Hit'n Those Notes Ch. 07

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

Wednesday, March 28th, 8:13 p.m.

The show was progressing as expected, and everyone who had already performed had definitely brought their 'A' games - their very best performances. Only two of the performances so far might be considered outside of the singer's vocal abilities. Interestingly enough, Alexia had done a Whitney Houston song, - 'I Will Always Love You', and while it wasn't a terrible rendition, she didn't have control of her upper ranges, and her performance likely suffered in the judges eyes.

I could sing most of Whitney's catalog of songs, but I would never try singing any of her songs as part of a competition under pressure. Realistically, my performance of that song would have been full of flaws as well. It's not that Alexia didn't have a good performance overall - it just wasn't in the same category as some of the others who had performed before her.

Jenna chose the Mariah Carey song - 'Vision of Love'. Maybe it was nerves, but she didn't nail the song and seemed shaky in her higher registers. To be fair, she was the first to perform tonight, so maybe there were nerves involved. Plus, the band didn't seem on point to me, like they needed a warm-up act. They seemed way more in sync following her performance. She might be on the bubble, but with four singers left, she was probably a long shot to make the finale.

I was spending so much time calculating my chances of moving on that my nerves were spiking to levels approaching my tipping point. I watched every performer, and there was no doubt that this competition was being taken seriously, and I had better get my mind right before walking out on stage. Focus! I was beginning to question my song choice. Focus? Augh! Focus!

If the competition wasn't enough to waiver my resolve, the presence of the PBS crew in the Green room, with a camera in everyone's faces and the microphone boom swinging around to capture quiet conversations or encouraging critiques, was nothing short of annoying.

Leza Howell was not only the emcee for the show, but she was being run ragged between her duties introducing the singers, and while performances were going on, she was asking questions of those waiting for their chance to perform. Luckily, she was more focused on talking to those who'd just finished performing than those of us waiting our turns.

Her questions were easy, like, "How do you think it went?" and "How did you feel on stage?" and "What did you think of the audience's energy?" It all added to already frazzled nerves if you were still waiting to perform.

"Breanna Calloway, You're on deck," the headphone-wearing staffer said from the door of the Green room.

Hearing my name called took my breath away for a split second. I looked at Wyatt, who was smiling, as I scooted to the edge of the couch cushion and stood. He reached up and took my hand.

"You'll be fine... Relax... Enjoy the experience."

"Thanks, Wyatt..." I turned to follow my caller toward the stage waiting area. The applause grew louder as I got closer to the stage. My stomach roiled, and I tried to slow my breathing while concentrating on walking in these spiked-heeled boots. I should have worn them more and practiced walking in them. Augh! Focus!.

"Good luck, Breanna," I heard someone say from in front of me in the dim hallway to the stage.

I looked up to see Carol walking towards me. She had just finished performing, and as we passed, I croaked out a weak, "Thanks..."

I could hear Leza Howell on stage saying something; applause followed, and then she introduced Michelle. The applause was crazy loud and deafening, even from off stage, and it gave me chills and goose bumps up and down my arms. Oh fuck! Breathe!

Wednesday, March 28th, 8:19 p.m.

Michelle was killing it. Her voice was so slinky smooth and suited to the Alannah Miles song 'Black Velvet'. She knew what she was doing, especially with her lower-register growl when she dropped into the chorus. She would easily make it to the next round. The band was so...

"Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!" a short pause, then the screeching continued, "Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!"

The noise was erupting from all directions and screeched and clawed at the backstage area for your attention. Tiny bright-white LED lights on the wall and ceiling were flashing randomly in response to the noise. It startled me so much that my heart jumped a beat, and I looked around nervously - what the fuck?!

I could see stage personnel looking around concerned, then they began acting, moving as if they had a new purpose. The band went silent awkwardly. Michelle had already stopped singing. Confused, she looked back towards the stage sound control board and Mike, the stage manager. I could see him talking into his mic as the house lights were brought up.

He left the mixing board and headed on stage, all while we were fighting to endure the screeching "Rrrreep! Rrreep! Rrreep!" and now brightly lit the backstage area had become as the house lights were brought up. I wondered if it was as loud for the audience. Shit!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike began at the microphone on stage next to Michelle, "Please exit the theater either through the rear or the two exits at the front sides of the stage..." He was pointing like an airline stewardess: "Thank you... Nothing to be alarmed about... Exit to the rear or at the stage."

I felt a tap on my shoulder. "This way, Breanna, fire alarm. It's probably nothing, but we need to exit out the back."

Fire alarm? Was there a fire? Oh shit!

I followed the stagehand back towards the Green room - it was empty as we passed. An exit door was open in front of us, and I could see a crowd of people in the alleyway behind the hotel.

Once outside, I looked left, then right - it was like a sea of people growing from the exits on each side of the backstage exit. The two-lane alleyway behind the hotel was becoming packed; many of the faces were full of concern. Everyone was talking at once, which was noisier than I expected, and when I pulled my IEM's the volume of the crowd jumped a level in my ears.

The alarm wasn't as loud as inside the theater, but combined with the crowd and the acoustics of the alleyway bordered by the hotel and the backside of a lesser strip hotel, it was deafening. Thank God the alleyway was lit, or this would be a bit spooky.

I looked for any sign of a fire; there didn't appear to be any smoke or flames, and then made my way to a group of contestants. I was looking for Wyatt and Janet; they weren't in this gathered cluster. I turned and saw Janet, she waved, and I headed toward her.

"Well, ain't that special..." she said when I joined her, Wyatt, and Dana.

"Do you think there's really a fire," I asked.

"I don't smell anything," Wyatt said, "If there is, it's either in the kitchen or someone is fucking with the show."

I thought about my mom, Bill and Charles, and Kaley, wondering if they exited to the rear or out front. I tried to scan the crowd, but had no luck finding them in the sea of bodies. It would be a huge deal if there really was a fire. If it was a false alarm, where was all the security Karen Cole had said would be on site? There was an outright brawl in the lobby this morning, and now this? The fucking intolerant right-wing Christian warriors out front - was this their doing?

In the distance, I could hear the sound of sirens. When more of the gathered crowd began to hear them, the volume of those talking dropped slightly, but only momentarily. Someone with a blow-horn began speaking. I turned to locate the speaker, Mike, and found him near the stage exit.

"We will need to clear this area," he began. "Please move to the north; follow the stage staff with flashlights..." He repeated his message but added "Thank you..." to the end of his directions.

We began moving up the alley towards the main cross street that bordered the hotel with the rest of the crowd as the sound of sirens grew louder behind us.

Wednesday, March 28th, 8:51 p.m.

The problem with moving within the herd of people up the alley was trying to keep up in these now insanely uncomfortable high-heeled boots. My feet were screaming, and all I wanted to do was sit and get them off!

When we rounded the corner, there was more hotel staff directing us to continue round to the front corner of the hotel and reenter at the main entrance. We could hear people asking if there was a fire, but the staffers replied that they weren't sure. Why did these stupid hotels insist on taking up entire blocks? Grrr!

I should take these boots off, I thought. Okay, it's not much further. Get out of the cold night air and into the warmth of the hotel lobby; see if I can locate my mom. I was nearly naked in this outfit from the waist up and felt even more so without my phone. I hoped she wasn't worried about me. Augh! This really sucks!

As we approached the corner to the hotel's front side, we could hear shouting, then someone on a blow-horn yelling some message that was unintelligible. It was a little confusing, at least until we got entirely around the corner - then it became more obvious what was being broadcast:

"Jesus would not approve...," the person was saying, "You will burn in hell! Repent."

Shit, we didn't need this crap.

It would take very little to set off the powder keg that was the pro-LGBTQ+ audience that had been forced to exit the theater from the rear of the hotel. These people weren't happy about the show's interruption. All said, we were easily three hundred plus strong to reenter the hotel and get back into the theater when it was deemed safe. These idiots were an unnecessary distraction...

And then it happened... Whoever was on that blow-horn for the Christian wing-nuts used the word "faggots," and it was on! The gap between the people in front of us grew quickly as a portion of them rushed forward to confront the heckling protestors. Some people even charged past me!

There were shouts, the sound of more sirens, and a jumble of screams and profanities that flowed as the two opposing groups collided, separated only by a handful of police and wooden sawhorse-like barricades. The police were shouting in vain over the protestors - at least until an officer from his car flipped on his siren and lights. He began ordering the crowd to disperse from the PA system in his vehicle. It did little to cool those gathering.

Wyatt, Janet, and I watched the outnumbered group of maybe thirty or possibly forty, protestors stand defiantly between the police, some hotel security, and the barricades setup along the sidewalk area in front of the hotel. The now highly aroused audience from the theater was not backing down and easily outnumbered the protestors by three to one, maybe even more. This wasn't going to be good if the police didn't get control of the protesting idiots.

"We don't need any of this shit," Wyatt yelled, so we could hear him over the crowd. He took our hands and led us to the left, towards the hotel entrance. We were following the flow of the audience, not interested in getting caught up in the conflict.

Wednesday, March 28th, 8:57 p.m.

Pop! Pop, pop, pop, pop-pop-pop! What the fuck!

The crowd around us was ducking, there was screaming, and the people in front of us began running towards the hotel lobby entrance, thirty feet away. We did the same, getting caught up in the mob mentality to escape an unknown danger.

Police were shouting; we could see their guns drawn as they were clearing a way through the protesting religious zealots.

"Get down! On the ground! Now! ON THE GROUND!" Multiple voices commanded behind us as we veered left towards the lobby.

Gunfire? Oh, shit!

We made it into the lobby in a mass of bodies, not daring to look back. If those were gunshots, these people's shit had just entered an insane level of hate. In the crowded lobby, we were intercepted by someone from the show staff and directed toward the conference rooms area. I looked back towards the lobby before we got to the conference room they wanted us to gather in; it was wall-to-wall bodies as far as I could see.

When we approached the conference room, two security personnel, unarmed, opened the doors for us, and we were quickly surrounded by the other contestants and show staff.

Questions flew as fast as the possible gunshots we heard outside: "Are you alright?" "Were those gunshots?" "Is anyone hurt?"

Wyatt answered for us, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and not stretching the reality of the situation. I looked around at those gathered for Michelle. She wasn't in the room. Augh! The conference room door opened a moment later; Leza Howell and Michelle entered, followed by Karen Cole.

When Michelle joined us, there were hugs all around, interrupted by Karen Cole, "If I can have everyone's attention," she paused, waiting for the room to settle down.

"Was there someone out there with a gun," Alexia asked impatiently.

"As of yet, we have not been informed whether there was a gun or gunfire from the protesting crowd out front," Karen replied. "We're waiting to speak with the police incident commander. As of right now, we're all safe, and I've been told the police have the situation under control."

There were murmurs throughout the group and some questioning looks from the members of the stage crew, band, and PBS representatives, as well as the contestants.

"We can't jump to any conclusions," she continued. "As of right now, the report from the Vegas Fire Department is that we had a false alarm. We can be thankful for that."

I heard someone behind me whisper something about the Vegas shooting several years ago, and I shuddered. Holy fuck... We could have been set up to get shot at in that alley or run down by some idiot in a moving truck speeding through the alley to take as many of us out as possible.

Fuck... This shit, the protestors, could be a bigger threat than anyone had considered! And tonight was just the first night of this competition! I closed my eyes. God, please watch over my mom, Bill and Charles, and Kaley...

Wednesday, March 28th, 9:34 p.m.

The conference room was instantly quieted when the door opened and Blake Schultz entered, followed by a police officer with decorative bars on his collar.

"Hello everyone," Blake began. "Not exactly the way we envisioned tonight going. I think Karen already informed you about the fire alarm. That was a false alarm, and I just want to reiterate that. Someone pulled the alarm just around the corner from the theater entrance. We evacuated the theater and every room north, including two floors above the theater. We do have video of the person who pulled the alarm, but we have not located them. A photo of this person has been released to all the local TV stations, and Crime Stoppers has offered a ten-thousand dollar reward for information leading to an arrest and conviction of this person. I've talked to the GM of the Grand Cayman, and he's given permission for us to match that amount. We should have something on this person shortly," he paused. "This is Captain Collin Bartell of the Las Vegas Police Department. I'll let him status you on the incident out front, Captain."

"Good evening," he paused to get audience feedback, and after receiving a meek reply in kind, he continued. "I'll begin by telling you what you heard out front of the hotel was not gunfire. What you heard were fireworks set off by one, possibly two, of the protestors out front. We have arrested two suspects and recovered some additional fireworks." He looked around at everyone, certainly seeing relief.

"As you can imagine, that was a very dangerous act by those suspects, as my officers had to make a split-second decision on whether there was a greater threat in that crowd. Those arrested are very lucky and are facing multiple charges, including a possible domestic terrorism charge."

There were a few comments from those listening intently; the most poignant was from Leza Howell, who said, "That is so fucked up... Who do these people think they are?" She had a few people echo that sentiment, and I'm pretty sure everyone agreed with her.

When the comments died down, Captain Bartell continued, "We did detain and search those protestors who we contained in the area in front of the hotel. We did not find any firearms. We did however take a couple pocket knives from three people. By order of the mayor, the crowd was ordered to disperse or face possible arrest under city ordinance RCN 28.03.155 for gathering without a permit. Of the twenty-eight protestors searched, fourteen refused to vacate the area and were subsequently arrested and taken to jail. We will have a beefed-up presence on site through Friday midday, and I can assure you that no permits for gathering will be forthcoming from the city, and we will not hesitate to arrest or detain anyone near this property that does not belong. Are there any questions?"

The room was silent, what was there to ask? Were these idiots going to get real jail time? We could only hope.

Blake stepped forward and said, "Thank you, Captain Bartell, for the reassurance and the efforts of the Vegas Police Department tonight."

You might expect there would be applause or something after Blake finished speaking, but the room remained silent. Captain Bartell acknowledged Blake, shook his hand, and exited the room.

I think the room was pretty much spent - the buildup to the show, the crazy fire alarm, and the protestors out front - in my opinion, it was time to pull the plug on this show for the night. The question on everyone's mind was likely: What happens next?

As if on cue, Blake began speaking: "Here's where we're at with the show. We have ushered those from the audience still onsite back into the theater; a few open bars being set up in the foyer certainly helped to keep people around, and we might have picked up some who didn't have tickets to the show but were in the hotel.

"It doesn't matter; we've got an enthused audience, and I can assure you of that. But, I'm not going to lie, we're at half the capacity we had before things went south tonight; the energy is not going to be the same, but there are at least three hundred people in the theater wanting to see tonight's show to its conclusion.

"We can run the last four contestants through tonight, get the finale contestants set, have the after party, and call it a night. Or we throw the last four into the front of tomorrow's show - set the finale then, perform the finale, crown a champion, and call it a wrap for our week of Transgender Visibility. Karen and I have discussed this, and we feel the ultimate decision is yours to make."

Great! Fucking great! While those who have already performed are likely going to want this night set in stone, we, the final four contestants, get the short end of the stick by having to perform after all this drama. And to a lesser crowd, no less...

Yes, nerves were raw - mine especially, but were we going to be at a disadvantage performing tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow night's sold-out show. Does the band get a choice? Are they ready to perform? I wanted this night to be over. I wanted to see my mom, my friends, and maybe even meet up with Tyler.

Jenna spoke first: "I'd like the finale set tonight, but I've already performed. I think those who haven't performed need to decide what we do with the show..."

A few of the other contestants agreed with her and stated so. What came next was silence and stares at the people in my group and myself.

"Okay, team... Sounds like it's up to us - let's discuss...," Wyatt said to Michelle, Janet, and myself.

We walked toward a wall away from the larger group of contestants, while a number of the theater staff had words with Karen and exited with the band in tow.