So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2) Page 14

  I’m working on the singing part, but I’m definitely a songwriter. I guess, in many ways, I was lucky. Delores always felt it was important for me to stay as oral as possible even though in the days before my implants, I could hear nothing. She was insistent that I speak while I signed, even though I couldn’t hear the result. As a result, I avoided atrophy of my vocal cords and surrounding structures. The therapist and vocal coach are very pleased with my progress. I hated every second of my speech therapy sessions while I was growing up, but Delores’s hardline attitude could save my singing career now. That’s a huge leap of faith for me, though, because I literally cannot hear my voice as other people hear it. I can’t tell how much it’s been changed by my deafness, let alone how it measures up to other singers. I have to trust in the opinions of those around me. I know from hanging around Rory and Tara—when people think they can get something from your career, they’ll tell you anything you want to hear, whether it’s the truth or not. I saw it happen all the time with Rory. By the end of his career, he could barely burp without fourteen people having some sort of say in what happened. I’m paranoid that the people telling me my voice is progressing well are the same people I’m paying to improve my skills.

  I’m tempted to put it all out in the open and sing for Tara just to gauge her opinion. Technically, I guess I’ve already done it. She was in such a state of shock that night, I doubt she really noticed. I trust Tara to be totally honest. She wouldn’t sugarcoat things just to make me feel better. On the other hand, it would be crushing if she hates the way I sound now. In all honesty, I’m struggling with the direction I should take my career. I’m passionate about the piano and songwriting. But, in this day and age of YouTube videos and reality TV shows, you have to be media savvy on all fronts. It’s not enough to be exceptionally good at one skill anymore. You need to be a triple or quadruple threat. This push to be everything for everybody puts an artist like me at a distinct disadvantage.

  I open the email from 5 Star Creative Industries and Arts. It claims that I’ve been chosen to be part of a reality show featuring up-and-coming singer/songwriters. They want to do a casting call in Los Angeles this weekend.

  A wave of emotions overtakes me. This is all I’ve been working toward for so long; I can’t even remember wanting to do anything else. But it seems as if it’s way too soon. I haven’t been working with my vocal coach all that long. I’m not 100% confident in my singing skills. I haven’t even debuted them in public yet. I did lay down some tracks on my computer while doing some songwriting and, for kicks and giggles, I sent them to a former band-mate to see what he thought. The only feedback I got from Casey was that he thought I sounded decent but needed to enunciate better. I couldn’t disagree and I had no way to really know how much I had improved over time, so I let the matter drop. He never mentioned passing my tape on to anyone else. But he must have, since I don’t know how else the casting agency could know I exist.

  Besides Tara, the only other person on the planet who I’m sure will give me a brutally honest assessment is Rory. His assessment will be so blunt that I’ll probably feel like he’s peeling my skin off layer by layer. If I had other options, Rory and my parents would be among the last people I would ever tell that I was pursuing a career in the entertainment field, because I know I’ll never measure up to the success Rory has already accomplished. But the timing of this contest has taken the decision out of my hands. If I’m serious about doing this, I need to be all in— including telling people about my plans to sing.

  “Rory O’Brien! You quit being mean to your little brother or I’m going to make you sleep on the couch tonight,” Renée chides as she plops a bowl of popcorn in my brother’s lap and settles in beside him, tucking her feet under her as only girls can do. “I think it’s really cool you’re going to sing for us. I thought you only played piano.”

  “How come you can say that, but I can’t?” Rory whines. “All I said was, I hope he’s gotten better. The last time I heard him sing, he was prepubescent and his voice cracked.”

  Renée whacks him in the knee with a decorative couch pillow. “You are so bad. Apologize to your brother.”

  Rory looks over at me, eyebrows raised. “What? It’s totally true, isn’t it?”

  I chuckle at the look of total outrage on Renée’s face. “I appreciate your support, dear sister in law, but Rory’s probably right on this one. I was, in fact, a preteen the last time he heard me sing. One can only hope that I’m better by now,” I quip.

  Rory crosses his arms and starts to tap his toe impatiently in typical big brother fashion. He orders me to play, “Well, Aidan, it’s time to put up or shut up.”

  I take my guitar out of its case and adjust a few strings and the strap. Raising an eyebrow to show him that I’m not intimidated, I ask him, “Any requests from the peanut gallery?”

  Rory’s eyes light up at the prospect of a challenge. We may be older, but we’re still brothers and he never misses an opportunity to best me in a contest, no matter how trivial. “How about Fields of Gold?” I smile at his tactic. He’s banking that I won’t know the Sting ballad. Well, score one for me, big brother. I may know every Rogers and Hammerstein song ever written, but that doesn’t mean I can’t cover an astonishing variety of other songs. You can’t be a touring musician without a huge library of songs in your head.

  After a little last minute tuning—yes, I’m stalling—I start to sing. I try to lose myself in the melody and forget that this is really my first mini-audition. If Rory gives me a thumbs down, I’m not sure what it will mean for my career. I trust his opinion. Sure, he can be an asshole, but he doesn’t pull any punches and since he’s met Renee and had kids, he rarely does it just for sport anymore. The music flows through me as I strum the guitar and relax into the song. I open my eyes to peek at their reactions. Renee has tears in her eyes and Rory has an unreadable look of concentration as he watches me perform. As the last notes float away, my heart is in my throat as I wait for their verdict. Renee is the first to react as she quickly dabs away her tears and begins clapping wildly, “Oh, Aidan!” she exclaims, “That was just beautiful. I had no idea you were this talented.”

  “Me either,” agrees Rory. “It seems you’ve been holding out on us. Why didn’t you say something? This is totally cool. Ma and Pa will be over the moon.”

  I can’t stop myself from flinching at his words. “Maybe I was hoping that just plain deaf Aidan, part time waiter, would be enough for them,” I retort sarcastically.

  Rory sighs and scrubs his hand over his face as he replies, “I can’t defend their behavior, AJ. We both know it sucks. But I think they’ve started to change and value us for who we are, instead of the spotlight we can draw. Strangely enough, since our girls arrived, they seem almost normal.”

  I grimace and carefully choose my next words. It’s been a hard road back for Rory since his career-ending injury and I don’t want to screw things up between him and my parents. I’ve come to grips a long time ago with knowing my relationship with them will probably never be fully repaired, but we have come a long ways. There was a time in my life, shortly after they turned me over to Dolores, I envisioned never speaking to them again. If I had to characterize it, I’d say we’ve reached the point of warm civility, and my next career move could change that in either direction. “I hope you’re right, because things could be changing for me—,” I start to explain before Rory interrupts me.

  “I knew you didn’t come over just to sing for us. That’s not your style. So what’s the rest of the story?” Rory asks, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and bracing for bad news.

  I set my guitar down and leaned forward to match his body language. “As bizarre as it sounds, I’ve been invited to compete in a reality show that focuses on singing and songwriting. There’s a casting call in Los Angeles this weekend. I’m debating whether I should go for it. I have some concerns. For one thing, I’m worried that it could turn Ma and Pa into the competitive mons
ters like they were during your dance career. More importantly, I’m not sure I’m good enough to compete as a singer. This little demonstration I just gave…well, it’s the first time I’ve sung for an audience since before I became deaf. I do pretty well with my cochlear implants, but the mechanics of hearing is different through CIs. Things like pitch and tone are different. I’ve been working hard on those issues with my voice coach, and I’ve been working on pronunciation and enunciation with my speech therapist. They both assure me that I’ve made amazing progress, but they have a financial stake in telling me what I want to hear. I wanted to hear from someone who wouldn’t give me any bullshit,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders.

  Rory studies me for a second before he answers. “I can’t predict what our parents are going to do. I think you need to make your decision independent of them anyway. As far as your talent goes, I think they’re going to love you. Your voice is strong, your piano playing is phenomenal, and you play more than a passable guitar.”

  “Great. That’s what I needed to hear,” I reply.

  Rory holds up his hand to stop me, “Wait, I wasn’t done yet,” he continues. “Is your voice perfect? Probably not. But your back-story will more than make up for it. No one can resist the story of a handsome deaf guy who can play music, write a beautiful ballad, and also sing it to them.”

  Frustration overtakes me in a giant wave and I struggle to keep my voice even as I practically hiss at Rory, “That’s just it, Ror. I don’t want to be The Deaf Guy on that show. I want to be a talented guy from Oregon with a shot at winning the same as anyone else.”

  Renée gets up, walks behind me and starts to massage my shoulders. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Aidan, but I don’t think you get to choose how the public perceives you. Lord knows, if I had a choice, I’d rather people think I look like Cindy Crawford, not that little girl that played on the Wonder Years. But I’m 5 foot nothing. I get mistaken for a child, even though I have three children of my own,” she offers in support.

  I grin as I remember the last time we went out for pizza and she was offered the kids menu. “But you make such a cute munchkin,” I tease. “Look on the bright side, you’ll be carded until you’re seventy.”

  “Not that you asked my opinion, but I’ll give it to you anyway,” Renée says. “The only way you’re going to prove the stereotype wrong is to go on that show and act like a regular contestant. That includes talking about your background, just like every other participant. That doesn’t mean you have to make a big deal of it. Regardless, your talent will speak for itself. Once the novelty wears off, they’ll forget you’re even deaf. I forget all the time. The only time it seems to be an issue for you is when you’re in a really noisy environment or you’re terribly nervous.”

  “I hate to be the cruel voice of reality here,” Rory interjects, “but aren’t those the exact conditions he’s going be facing during the audition process? Aidan, are you sure you want to put yourself out there for this? The odds of winning can’t be very high—for anyone.”

  “I usually have a problem only if I am ambushed by a situation I don’t expect,” I explain. “In this case, I’m aware of the dynamics ahead of time, so I should be okay.” But even as I say those words out loud, doubts are creeping into the back of my mind. This will be the highest stress situation I’ve been under in a really long time, maybe ever, and my voice is untested in public.

  Rory looks unconvinced by my bravado. “Whatever you say, Aidan. I just want to make sure you know what you’re signing up for. I can tell you from personal experience, the competition circuit is grueling,” he advises.

  I nod in agreement. “I remember what you and Tara went through. But I think I need to try this or I’ll always wonder what could’ve been, and I’m really not a woulda- coulda-shoulda kind of guy.”

  After I get home from Rory’s, I reflect on how the visit went. It actually went far better than I expected. I wonder what Tara would think about Rory and Renée. Oh crap! The auditions are this weekend. That means I’ll have to postpone my bowling date with Tara. I don’t want to disappoint her and break her trust. It’s a sucky way to start a relationship.

  I grab a can of Strawberry Crush from the refrigerator and pull out my phone. She answers on the third ring.

  “Hi, gorgeous Gracie, what are you doing on this fine day?” I ask, cringing at the overly perky tone in my voice.

  “Um, I’m working at the gas station... But I have to ask, have you looked outside in the last couple of days, Aidan? It hasn’t stopped raining. I’m going to have to turn the beetle into a boat,” she answers with amusement in her voice.

  “As a matter of fact, I just came in from outside,” I reply. “You’re right, it’s downright awful out there. But my day became perfect the minute you said hello.”

  Tara lets loose an uncharacteristic peal of laughter. When she catches her breath, she says, “Aidan Jarith O’Brien, has anyone ever told you the amount of malarkey you spout could be dangerous to your health? You’re very sweet, but a little over-the-top. Do women actually buy the lines that come flying out of your mouth?”

  I bite back a snort of laughter at her candidness, “Well, I don’t need all womankind to buy it, just you,” I respond with a teasing lilt my voice.

  “Well, here’s a tip, AJ. If you want me to believe a single word you say, you might want to tone it down a little,” she advises.

  “Hm, that’s good to know, I’ll keep it in mind. But just for the record, talking to you is the highlight of my day. There is not a trace of malarkey in that,” I respond with total sincerity.

  “Thanks, I guess,” Tara stammers awkwardly. “I’m sure you didn’t just call to embarrass me at work. Was there something else you needed? It’s pretty quiet here tonight, but I really shouldn’t be on my phone.”

  I should know better than to distract her while she’s at work. “I’m sorry. I should call at a better time,” I concede.

  Tara laughs lightly as she says, “Relax, Aidan. It’s fine. I’m just night manager tonight and I need to be a role model for the newbies. Eric is with me on pumps tonight, so we’ll be fine. What’s up?”

  I stop to take a couple of deep breaths before I continue. I’m not sure why this is so difficult. I’ve rescheduled dates before and sometimes even broken them. In high-school, I even stood someone up for a school dance. I only did that once, because Delores made me go to the beauty shop with her and have every woman in the place from fourteen to eighty-three tell me about every experience they’d ever had with being stood up. I learned three things that day. First, women put a lot of trust in men to treat them right. Second, being stood up hurts no matter who you are or what your station in life. Third, women have really long memories, so try your best not to screw up.

  I learned a fourth thing that day too. A woman’s capacity to forgive is pretty great too. I’ll never forget the story one of the ladies told. Her husband stood her up on their wedding day because he got wrapped up in playing the ponies and lost track of time. Eventually they did marry, though, they were married 67 years, and had two sons and a daughter. I hope Tara has the same forgiving spirit. I finally decide to go for broke and jump right in.

  “I’m sorry Tara, something has come up and I need to reschedule our bowling date,” I say, regret heavy in my voice.

  “I knew my meltdown was going to comeback to haunt me,” she mutters under her breath on the other end of the phone.

  “No!” I practically shout into my phone. “Tara, that’s not it at all! It’s a work related thing.”

  “I thought you said you have a wedding on Saturday. How does that impact Sunday?” Tara asks, confused.

  “Crap! You’re right. I was so focused on Sunday, I forgot about my Saturday plans. I’m going to have to find someone to cover that gig for me. My friend, Stetson Stillwell, just had a big gig cancel on him when the guy who ran the cruise had to file bankruptcy. The couple who hired me was really looking forward to something more country th
an my usual fare, so Stetson should be a perfect match.”

  “So, what does this have to do with me?” she prods.

  “Tara, I got offered a reality show based on a singing/songwriting competition, and the casting call is this weekend.”

  I’m not sure what I expected, but total silence was not among the options I considered. After about a minute, I finally ask, “Gracie...are you still there? You didn’t hang up on me because I have to postpone our date, right?” I laugh, trying to cover-up my nerves.

  “I’m sorry, Aidan,” Tara responds haltingly. “I was just trying to gather my thoughts before I said anything because quite honestly, they’re scattered everywhere. At first, I thought you were calling to cancel because I acted like such a basket case at the end of our last date. Then, when I heard your news, I was totally thrilled for you. But, as I thought about it, I realized that you’re so good; you’ll be gone for a really long time, and that part will not be cool. I just found you, and it kind of sucks that you’re going to be going away again. Yet, saying this all out loud makes me sound like some weird-ass stalkerish girlfriend and we haven’t even been out on two dates yet, officially. Just forget I said anything but congratulations, okay?” Tara’s speech trails off into silence.

  “Actually, we have,” I answer.

  “We have what?” she asks, confused by my reply.

  “We’ve gone on two official dates,” I clarify. “I took you out to coffee and I took you on a picnic. This would’ve been our third date. It still will be, I just need to reschedule it. By the way, what you said to me was the nicest thing I’ve heard in a really long time. It feels good to know you believe in me and that you’ll miss me.”

  “Of course I believe in you. You’re insanely talented. Have you ever been to one of these casting calls, though? It’s a total zoo. They’re usually held in large conference halls or sound-stages and the acoustics are terrible. There’s a reason they call them cattle calls. Is that going to put you at a disadvantage?”