment.

"It's totally understandable. Don't let being outside your comfort zone consume what you're here to accomplish. You have an amazing voice; you're going to be a force to be reckoned with. I'm excited to see you perform."

True, I was away from my support network and my safe little bubble that was work, singing, friends, and my mom, but I can't lose my shit like this when I feel the least bit vulnerable or outside my 'comfort zone', as Blake so simply put it. I looked at Blake standing behind his desk.

Oh Crap! A panicked look spread across my face. "Is that the time?"

He turned to look at the clock behind him and said, "Yeah, but I set it five minutes fast, so I'm not..."

I interrupted him midsentence, "I need to get ready for the dinner! I had no idea it was that late."

"Oh, okay. If you want to skip dinner, I could talk to Karen; tell her you're not feeling up to..."

"No!" That came out with more emphasis than I wanted. "I don't want to be seen as someone who can't hold their own. I'm sorry; I really need to go. I really, really appreciate you giving me the 'dime' tour."

I stood and turned towards the office door behind me. Shit! Where did the time go? It was 7:15 PM, 7:20 PM on Blake's clock, and by the time I figured out an outfit, hair, makeup... Damn it!

Blake followed me and, at his office door, said to go left. We followed a long hallway and exited on the backside of the club, not far from the lobby and elevators. I quickly thanked him again, but it felt rushed. My focus was on getting ready for the contestant's dinner, and I hoped he didn't think I was being a bitch.

I'd have to figure out a way to make it up to him. What the hell does that mean?! Augh!!! I'm a freak'n basket case right now, and truth be told, I hate myself so much right now that for the last ten minutes I was with him...

Tuesday, March 27th, 8:05 p.m.

I was late to dinner, and being late was one of my biggest pet peeves. It annoyed me when others were late, though I couldn't control their punctuality. I hated being the one who was late! Augh!

The banquet room looked much as it did when Blake and I popped in earlier, only now there were about thirty people talking in small groups either around tables or by the open bar. There were two PBS cameras being operated and guys swinging a boom microphone around as the cameras moved from group to group. Augh! Multiply my stress by two to the tenth power!

I could feel my chest tightening and wondered if I was underdressed yet again. Getting filmed some more? Was this going to be worse than the interview they recorded? Breathe. This is a safe place. Just ignore the cameras.

It took forever to bring down the puffy 'criers eyes' and to mask that I had lost my shit with makeup, blush, and eye shadow. My makeup was not exactly professional quality, but it would do, and people wouldn't likely know I was a mess about an hour ago - I hoped. It wasn't something I wanted to share; the pressures of the show were beginning to chip away at any confidence I had.

My hair, which usually had a mind of its own, played nice and looked decent. I chose to wear a nice blouse, a knee-high black skirt, and a pair of peek-toe black boot heels. After a quick look around, I was dressed well within the range of the other attendee's attire. Mission accomplished! So, quit stressing!

I saw Michelle and Janet at a table closest to the entry door for the kitchen area; I only knew where that door led due to the 'dime' tour Blake had given me. I smiled about that and looked around, seeing Wyatt heading for the table to join Michelle and Janet. He had a couple glasses of wine and a beer bottle of some type.

Cool, my group was hanging together; my stress level dropped a notch. Wyatt saw me and nodded for me to come over.

"Hey Breanna..."

"Hi Wyatt, Michelle, Janet, you both look amazing," I said, smiling.

That got me a round of the same compliment from them. I added that Wyatt looked very handsome, which got me a hug and an offer to get me something to drink. I asked for water. The table was set for eight, so we were either going to gain some guests or...

A sharply dressed man approached the table and put a hand on Michelle's shoulder. She smiled at him and then looked at me and said, "Breanna, this is Danny. Danny, Breanna..."

Introductions completed, both Danny and I sat. Janet began talking about her interview with Leza Howell to Michelle, obviously in the middle of some portion of the story that she was sharing prior to my arrival. I half-listened while looking around the room.

There were people from the band I recognized, the makeup and hair people also, and there were a good number of others I didn't recognize - maybe they were invited guests of those in attendance. It dawned on me that this dinner was for all those involved with the contest. I liked that we were all together, even though we were all competing.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I jumped a little.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for my wife."

I turned to see Dana standing behind me. Of course, that comment caught the attention of everyone at the table, and I could feel the stares on us.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going to have to have a talk with your brother."

"You're married, Dana," Janet asked.

"No, but someone," he put a hand on my shoulder, "Was trying to get into my room, claiming her husband was in there," he replied with a chuckle.

"Brea, you're married," Wyatt chimed in while setting a tall glass of water down in front of me.

Augh! I explained what happened to those around the table. The story got me a couple good-natured laughs and a few comments from the ladies that they should be paying more attention to their surroundings. That led to a conversation about leaving the property and dealing with the protestors outside of the hotel. Danny had gone to see some of the strip and said some in the crowd were spewing some pretty venomous crap while professing their God would be judging us. Hypocrites...

During the tangent about paying attention, a woman joined the table, acknowledging everyone with a slight wave and sitting next to Janet. Janet made the introduction of Cynthia, her wife, to those who hadn't already been introduced. She seemed shy, which was the opposite of my perception of Janet.