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

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Duet for Tenor and Alto; Tenor melody. Ent. Trumpet.

Friday was another busy day — really, most days were. Gabe found himself thinking that he really hadn’t had any idea how much work the Conservatory would be when he applied. Not that I mind. Music is one of the few things that can get me completely outside of my own head.

But he didn’t see Kiko until the full choir rehearsal, which kicked off after dinner at 7:00 p.m. She almost didn’t make it on time, and had to rush to join her section as the warm-ups began.

Most of the rehearsal was devoted to working on one of the first really big choruses, For Unto Us a Child Is Born. The twenty tenors were singing this piece together, while the soprano and alto sections were each split. While some tenors struggled with the high notes Handel tended to throw their way, none of the section members was a slouch musically. Gabe handled the high notes effortlessly and enjoyed the exercise of blending his voice together with other good singers.

Frau Talmadge was exacting and kept the group working hard for two full hours with only a short break. No one minded; she was one of those music directors who could effortlessly keep dozens of instruments and a hundred voices straight in her head, and had an uncanny ability to bring the absolute best out of every musician. Everyone was thrilled to be singing under her direction.

“Alright,” she finally said. “That’s it for tonight. Tenors, you’ve got a section rehearsal tomorrow afternoon at two, and I’m seeing the sopranos Monday evening. Altos and basses, Mr. Winthrop is going to work with your sections next week; please check with him on Monday for scheduling details. Have a good weekend.”

There was a general shuffling of chairs as people started pulling their stuff together. Chris Winthrop, Talmadge’s assistant, pulled Gabe aside. “Can you stay a minute? The Director wants a word.”

“Me? Uh, sure. Of course.” Gabe felt a spike of worry. He thought his audition had been solid but not spectacular. Not good enough to get the solo part, but . . . surely not so bad that she had issues with my participation in the chorus?

When he got clear of the crowd headed for the exits, he saw that Frau Talmadge was talking to Kiko, and he was certain Kiko had a lock on the alto solo. Maybe I was better than I thought . . . maybe I got the solo after all?

The director got right to business as soon as the rest of the students had thundered off. “Mr. Carey, is it?”

“Yes, Director,” Gabe said respectfully.

“I have been struggling over some of the solo assignments, but I knew right off that I had easy choices for the alto and tenor parts.”

Really? Wow! He couldn’t keep the pleased surprise from his face.

Talmadge clearly read his expression. “I’m sorry; you have to know that Mr. Tuckerman’s audition was nearly flawless.” Her normally matter-of-fact voice was unusually gentle.

Trying to keep his expression more neutral — more of how he thought a professional would act — Gabe nodded and even managed a smile. “I agree completely, Director. But I hope I can still sing with the choir?”

She looked momentarily puzzled, then shook her head. “Of course, of course. Please understand, your audition was very good. Mr. Tuckerman’s voice is better suited to the tenor solos in this piece, nothing more.”

She paused a moment, glanced at Kiko, then turned her attention back to Gabe. “I was equally set on giving the alto solo to Ms. Agatsuma after yesterday’s audition. But she came to my office this morning and shared a recording of you singing Refiner’s Fire. She asked me to consider selecting you for the alto solo.”

“She what?” Abandoning his ingrained deference to the Director, Gabe looked at his friend aghast. “Kiko, you can’t! ‘Failure’s not an option,’ remember?”

She lifted her chin and gave him a very direct look. “It’s time I got over that.”

He couldn’t find words for a response. This is a disaster!

Frau Talmadge wasn’t used to being ignored. “Mr. Carey?”

With great reluctance, Gabe tore his eyes away from Kiko. “I’m sorry, Director.”

“Do you have the vocal range to sing all of the alto solos? Are there any that would give you difficulty?”

He mentally ran through them quickly. “No, Ma’am; I’m comfortable with the alto range through E5. But —”

She held up a hand. “Not now. The recording was impressive, Mr. Carey. If you’d like to be considered for the part, I’ll hear you in person tomorrow after the section rehearsal. I gather Ms. Agatsuma didn’t tell you she’d spoken with me, so I don’t want an answer right away. Think about it, talk to her, and let me know tomorrow.”

He stammered out a response of some sort before grabbing Kiko and heading for the exit. Once outside, he hissed, “what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking you have the perfect voice. And it’s not like I’m outing you; male altos have sung that part before.”

He waved that aside. “I’m not worried about that. What about you mom, Kiko? She’s going to kill you!”

“Gabe. Let go of my arm.”

“What? Oh!” He suddenly realized he was gripping her upper arm way harder than he had any right to. “I’m sorry, Kiko!”

“Better. Now, we’re going to go back to our dorm, walking at a normal pace, and having a normal, not shout-y conversation. Got it?”

“Not shouty. Sure. Okay.” He shook his head to clear it. “This is me, walking. In a normal way, like a normal normie person.”

“Good start.”

“So, seeing as how we’re having this super chill, normal convo while taking our normal normie stroll, can you tell me what the . . . ah . . . heck just happened in there?”

“It’s 2024, dork,” she giggled. “Even normies say ‘what the fuck,’ now.”

“Do they? I stand corrected. Or walk corrected, anyway. Like a normie. But, my question?”

She slipped an arm around his waist. “I listened to the recording yesterday morning. Both your version and mine. I knew yours was better. Way better, Gabe. So, I went to the audition and I sang it in my style, not my efforts to copy you. And I was better that way, I’m sure of it. But still nowhere near as good as yours. Your voice is perfect for this part. Perfect. And everyone should hear it. Our whole performance will be better.”

Their arms crisscrossed as he reciprocated her half-embrace. “I don’t agree, but that’s beside the point and you know it. Your mom —”

“Has been running my life for too long,” she said, cutting off his protest. “This is one performance, of one piece of music, which isn’t particularly well-suited to my voice or singing style.”

“I disagree . . . .”

“Suppose we let Frau Talmadge decide that. It’s why she gets the big bucks, right? But as far as Momma goes . . . it’s time I stood up for myself. If she throws a fit because I’m only in the chorus for this performance, I’ll deal with it.”

Gabe chewed on that as they moved through pools of light at the base of each decorative lamp that lined the walkway. “Maybe we could split the alto arias? Assuming Talmadge is okay with it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m right about who should have that part, and I don’t want to compromise the performance just to make my momma feel better about her investment.”

“You’re being awfully stubborn, you know.”

“Good.” Her voice was positively savage.

“Why?”

“Because,” she sighed. “I’m gonna need all the stubborn I can get.”

Countertenor, with trumpet & trombone; ent. Alto

“Ready?” Mrs. Talmadge looked at Gabe over the tops of her wire-rimmed glasses.

He was still conflicted — very conflicted. But Kiko had been adamant, and she had promised to skin him alive if he didn’t give the audition his very best. She spent forty-five minutes going over it with him after breakfast, too.

He nodded.

“Very well. Thomas?”

The pianist began the opening bars.

Feet planted firmly. Back straight, like someone pulled a string on top of my head. Shoulders relaxed. Chin up. Deep breath, a short exhale, then really fill up the lungs. And . . . begin! “But who may abide, the day of His coming . . . .”

As soon as he began to sing, his doubts dropped away. It’s not fair to say he was “lost” in the music. He intended to be a professional, or at least he hoped to be one. Professionals don’t get “lost.” But he was completely, totally committed to the music. Aware of every nuance of the score and his place in it, sensitive to exactly what the accompaniment was doing. Sure and certain of each note and the color he intended to give it before it came close to leaving his lips. Visualizing his voice stooping to each note like a hawk, rather than straining upwards to reach them.

Since he was well and truly warmed up from the section rehearsal that had come before, he had no difficulty with the high notes or the articulation of the dramatic runs. Finally he drew a last breath and concluded softly, even gently, “for He is like, a refi - i - ner’s fire.”

As Thomas concluded the last bars of the accompaniment, Gabe’s eyes found the Director.

She looked at her assistant. “What do you think?”

Winthrop rubbed the side of his nose. “I see what you mean. Yeah, absolutely.”

Talmadge returned her attention to Gabe. “The part is yours. If you want it.”

His doubts came crashing back. “Are you sure? Kiko’s audition was —”

“Outstanding, I agree. And I would have given her the part without hesitation. Except that I think it might have been written for you. Your voice . . . honestly, I thought I was hearing an angel. And not the type on greeting cards, if you know what I mean.”

“Ma’am?” It was all he could manage.

“You sounded like a seraph, announcing the day of judgement from heaven. I’ve conducted this piece countless times, and I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I . . . .”

“Good people auditioned for this part, Mr. Carey. Please don’t make me have to ask.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly, hoping he hadn’t given offense. “I would . . . I’d be delighted to sing it.”

“Thank you. You might also consider switching to the alto section for the choral pieces; we’re a bit lighter on voices there than in the tenor section.”

“I honestly hadn’t thought about that.”

“Is it a problem?”

If he could hit the notes in Refiner’s Fire, he knew the alto parts for chorus wouldn’t be a problem vocally. Might be a bit awkward socially, but . . . “No, Director.”

“First section meeting on Tuesday at seven,” Winthrop said promptly. “I was going to send out an email blast to the section when we’re done here; I’ll add you to the list.”

“Okay, right. Thanks. And . . . thank you, Frau Talmadge. I’m sorry if I didn’t sound appreciative— I’m really honored. It’s just, well. Kiko’s a friend of mine.”

“I understand.” She paused, then in a different tone, said, “If I may, Mr. Carey . . . it’s a tough business you’ve decided to enter. You’ll find yourself singing with — and often competing against— a lot of familiar faces. That can be tough on friendships. Best learn early how to navigate those waters.”

His nod was followed by a grimace. “Guess I’d better get started.”

“It’s a conversation, not a hanging. If she didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t have approached me. Now, go on.”

“Ma’am?”

She made a sweeping motion with her hands. “Scram. Scoot. Be off. I’ve got things to do!”

“Yes, Director!”

And with that, he took off like a Corellian Freighter.

Naturally, Kiko was waiting on the other side of the door. “Well?”

“I’m so sorry.”

She broke into a smile. “So you got it!”

“Yeah.”

“You might sound a bit more excited.”

“It should have been you.”

“Thought we agreed to let Talmadge decide that.”

“Well . . . you agreed, anyway.”

“And I’m right, as usual. Look, Gabe. Don’t mope. We’re doing Les Miz in the Spring, and there’s no way you’ll beat me out for Eponine. Smile, take the W, and work your ass off!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Better. Now, you owe me a fizzy drink, and before you say anything, I don’t like beer.”

“Bubbly drink.”

“Bubbly, fizzy. Whatever.”

“Dork!”

Viola, with percussion ornaments

It was three o’clock, and the woman in the elegant raw silk suit was having a bad day. From her office high up in the Transamerica Pyramid, she gazed across the bay towards Berkeley, holding the handset of her office phone some distance from her ear to reduce the volume of her senior partner’s voice.

“We can’t pass on this deal! It's “Kiss My Sweet, Round Ass” kind of money we’re talking about. Tell those weenies in the legal department to pull their heads out and find a way to make this work!”

“It’s a direct conflict, Jack. The Williams consortium will sue us for all we’re worth!”

“I don’t care! You don’t care! Just get it done, okay? I’ve got to get back in there.”

Realizing that the line had gone dead, Reina Agatsuma bit back her blistering response and slammed the receiver into a cradle that very obviously took a lot of daily abuse. “Jackass!”

Pivoting her leatherette office chair back to her computer station, she refreshed an amateurish webpage for the thirtieth time and swore as it didn’t change.

Her phone rang again, and her frustration rose even higher as the General Counsel’s name flashed on the caller ID. She snatched up the handset and practically snarled, “Don’t start. Just don’t. Yes, I told him, no, he doesn’t care, and no, I don’t have any idea how to make it work.”

“Reina —“

“Figure it out, Terry. Find a way!”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it. The contract with the consortium . . . .”

Reina had scant patience for the company lawyer’s habit of telling her things she already knew, at a level of detail appropriate for a new hire. She let him drone on, while hitting the reset button on her browser again in sheer frustration. Seeing a new posting, she opened it and absorbed the contents in an instant. “Oh, sweet fuck!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, Terry. Something just came up. Look, you know Jack’s position. Get it done already!” The hard plastic of her handset cracked with the force that returned it to the cradle. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

Her shout caused her Administrative Assistant to poke a tentative head in through her door. “Mrs. Agatsuma?”

She pointed a long, straight finger back the way he’d come and snapped, “Out!”

He scampered.

Pivoting back to her view of San Francisco Bay — the view that she’d been so pleased about when she'd accepted this job, thinking she had finally arrived at a place of security — she tried to bring her boiling temper under some semblance of control.

At least I’m not still paying alimony to that little shit. But I might as well be, with the hideous amount it’s costing me to send our daughter to that stupid conservatory. If she wants to waste her life traipsing around on a stage, fine, but she’d damned well better make a success of it!

Gritting her teeth, she fished her cell phone in its clear acrylic case out of her designer bag and punched her most frequently-used speed-dial.

It rang four times before there was an answer. “Hi, Momma.”

“What is wrong with you, Kiko!!!”

The conversation went downhill from there.

Alto melody, with mixed alto voices and countertenor harmony; trombone acc.

“Seriously? A guy?” Haley shook her head. “And he didn’t even audition for it.”

“I know, right?” Kendra sounded equally aggrieved.

Kiko arrived just in time to overhear them and figured she’d better nip the problem in the bud. “She had him come in and sing it on Saturday. Honest, you’ve got to hear him — his range is freakin’ unreal.”

Haley frowned. “I know he’s a friend of yours, but — much as I hate to say it — you had this one. Your audition was pure fire.”

“Just give him a chance. You’ll see.”

Gabe was one of the last to arrive. Kiko figured he’d timed it to avoid having to have conversations that might be awkward.

Chris Winthrop arrived just after Gabe, striding immediately to the piano. “Good evening, ladies . . . Oh! And Gabe, of course!” He blushed. “Everyone, Gabe’s going to be joining this section, since the alto parts are actually in his tessitura. If you haven’t heard the high end of his range before, I can promise you’re in for a treat. Now, let’s get started.” He took a seat on the bench and ran a practice scale. “On ‘Ah,’ please.”

As they ran through the first series of warm-ups — scales designed to ease singers into higher registers — Kiko watched her colleagues watch Gabe. It didn’t take long for them to realize he could keep up. In fact, when the warm-up was finished, Winthrop assigned Gabe to join the first altos for the parts where the section split into higher and lower groups. The assistant director had, naturally, been paying close attention.

Kiko concluded that Winthrop was pretty shrewd at reading social dynamics, too, since he turned straight to a piece that included a back-and-forth between the choir and the alto soloist.

“I’d like to spend some time tonight working on Oh Thou, That Tellest. The director asked me to remind you all to watch the dynamic markings, and to make sure all the entrances are crisp and together. Pay particular attention to the entrance on “behold” at measure one twenty. Gabe, lead us in, please.”

Winthrop launched into the piano intro. Kiko watched as Gabe’s nervousness dropped away and his face cleared, becoming totally focused. Demonstrating textbook posture, he drew in a deep breath and launched. “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion . . . Arise, shine, for thy light is come . . . .”

Perfect.

As Gabe came to the end of the solo element, Haley turned and gave Kiko a surreptitious smile and a wink. Then it was time for the chorus to jump in.

After the first run-through, Winthrop said, “Okay, good. Good beginning. Gabe, a bit more of a brighter coloration on the intro, I think. Group, I see what the director was talking about on that intro at measure one twenty, and the entire section from one thirty-two until the end was a little flat. Let’s go again, please.”

When Winthrop called a halt after ninety minutes, Kiko was pleased to see the other girls made a point of telling Gabe that they loved his voice, and generally making him feel welcome. She could see him start to relax.

As the group broke up, she took his arm. “See? I told you that they don’t bite. And they only scratch a little.”

He smiled ruefully. “I’ll admit I was a bit worried.”

“You don’t say. Anyhow, how’d it feel?”

“Kind of awkward. But not the singing; that was great.”

“It was a choir rehearsal, doofus. It’s all singing.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Kiko’s lips curved into a smile. “Hey – maybe try wearing your bra next time.”

Gabe snorted. “Oh, yeah, that’d help.”

“It might. You said you felt better when you did. Maybe you’ll feel less awkward, when you’re in there with all the girls.”

“I can’t sing if I’m petrified of being caught.”

She stopped in her tracks and gave him a look. “Gabe, seriously. People are NOT going to care. Stop living like this, okay?”

Gabe couldn’t meet her eyes. “I know, I know. You’re right.”

She resumed walking, but added, “Anyhow, it’s cold enough. Wear your heavy fleece, and no-one’s going to notice anything.”

They walked in silence for a bit, then Gabe asked, “Heard anything yet?”

“From momma, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Gabe’s voice was heavy with worry.

“Nope. Not a word.”

Duet for Soprano and Countertenor; Soprano melody

Two solid weeks of rehearsals passed. Solo rehearsals, section rehearsals. Full choir rehearsals. Ken Tuckerman gave Gabe a bit of grief for “switching teams” at the first full rehearsal after the soloists were named; Kiko had just about busted a gut at the unintentional double entendre. But that was just about the only ribbing he got. After their initial hesitation, the girls were uniformly decent to him.

He had just finished practicing a duet with Tamara, the Soprano soloist, and they walked out together.

“I get the sense you aren’t satisfied with how that sounded,” Tamara observed.

Gabe nodded, then realizing his gesture might be misinterpreted, hastened to say, “You sounded great. Honest. But I’m struggling to match you, somehow.”

“Really?” Tamara seemed puzzled. “Your voice is fantastic, Gabe. Better than mine, if I’m being honest. I’m trying to match you!”

“Don’t be silly.” Gabe couldn’t help blushing at her praise. “But . . . I’m not talking about technique. Or, I don’t think I am; I’ve listened closely to how you are singing – our duet, of course, but all of your parts. Like, when you were finishing out your last solo earlier.” To illustrate, he slipped into a well-supported falsetto and sang, “‘Who sits at the right hand of God, who makes intercession for us.’”

Dropping to his normal register, he finished by saying, “I can’t put my finger on why your interpretation felt so powerful; it just cut through me. I want my sections to have the same force.”

Tamara didn’t respond immediately, weighing her response carefully. Then she shot Gabe a sideways glance. “Have you thought about what we’re singing?”

“You mean, the lyrics? I mean, I’ve read them, and I’m trying to fit my interpretation to the words.”

She recited Gabe’s lines from the duet — “‘He shall feed His flock like a shepherd; and He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.’ The metaphor’s straightforward, but does it mean anything to you?”

Gabe gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I remember going to Church when I was little. Grade school, you know? I . . . I felt something, back then. It was important, I knew that. To me, to my parents. I remember really feeling like . . . .”

Tamara gave him time to complete his thought. When he didn’t, she gently prompted, “What did it make you feel like?”

“Like somehow, everything would be alright. Like I was safe, you know? Safe in God’s hands.”

Tamara stopped where the path to the student union broke from the one to the dorm, and laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe channel that feeling when you’re singing, Gabe.”

She left and Gabe continued back alone. But by the time he reached the dorm, he was smiling.

Countertenor Melody, with alto and instrumental embellishments

He was still smiling when he greeted Kiko’s roommate Mandy, who was leaving the building just as he arrived.

Her return look was unfriendly, and her voice was snide. “Having fun?”

He did a double take. “Uh, kind of? What’ve I done to you?”

“To me? Nothing.” She pushed past him and started walking swiftly away.

“What’s that supposed to . . . .” Gabe stopped and shook his head; it was obvious whom she meant, and he took the stairs to the room Mandy shared with Kiko two at a time. When he got to their door, he could hear Kiko’s voice.

“Momma . . . Momma, stop. Listen to me, would you? Momma!” She sounded distressed.

Gabe didn’t want to barge in on a private conversation, but he didn’t want to leave Kiko alone, either. Standing in front of her door, he wavered in indecision.

A girl he didn’t know was walking down the hall in his direction; she gave him a bemused look which left him feeling even more foolish.

Kiko’s “Ah, FUCK!” came through loud and clear, and that was enough for Gabe. He reached for the knob and opened the door to find Kiko looking furious, her face a mask of tears.

“No! Out!” she shouted.

“Kiko –”

“No!!! Go away! I can’t deal with you right now!” She charged the door, shoved him hard, and slammed it shut.

Gabe was stunned, hurt, but still desperate to help. He reached up his hand to give the door a tentative knock, but a cold voice stopped him.

“That’s your cue to leave, loverboy.” The girl who had been heading his direction had paused to give him a very unfriendly look.

“I’m not . . . I mean, we’re not –”

“Don’t care. She told you to leave, you leave. Now.”

“But something’s happened!”

The girl didn’t respond; instead, she just pulled out her phone and hit a number on the speed dial. “Hi. I’m on the Fourth Floor at Barrington; some guy is harassing a girl in her dorm room.”

Gabe put up his hands, defeated, then spun on his heels and beat a retreat.

“Good choice, fuckwad,” the girl said to his back, sounding very pleased with herself.

— To be continued

Author’s note: If you’re wondering how Refiner’s Fire sounds when sung by a countertenor— or if you’re wondering what Refiner’s Fire sounds like, period :) — here’s a link. Gabe’s rendition, as I imagine it, is a bit more ethereal than this one.

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Duet for Countertenor and Alto; Countertenor Melody

Gabe walked down the stairs, his feet leaden. He paused at his own floor, then kept going, walking out the dorm and heading away from the campus without any real goal in mind. He just knew he needed to get away.

Forty-five minutes later he found himself downtown, an area he honestly had never bothered to explore. His whole time in the city had been focused on the conservatory’s small and insular campus. Nothing looked familiar.

Shoe stores. Clothing stores. He looked at their windows blankly, his mind failing to process the images he was seeing. A restaurant. A bookstore. Christmas music everywhere.

A coffee shop registered. Maybe better than wandering around like an idiot. The outdoor seating had been put away with the coming of the cold weather, but there were tables inside. He ordered a large regular from the guy behind the counter, then found a place to sit.

His feelings were all over the map. He wanted desperately to find out what was wrong with Kiko. If she was having trouble with her Mommasaurus, he reasoned there was a decent chance it was because he had taken the alto solo from her.

But her cry of “I can’t deal with you right now” cut him deep. He was hurt, and couldn’t get past it. He found himself staring into the distance, seeing and hearing what was going on around him without processing any of it. His coffee was cold, and he couldn’t remember when that had happened.

“Gabe?”

The sound of his name pierced his brain fog. Startled, he looked up to see almost six feet of a concerned-looking Haley standing over him. “Uh . . . hi?”

His tentative response did nothing to allay her concern. “Are you okay?”

“Am I . . . Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Uh huh.” She hesitated for an instant before pulling out a wooden chair across from him and sitting down, placing a sixteen-ounce to go cup in front of her. “You look like fresh road kill. What happened?”

He looked down at the ceramic mug on the table he’d been cradling in both hands for so long he didn’t remember, and opened his mouth to say “nothing.” But what came out instead was, “I think I just lost my best friend. And it’s all my fault.”

Haley tilted her head. “Kiko?”

He nodded, still looking down.

“Kinda thought you two were, you know . . . more than just friends.”

That caused him to look up, startled. Like I could ever play in THAT league! “No. Nothing like that.”

“Huh. So what dastardly thing did you do?”

“I took the solo from her.”

Haley shook her head sharply. “No way. She was psyched you got that part — talked a couple of us down from being royally pissed off, so you know.”

“You were?” Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t know . . . I’m sorry. I seem to have really made a mess of this.”

“I said she talked us down, didn’t I? Made us listen. When we heard you sing the part, we knew you earned it.”

He opened his eyes to see her looking impatient. Hastily, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, well . . . you know . . . .” His voice petered out as he lost the train of thought.

“Stop apologizing already. You’re sitting here beating yourself up for doing what we’re all supposed to be doing — pushing ourselves to be the best, so we can actually get jobs that involve music. And hopefully aren’t limited to teaching, God help us.”

“But Kiko —”

Haley cut him off. “She’s doing the exact same thing!”

“That’s just it, though. She isn’t. She gave the director a recording of me singing Refiners Fire after your auditions. I didn’t know about it. I hadn’t even been in the mix.”

“Whoa!” Haley leaned back in her seat. “She did what?”

So he poured out the story — or, to be more accurate, she pulled it out of him. When he finished describing his encounter with Kiko at the dorm, she said, “Boy, I didn’t see Kiko doing something like that. Gotta tell ya, I sure wouldn’t, and my folks are super chill. Not like that witch of a mother Kiko’s saddled with.”

“I know,” he groaned. “I wonder if I should –”

“Don’t say it! Don’t think it!” she snapped.

“But if I withdraw, Talmadge will have to give her the part.”

“No, no, no!!! First, it’s too late. We’re half way through rehearsals. Second, sure, she’s your understudy. But Talmage will have your ass if you pull out, unless you’re freaking dead or coughing up your esophagus. It’s not professional.”

“I know, I know. But –”

She cut him off again. “Finally, Kiko was right. Your voice is perfect for this part. The performance . . . look, we’ll all sound better if you’re in that role, okay?”

He stared at his hands for a long moment. “You’re right. I know you are. I just feel terrible.”

“It’s not your fault,” she replied, sounding exasperated. Gabe opened his mouth to rebut her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “She’s a big girl. She knew her mom would be screaming mad and she did it anyway. She can’t go blaming you when she gets exactly the reaction she expected.”

“Seems like maybe she does, anyway,” he sighed.

“Then that’s on her.”

Strangely, Gabe found he didn’t want to hear it. He got heavily to his feet. “Hey, sorry. I’ve gotta run. But thanks for listening, you know?”

Haley shook her head, gave him a bemused look, and stood. “You’ve got it bad, bro.”

“Huh?”

“Look. Maybe you just caught her at a bad moment. You’re a nice guy; she knows that. It’ll be okay.” On an impulse, she gave him a quick hug.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly.

She pulled back, looking surprised. “Are you wearing a bra?”

“I . . . Uh. I mean . . . .” Gabe couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence. There was no way Haley wouldn’t know what was under his fleece when she hugged him. It really couldn’t be anything else. Jesus! I’m completely fucked! He froze.

“That’s so cool!” Haley beamed. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, you know.” She gave his arm a final squeeze. “See you tomorrow, and . . . good luck with Kiko, okay?” With a final smile, she took her coffee and left.

Gabe stood for a long moment, looking like he’d caught a Major League fastball with his forehead. Half in a daze, he fumbled for his coat and left.

Alto melody, with supporting alto harmonies

Thanks to good genes and relentless maternal pressure, Kiko excelled at many things. Maths and sciences as well as ballet, tap, flute, and, of course, singing. But when it came to self-reproach, she was truly without peer.

After nearly a full day of mental flagellation, she was exhausted, feral, and ready to explode.

She’d tried so hard to keep Gabe from knowing what was going on with her momma. And just as she’d finished another brutal round of criticism, he had to show up to shred the last nerve she possessed. Her explosive temper was yet another gift from her overachieving mother.

Twice she’d stopped by Gabe’s room to apologize, but he hadn’t been there. Or at least, he hadn’t answered her knock. Text — which she used almost without thinking about it — for once seemed too impersonal. She resolved to talk with him either before or after the alto section rehearsal, but he arrived just after Winthrop, left as soon as it was over, and avoided making eye contact the entire time.

As she watched his rapidly retreating back, her guilt gave way to a flare of anger. Seriously? One mistake and you’re going to ghost me? She stuffed her well-annotated score into her lavender backpack with considerably more force than the task required, then stalked toward the exit.

“Like that, is it?”

Kiko spun around to find Haley giving her a measuring look. “Huh?”

“You and Gabe? Splitsies?”

“What? We aren’t even dating!”

“Then he’s free? You don’t mind if I . . . ?”

Kiko felt the blood rush to her face. Gabe and . . . Haley? She’d been hopelessly crushing on Gabe all semester, firmly parked in the Friend Zone with no exit in sight, and this overgrown, sweet-assed . . . musician! . . . was going to just waltz in and take him?

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Having said absolutely everything she could think of in that moment, Kiko spun on her heel and stormed out.

Kendra had followed the whole exchange. “Haley, you are so bad!”

Haley chuckled. “I know. I just couldn’t resist. Those two are adorable!”

“They’re clueless!”

“Yeah. That, too.”

Kiko, meanwhile, was headed back to the dorm under a full head of steam, marching as fast as her perfectly-proportioned — which is to say, short — legs would go, cursing the entire time. “Gabe and Haley. Haley! That’s so fucking bogus. Just ‘cuz she’s got perfect blonde hair and cornflower eyes and big freakin’ bazoombas. AND long legs, the bitch. FUCK!!!”

Polyphonic Duet for Countertenor and Alto

She was moving so fast that she almost caught up with Gabe before he reached the building. He might have noticed her, if he hadn’t been completely wrapped up in his own guilt about Kiko and worry about what Haley knew and who she would tell. But no sooner did he get the door to his dorm room open than Kiko exploded out of the door to the stairwell.

“Hey!”

Gabe turned around, started, to see her marching grimly towards him like the ghost of William Tecumseh Sherman. “Kiko! I –”

“Shut up.” She put both hands on his chest and pushed, causing him to stumble through the door. Before he got his balance back, she pushed again. And then a third time, causing him to tumble backwards onto his bed.

“Kiko!!!”

She sat on him. “I said, shut up. I’m sorry about yesterday, okay? You weren’t supposed to know about Momma.”

“O . . . okay, but, then, why . . . .”

“Did I say you could talk yet?”

He shook his head, his eyes wide as egg rings.

“No, I didn’t, did I? So don’t. Talk, that is.” Planting a hand on either side of his head, she bent over and kissed him fiercely.

Although Gabe had never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that anyone might be interested in him, much less that Kiko might be, no member of the species, howsoever diffident, could have remained blind to Kiko’s intentions during the thorough tonsillectomy she proceeded to administer with her tongue. After ten shocked seconds, Gabe’s hands reached upward to embrace the woman who held him pinned, and he returned her kisses with compound interest.

The moment stretched.

When she came up for air, he said, “Kiko?” His voice was tentative.

“What?”

“Can I talk yet?”

“Maybe.”

“The door?”

She appeared to give the matter some thought. “Yeah. Fine. But don’t move, got it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She slid off him, took two steps and kicked the door closed in the face of a classmate who’d paused to enjoy the show. “Perv,” she snarled.

Then she turned around, taking in the view of Gabe lying on his bed, feet stretching towards the floor. He had lifted his head to watch her. Well, let’s provide something to look at! Slowly, teasingly, she pulled the Aran Cable Sweater she was wearing over her head.

Gabe’s eyes bugged out.

Very satisfactory, she thought. The long red wool skirt followed, pooling around her boots.

“Kiko . . . .”

“Shut up.”

She pounced.

Duet for Countertenor and Alto; Countertenor Melody

It was some time before they were able to have a normal conversation. Not that either of them objected to the delay. But eventually, Gabe kissed the top of her head, which was tucked tight to his shoulder, and said, “Kiko. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“I’m not,” she replied without moving. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“Because?”

“It sort of worked out?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. But . . . I’m still sorry if I caused trouble with your mom. Will you tell me what happened?”

Kiko said nothing, but burrowed into him even more tightly.

“Please?”

She sighed. “Okay. Momma’s mad; I knew she would be. She won’t come to the performance ‘cuz I’m ‘just’ in the chorus.”

He dug his fingers into her thick, dark, spiky hair. “That’s got to be a relief, though, right?”

She didn’t respond. But, close as the two of them were, she couldn’t prevent him from feeling her tears on his chest.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” His voice was gentle. So very gentle.

“She’s threatening to pull me out at the end of the semester. Says she’s not paying a gagillion dollars if I can’t measure up.”

Gabe froze. “No!!!”

She turned her head just enough to kiss his chest. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know.”

“Kiko, you’ve got to let me withdraw!”

“No.”

“I can’t lose you!”

Despite her tears, she grinned. “You didn’t even know I existed until I jumped your bones.”

“Are you kidding? I fell in love with you the first day I met you!”

“Were you ever going to let me in on that?”

“I . . . uh. I mean, I didn’t think . . . .”

“Uh huh.”

“Seriously. How could someone like you be interested in someone like me? I’m not even sure I’m male!”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“‘Whatever?’ Seriously? That’s all you have to say about it?”

She thought for a moment, pausing only to give his chest another peck. “Yup.”

He shook his head, bewildered. “This feeling of somehow being in the wrong kind of body . . . I mean, it’s weighed on me my whole life. Or, far back as I remember anyway. And to you it’s no biggie?”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s so weird. I mean, I got almost the same reaction from Haley yesterday.” He stopped speaking abruptly, as he felt his still-very-male genitalia squeezed by a hand that might be small, but was both strong and determined.

“You so much as look at that chick, and I’ll hurt you!”

“What?” He squeeked. “We just had coffee!”

“Hurt you bad, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Get this through your head.” She reared up to give him a stink eye. “You. Are. Mine.”

His smile was pure sunshine after a summer squall. “That’s just the way I want it.”

“Good!”

Ent. Saxophone, solo

John Carey bent to pick up the small pile of mail that had fallen through the slot in the front door, grunting as lower back pain hampered his movement. He’d been going nonstop for months, pushing to get all of the roofing jobs done before the cold weather set in and the fiberglass shingles became brittle. The last three weeks he and his crews had been indoors, mercifully, doing jobs that had been pushed back in the schedule by the roofing work.

Sleep deprived, bone weary . . . and at the end of another long day, nothing but the quiet of an empty house and maybe a can of soup, if he had the energy to deal with it before collapsing into bed.

The bed, of course, had been empty for years.

It felt like he missed her more now than at any time since Gabe was young. He missed her lithe body, her deep brown eyes, the way the sunlight would catch her hair on a summer morning. He missed her compassion and her gentle humor. Most of all, he missed her voice. Such an angel.

Bill. Bill. Solicitation. Charity. Catalogue. The first two went between thumb and forefinger; he’d deal with them later. The rest were destined to hit the recycling bin unopened. He flicked on the kitchen light as he continued to follow the well-worn path that marked the ends of his workdays.

Something from Gabe’s conservatory. That was unusual, since he wasn’t paying them any money. Though that wouldn’t stop them from asking for it; every school was like that these days. Always with their hands out. And, remember us in your will!

With a sigh, he stuck a calloused forefinger under the flap, tore it open, and pulled out a single sheet of creamy paper. Something about a performance . . . Oh. The Messiah. He remembered seeing an email about that a few weeks earlier, but he hadn’t had time to look at it. Still don’t, he thought tiredly.

The circular went on the pile for the recycling bin.

He opened up a can of soup, poured it into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave. Two minutes, and it was ready. Right up there with an MRE. He slowly settled himself into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, favoring the knee he’d re-injured a week before, then started in on the soup.

As he ate, his eyes wandered back to the recycling pile. He wasn’t consciously reading, but a familiar name leapt off the page – “Carey.” He pulled the announcement from the conservatory closer and read, “Alto solo — Gabe Carey.” Huh.

It hurt a bit, thinking of Gabe. John was no Neanderthal, but he’d secretly wanted a son. Someone to carry the name. Take to the lake, on the two weeks he took off each summer. But Gabe was different — different enough that the kid even managed to get himself tied in knots about something as simple as his own gender.

Like most parents, John once had all sorts of fool notions about what his son would be like. The things they would do together.

What was it Lynn used to say? “Man plans, God laughs?” About right.

He was a good enough kid; John had no complaints that way. Didn’t get into trouble; never argued or talked back. Not like the stories he’d hear from some of the guys on his crews. Sure, Gabe wasn’t much of a student, but John didn’t hold that against him. He hadn’t had much use for book learning himself. Despite that, they’d never been close. It was like they existed in different worlds. Different universes.

If Gabe had been into sports, John would have gone to his games. Some of them, anyhow. He’d played football and hockey when he was a boy himself, so he understood them. But Gabe had no interest, and John wasn’t minded to push him.

Gabe’s teachers all said he had a gift for music, but John hadn’t wanted to be part of that world. Not after the cancer took his Lynn away. John didn’t go to concerts or recitals, and Gabe learned to use headphones or earbuds whenever his father was home.

The soup was hot, but somehow it didn’t warm him. He was surprised to realize that he missed his son. Even if they didn’t interact much, knowing another person was in the house was a comfort.

He had a whimsical notion – a rare thing, for him – that he would show up at Gabe’s concert. Alto soloist, huh? But he shook his head. Too much to do. He’ll be home for Christmas, unless he gets work up there.

John finished his soup, rinsed the can, added it to the recycling pile, and took the lot out to the bin in the garage.

Countertenor melody with Alto harmonies and Trumpet introit

“All right.” Frau Talmadge wrapped her knuckles on the podium, ending the full choir rehearsal. “As you know, we’ve got sections practice all next week, then the dress rehearsal on Saturday. I’ll have the orchestra in for that. Thanks to the hard work you have all been putting in, we’re getting very close to being ready.”

Talmadge did not give easy compliments, so her words brought a lot of smiles.

“Any questions?”

No one had any.

Haley watched Gabe and Kiko leave together, arm in arm, then shared a look with Kendra. She started to giggle, which proved to be contagious.

Charity Mason looked from one of them to the other. “What’s the joke?” All that accomplished was to make them laugh even harder.

Gabe and Kiko weren’t laughing, however.

Gabe looked down at his girlfriend — his girlfriend! — unable to contain the joy such a designation brought. Nonetheless, he was worried. “She called you again today?”

“She’s called me every day since the posting,” Kiko admitted reluctantly. “There’s not a lot of novelty to our discussions.”

“Kiko –”

“No.”

“You being here is more important than any singing part.”

She gave him a squeeze of appreciation. “Thank you. I mean that. But you would lose your scholarship if you pulled something like that.” Before he could say anything, she added, “And they would be right. You know that. Besides, like I said at the very beginning, I can’t keep being scared of Momma.”

“I don’t know. She sounds plenty scary – and I’m hearing her voice through the telephone line and clear on the other side of the room!”

“I don’t care.” Kiko’s voice was fierce. “I’m fucking tired of being afraid of her. Of being afraid of anyone. What kind of a person would I be, if I didn’t do what I knew was right just because I was scared of what might happen to me?”

They turned to other things, but Gabe was troubled in his heart and it was a long time before he was able to fall asleep. He gazed at the beautiful woman sleeping in his arms, loving her, and grappling with the implications of the question she had put to herself. Wondering if he could answer it as easily.

What kind of a person am I?

— To be continued

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

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

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Duet for div. Alto voices; First Alto Melody

Saturday arrived — the day of the dress rehearsal— and so did eight inches of snow. Gabe and Kiko spent the morning in PJ’s, drinking hot tea and monitoring the text chains to see whether weather would permit. On again, off again, seemed to be the order of the day.

Gabe was refilling Kiko’s cup when she called out, “Winthrop says it’s a ‘go.’ Two o’clock. The walks should be cleared, and the furnace is back on line.”

“Hallelujah!” Gabe sang out, starting on the middle “A” like any good alto. Kiko joined in enthusiastically, but they stopped after eight bars rather than digress about the Lord God Omnipotent reignething. That part just wasn’t as much fun without the bass voices.

Gabe handed off the tea. “That’s a relief. I’m not sure when else we would squeeze it in.”

Kiko nodded. “And we need it, too. Mostly the guys, to be honest.”

“I think the tenors are solid,” Gabe countered. “But I agree — it’ll do us all good to go through everything. Especially with the full orchestra.”

Kiko nodded but didn’t respond. Seeing her distraction, Gabe asked, “Still nothing from your Mom?”

“No. She was calling me every frickin’ day, and then . . . nothing? I mean, I don’t miss her calls, but she’s freaking me the fuck out.”

Gabe fervently hoped Kiko’s mom had decided to stop harassing her daughter after hearing from Frau Talmadge, but she didn’t want to raise any hopes. Nor did she want Kiko to know that she’d asked the Director to intervene. Instead, she asked, “How often does she usually call? I mean, before she blew an organ stop about this performance?”

“I don’t know . . . Maybe three, four times a week? Going ten days without a call . . . I’m not sure that’s ever happened.” Kiko smiled sardonically. “I might start thinking she’s forgotten about me.”

Gabe made a pretense of looking back at the clock, afraid her face would betray her. But the very act of her turning away alerted Kiko that her words had carried a sting she hadn’t intended. “Hey,” she said softly, rising to take Gabe’s shoulders. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

“No, it isn’t. When was the last time you heard from him?”

Gabe shrugged. “A little after the semester started. But, that’s not unusual for us.”

“He should be coming for this. For you.”

“Just as well he isn’t, though. He’d probably have a heart attack on the spot, if he saw me like this.” Gabe waved to indicate her appearance; while she was wearing PJs, the top was sheer, soft, and scooped-necked, while the tight bottoms hit mid-calf and were a lovely shade of lilac. There was no doubt they were designed for a girl. A girl like me, she told herself. Firmly.

Kiko gave her a supportive squeeze. “You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

“Maybe. But not today!” Dismissing the problem, she said, “It is what it is. C’mon, let’s get ready.”

Full Choir, with Instruments

The name notwithstanding, “dress rehearsal” did not require a costume change; it simply meant the entire ensemble — soloists, choir, and orchestra— would do a full run-through of the entire performance. To the extent possible, without interruption.

Gabe and Kiko joined a stream of bundled-up singers and musicians making their way to the conservatory’s performing arts center, with its gem of a concert hall. The shoveled walkways were icy in the frigid air, and the scattered salt was insufficient to the task. Several students found themselves sliding and tumbling before they wised up and moved more carefully.

“I hope it gets better by Monday night,” Tamara said as she joined them. “We’ll need to warm up before we warm up.”

“This is nuts,” Kiko agreed.

They had almost reached the facility when a young man carrying a viola case tried to grab for the door while it was closing, but he slipped and lost his grip on the instrument. He made a desperate lunge to keep it from hitting the pavement, but his sudden movement only made matters worse. Both he and his viola tumbled to the ground and he knocked over the woman who was behind him.

The three girls moved — carefully— to help. The guy was already opening his instrument case to make sure he’d done no harm. The woman, who had been unrecognizable in her long puffer coat, turned out to be the Director.

“Frau Talmadge! Are you all right?” Gabe dropped to a knee to help her up.

“Yes, I think . . . .” But her reassurance ended with a yelp as she tried to get up. “Scheisse!” She winced as she carefully flexed her left wrist. She gratefully accepted help from Gabe and Kiko to get back on her feet.

It was a sign of things to come, unfortunately. The group was missing several singers and musicians who lived off campus and were having trouble with the roads including, critically, both the harpsichordist and Ken Tuckerman. It didn’t help that the first two pieces in the oratorio — Comfort Ye and Every Valley — are tenor solos.

Frau Talmadge asked Winthrop to get the singers warmed up while the organist got the instrumentalists ready, though she tasked a certain chagrined viola player to get her a plastic bag filled with readily available snow. Then she took a seat and iced her injured wrist.

People continued to trickle in while the warm-up progressed. Ken was one of the last to arrive, but he said he had been warming up on the drive.

“Okay, everyone. Find your places on the risers. We’ll get started in five minutes.” Coming off the raised podium, Winthrop slipped over to where Frau Talmadge was sitting. “Renata,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you need to get that looked at.”

“It’ll wait,” she assured him. “But why don’t you direct, and I’ll watch from here.”

He nodded. “Right. Will do.” Resuming his place at the podium, he started the piece.

Winthrop was a solid conductor, but Frau Talmadge had both a distinctive style and different judgment when it came to correcting problems in real-time versus dealing with them at the end of rehearsal. By the first piece in scene two, the bass solo Thus sayeth the Lord, she had to call a halt.

“Mr. Johnson,” she said to the viola player, “I’m afraid you need to re-tune your instrument. Mr. Carlton, if you would assist, please?”

As Johnson went over to the organist, the Director pulled Winthrop aside. “Chris, this won’t work. I’m just about coming out of my seat.”

Kiko saw the two of them talking, and though she couldn’t hear them, she could guess what was going on. Winthrop was arguing about something, pointing at Talmadge’s wrist, and she was overriding him. Coming down from her place in the middle of the alto section, she approached the podium and said, “Frau Talmadge, if it would help, I’ve got an ace bandage back at my dorm. Won’t take fifteen minutes to get it.”

The Director paused to look at her, then glanced at the pair by the organ. It looked like they were close to finished with the retuning. She smiled gratefully at Kiko, but shook her head. “We’re light on altos and you're one of the anchors. But thank you.”

Help came from an unexpected source. The podium was closest to the Soprano section, and Kiko’s roommate, Mandy, was in the first row. “I can get it, Frau Talmadge. No shortage of soprano’s!”

Talmadge hesitated for only an instant. “Thank you, Ms. Somers, that would be a big help.” Turning back to Winthrop, she smiled and made a “gimme” motion with her right hand.

He gave her the baton, looking relieved.

Seeing that Mr. Johnson was again ready, she wrapped the baton sharply on the top of the music stand.

Conversation stopped immediately.

“Alright, everyone. Not the best of starts.” She spent five minutes giving minute corrections, mostly to the instrumentalists, though Ken Tuckerman was warned that in future he shouldn’t try warming up in the car.

“We’re going to take it from the top again. Let’s see if we can do a bit better, everyone.” She raised the baton high, held it a moment, then launched the orchestra into the prelude with a strong down beat.

This time, things went much better. There was a brief pause after the Scene Two pieces when Mandy got back so that the Director could wrap her wrist, then it was time for Gabe’s first solo.

Frau Talmadge did not need to call many breaks, but as the practice continued, it was clear to everyone that her left wrist was throbbing. She even drafted Mandy to serve as a page-turner for her score after the conclusion of the Hallelujah Chorus, a piece with numerous entrances and cutoffs that required the use — the vigorous use — of both hands. Before Winthrop could say anything, she raised the baton again and brought Tamara in for the Aria I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.

Talmadge pushed through the entirety of the third section without pause, though her energy level was dropping like a battery charge in freezing weather. When she signaled the final cutoff, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

The Director nodded tiredly. “Well done, everyone. Mr. Winthrop will provide feedback and final reminders. I will see you all at 5:30 sharp, Monday evening for warm-up.” With that, she set the baton on the podium and stepped down, her face gray with pain and fatigue. One of the students leapt forward to help her into her puffer jacket, taking extreme care not to jostle her injured wrist.

Winthrop was surprised at his superior’s hand-off, and worried as well. But he knew what was expected, and walked briskly to the now-vacant podium. He had several notes concerning the Section Three pieces the group had just finished, followed by reminders for show night. “Check what you are wearing tonight everyone, if you haven’t already. Make sure you have everything you need, that it is clean and not torn, yes? No ladders in stockings. No turkey stains on ties and dress shirts! And remember, always remember, no perfume or cologne on Monday! Meantime, get some rest, hydrate, and take care of your instruments.”

When Kiko and Gabe walked back outside it was already dark, and fresh snow was drifting past the small globes of light that lined the walkway. Like most of the people leaving the hall, they were silent and subdued.

“She looks awful,” Gabe said when they were halfway to their dorm.

“Yeah.” Kiko reached over and ran a comforting hand up and down her partner’s back – not that either of them could feel much through the layers of clothing they were wearing. “It’ll be okay. She’s a tough bird.”

“I sure hope so.”

They walked a little further before Kiko said anything else, and her voice, when she spoke, was soft as the falling snow. “You sounded good, Gabrielle. Real good. You keep letting the words inside, okay?”

“I’ll do that.”

Duet for Trumpet and Oboe

“It’s a clean fracture, as you can see. Right there, on the proximal end of the scaphoid bone.” The doctor helpfully pointed to a crisp shadow cutting across a smallish area on the ghostly image depicting a wrist.

Renata Talmadge grunted in acknowledgment. It was Sunday morning, she was pre-coffee, and she had many other things she needed to be doing. Grudgingly, she said, “Clean, huh? So, easy?”

“Easy enough,” the doctor agreed. “There’s almost no displacement of the scaphoid, so I don’t see any need for surgery. But it’s a sizable break, so I recommend immobilizing the area in a cast for six to eight weeks.”

“The ‘area?’ How big an area?”

“Mid-forearm to the palm of your hand, with a wrap around the base of the thumb.”

She shook her head. “Leave the thumb out of it. There’s nothing wrong with the thumb.”

“Right, but we need to prevent movements that will cause pressure on the broken bone. And, the wrap helps prevent movement for the entire cast.”

“I need to use my thumb,” she said, digging in.

“Trust me, you’re not going to want to, not until this heals. If you think it hurts now, wait ‘til the protective swelling goes down.”

“It’s not a question of whether I want to use it. I said I need to, and I do.”

“What do you need it to do?”

“I’m a conductor,” she ground out, hating to explain herself. Fearing the idiot might ask her about the mechanics of trains, she added, “and, I’ve got a major performance tomorrow.”

“Just conduct with your other hand. Aren’t you right handed, anyway?”

“That’s not . . . look, could you do surgery with one hand?”

“I’m not a surgeon.” He held out a hand to forestall the blistering retort she was about to administer. “Please. I’m not trying to be thick. Tell me exactly what you need to do with your left thumb. Let me see if it’s a problem.”

She sat back in the chair, fighting a headache that pulsed to the same rhythm as the ache coming from her wrist. Because she had been conducting for so many years, she didn’t really think about the mechanics of what she was doing anymore. As a result, she had to consider his question carefully. Just exactly where DO I use the thumb?

She thought about each gesture in her repertoire. Cuing a soloist? Forefinger. Cuing a section? Baton, or full hand. Pushing for an increase in intensity? Curling motion of the four fingers, repeated. Signaling to lower intensity? Slight downward wave of all four fingers, repeated three times. Cut off?

Oh.

Almost embarrassed, she said, “I signal vocal cutoffs by touching my thumb and forefinger.”

“Cutoffs?”

“So musicians know when to stop. All at once, you see. Precise coordination is critical.”

“Can’t you use a different gesture for a few weeks?”

“I could, but I won’t. It’s muscle memory; I’ll do it without thinking about it. Besides, it’s the gesture a hundred musicians have all been trained to watch for.”

“Huh. I always thought you guys used a little stick.”

“A baton,” she said, struggling for patience. “That goes in the right hand. Mostly for keeping time, though I do use it for cuing entrances.”

The doctor thought for a moment, then said, “Can you show me — using your right hand, please — the exact gesture you use for cutouts?”

“Cutoffs.” She demonstrated, the tips of her thumb and index finger coming together lighting quick, touching for the barest instant, then springing apart.

“Ah!” He looked intrigued. “Almost all of your motion is actually in your finger — actually, all four fingers — not your thumb. Let me see your right hand.” Coming to her side, he clamped his thumb and forefinger tightly around the base of her right thumb. “Try again.”

For the first time since she’d gotten home from that agonizing dress rehearsal, Frau Talmadge smiled.

Polyphonic Duet for Alto and Mezzo-soprano

Kiko got dressed with Mandy, since the parts of her wardrobe that she didn’t wear every day were still in the room the two of them nominally shared. Neither of them had spent much time in it over the course of the semester.

Kiko played with the button on her almost-regulation white blouse. Leave two buttons undone, or three? Decisions, decisions. Without looking at her roommate, she asked, “How’s Gary?”

“Jerry. And, I wouldn’t know. I’m not speaking to him anymore.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry, I guess?”

“I’m not. He’s a toad.” Mandy checked her lipstick in the mirror. “How’s Gabe?”

“Nervous. Focused. I’d say she was overprepared, but I don’t think that’s actually a thing.”

“Leave it unbuttoned,” Mandy suggested critically. “Anyhow, I wasn’t asking about musicianship.”

“Honestly?” Kiko shook her head. “She’s too damned wonderful to be real.”

Mandy ran a brush over her longish hair, again. After twenty or so unnecessary strokes, she said, “How far is she going with this femme thing, anyway?”

That earned her a very sharp look. “What do you mean? She’s a girl, Mandy. End of story.”

“But, like, does she want breasts? Is she gonna keep her boy bits?”

Kiko turned to face Mandy and waited until she had her full attention. “Was I unclear, somehow?” Her beautiful alto voice was rich with menace. “End. Of. Story. Got it?”

“Jeez, girl, chill! I was just –”

“-- being a bitch. Drop it, okay?”

“Fine! WhatEVer!” With that, Mandy grabbed her purse and stormed out.

“Well,” Kiko said, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “That could have gone better.”

She did up the third button.

Duet for div. Alto voices; First Alto Melody

Two floors down, Gabe, too, was talking to a mirror. Unlike Kiko, she was having a relapse in the angst department. “What am I doing? I’m gross, and disgusting, and ugly!”

She stretched again, trying to get the tension right so that she could maneuver the tiny zipper up from the middle of her back. “Also fat!”

She wasn’t used to the nail extensions she was wearing, though she loved the look. As the zipper again slipped away from her, she said, “I’m crazy. Completely, thoroughly, certifiably crazy.”

Both hands behind the back, and she was still struggling. “C’mon!!”

She heard a knock on the door and almost barked out her annoyance. She stopped just in time and called out, “who is it?”

“The Blessed Virgin Mary,” Kiko’s voice replied sarcastically.

“Kiko! Help!”

The door cracked open and Kiko peered in. “Wardrobe malfunction?”

“Zipper’s stuck. I think.”

Kiko smiled, came in and closed the door behind. “It’s what girlfriends are for.”

“I’m also ugly.”

“Yeah, we’re good for that problem too, mostly.” She pushed Gabe’s frustrated fingers away from the errant zipper, held the fabric together with her left hand and tugged the zipper downward with the right.

“Wrong direction?”

“Sometimes things gotta get worse before they get better. Besides,” Kiko said, bending slightly to plant a kiss between Gabe’s shoulder blades, “I have to work on your other problem.”

“Kisses won’t make me less ugly. I’m not a frog.”

Kiko ignored her and planted a series of additional kisses. “But that’s not your other problem.”

“But I said –”

“I know what you said, sweetie. Your problem isn’t being ugly, it’s thinking you’re ugly.”

“And kisses help with that?”

“You tell me.” Kiko proceeded to scatter a bouquet of kisses from the small of Gabe’s back all the way up to the base of her neck.

By the time she leaned in to kiss the side of her throat, Gabe’s breathing was a little ragged. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed.

“Better. Now, much as I don’t want to . . . .” Kiko seized the zipper from its resting place just above Gabe’s panties and brought it all the way up, then smoothed the silky, emerald green fabric on either side of it. “Problem number one, also solved.”

“Help me with my face?”

“Kind of a high maintenance woman, aren’t you?”

Gabe leaned back into her lover’s arms, capturing her wrists and holding them at her waist. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay,” Kiko murmured, kissing her neck again. “Long as you remember, you’re MY woman.”

Second Alto, with treble voices and brass

Mr. Winthrop was bustling about when Kiko and Gabe arrived backstage for the warm-up, but there was no sign of the Director. Seeing Tamara, Kiko whispered, “Have you heard anything?”

The willowy soprano shook her head. “I haven’t. I think people are afraid to ask Winthrop.”

Kiko snorted. “Yeah, no.” She walked over to the assistant director, but just as she was about to say something, the door opened and Frau Talmadge walked in, followed by a teenage girl with dark hair and sharp features. Notably, Talmadge’s left arm was in a sling, and she was wearing a cast that extended from the base of her fingers half way to her elbow.

Injury notwithstanding, she walked briskly to the front of the room, radiating warmth and confidence. “Good evening, everyone! This is my niece, Heidi, who will assist me with page turns today. One less thing for me to do. Please be kind, she’s never been in front of an audience before.”

She grinned as she removed her left arm from the sling, shook it gently and flexed her fingers. “Now . . . let’s get started, shall we?”

The Director’s confidence was infectious. Nerves settled, voices steadied, and singers went through the process of preparing their voices for performance.

Viola, solo

Reina Agatsuma strode into the lobby of the performance center like she owned it, her heels cracking crisply against the hard flooring. As always, her makeup and hair were perfect, highlighting the regular features she had passed on to her daughter. She nodded to the young usher who was directing guests and headed to the coat-check counter, removing her long, belted, black wool coat and gloves as she went.

She didn’t understand music. It had never moved her. But she understood money, and the Mikołaj Wozniak Center for the Performing Arts reeked of it. Koa veneer paneling on the walls, gleaming brass fixtures with a rich matte finish, inlaid marble floors, Venetian crystal chandeliers . . . there was wealth here. Old wealth. Reina didn’t worship it; she wasn’t that kind of idiot. But she respected it, the things it could buy, and the doors it could open.

The music hall was even more impressive. At the direction of yet another young usher, she took a seat toward the middle of the first section, settled into a sinfully comfortable seat, and steepled her fingers together under her chin.

She’d overheard a couple patrons in the coat-check line talking excitedly about the woman who was directing the performance. Talmadge, her name was. They sounded like music critics of some sort, or at least, people who followed the music world obsessively.

Well, we’ll just have to see, she thought. Talmadge had, admittedly, impressed her when she called. Reina’s first reaction had been anger that Kiko had gone running to some professor for protection from her mother. Talmadge had been refreshingly direct and non-confrontational, however, explaining that she had heard about Reina’s concerns very much third-hand, and simply thought it might be helpful to provide additional context.

But Reina knew how much she was paying the Conservatory every month, and she took the director’s reassurances with a large grain of salt. So, the person who was picked over Kiko had a voice that was better suited to this particular role?

I’ll be the judge of that.

— To be continued

Author’s note: Seats, everyone! The curtain goes up tomorrow morning! Will Gabe’s performance wow the audience? Will it convince the dragon lady? Will Kiko wilt under her mother’s watchful eye? Will Frau Talmadge get through the entire oratorio with a broken wrist? Stay tuned! To get you in the right mood, here’s a link to one of my favorite stagings of the Hallelujah Chorus. You should absolutely watch it!

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Saxophone, with vocal soloists

What am I doing here? John Carey looked around the concert hall, rapidly filling up with people in suits and expensive dresses, looking like . . . like . . . well, like he imagined New York socialites looked.

Not that he would know. His medium-blue workshirt was clean and crisp, and his khaki pants were fresh. But they seemed as out of place as he felt he was himself.

Part of him wanted to turn around and go straight home. But it had been a seven-hour drive and he didn’t want to have wasted it. Besides . . . . Lynn would have loved this place, he thought. They had decorated the stage with evergreen boughs and warm, soft candlelight; she’d loved Christmas. I can just picture her, all dressed up . . . . He took a program from an earnest looking young man, then found a seat in the back of the auditorium.

He remembered that Lynn had been in a production of The Messiah. Had to have been twenty-five years ago. He didn’t recall much about it; he just remembered that she had sounded amazing, and that he had felt . . . .

Something. He remembered feeling something. But whatever it had been, it was so far removed from his current existence that even its echoes had faded to nothingness. It had, he thought, been a good feeling. But music had brought him nothing but pain, ever since Lynn passed. He didn’t expect to feel anything good tonight, and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t feel anything at all. He was just here for his boy.

Hers, really, he thought, with a trace of sadness. I could never see much of myself in him. But, if Lynn can’t be here, someone should be.

A woman in a black sequined top and palazzo pants walked onto the stage from the left and stood at a podium that was close to the wings. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman.”

John snorted. That would probably include everyone here but me.

“I’m Glenda Wilkes, director of performing arts here at Branford Conservatory,” she continued. “On behalf of the President, the Board of Directors, and the entire faculty, I would like to welcome you to the Mikołaj Wozniak Center for the Performing Arts, and our special production of Georg Friedrich Handel’s classic oratorio, The Messiah. This masterpiece has been performed for almost three hundred years, since it premiered in Dublin’s Great Music Hall in 1742. Oddly enough, its original performance caused a bit of a scandal, since the singing of religious music in a public theater was considered, at least by some, to be indecent. Indeed, the Dean of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, a gentleman by the name of Jonathan Swift, almost refused to allow the Cathedral Choir to participate in the world premiere.”

John started to zone out. It had been a long drive.

But the woman didn’t keep talking for all that much longer. She gave a fulsome introduction to the conductor, who was apparently a big muckety-muck in musicland. Finally, she escorted a shortish woman with iron gray hair and an arm in a cast to the central podium. The audience applauded.

John joined in, but felt foolish about it. Why are we applauding? Nothing’s happened yet.

Then the choir trouped in and took their places on risers. John was too far back to make out faces, but he seemed to remember that soloists would be the ones who were dressed fancy. Neither of the guys in dark tuxedos was Gabe. If this is some kind of bait and switch, I am going to be pissed!

The conductor raised her baton and brought in the orchestra. They sounded okay to John, though he was aware he didn’t know much about it. He didn’t hear any sour notes, anyhow, but the harpsichord’s distinctive sound did nothing for him.

It was different when one of the guys in tuxes stood up and began to sing. “Comfort ye! Comfort ye, my people!” His voice was clear and beautiful, and it touched something in John’s heart. Some distant memory, perhaps. He’d been a Church-going man, once, but that was before. He and God hadn’t been on speaking terms since He saw fit to take Lynn away.

“The voice of Him, that crieth in the wilderness. Prepare ye the way of the Lord! Make straight in the desert, a highway . . . for our God!” John felt the words, so beautifully proclaimed, pushing against his detachment. Pushing hard. When the chorus came in, singing about the revelation of the Glory of the Lord, he found himself exhaling, like he’d been holding his breath.

A large man with an incredibly deep voice was next. Thus sayeth the Lord! The Lord of Hosts! While it lacked the purity and grace of the first pieces, the young man’s powerful delivery was effective. He’s got the whole ‘Voice of God’ thing down, that’s for sure, John thought.

Then a woman in a green dress stepped forward to sing. From a distance, she reminded him a bit of Lynn, with her slender build and wavy, light brown hair. She took a deep breath, then her voice filled the hall, seeming to float above the audience, cool, ethereal and pure as starlight in a deep midwinter sky.

“But who may abide, the day of His coming? And who shall stand, when He appeareth? Who shall stand, when He appeareth?”

John’s defenses collapsed like cobwebs before a comet’s fire. Oh my God. It’s her voice. It’s Lynn. His hands clenched on the ends of the armrests on either side of his seat, and he found himself shaking. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and it carried a flood of memories. All the good times. The beginning times, and the happy times. And, of course, the end times. All the feelings that had accompanied those memories burst forth as well, though it felt like an eternity since he had been able to feel anything at all.

Softly, silently, he began to weep.

Recitative for Alto Voice

Haley launched, in perfect unison with the rest of the altos, echoing Gabe’s intro of the Isaiah proclamation, “Oh, thou that tellest good tidings to Zion, get thee up into a high mountain!”

She had no bitterness over being passed over for the solo; Gabe’s voice fit the part like . . . like a custom bra! The metaphor made her suppress a giggle. Haley knew she was good, and there would be plenty of chances to showcase her talent.

Meantime, her folks were right there, three rows back, beaming with pride, and she was loving the feeling of being completely in sync with all the talented women in her section. She particularly loved singing with Kiko, rock solid on her left, whose perfect pitch and crystal clear articulation anchored all of the altos.

Not that she knew it, of course. Kiko’s drive was amazing, but it came from such a place of insecurity it was almost painful to witness. Haley teased her, hoping that it might help, but it never seemed to for long. Gabe had better be good to her. And I sure hope she’s good FOR her.

Just as the piece ended, she felt Kiko stiffen. Haley risked a brief glance at her friend, then followed her suddenly fixed and focused gaze. Sure enough, not far from where Haley’s parents were soaking in the music, an elegant Asian woman with familiar regular features was looking intently at the stage.

She didn’t look impressed.

Right on cue, Carson’s deep bass boomed over the auditorium. “For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people.”

Yeah. Sounds about right. Haley slipped a surreptitious arm behind Kiko and gave the shorter woman a half hug that was as intense as it would be invisible to anyone in the audience. She couldn’t say anything, but her message was as clear and warm as Kiko’s own voice: “We’re here for you, girl.”

Haley held the embrace until, slowly, bit by tiny bit, she felt Kiko relax.

Recitative for Soprano Voice

The second half of the first part of the oratorio is a showcase for the soprano soloist, focusing on the familiar nativity narrative from the Gospel of Luke – the shepherds abiding in the fields, the appearance of the angels, the proclamation of the infant birth, and the appearance of the heavenly host, singing the glory of God. Tamara felt every word as she sang the story; the stage was her holy sanctuary, and her voice was her communion.

Then, taking up the song of Zachariah, she sang, “Rejoice greatly, Oh Daughter of Zion!” and palpable joy filled each syllable. I was born for this!

She stepped back briefly as Gabe took up the story, singing “Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and tongue of the dumb shall sing.”

It was all Tamara could do to keep a lump from her throat. She knew there were plenty of religious people— Christians, even — who would disapprove of Gabe’s decision to walk in the world as a woman. But her faith community wasn’t like that; like Tamara herself, it was firmly anchored in the Gospel command to love one another. She was confident that Gabe chose the right path for herself, since her decision to identify and present as female brought out in her a ripening of what Saint Paul called the “fruits of the Spirit” — love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. You could see it in her face; feel it when she interacted with others.

And oh, could you hear it when she raised her voice to heaven!

Tamara stepped forward again for their duet and a smile briefly touched her lips as she remembered their conversation, right after the first time they rehearsed the piece. But she kept her eyes looking down at her score, doing nothing that would draw attention from Gabe, whose part came first.

It was hard not to look, though, because she knew the radiance she would see in her friend’s face. Could tell from the beauty, the compassion, the sheer prayerfulness of her friend’s voice proclaiming the allegory of the Lord as a shepherd, feeding and caring for His flock.

It got to her! Her downcast eyes caught on the small gold cross that hung on a fine chain around her neck, and she thought, “The Holy Spirit shall come upon thee, and the power of the Most High shall overshadow thee.”

She raised her head and drew a deep breath, her eyes fixed on Frau Talmadge at the podium. With joy in her heart, she waited for the Director’s signal, then sang, “Come to him, all ye that labor, come to him, that are heavily laden, and He will give you rest.”

Recitative for Alto Voice

Kiko had never been so focused. Her mother’s surprise appearance, after saying she wouldn’t come, had given her hope, but it didn’t last. She could sight read her mother’s face as easily as sheet music for Ring Around the Rosie.

She’d frozen, but Haley’s wholly-unexpected gesture of support anchored her before Carson finished his back-to-back solos. It was just her luck that the chorus that followed — For Unto Us a Child Is Born — is both the most cheerful piece in the entire oratorio and one of the most intricate and challenging.

So she had channeled every ounce of discipline and all of her ferocious intensity to tune out everything except the score in her hands and the director at the podium. She would not think about her mother, or her friends that she might lose without her mother’s financial support. She would not even think of Gabrielle, who had brought her to the edge of tears with an otherworldly rendition of Behold, A Virgin Shall Conceive.

She was aware of the voices of the other girls in her section, completely synchronized and in tune with her own, supporting every phrase, every word, every note that she sang. To achieve the perfection of their blended sound was her one and only mission, and she would not think of anything else.

The solos, duets, and purely instrumental interludes were the hardest, since the choir — and, thus, Kiko — had nothing to do except look decorative and fret. Kiko did her best to keep her mind completely blank instead, but that was far from her natural state.

Fortunately, the second part of the composition, designed to reflect the liturgical themes of Lent, Easter, the Ascension and Pentecost, uses the full choir most intensely. Kiko was thus able to retain her focus as one chorus followed another, with relatively few breaks — Behold the Lamb; Surely, He Hath Borne Our Griefs; And With His Stripes; All We, Like Sheep; He Trusted in God; Lift Up Your Heads; Let All the Angels of God; The Lord Gave the Word. She started to think she might make it.

For How Beautiful Are the Feet, however, their arrangement had the choir responding to the alto soloist, and Kiko’s awareness expanded to encompass Gabrielle’s unique voice, clear, pure, and infused with the quiet joy the lyrics called forth. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress her emotional reaction. It was as if her gentle lover had stretched out a hand and touched her embattled soul.

Damn you, girl! I need to focus!

Kiko could not help herself; she longed to join her voice to Gabrielle’s, to answer love with love. When the director’s baton flashed to the choir, it was with a glowing smile and a full heart that she sang out, “Then glory to God! Then glory to God! Then glory to God! Glad tidings!”

The music shredded the barriers she’d erected and she felt them all — Gabe, Haley, the whole choir, the orchestra. Frau Talmadge, powering through her injury. She felt the presence of the audience, including her mother and the weight of all of her unmet expectations. Her heart ached, and stretched.

But her smile would not waver.

Recitative for Alto Voice

It was the movement that caught Gabe’s eye. She was looking at Frau Talmadge, naturally, but behind the Director someone in her line of sight used the custom that the audience stands for the Hallelujah Chorus as an opportunity to slip forward and snag a better seat.

It didn’t register until the chorus reached its thunderous conclusion. But as Tamara started the third and final part of the oratorio with the Aria, I Know That My Redeemer Liveth, something clicked in Gabe’s brain. That was . . .

Barely moving her eyes, she looked out in the direction where the man had been headed, and sure enough it was him. Here. Why would he come here?

His face was covered in tears, and Gabe couldn’t remember him ever crying. Her first thought was that he was reacting to her female presentation, but that felt wrong. He didn’t even cry when . . . .

Oh.

Gabe’s worry vanished in a shock of understanding, a flash of insight that left no room for doubt. Her father wasn’t crying because of the son who became a daughter. His tears weren’t about her at all.

He was finally, after twelve years, mourning his wife.

Somehow, she knew, the music had reached him, burning through the emotional numbness that had allowed him to keep going when the love of his life was gone. For the first time, Gabe saw past the mask of her father’s paternal role to the man underneath, who did not simply exist in relation to his child. And the words she had sung earlier in the evening seared her heart — A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.

She had thought him cold and distant, and had doubted his love. But as she studied his face from a distance, she wondered whether it was her love that had been wanting. Yes, she had lost her mother. But he had lost his wife, too.

Then Carson’s powerful bass interrupted her thoughts, singing of mystery, redemption, change and resurrection. Her heart, bereft of doubt or defense, heard the words with a new understanding.

She left us each other, Dad. And if we remember her together, she’s still with us. Her love is still with us, and in us.

Carson’s solo ended and Gabe felt a profound stillness, and an upwelling of peace and surety. She stepped forward into the silence. Back straight. Shoulders loose. Chin up. Breathe.

Her voice held all the compassion that flooded her heart, yet it was still clear, still pure. “Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in victory.”

Her eyes were on the director, but in that moment, Gabrielle and her father might have been alone in the hall.

Trumpet Voluntary, with Trombone Embellishments

The baton moved in the 4/4 beat almost without her having to think about it, at a moderately brisk allegro moderato tempo. She looked to the bass section and flashed the baton at them, launching their initial run of “Amens.” Six measures later, with the basses in the middle of an “Amen,” she sent the tenors into their own series of runs. At measure twelve she looked straight at Kiko Agatsuma, who had been rock solid the entire performance, and brought in the altos. The sopranos were last, and she invited them to join the party with her left hand.

Which ached more than she wanted to admit. A lot more. But above all it just felt heavy. The cast didn’t actually weigh all that much, but after two and a half hours of vigorously waving her arm, the fiberglass felt like an iron manacle. She brought her hand down to rest on the podium briefly, conducting the brief orchestral interlude by baton alone. All four parts of the choir came back in together at measure 31, then she needed both hands again; the runs for each of the sections were staggered, weaving together in intricate patterns.

The lower three parts united again at measure 83, with the sopranos joining in measure 84 for the final three measures in adagio. Amen, Aaaa-aaah-men.

She brought the baton upward slowly, triumphantly, vibrating with intensity, extending the last note. Then she raised her left arm and her index finger flashed down to kiss her immobilized thumb for an instant before springing back. At once, and all together, all sound ceased.

The silence lasted two beats, then three, before the applause began. It washed over her like a tide on a full moon, but she did not turn around. This was a special moment, one she shared only with the young men and women in front of her. One of the few times when she let down her reserve and let them see just how much she appreciated their hard work, their professionalism, and above all, their heart. She beamed at them. Every one of them.

As the applause peaked, she turned around and gave a bow, then directed applause to the orchestra, the choir, and each of the soloists. A final bow by all participants, and she led them off stage.

The singers and musicians were quiet; back on the stage, the Performing Arts Director was thanking the audience and giving directions to the location of the reception. But Frau Talmadge could see wonder and satisfaction on each of their faces, the magical awareness of having been part of something extraordinary.

She gathered them backstage, and when they could tell that Glenda Wilkes had finished her remarks and the audience was heading for the exits, she got their attention. “I hope you know just how good all of you were tonight. For many of you, I know, your parents were in the audience. Grandparents, maybe. Brothers, sisters, family. Friends. They came for you, and I assume they came to hear a good performance. You gave them something more. Something sacred. I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of each of you, and what an incredible pleasure it has been to direct you in this performance.”

Her eyes took them all in. They were hers, if only for a few moments more. Every face familiar, with memories attached from hours of rehearsals.

Suddenly, she realized that one particular face was missing. Giving her incredible team a final smile, she concluded by saying, “They want us to wait five minutes before joining the reception, where I think you will find a reasonable supply of very good champagne. You have earned it – and my thanks! Now, I think Mr. Winthrop has a few additional remarks.”

But Winthrop embarrassed her, as she should have guessed he would. “Frau Talmadge, I second your remarks in every respect. But I want to say, in addition, what an honor it has been to work with you, and how much I have enjoyed it. Thank you!” He began to clap, and everyone joined in enthusiastically.

She bobbed her head in acknowledgment, slightly embarrassed, and touched her right hand to her heart. “Thank you. Thank you all. And I’ll see you at the reception.”

She headed toward the ladies’ room, but something told her to turn left rather than right when she hit the service corridor, making her way to the door that opened to the ground level of the auditorium. Poking her head out so as not to be seen — she had no desire to be button-holed by a parent without some food in her system! — she immediately spotted her lost sheep.

Smiling, she closed the door softly and retraced her steps.

Duet for div. Alto voices; First Alto, melody. Ent. saxophone

Gabe led the alto section off the stage, following the last of the sopranos, then stepped aside to let the people behind her pass. As soon as Kiko was off stage, she pulled her to the side. “Dad’s here,” she whispered.

Kiko’s eyes grew wide, but she kept her voice equally low. “Oh shit!”

“Maybe . . . But I don’t think so. I need to grab him before he tries to slip off without saying anything.”

“Should I come?”

Gabe thought about it, then shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe I can talk him into going to the reception.” Giving Kiko a quick hug, she said, “I gotta run.”

“Go. I’ll see you there. And . . .Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

Kiko looked like she was about to say one thing, but changed her mind and said something else. “You were amazing, and I love you. Now scram!”

Something was up — Gabe could tell — but clearly Kiko figured it would wait. Gabe squeezed her in gratitude, then quickly made her way down to the service door leading back to the auditorium. It would be just like her father to try to avoid an encounter that might be emotional. Not today, she promised herself.

She cracked the door open just enough to peak, and spotted him right away. Like the rest of the audience, he’d remained standing for Director Wilkes’ brief remarks. As soon as they were over, he turned toward the exit.

That was Gabe’s cue. She dashed through the door and closed the distance quickly. “Dad!”

He turned and saw her, then froze.

Gabe searched her father’s face anxiously. Desperately wanting to say something, but unsure of what. “You came.”

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. Ragged. He looked like he wanted to say more, but could no more find words than Gabe could. They stood motionless, staring at each other, for a moment that felt eternal.

Then Gabe resolved to put aside her fear and trust the intuition that had pierced her as she’d seen her father’s face from the stage. Crossing the gulf between them, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “I don’t know what to say, Dad.” Her voice, perfect through hours of singing, broke. “Except I want you to know, whatever’s happened, whatever will happen, I love you.”

When she felt his powerful arms on her back returning her desperate embrace, and felt his cheek rest against the top of her head, she began to cry. I can’t remember the last time we hugged each other.

“Oh, Gabe! You’re just like her,” John whispered. “Just like my Lynn.”

She pressed her head against his chest, closing her eyes. “Is that . . . I mean, are you okay with that?”

She could feel his nod. “You gave her back to me, just now. You brought her back!”

They clung to each other without words, as the auditorium emptied.

— To be continued

Author’s note: A shout-out to Dallas Eden, who absolutely nailed how this chapter would play out. I didn’t leave THAT many clues, but I think she’s read everything I’ve ever posted here — for which I am incredibly grateful — and I expect she’s got me sussed. :)

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Second Alto melody, with mixed alto voices in harmony

Kiko found Haley talking to Kendra backstage after Frau Talmadge and Winthrop had made their remarks. “Hey — you picked a great time to get handsy, girl.” Her broad smile removed any sting the words might have carried.

“What can I say? You’re hot, chicka!” Haley’s smile faded. “That was your mom, right? You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, the ice queen cameth. When I spotted her during Part 1, I could tell she wasn’t having a good time, but I didn’t look at her again. Who knows? Maybe she liked the rest of it.”

“For what it’s worth, you were fire tonight. Lifted us all up. If it would help, I’d be happy to tell your mom. And if it wouldn’t, I could always deck her.”

“Thanks, Haley. I mean that. I don’t care what Kendra says, you’re all right.”

“Nice try, troublemaker,” Kendra laughed. “I’ll vouch for you, too, but I’ll leave the physical violence to Haley. Hey, where’s Gabe?”

“She got a surprise, too — her Dad showed up,” Kiko replied.

“That’s a surprise?” Haley shook her head. “I mean, Jeez, my parents made the trek, and I’m just singing chorus.”

“Yeah, well . . . Gabe never came out to him.”

“He doesn’t know she’s a lesbian?”

“Goof!” Kiko gave Kendra a mock punch to the arm. “He doesn’t know she’s a she.”

“Well, speaking of lesbians,” Haley said.

“Were we?” asked Kiko.

“We were. Anyhow . . . Does your mom know about you and Gabe?”

“That’s the least of my problems.” Kiko smiled ruefully. “Ever since Momma caught Dad cheating and kicked him out, she hasn’t had any use for men. She’d be fine with Gabe.”

“Except for the fact that she landed that solo part,” Haley reminded her.

“Yeah. Except for that.”

Winthrop gave the signal, and a hundred plus hungry musicians moved en masse toward the exit and the promise of free food.

“I’d better go,” Haley said. “My folks are waiting for me. But I meant what I said, Kiko. If there’s anything I can say or do, I’m there for you.”

“Me, too,” Kendra said. “We got your back, girl. Believe it.”

“I . . . “ Kiko shook her head, surprised to find she had no quip to hide her feelings. “Thanks. Just . . . thanks. You’re the best!”

Interlude, Trumpet and Viola. Ent. Alto voices

“You must be Mrs. Agatsuma. I’m so glad you could fly out for the performance.”

Surprised out of her reverie, Reina Agatsuma turned to find she was being addressed by the woman in the cast who had done the conducting. Her name didn’t spring immediately to mind. “Ah . . . Mrs. . . . ?”

“Technically it’s ‘Doctor,’ but informally I tend to stick to ‘Frau Talmadge.’ I hope you enjoyed the performance. Your daughter was excellent.”

Agatsuma’s irritation flared. “If she was excellent, you would have chosen her as a soloist.”

The director’s welcoming smile faded. “As I explained on the telephone, your daughter’s abilities as a singer are equal to Ms. Carey’s. The soloist selections were based on my own interpretation of the music we were performing, and the overall sound of the group.”

“In other words, it’s all subjective.” Agatsuma flicked her wrist dismissively. “It doesn’t matter how talented Kiko is, or how hard she works. Only who she knows.”

Frau Talmadge cocked her head, considering how best to respond. “No-one succeeds in my world without talent and hard work. I can’t deny, of course, that subjective factors, connections, and pure luck affect which talented and hard-working people succeed. Is it different in your profession?”

Agatsuma was reminded, painfully, of her partner the rainmaker. The one who had the connections, or made them — and was demanding, harsh, and sometimes contemptuous of the people under him who actually did the work. “Not completely,” she agreed, with obvious reluctance. “But the odds seem worse in the field of music. How many graduates of this conservatory have performing careers? As opposed to teaching bored students in high school somewhere?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask that, I’m afraid, though I’m sure Administration keeps track. But teaching is important, too, Mrs. Agatsuma. I consider it an equal part of my career and my professional life.”

“Your choice, of course,” Agatsuma responded coolly. “But I have other hopes for Kiko. If you’ll excuse me, it looks like she’s arrived.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked toward the doors, where Kiko had just walked in with several other students.

Kiko looked at her warily — one of the habits that the elder Agatsuma found to be incredibly irritating. I’m your mother, idiot. It’s not like I’m going to eat you.

“I thought you weren’t coming, Momma.”

“Well I did. You could try to look a little grateful!”

“Of course I am. So, what did you think?”

“Not really my thing. It would have been better if I could have heard your voice. Hard to pick you out of a crowd.”

“We could hear her — and she anchored our whole section.”

Kiko quickly looked back at the tall Caucasian girl behind her. “Haley, thanks, it’s okay though.”

“It’s not, actually.” Agatsuma managed to keep her volume appropriate, but the ice in her tone was unmistakable. “I don’t know who you are, or think you are, but I don’t appreciate your butting into my private conversation with my daughter!”

“She’s my friend, Momma. Can you maybe try not to be a jerk to her?”

“Enough, Kiko! I need you to come back to my hotel now. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and you and I need to have a serious conversation about your future.” She gave a venomous look at the two girls flanking Kiko, then moved toward the door.

“No.”

She spun around. “You will obey me, daughter!”

For the first time in her memory, her daughter’s eyes showed no wariness or fear. But they held a degree of coldness she had only ever seen in a mirror. Kiko snapped, “I worked my ass off for this party, and I’m going to enjoy every frickin’ minute of it. If you want to go, go. I promise: No one here will miss you.”

Agatsuma was shocked, stunned, and so furious that she literally saw red. She took a step toward Kiko, when a hand pressed on her arm and a soft, but urgent, voice said, “please don’t.”

Saxophone with Alto voice; ent. Viola and Second Alto

John didn’t know how long they’d clung to each other, sharing the healing of the moment. He knew there was more work to do to rebuild their relationship, he just wasn’t sure where to start.

Gabe finally broke the silence, though she didn’t release him or even open her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I should have told you about all of this.”

“You did. Tried to, anyway.” He kissed the hair on top of her head, though he knew it couldn’t be hers. “I didn’t want to hear it, and that’s on me.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I know I’m not . . . not the son you hoped for.”

He chuckled. “‘Man plans, God laughs.’ Remember that one?”

“That was Mom.”

“Sure was. But Gabe, it’s the best description of being a parent I ever heard. I had such a clear idea of who you were going to be, I couldn’t see who you actually were.” Gently, he moved his hands to her shoulders and held her in place while he stepped back, forcing her to look at him. “Tonight . . . when I heard you up there, sounding just like your mom come down from heaven, I couldn’t help seeing it.”

“Lose a son, gain a daughter?” Gabe’s voice was wistful.

“I guess maybe. Thought I’d be telling myself that when you got married someday, but there’s me and my plans again.”

“Oh, gosh!” Gabe blushed. “There really is so much I want to tell you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do!”

“We do, but unless I misunderstood . . . I think we’ve got a reception to go to?”

Gabe giggled. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to talk you into that . . . I know it’s not your thing.”

“Yeah, no. Not normally. But you’re the star. I can put up with a pack of suits and snobs if I get to play the proud papa!”

“Oh, stop! I’m just one singer, even if I had a few solos!”

John tightened his grip. “I was there, Gabe. I’m no musician, but even I know that’s not true.”

“If we’re going to this reception, you’d better not make me cry again!”

“Oh, we’re going. But, ah . . . .” John looked embarrassed.

“What?”

“I kind of never imagined asking you this, but . . . do you know how to fix your makeup? It’s gotten sort of messed up.”

“Oh ffffffff . . . . !” Gabe managed to stop herself from swearing, just in time. Catching the gleam in her father’s eye, she giggled. “I can manage the basics, and that’s going to have to do. Give me a second?”

“No worries, I could use a restroom myself. No offense, but that was a long piece of music!”

“Tell me about it,” she said with feeling. “We’ve gotta drink like a gallon of water beforehand to keep our voices hydrated!”

When they’d finished their business and grabbed their coats, Gabe took John’s arm and guided him toward the building where the reception was being held. The two-day-old snow glistened like refined sugar in the reflected light of the lanterns that lined the walkways.

“Dad, there’s someone I have to tell you about, ‘cuz you're going to meet her.”

John immediately read between the lines. “A girlfriend? So . . . you aren’t . . . ?”

“Into guys? No. It doesn’t work like that. At least, it didn’t for me.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He chuckled. “Go easy on me, will you? This is all ‘brave new world’ stuff. I’ll try to keep up.”

“Kiko should have sung the solo tonight,” Gabe said, at once very serious. “I was there for her audition, and she was great. But she made the director listen to me. Made me audition for it, too. Because she believed in me . . . because she . . . .”

Gabe stopped walking. “God, I’m an idiot!”

“What did I miss?”

“She said she did it because my voice was right for the part, but . . . but that’s wrong.”

“Gabe, like I said before, I was there, remember? I heard you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . Kiko’s every bit as good. My vocal interpretation was closer to what the Director was looking for, but a different director could easily have picked Kiko.”

John started to protest, but Gabe kept going. “We compete here; it’s what we’re supposed to do. And Kiko’s under a lot of pressure from her mom to do well. I mean, a lot of pressure. . . .”

John nodded, suddenly understanding. “So you’re saying she did it out of love.”

Gabe nodded, unable to speak.

“Then I owe her one,” John said.

Gabe’s expression was all the question she could muster.

“I needed to hear you tonight. Needed it bad.” John looked at his newly-minted daughter, so vulnerable, once again on the verge of tears, and thought, Okay, old man . . . time to saddle up and remember how to be a parent! “Suppose you tell me about her.”

So she did. They resumed their walk and arrived at the building where the reception was being held. Gabe was still going on about Kiko as they dropped off their coats and headed for the open doors to the banquet hall.

But she stopped in mid-sentence and the blood drained from her face. “Oh, no!” She sprinted forward, and John charged after her, his brain trying to make sense of the scene that had caused her such distress.

Four women, just inside the door. Three, probably in their twenties, facing an older woman. The girls look upset. The woman just looks pissed.

The older woman practically snarled, “You will obey me, daughter!”

The shortest of the three girls said something in response; the words didn’t register with John, though the tone was defiant and cold. The older woman moved towards the one who had spoken; it looked like she was going to slap her.

Gabe got there first. Placing a hand on the older woman’s arm, she said, “please don’t.”

The woman spun around. “Ah. If it isn’t the star of the show,” she sneered.

John’s every instinct was to jump in, to protect his daughter, and to give the arrogant woman a lesson in manners. But Gabe stopped him — stopped everyone — raising both hands in a placating gesture. “Please! Please! Everyone, stop! Before any more damage is done!”

“I am leaving,” the older woman announced.

“Please, Mrs. Agatsuma. Give me two minutes?”

“Why?”

“Because I just got my father back tonight, after twelve years, and I don’t want to see Kiko lose her mother. She loves you. She is one of the best musicians here, and she’s the first to say it’s all because of you. Because you’ve pushed her to be the best.”

John was suddenly aware that he had been leaning forward, weight on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. He eased back instead, waiting to see whether Gabe’s plea would have any effect. Do I know this person? This “daughter?” The Gabe I knew would never have done anything like this!

The woman pointed back at her daughter without looking. “If that’s what love looks like, I don’t want to see hate!”

“People say things in the heat of the moment, they maybe don’t mean. Kiko and I have had some moments like that. Kiko’s temper . . . well. She says she comes by it honestly?”

Ooh, watch yourself, John thought. Bear baiting only works if you’ve got the long guns behind you. But there were so many emotions warring for control of the woman’s face that John couldn’t get a read on her.

She flashed a calculating look at her daughter, then at Gabe. “You . . . and Kiko?”

Gabe raised her chin. “Yes.”

The girl — Kiko — finally spoke; her voice sounded raw. “Momma? I’m sorry. I can’t leave right now, but what I said . . . Gabe’s right. I didn’t mean it. I really wish you would stay.”

Mrs. Agatsuma was still looking at Gabe, weighing what she had said. Finally she turned and gave Kiko her full attention. “Alright. We still need to talk, but I agree, this is not the time. I will see you back home next week.”

“Will you stay?”

“No, daughter, but thank you for asking. I do have an early plane to catch.” She stepped forward and gave Kiko a hug. It was brief and it was brittle, but . . . a hug nonetheless.

Maybe there IS something I can do here. “Mrs. Agatsuma?” He waited until she looked his way. “I’m John Carey, Gabe’s dad. I can give you a ride to your hotel, if you’d like.”

She gave him a once over; John knew what she would see wouldn’t be much to her liking. “Thank you, but I don’t want to pull you away. I can take an Uber.”

He nodded. “Of course. Though, if you’re willing, I’d like to have a couple minutes to talk to the mother of Gabe’s girlfriend?” Jesus. It’s screwed up that that sounds so normal!

She shot him a sharp look, then nodded. “Okay, yes. That might be helpful.”

Gabe’s eyes, full of love and gratitude, were enough to melt his heart all over again.

“Will you be back?” she asked.

“Maybe at the end, if there’s time. You enjoy the party now, okay?”

“I love you, Dad.”

He reached up and touched her arm — so smooth and soft! — “Me too. See you soon.” Then he followed Kiko’s mom to retrieve their coats.

— To be continued

Author’s note: A bit of a short one today, but bring your seat backs and tray tables into the full, upright and locked position, ‘cuz the plane lands tomorrow!

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

 

 

Interlude, Polyphonic Duet for Saxophone and Viola

John Carey and Mrs. Agatsuma were quiet until they got outside and started walking back towards the parking lot for the Performing Arts Center.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this girlfriend business,” she said, breaking the silence. “No offense.”

John shrugged. “I can think of a bunch of reasons you might feel that way. I might even agree with some of ’em.”

“Nothing against your daughter;” she said. “I don’t really know anything about her.”

“Is it because she’s another girl?” This could get interesting.

The elegant woman’s gesture was dismissive. “No. That doesn’t bother me at all. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for her to be involved with anyone. Not here, and not now.”

Ah. John thought about what Gabe had told him earlier. “You’re thinking of pulling her from the conservatory.” That got him another sharp look, so he explained. “I’ve just gotten a ten-minute debrief on your daughter, her story, and her many, many virtues. That nugget came up.”

“I see.” Her heels sounded loud on the pavement. “Well, it’s true. This place is hideously expensive, and I’m not seeing the value.”

Probably not the best time to mention that Gabe’s here on scholarship. He just nodded. “I can see that.”

“And anyway . . . how can she concentrate on studies, if she’s spending all of her time on . . .” her hand waved again. “Friends. Girlfriends. Whatever.”

“Definitely could be a problem,” he agreed. “Have her grades been okay?” With a pang, he realized he had absolutely no idea what Gabe’s grades were like.

“Fine – so far,” she conceded. “But how long have she and your daughter been dating?”

“Based on what I heard from Gabe, probably just a few weeks. Might be worth seeing if there’s been any sort of drop since then.”

She gave a noncommittal grunt.

John had managed enough prickly clients to know when to push, and how far, before changing gears. “This whole music thing – it wasn’t what I wanted for Gabe. A place like this just . . . I don’t know. Keeps the real world out? Anyhow . . . she . . . .” He stumbled on the pronoun, but pressed on. “She insisted. After tonight, I’m thinking, maybe she was right after all.”

“Well, naturally. She had the solo part.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t really thinking about that. When she came here, two years ago, she was still a child. For the first time tonight, I saw that she’d grown up.”

“There are less expensive places to do that,” Agatsuma said dryly.

“True story,” he agreed. “But some people never grow up, and other places might not have worked for Gabe. Very much including all the places I’d had in mind, when I was planning his life.”

“His life?” Another sharp look.

Oh, now you’ve done it, John! But . . . she’ll be even more pissed, if she finds out later. He took a deep breath before saying words he could never have imagined speaking. “My daughter is transgendered.”

“Then, why ‘he’?” There was a truly annoying touch of asperity to her voice. “I doubt your daughter uses the masculine pronoun.”

He bit back his annoyance at her tone. “Honestly, we haven’t discussed it. Until I heard Gabe’s voice singing, ‘who may abide the day of His coming,’ I didn’t know she, uh . . . well. I didn’t know she was a she. I’m still processing it.”

“You found out tonight?” The look she gave him was beyond incredulous; it was closer to “you must be some special kind of idiot!”

Well, fair enough. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Here’s the car. I apologize for the step up.”

She looked askance at the tall pick-up, the exterior a mess of road salt and sand, but said, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He looked down at the petite woman in the stylish long coat and the delicate, impractical heels. A little awkwardly, he said, “Let me help you up.” She took his hand and pivoted up and in — a maneuver she managed with surprising grace. Walking around to the other side, he hopped in the driver’s side and fired up the big V-6. Good thing I keep the interior spotless!

He pulled up directions for her hotel and headed for the road.

She waited until they were on the main street before resuming their conversation. “Your daughter – Gabe? – said something about getting you back after twelve years. Was that because of her being trans?”

“No.” He began to shake his head, then paused and shrugged. “Mostly no, anyway. It’s really . . . . ah. Well. It’s . . . .” God, I don’t want to talk about this. I DON’T. But . . . .

Apparently seeing his discomfort she said, “I apologize. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s . . . it’s relevant. My wife died twelve years ago. Gabe’s mom. And I kind of
shut down.”

“Left at the light.” She had her phone app out.

“Left. Thanks. Anyhow . . . Gabe and I were living in the same house. He . . . far as I knew then, Gabe was ‘he’ – didn’t give me any trouble. And I . . . well. I worked; I made dinner. I made sure we had a roof and food and whatnot. But we never talked. Not really. There were times Gabe would try to tell me things, but . . . I just wasn’t there. Not really. Somehow, I was still standing at that damned hole in the ground, staring at the God-damned box . . . !”

He hit the turn signal, very deliberately controlling his movement, and brought the truck to a stop at the light. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

They were both silent for a moment before she replied. “I would say I understand, but honestly . . . I probably don’t. My own marriage was completely different.”

John looked at her, seeing signs he’d lived long enough to recognize. “Divorce?”

“Yes. If anyone grieves when that ‘man’ dies, it won’t be me.”

The light turned and he made the left.

Again, she broke the silence. “You said it was ‘relevant.’ What did you mean?”

And here’s where it gets tricky. He kept his eyes firmly on traffic as he replied. “I know we’ve barely met, but we don’t have much time, so I apologize if I overstep. The relationship Gabe and I had, these past twelve years – believe me, you don’t want that with your daughter.”

“My relationship with Kiko is nothing like that.”

“No. But it might be, if you don’t allow yourself to see the adult woman Kiko has become. Gabe’s transformation tonight forced me to see him – see her – in a different way, so I saw all the growing up she’s done in a way I probably would’ve missed, otherwise. I guess it was a blessing, that way.”

Mrs. Agatsuma shook her head. “I certainly haven’t seen any similar signs of maturity from Kiko. Especially not after the performance!”

“Funny though; I did. Just for starters, I’m thinking that saying ‘no’ to you takes guts.”

“I’m her mother, not a dragon!”

He smiled. “But, a strong-willed mother, maybe? Forceful, sort of?”

“I would never have survived if I weren’t, and neither would she.”

“I hear you,” he agreed, having made his point. “But anyway, that’s not all I saw tonight. I don’t know much about music; that was . . . that was Lynn’s world. But I can tell just how much work, how much drive and focus, goes into making a performance like that. This place isn’t the ‘real world’ in any sense, but what Gabe and Kiko have learned, in terms of discipline and hard work? That’s what runs the world I know.”

“She can apply the same discipline and hard work to far more promising fields.”

“I’m sure she could, but . . . she’s gotta want it, you know? What I saw from Gabe tonight – what I think you’ll see in your daughter, if you look – is an adult with her own drive, and her own dreams.”

“I can’t just sit back and watch her throw away her life on a fantasy! Right turn at the stop sign in three blocks.”

“Right turn; got it. Why do you think she’s throwing away her life?”

“This dream of hers – singing. Performing. Do you know how many people make it in that business, compared to the number who try?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.” Maybe, he thought guiltily, because I wasn’t paying for any of this. “I guess I figured Gabe would find something, if it didn’t work out.”

“You’re kidding. She’d find ‘something?’ Don’t you want more for her than that?”

“I didn’t dream of doing construction when I was a kid.” He hit the turn signal again and slowed to the stop. “But I met Lynn when I was young, and then we were married, and she was pregnant, and I changed my priorities. What I wanted changed. Sometimes dreams don’t work out, and other things do.”

“Suppose they don’t?”

“Life’s a bitch, sometimes. You do the best you can. I’m guessing you know all about that, since you’ve had to go through a divorce. Somehow, you made it work, and based on everything Gabe told me tonight, you did an outstanding job raising Kiko.” He made the right turn. “You’ve given her all the tools she needs to have as good a shot at life as anyone gets.”

“It’s there, on the left. Two blocks.”

“Yup, I see it. Anyhow . . . Maybe it’s time to slide over to the passenger seat, and see how Kiko does behind the wheel?”

She was silent for the rest of the drive. He parked the truck at the hotel’s circular driveway, thinking there was no way he would waste the kind of money a place like this would charge for the privilege of a night’s sleep. It’s not the money, it’s the principle of the thing. He jumped out, opened her door, and gave her a hand exiting from the high cab.

She stepped down, gracefully once again. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Carey. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“That was the idea. Good night, Mrs. Agatsuma.”

“Good night.” With that, she turned and disappeared into her hotel.

First Alto with Treble harmonies; ent. Trumpet and Saxophone

Gabe watched dumbfounded as her dad took Kiko’s mom off to get their coats. She could tell, when he spoke, that he was trying to help her; backing, in some way, her desperate attempt to talk Kiko and her mom off of the ledge. It just seemed very out of character for the dad she’d known.

“Good timing, girl,” Haley drawled. “I thought things were about to get physical there.”

Gabe turned and and gave Haley a smile before crossing to Kiko and folding her into a proper hug. “Are you alright?”

“Fuck if I know.” She was shaking. “I keep trying to close myself off, and you keep breaking though!”

“Sorry not sorry?”

“You better be sorry,” Kiko grumbled. “Just . . . don’t stop, okay?”

“Promise.”

“Dawwwww! You two are disgusting,” Haley laughed. “C’mon Kendra – our job here is done!”

“Yeah, I gotta find my brother.” Kendra turned to smile at Gabe before leaving. “Girl, you rocked tonight. On stage, and just now.”

Gabe looked down at Kiko. “We should probably do some mingling, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know about you, but I intend to do some drinking.”

Gabe laughed, relieved that Kiko seemed to be recovering her spirits, and they went to join the party together.

They had just filled up a couple tiny cocktail plates with a variety of nibblies when Tamara called them over to a stand-up table she was sharing with a couple who were obviously her parents. “Mom, Dad, here are the two I was telling you about. Kiko, Gabe, these are my folks.”

Tamara’s mother was beaming. “All of you sounded fabulous tonight!”

Her father – clearly a more reserved person – had a voice that seemed rooted in peace and stillness. “Thank you both. I don’t know how it felt to be part of the making of that, but for me, it was an incredibly spiritual experience.”

Gabe looked from one to the other and smiled. “I see so much of Tamara in you both. Your liveliness. Your faith. You must be very proud of her.”

“Oh, we are! We are!” her mother said, switching to high beam.

“Your own faith came out in your singing,” her father observed. “I could feel it.”

“Tamara had something to do with that, too.”

“Did she?” He looked pleased. “I am very glad to hear it. Your voice is an amazing gift. If I may, it seems ideally suited to sacred music. Have you ever sung Pallestrina?”

“In high school, but only a little. I think I might manage it better now.”

“I would like to sing it with you, sometime.” Tamara said, smiling. She drew Gabe into a hug and whispered, “You were amazing. Just amazing. If I wasn’t singing, I’d have been crying.”

They made the rounds and the tension of the confrontation with Kiko’s mom faded. It was hard not to be in good spirits, surrounded by friends who were still on a high from their successful efforts. And the family members and others in the audience were uniformly complementary.

In a quiet moment, Kiko pulled Gabe aside. “So, you and your dad?”

“We’re good. Better than good. I think . . . something happened to him tonight, Kiko. I can’t begin to describe it. But I wasn’t kidding, what I told your mom. I feel like I got my father back.”

“So, you don’t think he’s got a problem with it all? Girly you, cray-cray me, us, kinda strangely put together lesbians?”

Gabe laughed. “No, I actually think he’s going to be okay with all that weirdness.”

“That’s good, ‘cuz he’s been talking to the director for the past five minutes. They look pretty intense.”

“What? He’s back?” Gabe spun around, trying to spot him.

“Pretty sure I’d recognize him in this crowd. To the left, by the side door.”

“C’mon . . . I want you to meet him!” She grabbed Kiko’s hand and started weaving through the crowd.

He spotted her coming and his smile of welcome was like sunrise after the longest night.

“You’re back!” Gabe’s voice carried the barest hint of accusation.

“Don’t look so surprised; her hotel was close.”

Gabe giggled. “I figured you’d use the excuse to get out of a party!”

“Normally, yes. But . . . I was anxious to thank your Director. And you, too, Ms. Agatsuma.”

“Me? Why? And, please call me Kiko. With three syllables.”

“I think I can manage that. For the rest . . . .” He looked at Frau Talmadge, who had a bemused expression on her face. “Not that I’m trying to get out of a party or anything — hush, Gabe! — but, is there somewhere we can have a brief discussion privately?”

“Honestly, I think the crowd’s thinning out. We can slip out without too much trouble, and my office is in this building.”

“Gabe? Kiko? Could I pull you away a few minutes early?”

“Of course,” Kiko replied for both of them.

They left through the side door, and as Frau Talmadge led them down a long corridor, Kiko took Mr. Carey’s arm. “Thank you for driving momma. Can you tell me what happened, or does that get you kicked out of the super-secret parents’ guild?”

“I think I’m allowed to say that, with your mother’s expert guidance — which matched my car’s GPS,” he deadpanned, “we found her hotel without any trouble. I dropped her off and came back.”

Kiko rolled her eyes and looked at Gabe. “Help me out here; I’ve missed out. Is that an example of ‘dad humor?’”

“Yeah.” Gabe took her father’s other arm, a goofy smile on her face. “Isn’t it great?”

“To be fair,” Mr. Carey said, “Gabe probably doesn’t have much more experience with it than you do. If it’s bad, it’s because I’m out of practice. But to answer your real question, your mom and I had a productive conversation, which didn’t resolve anything.”

“Oh.”

“Kiko,” he said softly, “as I pointed out to your mother, you’re a woman now. The only person who can resolve your issues with her is you.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Here we are,” Frau Talmadge said as she turned to unlock a door. Flipping a light switch, she led them inside. There were two seats in front of her desk, and she liberated a third by moving a pile of music. “Please have a seat, everyone.”

She took her own chair behind the desk. “Ms. Agatsuma, I was very surprised that Mr. Carey wanted to speak to me about you, rather than about his own daughter. I wouldn’t have, until he explained why. Mr. Carey, if you would?

He nodded to the Director, then looked at Kiko. “I can’t begin to tell you what it meant to me, when I heard Gabe start to sing tonight. I really can’t. And I understand that I wouldn’t have heard her — she wouldn’t have been singing those solo parts — except for what you did. And except for you, Frau Talmadge, taking the time to listen and believing in her. I know none of you did it for me; hell, I wasn’t even planning to come. But that doesn’t matter. I owe you a debt, and I pay my debts.”

Kiko looked embarrassed. “Mr. Carey, far as I’m concerned, what you did for Gabe today clears any debt you ever had in my book.”

“Well, hear me out. Your mom’s not sold on the value of the education you’re getting here. And honest, if Gabe had asked me to pay these fees two years ago, I’da balked, too.”

“This is one of the best music conservatories in the country!” Kiko replied, exasperated. “And don’t let her fool you, she’s got plenty of money!”

“Life lesson: A pile of money always looks bigger when you aren’t the one that had to work for it.” He held up a hand to forestall Kiko’s response. “Anyhow . . . tonight changed my mind about whether this is a good place for Gabe. And I realized I’ve been doubly blessed. She found a place where she could really grow, and I didn’t even have to pay for it. But that also means I’ve been freeloading.”

“The scholarship was entirely merit-based,” Frau Talmadge interjected mildly.

“I understand that. And I appreciate that Gabe hustled to make that happen. But the fact that Gabe got scholarship money meant that someone else didn’t, and it’s not like I couldn’t have afforded it. I just wouldn’t have done it. Not then, anyhow.”

Gabe giggled at the expression on Kiko’s face. “I said Dad did construction. But it’s his company, he built it, and he employs a whole lot of people.”

Her dad waved that off. “Whatever. I’d still rather swing a hammer. But here’s my point. Kiko, your mom’s where I was two years ago, except she’s paid a fair bit already. She may get over it, and I hope she does – for both your sake’s. If she doesn’t, though, I don’t want you thinking she’s trying to punish you or something. She wants to do right by you.”

Kiko swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s right. The director here says you are every bit as good as Gabe. She believes you can succeed. She thinks you belong here, and I owe her. You think you belong here, and I owe you. So if your momma won’t pay, I will.”

“Mr. Carey . . . .” Kiko shook her head, looking stunned. “That’s incredibly generous. Too generous. You just met me. And, I mean . . . Listen, Gabe and I just started dating. It might not work out. What if —“

“Stop!” He gave Gabe a lopsided smile. “You did mention something about her being stubborn, I guess.”

Kiko barely got past “but” before he stopped her again. “This doesn’t have anything to do with whether you and Gabe stay together. It’s clear — to me, anyway — that you’re both adults; the two of you’ll work it out or you won’t. This is about what you’ve done already, Kiko. What you did for love.”

The room was silent for a moment while Kiko tried to digest his message. Finally, she choked out, “I don’t even know what to say!”

“Kiko?” Gabe’s voice was soft, but as always, somehow, it reached her.

“Yeah?”

“You could say ‘yes.’”

“Doesn’t seem right, somehow.” Through the tears which glistened on her cheeks, the ghost of a smile broke out. “‘Thank-you’ sounds better, somehow.”

“You are very welcome.” Kiko’s ghostly smile found an echo on John’s lips. “If it makes you feel any better, if your momma comes through like I hope she does, the school will get the money as a scholarship for whoever the Director here selects.”

Frau Talmadge blinked in surprise and thought for a moment. “The Administration will certainly hate me for saying this, but I personally wouldn’t want to take advantage of you at an emotional moment. You have a long drive home, and you might feel differently tomorrow. Why don’t you take some time to think it over? You might change your mind.”

“I won’t. Look, I know it’s a chunk of change, but I got no problem spending money, when I have it. I just hate wasting it, that’s all.” He looked down at his hands. “You gave me back my life, the three of you. You gave me back my child, and even my wife. My Lynn.” His voice cracked, and he took an uneven breath before adding, “anyways, like I said. I pay my debts.”

“All this time.” Gabe touched his arm, her eyes glistening. “‘Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.’”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s just what it felt like.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Not you, Dad. Me. You were there all along – all along! – and I couldn’t see you. Couldn’t hear you. Twelve years, I missed!”

“We missed.” John covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “Time we started catching up.”

Frau Talmadge rose. “Mr. Carey, your offer is incredibly generous, and it will make a real difference – whether to Ms. Agatsuma or to another student. I will inform the Administration and I’m sure they’ll reach out – they’re amazingly efficient at that sort of thing.”

John smiled and stood. “I’d kind of noticed that myself.”

“Well, then.” Frau Talmadge’s answering smile could not entirely hide her weariness. “Wonderful. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll call it a night. Much as I hate to admit it, my arm feels like it’s about to fall off. Mr. Carey, it’s been a pleasure. And, Ms. Carey . . . I’m very glad your intercession was more successful than mine.”

Gabe blushed. “I’m not sure it was.”

“I was watching. It would have ended much worse.”

“Did I miss something?” Kiko looked from the Director to Gabe and back.

“Nothing you weren’t supposed to,” Frau Talmadge said repressively. “Now, all of you — out!”

The three departed, with many good wishes. Outside again they walked back toward the parking lot.

“Will you stay for a bit?” Gabe asked her dad.

He shook his head, smiling. “You two need some time to yourselves, and I need to find a motel. Don’t worry, Gabe. We’ll catch up next week. It looks like I’m going to need to buy some different Christmas presents!”

“I have everything I’ve ever wanted.” She linked an arm with his, thinking of how different this Christmas would be. “Dad?”

“Hmmm?”

“Gabe totally works. But every now and then . . . could you call me Gabrielle?”

“Three syllables, right? Like your girlfriend there?”

Gabe giggled. “And a soft “a” sound to start, UNlike my girlfriend.”

“I think I’ve got it. I can probably manage, now and then.” He gave her a hug, and then gave Kiko one as well. “Thank you again, Kiko. Thank you for being there when I wasn’t, and for loving my child.”

She hugged him with all of her strength, then let him go.

He hopped in the cab of his cab, started the engine, and rolled down the window. “Good night, ladies.”

Gabe smiled up at him. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too – Gabrielle.” He pulled away, and they waved until his taillights disappeared.

Gabe sighed. “Oh, my God, what a day!”

“I am so happy for you. He’s . . . wow. I don’t even have words.”

Sensing the sadness Kiko was trying to conceal, Gabe cupped her cheek gently. “She’ll come around.”

“Maybe.”

“Trust the voice of experience here – you’re super persuasive!”

“Why, thank you!” Deliberately switching subjects, Kiko said, “So, how was your first big public outing in girl mode? Everything you hoped?”

“Yeah. But – not to complain or anything! – my feet are killing me. I’ve wanted to get out of these shoes all evening!”

“Oh good.” Kiko’s smile was hungry. “I’ve wanted to get you out of that gown all day!”

Gabrielle’s laugh started at middle “a” and went up for the best part of an octave. She hugged her lover with both joy and passion, then bent to nibble her earlobe and whisper, “Hallelujah!”

— fin.

Author’s note: Well, there you go. No double miracle, exactly, and a bit of an ambiguous note to end on. But life’s like that sometimes. The DM would have had to roll a nineteen twice in a row for Reina to come around as far as John did, and . . . she didn’t. But Christmas is all about hope!

A big thank you to the hardy souls who followed this performance from auditions to the final bow, especially those of you who left kudos on the way. It really means a lot to me.

And to my lovely friends who left comments— whatever would I do without you? I’m sure I don’t know, but “writing stories” probably wouldn’t be on the list! Kimmie, Rachel, Dallas, Alyssa, Bronwen, Lucy, Erisian, Catherd, RobertLouis, Dot, ‘Drea, Joanne, Rebecca, Alison, Dee, Dave, Gillian, Barbie, Lisa, Teri Ann, Annie Rooney, Ricky, Avidreader, Greybeard, DAB2640, — know that you have my heart, and my thanks.

I wish you all a Christmas of hope, joy, and love.

— Emma Anne Tate
December 21, 2024

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.