Author’s note: I made the mistake of promising a complete Christmas story by December 21, but it kept expanding until I ran out of days. I intend to post a chapter each day for the next eight days, but I will keep the postings a reasonable size. You’ve all got lots of contest stories to read — and other stories, too!

— Emma

Duet for Tenor and Alto; Tenor melody

Kiko bounced up from the couch in the common room as soon as Gabe walked through the main door. “How’d it go?”

He waggled his fingers. “Good. But, honestly, Ken Tuckerman’s better.”

That earned him a frown. “You’re always putting yourself down! Your voice is fantastic!”

“Thanks . . . but honestly, Ken’s got the perfect voice for Comfort Ye, and everyone at the audition knew it. And he’s got . . . I dunno. A presence, I guess.”

“You have a presence, too.” She linked her arm with his and propelled him back towards the main door. “Just a different presence.”

He snorted. “Different. That’s a nice way to put it.” When she steered him left after leaving the student union, he said, “Aren’t we going to dinner?”

“Not yet. I need your help prepping for my audition. You’ve got to have a better sense of the director now!”

“Oh, come on, Kiko. You’re a lock! Remember, I’ve already heard your Refiner’s Fire, and no-one in the conservatory can come close.”

“Take nothing for granted! Try harder!” Her voice took on a strong Japanese accent which was foreign to her; normally, she sounded like any other girl from San Francisco.

“Just because your mother’s been hitting you with that since you were three,” Gabe began, but she cut him off.

“Right. Just because she’s been doing that, I’ve maybe got a shot. But only if I don’t start slacking off now.”

“The alto auditions aren’t until Thursday!” He couldn’t keep a slight whine from his inflection.

“Good. More time to practice!”

She had booked some time in one of the many sound booths the school provided, and it took only a couple minutes to set up the sound system to play the instrumentals only version. Gabe took a seat in one of the plastic chairs to the side and watched as she centered herself and began the aria.

He loved to listen to Kiko sing. Her warm voice was like a hearth fire on a cold day. He wanted to close his eyes and let the sound of her singing envelope him like a cashmere blanket. But he was there for a purpose — one that required eyes as well as ears. Singing is about the production of sound, and there is science to that as well as art. Posture, breathing, how you hold your head . . . . everything matters.

She had presence, too, normally. But tonight she was all nerves. Gabe listened to her once all the way through, then took her back over the parts where he thought she was less than her best, switching to keyboard so they could focus on the most difficult sections.

Then he ran her through the whole thing again. “Kiko, your technique is good, and you know the part. But you're just radiating nerves. What’s up?”

“I talked to Momma this afternoon. She’s coming out for the performance, and she expects me to have a solo. I’ve got to nail this.”

“I told you, no one else comes close. Don’t let your mother freak you out.”

“Really? You’re telling me not to worry about the disapproval of a parental unit?”

Gabe couldn’t help but blush. “I know, I know. But trying to get my dad to accept that I might be trans is maybe a bigger deal, don’t you think?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to change her mind. Instead, she shook her head and said, “fine, whatever. Let’s eat.”

Pizza makes everything better. Maybe even being trans in a world that doesn’t accept you.

The next afternoon was more of the same, and with a similar result. Her voice production was where it should be, but her nerves were wrecking her performance, like a violin strung too tight. After forty-five minutes Gabe called a halt. “You need to get in a different headspace. I’ve got an idea, but I need you to work with me, okay?”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Tell me this isn’t just an excuse for an early dinner.”

“I’m wounded! Wounded to the core!” He clutched his chest. “Though, now that you mention it . . . .”

“Called it,” she said triumphantly.

“Well, we’re gonna need to pop over to the dorm for my idea, and The Publican is almost on the way,” he wheedled.

She tugged her short, spiky hair in frustration. “Fine. I’m not making any progress here. But this better work!”

Duet for Tenor and Alto; Alto melody

Sitting in a dark wood booth in the campus’ faux British pub twenty minutes later, Kiko was even more doubtful. “So we’re going to grab my choir robe and my wig from Mikado, and that’s going to make everything better?”

“Work with me,” he pleaded. “When we’re doing theater, we act. We become someone else. When you were on the stage last year, you weren’t Reina Agatsuma’s overstressed daughter. You were Pitti-Sing.”

“If you think I’m going to sing Refiner’s Fire like a comedic character from a Gilbert and Sullivan opera, you’re nuts.”

“I don’t recommend it, but honestly it might be better if you tried it a couple times in practice. Anything to get you out of the ‘Momma’s gonna eat my entrails’ mindset.”

“Ewww. And you’re still nuts.”

He swirled a paper straw around the remains of his Coke Zero, watching the ice rearrange itself in the glass. “Look. You know how I sometimes wear things — women’s things — under my clothes.”

“We call it underwear, Gabe. Same as the other team.”

She saw his cheeks flush again. Kiko knew she was one of the few people he’d confided in about his feminine side, but even with her he bruised easily. Placing a hand on his wrist, she said, “Sorry. I know it’s a hard subject for you. Go on.”

“Okay.” He smiled weakly. “Anyhow, I’m still me when I wear it — whoever the fuck 'me' is. But I feel different, somehow. More comfortable. More centered around the person I want to be. It definitely changes my attitude. I’m just thinking, you need something to help you change your approach, and ten more run-throughs, or a hundred, won’t do it.”

She pressed his hand again. “‘Whoever the fuck you are?’ Really? You are my best friend, and one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I’ve ever met. How many times do I need to tell you?” She wanted to say more, but — as usual — she held back.

“It doesn’t get old, if that’s what you’re asking. But don’t change the subject. Will you try my idea?”

Exasperated, she said, “Only because you asked. You. My best friend. Got it?”

“Whatever works.” He smiled.

She tossed a napkin at his head.

They had their salads — even Kiko’s bird-like metabolism couldn’t handle pizza every night — then walked the five minutes to their dorm. Kiko shared a room with Mandy Somers, a red-headed soprano from, ironically enough, North Jersey. As usual, Mandy’s side of the room suggested that the Governor should be looking into declaring a state of emergency, but Mandy herself was absent — unless she was buried somewhere in the wreckage.

“Where’s Meadow?” Gabe asked as Kiko opened her (naturally well-organized) half-closet.

“She’s got a new boy toy. I don’t think she’s been around more than twenty minutes this past week.”

“It’s a little rude of her to leave her stuff looking like this. She might not have to look at it, but you do.”

“We have an arrangement,” she said as she pulled a maroon nylon choir robe from the row of neatly-hung dresses and pants. “She makes it spotless when my Mom’s visiting, and I don’t bug her about it the rest of the semester. The wig’s up on the top shelf. Can you reach?”

Since Kiko was five-two on a tall day, she was happy to dragoon her more vertically gifted friends for odd jobs of this sort. Gabe stretched to tip the manikin head holding the straight, blue-black wig forward and down.

She slapped his rear when he had the wig secured. “Flashed your panties there!” Again seeing his blush, she put a hand on his cheek. “Relax. It’s me, girlfriend.”

Surprisingly, Gabe teared up. “I know. I know. It’s just . . . You can’t possibly understand what it means, to have someone who accepts me. All of me.”

She sat on her neatly-made bed and patted the space next to her, inviting him to sit. When he did, she said, “I do understand. Believe me. My life’s not so different. Not really. Momma loves me, sure. But only if I measure up. Only if I do everything right. Everything she wants and expects. Your dad’s the same, right?”

“Yes and no. I mean, he doesn’t ride me, like your mom. But whenever I try to talk to him, you know, about how I feel . . . about, well . . . .”

“Being a girl,” Kiko prompted gently.

“Right. That. Anyway, he just shuts me down. Gets all cold and distant and disappointed. Says it's a phase and I’ll grow out of it.” Gabe looked down, like he was seeking answers in the shape of his hands, the twist of his long fingers. “It’s like I disappoint him all the time, you know? I mean, he didn’t even want me to come here. Didn’t think music was a proper career for his son. Even though Mom had been a really great singer.”

“How did you convince him?”

Gabe chuckled without much humor. “Kinda sucked at other subjects, I guess. The guidance counselor at my high school told him it was either one of the best conservatories in the country — on full scholarship — or community college.”

“Devious.”

“Maybe. I wasn’t really trying to fail, though. I was just so down. Music was the only thing that got me through it. Dad agreed, though I doubt he would have if it would have cost him anything. And, coming here got me out of the house. I think that was a big relief to him.”

He paused, then shook himself. “Anyway, enough about all that. Let’s go have you try my idea.”

Kiko ached for her friend, but she wouldn’t press if he didn’t want to talk further. But, maybe I can cheer him up a bit? “Are you wearing a bra?”

“Huh? No!”

“Well, I’m getting dressed — at your suggestion — to get my head in a better place. So you should, too.”

“My head’s in a fine place!”

“Is it? Every time we talk about this, you get all nervous and embarrassed. I need you to start believing me when I tell you that you shouldn’t feel ashamed of who you are.”

“But —”

“I can loan you a bra.”

“Seriously? You’ve probably got like a 30-inch band!”

“Okay, good point. But you have a bra of your own, don’t you.” Her tone made it more a statement than a question.

“No comment.”

“You do, then. C’mon, next stop, your room.”

“We’re not doing this.”

“Yes, you are. Naturally, I am already properly done up.”

“People will see me!”

“Wear a sweater.”

“They’ll see the outline of the straps through the sweater!”

“So wear a coat over the sweater. C’mon, girl. You’re just stalling.”

“How did you get so pushy?”

“Good genes,” she said smugly. “Just ask my tiger momma.”

She practically frog-marched him down the two flights of stairs to the corner where he had lucked into a single room. Once the door was closed, she said, “okay, let’s see your choices.”

Now beet-red, Gabe shuffled over to the bureau. Ignoring the small top drawers that held boxers and socks, he opened the deep bottom drawer and dug under several layers of jeans to fish out two distinctly female undergarments. “Only two choices.”

“And the baby blue matches your panties, so there you go.” She stood there waiting for what felt like forever, smiling like the cat that stole the cream. “Well, go on!”

“I look stupid in it.”

“They aren’t super smart garments, you know.”

“Yeah but . . . it’s not like I’ve got . . . you know . . . .”

“Tits? Yeah, I’ve heard of them. Don’t look for sympathy from this AA chick. You’ll be the first girlfriend I’ve ever had who might — might! — be flatter than I am.”

“But you’re beautiful.” He blurted it out, then blushed furiously.

Kiko’s mind blanked, momentarily. She didn’t think of herself as beautiful, despite being delicate as an orchid, with flawless, satin-smooth skin and perfect, symmetrical features. A lifetime of maternal criticism left her better at deflecting barbs than accepting compliments, much less seeing the truth behind them. So she said, “Thanks. Now quit stalling.”

With a sigh, Gabe pulled his hoodie over his head and dropped it on the bed, then slipped the bra straps over his shoulders and reached around to hook it.

Kiko smiled knowingly at his practiced movements, but then stepped close to take one of his arms and pivot him to face the mirror. “See? You look fine. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“The cups look kind of sad, all empty like that.”

“Buy bras with smaller cups, doofus.”

“Hard to get double a’s in my band size, you know.”

“I didn’t. Anyway, it’s a pretty bra, and if you like how it feels, you should wear it.”

He stared at the image in the mirror, wavering.

“You do like how it feels, don’t you?” she asked.

“It’s more I like how it makes me feel.”

“Well, then?”

He appeared to make up his mind, nodding sharply. But he threw a T-Shirt over it, and put the hoodie back over that, then grabbed a heavy canvas coat, scowling at Kiko’s amused giggle.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “Whatever works for you.”

Thus attired, he walked with her back across the now-darkened quad to return to the sound room she had reserved. When they arrived, she threw him a “you know this is crazy” look, then swirled the choir robe on and zipped it up.

He handed her the wig.

Muttering something foul, she settled the wig on her head and spent a couple moments fussing with it. “There, now do I look like a proper Japanese girl?”

“You look better with your spiky hair. The wig isn’t you at all — but that’s the point. You aren’t Kiko now.”

She grinned and sang, “Two little maids remain, and they, Won't have to wait very long, they say. Three little maids from school!”

He joined in the chorus repeat. “Three little MAIDS, from school!”

She laughed, which he took to be a good sign.

Gabe conscientiously ran her through some standard warm-up exercises to get the kinks out. Then, he banged out the melody to the Lord Admiral’s Song from HMS Pinafore, while singing, “For WHO shall stand when HE appears, for he’s li-ike a re-FI-ner’s fire.”

“All right, all right. I’ll try it!” She threw up her hand, laughing at his antics.

He switched to the melody for Refiner’s Fire, but kept the bouncy, G&S style. She shook her head, but he said, “Humor me.”

She settled in and took a deep breath, so he went back to the intro bars, keeping the same style and tempo.

She sang it through, up-tempo, sounding loose and giggly. “Okay, that was silly,” she said when she’d come to the end. But she smiled.

“Feeling better?”

“Maybe,” she conceded, still smiling.

“Okay then, Pitti-Sing. Ready to audition for an oratorio?

“Hit it, Maestro!”

Instead of the keyboard, he switched on the instrumental recording. Again she settled in, drew a breath, and began. This time she felt better, looser, allowing the natural warmth of her voice coming through.

When she came to the end, she looked over. “Well?”

“You tell me.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Must suck to be you, hating all the time.”

“As if. Okay, I’ll admit that helped. But It’s still not where it needs to be.”

“No. But now we can work on it more effectively.”

She nodded, and they went back to work. But now, it didn’t feel quite as much like work to either of them.

They took a break after forty-five minutes. “I feel better about it,” she admitted. “But the tone’s not quite right.”

Gabe thought about it. “Maybe, try a more ethereal sound? Float a bit more? It fits the lyrics.”

She grimaced, thinking it over. “Show me?” She sat at the keyboard and played the intro, set down an octave.

He laughed.

“What?”

“That’s actually gonna be harder for me, especially at the low end,” he told her. “Don’t worry — just play the part as written.”

She’d heard him sing often enough, but actually had no idea what his range might be. He was suggesting that he could manage a high alto, which is extremely rare for men. But she started the intro again, playing the alto score as written.

Taking a steadying breath of his own, Gabe closed his eyes, as if envisioning the effect he wanted to demonstrate, and began to sing. “But who may abide, the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? Who shall stand when he appeareth?”

Son of a bitch! He’s a genuine countertenor!

She played it straight through, then said, “I could hate you for doing that cold, you know that?” She clicked her index finger against her front teeth in thought. “But, I get what you were talking about. Cooler tones . . . purer. Kind of floating, with super short, aspirated consonants, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. And, articulating extra long vowels to match the short consonants, especially through measure 57.”

She thought for a moment more, connecting his explanation to what she had heard in his singing. “Okay, let me try it.”

She ran through it again, and both agreed that the switch was an improvement. After spending time on a couple of the harder parts, she did another run-through with the full accompaniment.

She’d been recording on her phone, so she gave the last run-through a listen. “What if —”

Gabe stopped her. “No more tonight! Don’t overwork your voice!”

She wanted to argue — she was on a roll, and wanted to keep going — but she stopped herself. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll listen to the recording some more back in my room, though, and maybe sneak in another half hour after music theory tomorrow.”

“Crazy woman!”

“Prepared! Prepared! You know: Failure not an option.”

“Okay, okay! Got it!” Suddenly shy, he added, “You won’t mind if I come tomorrow, will you?”

Would I mind? Are you kidding? She looked around the sound room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Of course not; I’d have come to yours if I hadn’t had that make-up class.”

“No worries,” he assured her. “Remember, I’ve got no pressure. No scary parent trying to decide whether to keep me or eat me, depending on whether I get a solo part!”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” She hit the lights and they headed back to the dorm.

Tenor melody, with divided Alto harmonies

Gabe had two long classes the following day, so he rushed to get to the hall where Frau Talmadge was conducting the auditions. Fortunately there were five girls trying out to be the alto soloist, and they hadn’t sorted out the order before he arrived. A couple other students were in the hall listening in — no rule against it! — as well as a senior student doing the piano accompaniment.

Kiko looked nervous again, so Gabe wandered over, gave her a hug, and whispered, “One little maid is a bright Yum Yum . . . .”

She returned his squeeze and smiled. “Thanks, Gabe. Needed that!”

“You got this, girl!”

“Knock wood, hey?”

“You could, but there’s no need. Relax!”

Just then the director called the first girl up, so Gabe wandered toward the back of the auditorium to avoid being obtrusive.

Kendra was technically proficient, but Gabe could tell she wouldn’t give Kiko any trouble. Natalie was less good when her turn came — not one of her better days, and you could tell she knew it when she left the stage.

The third student made up for it. Almost six feet tall, blond and buxom, Haley had “presence” to spare, but more importantly, she gave an outstanding performance. Gabe knew Kiko could be better still, but she would need to be at her absolute best in order to get the part.

Seeing Kiko’s shoulders tense up as she listened to Haley’s performance, Gabe started to worry.

But his worries were gone before Kiko sang a single note. The confident way she walked up onto the stage, the ease with which she stood and centered herself, even the steady, powerful intake of her first breath told Gabe that she was where she needed to be.

She’d ditched the more ethereal style, but Gabe decided he agreed with her choice. Her warmer take fit her voice better and sounded both authentic and somehow intimate, even when the tempo increased at measure 63 for the dramatic proclamation and Handel’s signature vocal runs. She had power, dynamism and passion that surpassed anything the other singers had demonstrated. When she left the stage, she was positively beaming.

Spotting Gabe in the dark, she marched up the aisle and joined him, grinning. He leaned over to say something but the piano drowned him out.

Charity Mason was last up. They stayed to listen, but it was clear early on that she would not be competitive. She had a lovely voice, but it was all wrong for the piece, and mostly wrong for Handel.

Once Charity was done, Frau Talmadge clapped her hands for emphasis and announced, “Thank you everyone — and thank you Thomas, for staying late to handle the accompaniment.”

Gabe whispered to Kiko, “no pun intended, of course.”

“Dork.”

The Director continued, “I’ll post the names of the four soloists Monday as indicated on the schedule; I want to think about it over the weekend. Meanwhile, I’ll see all of you for the full choir rehearsal tomorrow.”

That was the cue for everyone to leave, which they cheerfully did.

Once outside, Gabe said, “Okay, you gotta let me buy you a drink after that. You were fabulous!”

“Nope! Not going to jinx it,” Kiko said with feeling.

“Oh, come on! You blew them away!”

She smiled. “If I did, it’s only ‘cuz you helped. But I’m not popping any bubbly until she posts the names.”

“Who said anything about champagne?” He grinned broadly. “I’m just a scholarship kid. Figured I might be able to afford a beer for ya, though.”

“Beer’s still got bubbles.”

“Now who’s a dork?”

She stuck her tongue out, and they laughed as they headed back to the dorm.

— To be continued

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