Mr. Wendt is a fat, bald guy who chomps on a cigar. He blows a cloud of blue smoke into my face when I introduce myself. “They say you’re good, kid. You’d better be.”
“I will be,” I say.
“You aren’t going out like that, are you? This is a classy joint in case you ain’t heard.”
“I know, sir. I’ll change before the show.”
“And you better get rid of those fucking glasses.”
“I will, sir.”
Mr. Wendt stomps off the stage to go berate the bartender for a while. The skinny guy at the piano introduces himself as Hank. He’ll be my accompanist tonight. I forgot to bring the sheet music with me, but Hank knows the songs already. “You like the classics, huh?” he says.
“Yeah. You can’t beat the classics,” I say. Most of my songs fit the atmosphere of the club, dating from the ‘30s and ‘40s. I do a lot of Cole Porter songs that I learned thanks to Mac and his nephew when I was ten. Part of me still yearns to sing the music of the bands I listened to as a kid like Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Stones, Led Zeppelin, and Lynryd Skynyrd. Those wouldn’t go down real well in a place like this and my voice is too sweet for stuff like that.
Hank and I run through the set to work out the kinks and so I can get used to the acoustics of the place. I used to think I could just go up there and sing, but four years in clubs like this have taught me it takes a lot of work. At least if you want to make a go of it and not just sing karaoke for a few drunk businessmen. A few times I’ve considered trying out for American Idol or one of those shows. My type of music isn’t really what they want, though. Maybe if I could write a few pop songs then I could go on there.
During the set I notice Maddy slip into one of the booths in the back. She gives me a little wave. I wave back while I try not to break my rhythm. I close my eyes to help me focus on the music. The acoustics in here are pretty good, better than some places, where the sound carries as well as if I were singing into a burlap sack.
Maddy applauds as I finish my last song. “Encore!” she shouts. “Encore!”
“Later!” I shout back at her. I shake Hank’s hand. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks. You want to get a drink or something?”
“I’d love to, but that’s my friend back there.” I can see this devastates Hank. “How about after the show tonight? My treat.”
“Sure,” he says.
I hop off the stage and go over to the bar. I order a bottle of water and a sandwich. My stomach has finally rebounded from last night. Maddy joins me at the bar. She orders a club soda. Once the bartender’s gone, she pats me on the back. “That was really good,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“So what’s going on with you? I didn’t hear from you all morning and then I get some message saying you’re going to be here.” Her eyes narrow as she stares at me.
“What?”
“You look awful.”
“Thanks. I fell asleep with my contacts in.” The bartender returns with our drinks and my sandwich.
“So what happened with you and Dr. Mac?”
I take a bite of sandwich so I can delay my answer. “He didn’t ask me.”
“He didn’t?”
“No. He wants me to move in with him. Like officially.”
“But he didn’t pop the question?”
“No.”
“What a shit!” she says loud enough that the bartender and Hank turn towards us. “Sorry.” She rubs my back. I don’t bristle at being comforted by my daughter nearly as much as I used to, not after I shared a bedroom and bathtub with her. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Are you all right?”
“I wasn’t. I went out and got loaded. You remember that bar we went to like five years ago? Where the bartender threatened to shoot you?”
“Not really.”
“The one your father went to a lot?”
“Oh, that one. Why the hell did you go there?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to get drunk and I figured no one would bug me there.”
“So what about Dr. Mac?”
“I haven’t talked to him.”
“I don’t blame you. Grace and I had a little tiff last night too.”
“You did? About getting married?”
“Yeah. She just gave me the same old bullshit.” Maddy takes a long drink from her club soda. Then she shakes her head. “Look at us, a couple of hot young girls. Well, you more than me.”
“You’re cute,” I say.
“I’m chubby,” she says. She pats the potbelly that bulges from beneath her blouse.
“But it looks good on you.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.” I give her a little smile. “At least people don’t think you’re fourteen.”
“No, they just ask when the baby is due.”
“They do not!”
“I had one old lady ask that the other day. She put her head on my belly and everything.”
We share a laugh at that. “She probably couldn’t see very well,” I say.
“Why do we let them do this to us? I mean, we’re smart and cute—even if one of us is chubby—so why do we get tied up with these commitmentphobes?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“We ought to say the hell with them and hook up.”
“You and me?”
“Yeah. That’ll show them.”
“That’d be kind of weird, wouldn’t it, sis?”
She thinks about it for a moment and sips from her glass. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Or we could just say we’re hooking up to make them jealous.”
“Couldn’t we say we’re sleeping with other people—not each other?” I say. I don’t want to think about me and Maddy like that.
“Whatever,” Maddy says. “That might get Grace off her ass.”
“It’s something to think about.”
“Well you think about it. And call me later, after your gig.” She smiles at me. “It still sounds funny to say that.”
“Yeah, it does.” I clear my throat and then say, “Are you done interviewing Jake for your story?”
“I don’t know. I might have some follow-up questions once I go through stuff. Why?”
“I don’t think he likes talking about it. Post traumatic stress or something.”
“Oh.” She finishes off her club soda. “I’ll have to see what I’ve got. Maybe I won’t need anything else from him.”
“If you do?”
“I’ll try to be gentle.”
“Thanks,” I say. I figure that’s the best I’ll get from Maddy right now. She’s as determined a journalist as I was as a cop.
We leave things like that. Then I say goodbye to Hank and Mr. Wendt before I head for the train to go back and get ready.
***
I don’t have a lot of time to primp when I get home. I have to make some time to shave my legs when I go to put on my stockings and see my legs look black from all the hair on them. I’m pretty sure I shaved them the day before, but so much has happened lately I can’t be sure.
I do a quick, half-assed job on my legs. Since I’ll have stockings on, I hope it won’t show. And I’ll be up on stage, so no one should be that close to notice.
When I get out of the bathroom, I find my white rhinestone dress on the door, along with my white heels. I wore the dress for my first gig in this Chinese body. It’s still my favorite gown because it goes well with the old songs I sing. It’ll go especially well in the supper club with its old time atmosphere.
Like the night before, Tess helps me to put my hair up and do my makeup. I hear the phone ring downstairs. Tess pauses in applying blush to my cheeks. “Let the machine get it,” I say. I know it’s Mac.
“You have to talk to him sometime, dear,” she says.
“After the gig,” I say. “I need to focus on tonight. It’s important for my career. I mean, right now it’s mostly just word-of-mouth getting me work. All I need is one bad performance and it’s all
over.”
Tess clucks her tongue at me. “I’m sure you’ll sing beautifully.”
“Thanks.”
We go downstairs, where Jake watches a baseball game on the couch, a beer in his hand. “Haven’t you done enough drinking already?” Tess says.
“It’s just one beer,” he says.
“Now it’s only one beer. Later you’ll be sneaking off to that awful bar again. Only this time I hope you don’t take Stacey with you.”
Jake mutters under his breath as he storms back to his study. He slams the door shut as the final word on the subject. With a sigh, Tess says, “Let’s be off then.”
On the way to the club, Tess says, “I’m sorry about that unpleasantness back there. I don’t know what’s bothering Jacob. He won’t say anything to me. Did he tell you?”
“It’s just a case,” I say.
“I wish he wouldn’t keep these things from me. I’m his wife, after all. We’re not supposed to have secrets.”
“He doesn’t like to worry you.”
“I suppose.” She sighs again. “It was better before Steven died. At least then Jacob had someone to talk to.”
Tess is the only one on the planet who ever called me Steven, which included my parents unless they were angry at me. That I’m still alive and next to her as a young woman is another secret Jake has kept from her. “Maybe he needs a therapist. I’m sure Mac would know someone.” My face turns warm as I remember I’m mad at him. “I’ll have to mention it the next time I see him.”
“He shouldn’t need a therapist when he has a wife.”
“You could always ask the reverend to come over and talk to him.”
“Jacob talks less to Reverend Crane than he does to me.”
I nod at that. Jake and I come from the last generation of men who were brought up to believe a real man keeps his problems inside and doesn’t whine about them to anyone. Not like men today with all their sensitivity, men like Mac who always want to talk. That’s never really bothered me about Mac. As a therapist he talks for a living, so it’s not a surprise. And since he killed Dr. Ling to rescue Maddy and I from that evil son of a bitch, I know Mac is just as manly as me or Jake ever were.
Tess stops in front of the club, still with no solutions about what to do with Jake. “I’m sure I could get you a ticket if you want to stick around,” I say.
“I don’t think so, dear. Not tonight.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “You have a good time.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t go through the front doors. Instead I go around to the side entrance, through the kitchen. I look out of place in my rhinestone dress, but no one questions me as I dart between the cooks and busboys, through the kitchen.
There’s a short walk up to the stage then. I slip through the white curtain before anyone can notice me. Hank is already back there to check over the piano. There’s someone next to him on the bench; they chat about the Cole Porter songs on my playlist.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
Mac stands up from the bench. “You won’t return my messages,” he says. “I thought I should be more proactive.”
“I can have you thrown out. This area is for performers only.”
“Please, Stacey, I just want to talk.”
“Well I don’t. Not right now.” I self-consciously pat my hair and smooth my dress down. “I have a show to do.”
“This will only take a few minutes—”
“Get out of here!” I shriek. In a lower voice I say, “I can’t have you upsetting me now.”
“Maybe you should go, Doc,” Hank says.
“I suppose I should. Just promise we can discuss this after the show.”
“Fine,” I say. “After the show we’ll talk.”
He’s smart enough to not try to kiss me; he probably knows I’ll kick him in the crotch with my pointy-toed heels.
After Mac has gone, I sit down on the piano bench next to Hank. I take a compact from my purse so I can check my face. I don’t look too flustered at the moment. Hank says, “He seems like a pretty nice guy.”
“Can we not talk about it?”
“Sorry.”
“Let’s go over this again,” I say. I point to the music on the piano. Anything to take my mind off the talk I’ll have to have with Mac.
***
I stand on the middle of the stage to wait for the curtain to go up. As I usually do, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I need a few extra tonight to get my mind focused on what I have to do. I open my eyes only when I hear Hank start to play the intro.
I see Mac in the front row, on the left side. He smiles at me; I turn to the right and see Maddy in the front row on that side. Grace sits next to her; they both applaud, though I have yet to sing a single note. I take another shorter breath and then I begin to sing.
If there’s one major flaw in my act, it’s that I don’t have a lot of movement. I generally stick near the center of the stage. I don’t have choreographed dancers, nor do I jump into the crowd. Maddy’s said I look like a mannequin on stage.
Tonight I’m far more mobile. Most of that movement is to seduce Hank on the stage. I sit next to him on the bench and run a hand through his hair and down his back. Later, when I feel especially spiteful, I climb on top of the piano. Anyone in the audience can get a good look at my right leg and maybe my underpants too. Then I roll over to face Hank. I practically whisper into the microphone, as if he’s the only one in the audience. I do everything except sit in his lap and give him a hand job on stage.
Near the end I sneak a peek at Mac. His mouth is a straight line, which means he’s pissed off. The lights make it hard to see the color of his face, but right now I’m sure it’s red. Just to turn up the heat, I finish the song by giving Hank a lengthy kiss on the lips. Despite how it looks, I keep my tongue in my own mouth.
We finish with two encores. During the second one I drape myself over Hank’s back, to sing over his shoulder while he somehow manages not to miss a note. As the curtain goes down, I kiss Hank’s cheek with my free hand in his hair.
Once the curtain’s down, I stand up and toss the microphone aside. “You’re really good,” I tell Hank. “How about we go get that drink?”
“But your boyfriend—”
“The hell with him. Come on.”
I lead Hank down to Maddy and Grace’s table. A waiter comes over to take our orders. I order a martini, which seems appropriate for a supper club. Hank orders a club soda. “Oh come on,” I say. “Why don’t you get a real man’s drink?”
“Well—”
“He’ll have a martini too. Put a couple extra olives in his.”
Once the waiter’s gone, I put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Hank, these are my friends, Madison and Grace. Before you get any ideas, they’re a couple.”
“Oh, I wasn’t—”
“Girls, this is Hank. He’s my pianist.”
They all shake hands and exchange pleasantries. The waiter returns with my martini. I gulp it down in one long pull. As I chew the olives I tell the waiter to bring me another. “That was a really great show,” Grace says.
“Wasn’t it?” I say. I put my hand on Hank’s back and rub it. “I think I’ll have to bring Hank along to all my gigs. We seem to have some chemistry. Don’t we?”
“Um—”
“He was really something up there,” I say.
“What’s with you, Stace?” Maddy asks.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You’re acting all slutty.”
“Maybe I’m just happy.” The waiter brings another martini. I take a more reserved sip of it.
“Shouldn’t you be talking to your boyfriend?” Hank says. He looks over his shoulder. “He looks kind of pissed off.”
“I don’t know why he should be. We aren’t married or anything. We’re just good friends.”
“I think I’m going to go,” Hank says. “Thanks for the drink.”
As he tries to stand u
p, I grab his arm. “Come on, stick around. It’s a party.”
Hank manages to shake his arm free. He practically runs away from our table. Maddy and Grace stand up. “That was really mean,” Maddy says.
“What? I’m just taking your advice.”
“What advice?” Grace asks.
“It’s nothing,” Maddy says. “We were just goofing around earlier.”
They start away from the table. Before they leave, Maddy hisses, “Call me when you grow up.”
I’m left at the table by myself. I take advantage of that to finish off their drinks for them. I lean back in my chair and expect Mac to come over any moment. I’m not sure what I’ll say, but now that I’m buzzed on alcohol again, I’m sure it’ll be interesting.
A man does come over to my table, but not Mac. This man is a fat black guy who’s as bald as Mr. Wendt. “Hello, Miss Chance,” he says. “You were wonderful up there.”
“Thanks. If you want an autograph I don’t really have anything to write with.”
“No no, I’m not a fan. Well, I am a fan, but I’m more than that.” He reaches into his pocket. My entire body stiffens; old cop reflexes brace for him to pull a weapon. It’s just a business card for a Braylon Swift of Cool Tone Records. My eyes widen at this. A record company scout! “May I have a seat?”
“Of course,” I say. “Would you like a drink or something?”
“No, I’m fine,” Swift says. He grins at me. “You’re even better than I’ve heard. A couple of months now I kept hearing about some little girl with a fondness for the old songs and a voice like honey.”
“Thanks,” I say. My face turns warm. I’d usually take offense at someone calling me a little girl, but not when he’s a talent scout for a major record label. This man literally has the power to make my dreams come true. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, or at least your label.”
That’s a little exaggeration. I do know Cool Tone is one of the leading publishers of jazz and blues in the country. Those aren’t my specialty, but I’m sure they have room for me somewhere.
Swift nods to me. “I’m sure you’re tired from the show, so I’m not going to waste a lot of your time. Have you ever recorded a demo?”
Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 62