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The Girl In The Band - The Lead Singer - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2022-04-25 13:35:12 +0000 UTCOTHER CHAPTERS | ALL STORY LIST
“For the thousandth time, I don’t want to be a girl!” I yelled, pounding the tabletop with my fist. All of us were gathered ‘round the kitchen table me, John and his band, Mom and even Dad. I looked around trying to read each of the faces. John’s face was easy to read. He was ready to kill me. “I have to say I side with Mike on this,” Dad said matter-of-factly. “I really don’t like the idea of one of my sons traipsing about in a dress like some fairy.” John finished his evil stare at me before looking over at Dad. “Nobody said anything about dresses.
How difficult could it be for him to wear girls’ jeans, maybe a little make-up, and keep his mouth shut until it’s time to sing? I mean, come on!” “You dress like a girl if you think it’s so easy!” I sneered at John. “I don’t want to do it!” “You’re killin’ us, man!” shouted Fritz. When both Mom and Dad gave him a dirty look, he lowered his tone. “Mike, you’re the key to us getting this deal. We’re sunk without you.” Sammy leaned against the fridge and said, “Offer him a bigger cut.
I’d rather get a smaller percentage of something than a huge percentage of nothing!” “It’s not the money. I don’t want to be a girl!” I folded my arms and scowled. John leaned in toward me and said, “Mike, this isn’t an assault on your manhood. Come on, man! If someone gave me the choice of pretending to be a girl and making a million dollars versus holding my ground and winding up an insurance salesman, I’d be a girl in a heartbeat!”
“Now son, what’s wrong with being an insurance salesman?” Dad asked. “It’s stable and it puts food on the table.” Scowling, I shot back, “Then you be the girl, John.” Mom cleared her throat and said, “Honey, come with me a minute. I want to say something in private.” Pointing to everyone else, Mom said, “Just stay here. We’ll be back in a few minutes.” I followed Mom back to my bedroom.
With her feet, she cleared a path across the floor to my bed and sat down. As she motioned for me to sit next to her, she said, “Mike, what have I told you about cleaning up your room? It looks like a pigsty in here.” I started to get up, saying, “Is that all you had to say to me?” “Sit back down!” Mom scolded. “We need to talk. Or rather, you need to listen.” I shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Mom, I “ Mom cut me off, “Mike, I said you need to listen. I can understand why any boy would object to pretending to be a girl. It’s completely natural.
And, I also know that you’re hypersensitive about your maleness since your, ah, accident. “No, I said listen,“ Mom continued, wagging a finger at me. “The guys let you sing on the demo because when you sang, it was a beautiful girl’s voice. That’s what the record company heard. And, that’s also what they saw. I’m sorry son, but you do look more like a girl than other boys your age.” “Gee thanks, Mom,” I grumbled. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”
“Well, Mike. How many times has your father suggested you get a haircut? With your long hair, add the fact that you look just like me when I was a teenager and it’s easy to mistake you for a girl. I wouldn’t doubt if half your school thinks you’re a tomboy.”
When I started to protest, Mom continued, “Remember at the first of the school year, the girl’s coach wanted to know if you’d be interested in trying out for cheerleader?” With sourness in my voice, I said, “Okay, Mom. You’ve convinced me. I’m getting a haircut today. Right now.” “That’s not quite what I meant,” Mom said as she folded her arms. “Jeesh Mom! I don’t get it! You sound like you want me to pretend to be a girl. Dad understands why it’s a bad idea.
I don’t understand why you want me to do this! What about all those things you’ve told me all my life about being honest?” I said, exasperated. Mom looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she quietly said, “Okay, maybe I am thinking more like the band’s manager than your mother on this.” She paused, but I didn’t say anything. She continued, “You’re right. Pretending to be a girl would be the same as lying. And while lying is always wrong, sometimes well, sometimes telling a lie just makes things easier.” “Huh? Sounds like situational ethics.”
“Do you tell your Aunt Alice that she looks like a cheap hooker, or do you tell her she’s pretty?” “I try to avoid her. She scares me.” “Mike, when you were four years old, you used to insist that I turn on all the car’s lights during the daytime. You’d ask, ‘Are all the lights on?’ and I’d answer back that they were, just to avoid having you scream to turn them on.” Frowning, I said, “I don’t remember that. Still, what does this have to do with anything?” “What I’m getting at is that sometimes, telling a lie just smoothes things out.
It can make life easier sometimes than telling the truth.” “You sound like a politician, Mom. You’ve just justified me never telling you the truth again.” Now it was Mom’s turn to frown. “No Honey. What I’m getting at, is that in some situations, telling a lie can be for the greater good.” “Mom! Listen to you! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Mom, the bottom line is that I’m not a girl. I don’t want to be a girl. Girls are” “Inferior?” Mom suggested.
“No. No. That’s not what I meant,” I said. “See? You’re lying to me right now, trying to smooth over your mistake.” I always hated arguing with Mom, “Okay, you’re right. I think guys are better at most things than girls. To be all honest, I think being a girl would be a step-down.” Mom made a motion like she was about to stand up, “Well, I guess we have no choice but to tell John that since you feel that just putting on girl’s jeans and the shirt is beneath you and violates your sense of ethics, he can forget about his dream.”
“Why are you trying to make me the bad guy here?” I protested. Mom just raised an eyebrow. She didn’t answer my question. Instead, she said, “I’m actually surprised that you weren’t impressed that the record company wants you and only you. After you guys left the room and I was talking to Mr. Rubins alone, he said the record execs were very impressed with the quality of ‘Michelle’s’ voice. Mr. Rubins said he got the impression they wanted Michelle you are more than they wanted John’s band as a whole.” “Really?” I asked.
“Mr. Rubins told me that the record execs said the band would be ‘just another garage band without that girl.’ They loved your voice; they thought you were a pretty, girl-next-door type who made an ordinary band into something special.” “They think I made the band special?” Mom nodded. “They like the song, too.
They think it has the potential to be a big hit. They even offered to buy it if the band can’t come to an agreement with them. But they really liked the sound of you and John singing it.” I felt my resolve starting to crumble. They wanted me, more than the band. They loved my voice. I was annoyed that they thought I was pretty, but these were guys who see wannabes come and go and they wanted me. I could feel that I was about to become a victim of my own ego.
“Think about it, Mike. No one is asking you to change your sex. Just pretend to be a girl for a few hours to sign the deal, then again for the time in the studio and for a few promotional gigs. You might even get on television. They try to promote new acts on ‘The Tonight Show, according to Mr. Rubins.” Mom was starting to lay it on the kind of thick, but it was working.
“I wouldn’t have to dress like a girl all the time?” I asked. Mom shrugged. “I don’t see why you would. Just whenever you are with the band. Mr. Rubins understands you’re not a girl and thought you might resist pretending to be one. He cautioned that we’ll have to be very careful because the record company does not want a scandal.”
“Do you think we could actually pull that off?” I asked Mom. “I mean, what if it means I have to pretend to be a girl for the next twenty years?”That was a disgusting thought. Mom made a wry smile, “Can you keep a secret from John?” I nodded. I’ve kept lots of secrets from John. “That was one thing Mr. Rubins said that was a disappointment. The record company doesn’t see the band as having a very long life.
They think we can have one or two top forty hits before fading away. We might fool them and make it big, but they’ve seen a lot of bands like John’s. We might just be one-hit wonders.” “But the band is a no-hit wonder without me? Is that it?” The last of my resolve was starting to fade. “That’s about it. John would get upset with me for saying this, but without you, the band’s nothing.”
It was Sunday afternoon and we had just checked into our hotel rooms in Los Angeles. Mom, John, and I were all in one room; Sammy, Fritz, and Juan shared the adjacent room. We were expecting Mr. Rubins any time, and so, we were all gathered in our room, waiting. We were all nervous to the max. Mr. Rubins had set us up with a ten o’clock appointment on Monday to meet with the “suits” of the record label. We’d ink our deal, get a small studio tour and then be back early Tuesday in the recording studio.
They were giving us use of the studio for four days to lay down our tracks for twelve songs on our first, and hopefully not last, album. John wasn’t completely happy with the list of songs the record label wanted us to do. Six of the songs were the band’s originals, our expected hit falling into that category. Two of John’s personal favorites were turned down by the studio because they said they wanted a consistent sound for the album, and those songs were too off the wall. Four songs were covers that John didn’t really want to do.
The surprises in the list were two brand new songs we were expected to play for the album. One of the songs, Mr. Rubins said the studio thought would be good for us. It was a calculated hit, and if we didn’t record it, they were going to give it to someone else to have a hit with it. The second new song was the most curious for me. It would only use my vocals and had a slight country sound that surprisingly blended well with the sound we were trying to create for the rest of the album.
We were all sitting around the hotel room, talking loudly among ourselves when there was a knock on our door. We all suddenly fell silent, and even the unflappable Fritz seemed quietly nervous. Mom got up and peeped through the peephole. She turned to us and said, “It’s Mr. Rubins and some other guy.” She took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Mr. Rubins!” smiled Mom, “It’s so good to see you again.”She reached out a hand. Mr. Rubins took the proffered hand and shook it while saying, “Ms. Gray. It’s a pleasure as always.” He looked around at our expectant faces. “Guys good to see all of you again. Great demo.” He looked over at me and said, “And you must be our little problem. Nice to see you too.”
As the two men entered the room, Mr. Rubins turned and gestured towards the second man who was dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt. “This is Mr. Hal Winters. He’s agreed to be your agent, at least for the time being, and will be going to the studio with you tomorrow. This meeting pretty much ends my direct involvement with you guys. You’re in good hands, I assure you. I’ve known Hal for many years and he’s helped many acts just like yours achieve success.” Mom gestured for them to take a seat. As he did, Hal Winters said, “That’s right Doug.
I work mainly with new acts, and I try to keep kids from being shafted by the record companies. Doug played the demo for me, and I thought to myself that there was a bunch of kids who had ‘hit’ written all over them.” Winters and Rubins visited with us for almost an hour giving us do’s and don’ts for our meeting with the “suits.”When they were finally done and about to leave, Mr. Winters tapped his forehead and said, “Oh, almost forgot!” He pointed at me and said to Mom, “Make sure whenever you’re in public as the band and in the studio, make sure everyone refers to him as ‘Michelle’ and use female pronouns.
I’ve done this before, but I really would rather avoid it. Too risky.” I started to say something, but Mr. Winters continued. “Make sure she’s dressed as a girl for the meeting. Jeans and some kind of girl’s shirt are okay. But please, make sure she’s wearing girl’s underwear and a bra as well. A little make-up and combing her hair would help, too.” Mr. Rubins stood up and said, “Well, Hal.
We really should be going.” He just stood there a moment and looked at each of us. He put out his hand, and we all shook it in turn. “Guys, you’re in good hands and I’ll see you around from time to time. Try not to worry; you’ll do great. I wish you the best of luck.”Nobody spoke for several long moments after the door was closed. It had finally sunk in. This was real.
Winters met us in the lobby of the hotel promptly at eight o’clock. He wanted to make sure we got there early. To be honest, I’m not sure if I liked Mr. Winters much. I’m sure he had a sincere interest in seeing us succeed because he gets paid when we get paid. Of course, I wasn’t too happy about anything at the moment. As Mr. Winters went over some last-minute details, I scratched where the bra made me itch.
I didn’t like the way the make-up felt on my skin or the way my eyelashes touched when I blinked. I wondered how girls could stand to do this every day. Mom also brushed out my hair and fluffed it up. I really hadn’t noticed before how much hair I actually had. A little after eight-thirty, a limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. Winters looked up and said, “Okay. Here’s your ride. Let’s be off, shall we?” We were all thoroughly impressed, including the jaded Fritz. As he sank into the thick, leather seat he said, “Now this, I can really get used to!”
I was actually kind of disappointed. An hour and a half and we were done with the “suits.”The deal negotiated by Winters seemed to be a pitch like dozens of others he’d probably done over the years. There were all kinds of contracts, papers, and waivers to sign. An assistant gave us the “tour” which basically was showing us where we were supposed to show up the next morning.
