Trumpet, with Treble voice

Frau Talmadge maintained the practice of keeping office hours, even though few students took advantage of them. Today was deserted as usual, so she was listening to a recording of the prior evening’s full choir rehearsal. While she could pick up most issues during a rehearsal in real time, a closer listen often revealed additional areas that required improvement.

A tentative knock on her door interrupted the flow of the notes she was pouring out on her copy of the score for All we, like sheep. “Come in.”

She was somewhat surprised to see Gabe, and a little alarmed at his appearance. He normally seemed focused and attentive, but this morning he looked both scattered and troubled.

“Mr. Carey. Have a seat.”

He thanked her and sat, perching on the edge of the wooden chair opposite her desk.

“What can I do for you this morning?”

“You remember when you offered me the alto solo, I said I was worried about Kiko. About Ms. Agatsuma.”

She leaned back in her seat and her eyes narrowed. Oh, don’t you dare, young man! Her voice cool, she said, “I recall the conversation.”

“So, umm.” Gabe sounded uncertain, but she wasn’t going to give him any help.

He continued, “Her mother’s been calling every day, beating her up for failing to secure a soloist position. She figures if Kiko’s not good enough to get a soloist part, she’s never going to make it professionally.”

“I assume she’s not a musician of any sort?”

“No, Ma’am. Some kind of executive; I’m afraid I don’t know which.”

Gabe gave her another anxious look, but she remained impassive.

“Apparently she’s threatening to pull her from the conservatory.”

“Parents!” She scrubbed her face with both hands. “You would think they’d get this nonsense out of their systems before their children left grade-school. But —” the look she gave Gabe was determined— “they often don’t.”

“Right, and I guess Mrs. Agatsuma’s got a bad case of it. So, I thought . . . .” He paused and gave her another anxious look.

“Yes?”

With a nervous gulp, he took the plunge. “I took the part, and I absolutely will sing it if you need me to. But Kiko’s voice is really strong, so if you didn’t think it would impact the performance, perhaps I could just sing with the choir.”

She kept her expression from changing, but it took all her effort. However talented he is, the world has expectations. Demands, even. He will need to learn how to deal with them. “I am required to give an assessment of every student’s professionalism at the conclusion of the performance, Mr. Carey. Withdrawing this late is about as unprofessional as it gets, barring a serious medical issue. I assume you know that?”

Looking both miserable and determined, he nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. But I really don’t want Kiko to get pulled out. She belongs here. The conservatory will lose out if she leaves. The world of music will lose out! And her audition was so good; I know she’ll sing the part just as well as I would.”

Though she let the silence stretch, Gabe did not wilt or waver, and Frau Talmadge suppressed a sigh. I could just say ‘no,’ and I will if I have to. I won’t allow him to throw away his career. But he needs to own this.

“I don’t run the Conservatory, or even the performing arts program. I can’t say whether the institution will suffer if Mrs. Agatsuma refuses to support her daughter. I can’t asses the hypothetical loss to the world of music — and neither can you.”

Gabe looked chagrined, and the Director thought, as well you should! But she had been twenty herself, once, so she didn’t press the point.

“All I can do is evaluate the effect on this performance. Even if I agreed that she was an equally good choice for this role when I made the selection — and I didn’t — you have had the benefit of weeks of rehearsals, including rehearsals with the other soloists. They have molded their interpretations to yours, just as your singing has changed in response to theirs. Throwing Ms. Agatsuma in now, with less than two weeks to go, would not be fair to any of the performers, and it would set her up to fail.”

“But you wouldn’t believe how dedicated she is! How hard she would work, if—“

She cut him off. “You’re a musician. Can you honestly tell me that my assessment is wrong? That substituting a new soloist now won’t hurt the performance?”

The silence stretched, and Gabe avoided her eyes.

“Mr. Carey,” she said softly, “I’m afraid I have to insist that you answer my question. Am I wrong?”

He looked up, his eyes moist with tears he was trying hard not to shed. “No.”

“I can’t force you to sing, but you made a commitment. If you agree that withdrawing will hurt the performance, you know what you should do.”

He slumped. “I understand.”

“If it helps, I doubt withdrawing would alleviate Mrs. Agatsuma’s concerns. She would still know that her daughter was not my first choice.”

“I did think of that. I just thought, if she actually heard Kiko sing the part, she would know why she should be here. Know how good she is.” He exhaled sharply, then straightened in his seat. “However much I wish I hadn’t put my name forward, I did it, and I won’t do anything that would hurt the performance. I promise I’ll give it my absolute best.”

“I am very glad to hear it.” She thought for a moment, then added, “your concern for your friend is admirable, and as it happens I agree with your assessment of her potential. What I am willing to do, if you think it might help, is to contact Mrs. Agatsuma — discreetly, of course — and explain that both of you had outstanding auditions, and that my choice was based on my own personal vision for how the alto solo part should sound.”

“Thank you! Maybe she would listen to you, given your reputation.” The relief that spread across his face quickly gave way to still more worry. “But, ah . . . she can’t think that Kiko came running to you, and Kiko can’t know that I —”

“I did say ‘discreetly,’” she said dryly, cutting through his litany of concerns. “My information came very much third or fourth hand, and of course it may be completely wrong.” With a wry smile, she added, “What’s the charming American expression? ‘Not my first rodeo?’”

“Of course! I’m sorry. Anything you can do would be great. Really!”

“It might not make a difference,” she warned.

“Still worth a try,” he said gamely.

“I’ll get her contact information from Administration. Now, if there’s nothing else, I think you’ve got a theory class coming up?”

He took a deep breath. “There was one more thing, if I can take another minute?”

Why am I worried? But all she said was, “Of course.”

“I have a tux. But I, uh . . . .” Again he paused, looking acutely embarrassed.

She waited him out.

With the look of someone deciding to leap from a burning building, he said, “The thing is, if I’m going to sing the solo, I want to wear a gown. Like Tamara. Like any woman would. Any other woman.”

Frau Talmadge had an even harder time keeping her face neutral than before. She considered the student in front of her, trying to rearrange her perceptions — the image she had built over the course of the weeks they had worked together.

She found herself wishing, wryly, that she’d had a second cup of coffee.

Gabe couldn’t maintain eye contact, and looked somewhere else. Anywhere else. “I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to be so much trouble . . . .”

“Mr. . . .” Frau Talmadge stopped, shook her head, and continued. “No, I suppose that won’t do. Would you prefer Ms. Carey?”

He looked up, hopeful. “I . . . yes. I would. Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Something about Gabe’s tone, or posture, or expression, helped Frau Talmadge’s ordered mind flip its prior assumptions. I can see it, she thought. It fits. “It is no trouble, though I will almost certainly forget from time to time. But I have to ask: Are you sure?”

Gabe swallowed, but the “yes” came out strong.

She thought of herself as a musician, and she knew she was a good one. But Renata Talmadge was a teacher before anything else. Someone whose job was nurturing and guiding the young, helping them to achieve their potential. She knew what she needed to do.

“We can’t allow our own egos to distract from the performance. Not you, not me. Everyone has to work together. Soloists wear tuxes and gowns to highlight their different roles in the production, but even there, the choices are highly circumscribed by tradition because we don’t want the story to be about what people are wearing. You understand this, yes?”

Gabe nodded, looking downcast. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand.”

“I’m not sure you do.” She allowed herself a small smile. “You may wear a gown appropriate for a female soloist, under two conditions designed to protect the production. First, you can’t spring this on the rest of the choir on the night of the performance. You need to come to the remaining rehearsals presenting as a woman so they can get used to the idea. Understood?”

Gabe’s face was full of conflicting emotions — fear and excitement, longing and dread. But there was no hesitation. “Of course.”

“And second . . . To the extent anyone talks about you after the performance — and believe me, I expect that they will — I want them to be talking about your voice. Do you understand?”

“Ma’am?” Gabe looked confused.

“Ms. Carey, when you walk onto the stage, you will by God look like a woman. That’s all anyone will see. Can you pull that off?”

Fifteen minutes later, Gabe plopped himself into the seat next to Kiko in the large lecture hall where they had their music theory class. He leaned in close and whispered, “Do you have a little time after class? I’m gonna need some help.”

Duet for div. Alto voices; Second Alto Melody

“Nope. You’re gonna need your own.” Kiko grinned evilly.

“But . . . I don’t even know where to get a wig. Gabe fought rising panic. “And we’ve got a section rehearsal tomorrow!”

“My wig would only cover, like, two thirds of your big, Anglo head. Do you think they’re one size fits all? Besides, it’s Japanese. Color, texture. If you take a real close look in the mirror — which you’re gonna be doing a lot now — you kind of aren’t.”

“Oh.”

“Not that you don’t have some redeeming qualities.”

“Doesn’t feel like it, sometimes.”

“Don’t fish for compliments. Use your nice little smart phone and find us a place that sells wigs. You may need an appointment.”

Gabe had the grace to look embarrassed. “Right. Got it.”

“Oh — add chicken cutlets to the list.”

“Huh?”

“A girl’s best friend. I’d loan you mine, but even with them, you wouldn’t fill out your bras.” Her fingers flew over the screen of her own phone. “There’s a Macy’s at the mall. Maybe some nice lady will help you choose makeup.”

“Can’t I just —“

“Nope. Gotta match your skin tones and all that shit.”

Gabe looked relieved. “Oh, that’s okay. I trust you.”

“That so? Well, don’t. I had a nice lady help me, ‘cuz I suck at all that stuff.”

“Oh, God! I am so doomed!”

“Welcome to the sisterhood, Gabrielle. Ain’t it grand?”

“Actually . . . .” Gabe stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled shyly. “Yeah. It really is.”

Twenty minutes later they headed off to buy “just the necessities,” as Kiko put it. The excursion took hours, what with the fitting at the wig store and the session with the helpful, but thoroughly bemused, woman at the Macy’s that was on the whole other side of town. Gabe’s savings from summer jobs took a real hit, but each bit of the process brought a sliver more peace.

The real test came the following day. Fortunately, they’d left themselves hours to get ready.

“Turn around.” Kiko examined Gabe closely from the rear. Arms, legs, torso, butt . . . no hair where it didn’t belong. “Okay. We got it all.”

“Whew!”

“You watched that tucking video? ‘Cuz I am so not helping. I might damage something.”

Gabe nodded, looking a little green. “Yeah. Know what you mean. But . . . well. Here goes nothing.”

It took some effort, eased by a few unprintable words, but Gabe got it in the end. “I hope it gets easier with practice . . . at least I’ve done the rest before!” Gabe was actually fairly proficient with pantyhose and underthings, so they took very little time.

Kiko slipped the silicone enhancers into the cups of Gabe’s bra then, smiling wickedly, she reached around to squeeze her pantied ass. “Don’t you look tasty!” Bending slightly, she planted baby kisses on Gabe’s chest, right next to the lace of her new camisole.

Gabe returned the embrace, astonished by her good fortune, but still fearful. “Kiko . . . are you sure this doesn’t bother you?”

“Do I . . .” She paused to deliver a few more kisses and nibbles. “appear to . . .” nibble, nibble. “Be bothered?”

Gabe’s breath was ragged. “No, but —”

“But you’re worried, ‘cuz of course. It’s just who you are.” Reaching up, Kiko put a hand behind Gabe’s head and pulled her lips in range for a deep kiss. When she was finished — which took a while, since Kiko was a perfectionist who took pride in being thorough — she said, “in case you’re wondering, I think you’re hot.”

“But —“

Kiko silenced her with another toe-curdling kiss. “Seriously hot.” She ran her fingers up and down Gabe’s back, the fire of her caress only magnified by the light silky fabric that separated their skin. “You are soft, and sweet,” Kiko threw in a brief peck. “And pretty, and vulnerable.” Another peck. “I don’t know why, but, damn, that makes me want to just eat you up!”

Gabe moaned as Kiko kissed her again.

“Gabe, my love?”

“Uhhhhh?”

“”You’ve come untucked.”

“I . . . oh, God damn it!”

“Let me help with that.”

Kiko’s idea of “assistance” took them back a few steps in the process of getting ready, and ate up a chunk of the time they’d allotted for preparation. It didn’t help that, while Kiko was actually decent with makeup, she was meticulous and none too quick. Too, the new wig — a lustrous, light brunette version with soft waves that fell to the middle of Gabe’s back — had to be brushed out to look right. They still would have been on time, but while Gabe managed her low heels easily, the tight forest green skirt that paired so well with her cream-colored v-neck sweater slowed her down.

Trombone, solo

Winthrop looked at them impatiently as they made a hurried entrance two minutes after the hour. “Ladies, please make sure you’re on time; we have a lot to cover.” Seeing the stunned looks on the faces of several of the singers, he suppressed a grin and added, “Gabe has decided she identifies as female and will be presenting that way hereafter. Now, could I please ask everyone to turn to page 80. Once we’re warmed up I want to go over your first entrance in Behold the Lamb of God.”

After weeks of practice, Winthrop knew his crew. Young women in their early twenties, as gossipy and curious as any, each of them was serious about their craft and passionate about music. He kept them far too busy to think about anything else for the full ninety minutes.

Of course, once he stepped away from the podium and made for the exit,, the girls all crowded around their newest member. He paused briefly at the door to look back. Just long enough to see who might be standing off to the side, or looking uncomfortable. On first impression, it looked okay. Frau Talmadge would be pleased.

Alto Chorus, unis.

Haley was the first one to Gabe’s side, and she showed her colors by giving her a huge hug. “You look awesome! I’m so happy for you!”

Kiko growled.

“Down, girl!” Haley laughed. “Sorry I had to wind you up like that the other day!”

“You . . . .” Kiko stopped and slapped her forehead in disgust. “I’m an idiot. You never had any intention. . . .”

“Ooooh, I don’t know about that,” Haley cooed. “Maybe you’re up for a threesome?”

Kiko sputtered incoherently.

“You’re still an idiot, Kiko.” Kendra chuckled. “She’s just doing it again — I know for a fact she doesn’t hit that way.” Before Kiko could respond, Kendra said, “You look right, Gabe. If I closed my eyes when you were singing, I always saw this beautiful woman. Angelic, you know? And now, here you are!”

“Well, I sure didn’t see it coming,” Natalie said. “Coulda knocked me over with a feather. But I’m with Haley – you look great!”

Charity actually hopped up and down with excitement. “Hey! Let’s take the new girl out for a drink!”

A couple of the girls couldn’t come, but a party of fourteen found their way to The Publican. They bought Gabe froofy drinks that came with little paper umbrellas, told bawdy jokes, and – being singers – started some complicated rounds. Since they were at a conservatory, there were plenty of other singers there to join in, even though the alto line was, for once, dominant. There was even a bit of dancing, towards the end of the night.

Gabe and Kiko finally staggered home. “I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more . . . .” Gabe was feeling a little dizzy and giggly and over-the-moon thrilled with her first outing as Gabrielle.

“Leave that one to the sopranos,” Kiko advised.

“Kiko . . . .”

Buzzed herself, Kiko remained a bit more steady on her feet. “Yeah, girl?”

Gabe reached out to give her trim waist a squeeze as they walked. “I just love it when you call me that.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t have done this – any of this – without you. You know that, right?”

“Yup.” Kiko grinned up at her girlfriend, looking smug.

“Good.” Gabe stopped walking, cupped Kiko’s cheek with the palm of her right hand, and whispered, “God, I love you!”

Sensing that Gabe was about to make the tipsy transition from happy to maudlin, Kiko’s grin grew wider. “That’s not how you go about telling your date you want sex, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Girly lesson for you, Hon. Repeat after me.”

“Repeat?”

“Yeah, repeat. You know, think of seeing two dots at the end of a section, arranged like a colon.”

“Right, that thing. . . . So, what am I s’posed to repeat?”

“‘I’m sooooo drunk!’”

Gabe burst into unladylike laughter, and somehow they made it back to the dorm.

Mixed Trebles; First Alto, melody

By the time the choir met for the next full rehearsal, the word was out and no-one was surprised by Gabe’s feminine appearance. If anyone had an issue, they managed to keep it to themselves.

But when rehearsal was over, Gabe made a point of approaching Tamara. Knowing that she was deeply religious, Gabe worried about her reaction the most. “Hey,” she said shyly.

The Soprano soloist smiled. “Welcome to the other side, Gabe.”

“Thanks!” Gabe tried to keep her relief from showing. “I was wondering . . . .”

“Wait, wait! Don’t tell me!” Tamara appeared to think, tilting her head and tugging her chin with the tapered fingers of her right hand. “New girl, getting ready for her first big solo . . . you’re wondering about the gown!”

Gabe laughed. “Got it in one. Sooooo . . . whatcha wearin’?”

Tamara’s giggle was musical, because of course it was. “I don’t have pictures, but I’m just three floors up from you. Like, down the corridor from Mandy and Kiko’s room. Well . . . just Mandy’s, these days! Why don’t you come over now?”

“That would be great!” Gabe was relieved both by Tamara’s ready acceptance, and her willingness to help. Looking across to where Kiko was chatting with Kendra, Gabe called, “Hey, Kiko – Tamara’s gonna show me her dress. Want to come with?”

“Give me two seconds,” Kiko replied.

“I don’t suppose you let me go dress shopping with you?” Tamara said wistfully. “ I could take you to where I bought my gown.”

Gabe felt happiness bubbling up like a geyser. And I was worried about her! “Does tomorrow work?”

“Any time after two,” she replied.

“You’re on!”

“What’s she on? Coke? Crystal Meth?” Kiko asked, slipping a proprietary arm around Gabe as she joined the two soloists.

“She wants to take me to her dress shop tomorrow. Can you come, too?”

Kiko laughed. “You’re such a girl, Gabe! ‘Course I can!”

The three of them walked back to the dorm, talking companionably about music, the Messiah, and the strange life all of them were leading, secluded from the world and its worries, surrounded by art and artists.

But Tamara did bring the conversation around to Gabe’s new presentation. “Has anyone given you a hard time?”

“Not really. A couple of the girls have been a bit distant, but it’s hard to say. I mostly clung to Kiko even when I was presenting as a male.”

“You sure did.” The smile came through in Tamara’s voice.

Gabe bobbed her head to acknowledge the hit. “Ken Tuckerman’s been weird. And it kind of affected our duet in Oh Death, Where is thy sting? The Director noticed.”

“Did she say anything to him?”

“I’m sure she would have, if it had gone on. But I talked to him at a break and sort of cleared the air.”

Tamara’s “what’s his deal?” came out simultaneously with Kiko’s “You didn’t tell me that!”

Gabe put up a placating hand. “Ken’s fine, guys. Honest. It was new to him, and it made him uncomfortable. But we talked it out, and he understands a bit more now. I don’t think he and I are going to be best buds, but that’s okay. Not everyone has to like this version of me.”

Kiko stared at her. “Who are you, and what have you done with My Lady of Perpetual Angst?”

Gabe gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m a lot less insecure, presenting as myself. I think I can do without all the angst.”

“I heard it in your singing today, too,” Tamara said thoughtfully. “Like you’d taken it to a new level.”

“I caught that, too.” Kiko looked at Gabe. “All that, just from being yourself?”

“It’s that, but . . . it’s not just that. . . . I’ve been thinking a lot about something Tamara said a while back.”

Tamara smiled in sudden comprehension. “It got you, didn’t it?”

Kiko looked from one of them to the other. “Care to fill me in?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Gabe said quietly. “I pay attention to lyrics, of course, just like I pay attention to key signatures and tempo and breathing and posture. But Tamara got me to kind of, I don’t know . . . let the words get inside me.”

“Get inside you how?” Kiko still sounded puzzled.

“There’s just so much in what we’re singing. Think of Tamara’s last solo. ‘If God be for us, who can be against us?’ When I really listened, that felt so right to me. Like, why should I worry so much about what everyone else thinks of me? Sure, I’m trans, and that’s different. But that’s how God made me. Everyone else is just going to have to deal with it.”

“Even a heathen like me can get behind that!” Kiko said, smiling.

Tamara’s gown was simple, of course. Floor-length silk in a warm red, it had capped sleeves, a square neckline, and a tulle underskirt to provide a bit of volume. “I love it!” Gabe breathed. “I wonder –”

“ – if they have a similar dress in a coordinating color?” Tamara laughed at the transparency of Gabe’s thoughts.

Gabe blushed. “Yeah. It must feel heavenly.”

“I’d say it gets old, but . . . I’m mostly a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of gal. So, when I get dolled up, it always feels special.” Tamara paused, as if considering her words carefully. “Does it feel strange to you, getting all dressed up like this?”

Gabe shook her head. “I wouldn’t say ‘strange.’ It’s super girly, for sure, but right now I feel like I’m finally getting a drink after a lifetime in the desert.”

“I’m sure you’ll get plenty of catty comments about all that . . . but don’t let anyone take your joy.”

“Anyone tries, and I’ll crush ‘em,” Kiko growled.

“All five feet of you?” Tamara smiled.

“She’s got way more fight than I do,” Gabe said fondly. “She can take me anytime.”

Tamara and Kiko looked at Gabe, then looked at each other. Kiko started the laughing but once she got going even Tamara couldn’t stop herself from joining in.

As soon as Gabe realized her inadvertent double entendre, her face flamed to match Tamara’s gown.

— To be continued

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