“No, sir. I haven’t been able to line up the studio time and musicians—”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”
A demo is the first step towards a record contract. A contract means a real studio album, a tour, and promotional appearances. Maybe some radio airplay if there’s a station out there that plays my kind of music. I probably won’t headline a tour or appear on Leno or Letterman, but it’s still a shot at the big time. “Wow,” is all I can think to say. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “There’s a lot of work to do.”
“Of course, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“I’m sure you won’t.” Swift clears his throat. “That reminds me, do you always sing the old songs or do you ever do any new material?”
“I’m not much of a songwriter yet.”
“That’s fine. We have some of the best in the business working for us. If there is an album they’ll probably want one or two original tracks, for variety.”
“I understand,” I say. “That’s not a problem.”
He offers his hand for me to shake. His grip is firm while I’m sure mine is weak and clammy right about now. “It’s been good to meet you, Miss Chance. You call my secretary in the morning and we’ll set everything up.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Swift is gone, I have to resist the urge to scream with joy. That joy is short-lived as Mac sits down in the seat Swift just vacated. “Who was that?” he asks. I’ve never heard him sound as angry as when he growls, “One of your admirers?”
“No. He’s a record company scout. He wants me to record some demos for the company to listen to.”
“I see. That’s good news.”
“It is.” I finish the rest of my martini. The alcohol doesn’t do anything to dent my sense of dread. “I suppose you want to talk.”
“If you’re through acting like a child.”
“I’m acting like a child? You’re the one who’s scared shitless of commitment.”
“I think we should talk somewhere private about this.”
“Yeah, fine. Let me get my money from Mr. Wendt first,” I say. I’m tempted to ditch Mac again, call for a cab to pick me up out front or maybe sneak through the kitchen and then run off. I could go back to Squiggy’s and tie a few on.
But that would be the kind of childish behavior Mac meant. So after I get my check, I go back to the table, where Mac waits for me. We walk out together, but don’t touch at all.
***
He drives us to the building downtown where he has his practice. The parking garage is empty as we pull in. I suppose it’s not a surprise he’d bring me here; to have this talk in his office will give him a sense of power.
Except we don’t go up to his office. He turns the engine off and then faces me. We haven’t spoken at all until he says, “I’m sorry about last night, Stacey. You have a point. I have been scared of commitment. I think you deserve an explanation.”
“Aren’t we going upstairs?”
“Not unless you want to. I just figured we would have some privacy here. I don’t want to wake Darren. He has school tomorrow.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “So explain.”
“I know this is Freudian of me, but most of the issue stems from my parents. They divorced when my sister and I were very young. I can hardly remember them being married. Like in many families, it became a sort of tug-of-war between my parents. They weren’t on very good terms and often tried to use us to get back at each other.”
“I’m sure that made for some fun Christmases.”
“We had plenty of gifts, that’s for sure,” Mac says and smiles thinly. “I think this is in part why I chose child psychology instead of adults, to help kids through some of the difficulties I faced.”
If he wants sympathy, he won’t get any from me, not yet. I keep my arms folded. “So you’re afraid we’ll end up like them?”
“At least on a subconscious level, yes, though it’s become more conscious in the last few weeks.”
“Weeks? So you have been thinking about it.”
“It actually began with Darren. He asked me about a month ago at dinner if I was going to marry you.”
“Sure, blame the kid.”
“I’m not blaming him. I should thank him, really. I don’t know how long I might have gone without considering it otherwise.”
“And then you chickened out and asked me to move in.”
“There was more to it. I went to the jewelry store to find a ring and just about had a panic attack. I knew if I bought the ring there would be no going back. I couldn’t help hearing a ticking sound in my head, like a clock counting down.”
“To doomsday, right? The end of your days as a swinging bachelor?”
“That’s not entirely accurate, but close enough. On top of everything there was Mary Anne going back into rehab. Darren’s been through so much already that I don’t want to subject him to losing another parent, even if she is just a surrogate one.”
“Who says you were going to lose me? You sound like it’s preordained we’re going to get a divorce.”
“I’m afraid it does seem that way. No one in my family has much luck with relationships.”
“Let me give you my psychological diagnosis. I don’t think this is about your parents or your sister or Darren. I think it’s about me. You think I’m just this little flaky artist chick who’s going to run off after she gets bored with you.”
“Stacey, no—”
“All this on the outside is only twenty-one years old, just a dumb kid who probably shouldn’t be getting married.” I put one finger to my heart. “In here, is much older. Maybe even wiser, though some days it doesn’t seem like it. In here is a woman who loves you and wants to grow old with you.”
“That might not be very long,” he says. Mac hit the big 4-0 a couple of months ago.
“Don’t give me any of that self-pitying crap. You’re in a lot better shape than I was at forty. I already had a bit of a gut then and my nose was starting to look like Rudolph’s. Every day I’d wake up to find hair on my pillow. Compared to that you’re Mr. fucking Universe.”
“Thanks,” he says.
“You’re not too old and I’m not too young. We love each other and that’s what really counts.” I finally take his hand. “I love you more than anything in this world except for my daughter. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I may be a flaky little artist chick who on the inside is a grumpy old guy, but I want to be your wife.”
He squeezes my hand and nods. “All right,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s get married.”
I let his hand drop. I shake my head. “Not like this.”
“What’s wrong? If it’s about the ring—”
“It’s not the ring. I don’t want you to act like I’m pushing you into something. I don’t want you to look like you’re going to pass out. You should ask me because you want me to be your wife.”
“Stacey—”
“Just take me home.”
He starts the engine. We don’t say anything all the way to Jake’s house. Before I climb out, I kiss him on the cheek. “When you get it, come see me.”
Then I go inside.
Chapter 5
The next morning I call Swift’s secretary the moment I wake up. I cross my fingers and hope it’s not all something I dreamed up or a terrible practical joke someone had pulled on me. To my relief the woman has heard of me. She tells me Swift has arranged for some time three weeks from now at a recording studio in the garment district, not far from the clothes store. “Do I need to bring anything?” I ask.
“Just your voice,” the secretary says. “Everything else will be taken care of.”
After I hang up, I sink back onto my bed with a relieved sigh. A real studio for a real record company. Soon I won’t be stuck in little clubs with a hundred people or so. I’ll be in stadiums. Sure it’ll be as the opening act, but that’s something.
I find Tess downstairs. While she concentrates on the pancakes on the stove, I jump up to throw my arms around her neck. I kiss her cheek and say, “Guess what?”
“Stacey, please—”
“I’m going to be a famous singer!”
“That’s wonderful, dear, but these pancakes are ready to turn.”
I let go of her and drop back to the floor. “I really mean it,” I say. “A guy from a record company saw my show last night and he wants me to make some demos. In three weeks I’m going to be in an actual recording studio so they can put my voice on tape or CD or whatever they use and play it for the big shots. Then they’ll give me a contract to make a full album and everything.”
“I’m very happy for you, dear,” Tess says, but she’s too busy with her pancakes to hug me.
“I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“I am happy for you, but I’m in the middle of making breakfast.”
“Fine,” I say and march out of there like a sullen toddler. Jake’s already gone to work, so I go upstairs to retrieve my phone. I hope Maddy and Grace are up.
Maddy answers on the third ring. She still sounds half-asleep as she says, “Oh, hi Stace.”
“Hey, guess what? You’ll never believe it, not in a million years.”
“What? Did you and Dr. Mac patch things up?”
“No. Not that. Guess again.”
“We’re too old for guessing games, sis.”
“Fine, then I’ll just tell you. After you guys left, this record company guy came over. He wants me to make a demo!”
There’s silence on the other end, long enough that I think Maddy must have hung up. She sounds more alert when she comes back and says, “Are you serious? You aren’t getting back at me for what I said last night, are you?”
“No, I’m totally serious. We’re going to do it in about three weeks.”
“That is so awesome. I’ll finally be able to put you on my iPod.”
“I know! I can’t wait. It’s going to be so exciting!”
“What songs are you going to do? You should totally do your ‘Anything Goes.’ That one is so good, especially last night when you were about fucking that guy. Harry, or whoever.”
“Hank,” I correct. “I like that song too.” I sigh and collapse on my bed. “He asked if I had any of my own songs. Do you think less of me for not writing my own songs?”
“No, of course not. Gaga doesn’t write all her songs.”
“That’s true,” I say, though I don’t like the comparison. I’m actually a singer, not someone who prances around in weird outfits—on stage at least. “Yeah, I guess. Mac says it’s OK because my voice is an instrument.”
“He’s a pretty smart guy,” Maddy says. “So what happened with you two last night?”
“We sort of made up.”
“Sort of? What’s that mean?”
“He went into this whole spiel about his family being bad at marriage and stuff. Then he made pretty much the worst proposal ever.”
“So he did ask you?”
“Not really. It was more of a statement. He was like, ‘OK, let’s get married then.’ Like we were deciding what to order for dinner.”
“So you said no?”
“What was I supposed to say to that? We were in his car too. I mean, it wasn’t very romantic. I’m supposed to tell our kids Daddy proposed to Mommy in a parking garage?”
“That is pretty bad,” Maddy says. “At least he sort of asked you. Grace hasn’t even done that much.”
“She will.”
“Yeah, right. You want to go out tonight to celebrate your impending superstardom?”
“Sure. But let’s try not to drink too much. I don’t want to ruin any more dresses.”
“I’ll find something and text you later, OK?”
“Sure.” We say our goodbyes just as Tess calls me down for breakfast. In honor of my achievement, she’s given the pancakes whipped cream hair, strawberry eyes, and a chocolate chip mouth. It’s something more appropriate if I were still ten, but whatever. I give her a hug and then dig in.
***
The store isn’t open, so I unlock the front door and change the sign to ‘OPEN.’ There’s no mad rush of people, of course. I’ll be lucky if anyone shows up before close. That gives me plenty of time to mangle my notebook with awful attempts at songwriting.
I assume I’m alone in the place until I hear steps coming down. Maddy appears with a box of chocolates. She’s dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail and she doesn’t wear any makeup.
“Hi,” she says between bites.
I hurry over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Did you and Grace have a fight?” That’s when Maddy usually eats, which adds to the weight she hasn’t been able to lose yet.
“Not really. I told her about you and Mac, but she didn’t say much. She just ran out of here like her ass was on fire.” Maddy sags onto a stool and shovels more chocolates into her mouth. She looks morosely at the box. “I decided I’m going to get really fat again.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m going to get so fat I won’t be able to get out of bed. Then she’ll have to take care of me and scrub between all my rolls and stuff.”
“Maddy, that’s crazy.”
“You’re right. She’d just dump me then.”
“No she won’t. She loves you.”
“She has a funny way of showing it,” Maddy says. “We hardly talk anymore. She’s always running away from me. If we even see a wedding on TV she gets all weird until I change the channel.”
“Maybe she’s like Mac,” I say. “Her parents didn’t have a really happy marriage either.”
“Neither did mine. My mom’s been married four fucking times. You think I care?”
“No—”
“Your parents were shitheads too. You still want to get married.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say.
“So what’s the big deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“I just don’t get it,” Maddy says. “She was miserable those months I was gone. She stuck with me when I looked like a hippo. Yet when it comes to getting a stupid piece of paper she gets all chicken shit.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I guess it’s our fault.” Maddy feels around in the box, but all the chocolates are gone. She tosses the box into the trash. Then she sees my notebook. “You still trying to write a song?”
“Yeah, trying. I suck pretty hard at it.”
“I can see that.”
I snatch the notebook from her hands. “That’s a work in progress,” I say.
“More like dead on arrival.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m teasing.” Maddy gives me a sly grin. “Maybe you should write a song for Grace. Something so romantic she’ll finally pop the question.”
“I don’t think I could do that.”
“What’s so hard about it?”
“I’m not good at that poetic stuff.”
“Oh, that. I wasn’t all that good either.” She grins even wider at me. “We should get some pot.”
“What?”
“It’ll make us creative. Then we’ll be able to work out a song.”
“I’m not smoking pot!”
“Come on, it’s not even addictive.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I forgot, you’re Little Miss Perfect.”
“I am not. The other night I got really hammered and threw up all over myself.”
“Big whoop. I was doing that in junior high.”
“Maddy, come on. Knock it off. This is serious.”
“I was just kidding about the pot. They won’t care if you write your own songs or not. As for Grace, I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll slip her some pot and take her to Atlantic City. Get a quickie wedding.”
“Is it even legal there?”
“I don’t care. If sh
e thinks we’re married then she’ll see it’s not so bad, right?”
“Or she’ll hate you forever.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Maddy heaves herself off the stool. “I got to get going. They’re going to let me see Dad’s stuff today.”
“They are?”
“Yeah, some of his old notebooks and stuff. It was a real pain in the ass to get access. I had to about hire a lawyer to sue them.”
“Do you want me to go along? For moral support and stuff?” I don’t want to see my old coworkers like this, but I know it won’t be a picnic for Maddy to read through my old case notes.
“I can handle it. They don’t like a lot of people hanging around in there. But hey, we’ll see each other later, like I said.”
“Right.” I watch Maddy waddle upstairs. Even after she’s gone I still can’t focus on my notebook. I suppose Maddy is right; the cops don’t like civilians to hang around the precincts. That’s what I am now, another ordinary citizen. I’m glad when a customer comes in so I can get off the stool and do something useful.
***
I close up at four. Darren should be home by now. When he was younger, Darren stayed at school until his uncle could pick him up, but now he’s old enough to be home alone.
In the past four years he’s sprung up like a weed. He even has some black down on his cheeks, enough that Mac had to teach him how to shave. Whenever I see Darren, I see how Mac probably looked at that age, like a gangly nerd with spotty acne, though still cute.
“Hi, Stacey,” he says when I let myself in. As usual he’s in the living room, at work on his piano. “I thought you and Uncle Bob were fighting.”
“We are. I actually came to see you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I need your expertise.”
“What expertise?” Darren’s always been a shy kid; even after four years he hasn’t warmed to me. Though when I was ten we were an item. I would have stayed little for him if Mac hadn’t helped me see the light.
“I want to write some songs, but I’m stuck. I thought you could give me some tips.”
“Oh, well, I don’t write a lot of songs.”
“You wrote one for me before,” I say. He wrote a song for little Stacey Chang that caused her to fall madly in love with him, so in love she forgot all about her old lives. I can’t tell him that, so I hurry to add, “For my college class. Remember?”
Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 63