Chapter 16

"Maybe they will be surprised when someone can really sing," Birungi said.

"I heard that." The closest judge beckoned imperiously. "Come forward and be judged!"

Marilyn walked out onto the stage.

"It's a valkyrie," one judge said.

"Don't be silly," another one replied, "What's the feminine of valkyrie?"

"It's already feminine," Marilyn grinned.

"Ah, like moose then," the first judge said.

"What are you going to sing," the student at the computer asked. Marilyn pointed to a title on his screen. The student shrugged. "It's your funeral."

The music came up.

"What this? Old blue eyes?" The judge covered his eyes. "We're not worthy."

Marilyn laughed and launched into My Way. The judges looked like the three monkeys with one's hands over his eyes, one's on his ears and one's over his mouth. But the first was peeking through his fingers, the second had his hands cupped to hear better, while the third was covering up laughter. She let the song take her where it wanted while she played it up to the delight of the audience.

The song finished, and the judges broke into applause and made a show of standing up.

"At last," one shouted, "an act we can listen to,"

"and watch,"

"and not puke,"

"We dub thee the grand prize winner."

The grand prize turned out to be a university t-shirt with We Gots Talent scribbled on it.

"Sorry, left over from last year's show." the judge whispered. The hundred dollars cash was going to be more useful.

"It's traditional to buy the judges a round."

"or three."

Marilyn put the bills away inside her shirt and went back to her friends.

"Quite an act," a man said. He looked too old to be the usual university crowd. "Carl Sminck" he introduced himself, "I'm with the actual show," he gave her a card.

"So you're going to offer her a private audition?" Anna snatching the card from Marilyn.

"That would be very inappropriate, and a waste of time," Carl said, "since I'm neither a judge nor heterosexual. Just show for the audition. If you want a word of advice, the judges are suckers for a good sob story. If they buy it, the audience buys it. Your voice is decent, it will likely get you to the live show, a good story will get you to the final. Good night ladies." He walked away through the crowd.

"You should so audition for this," Anna gave her the card back.

"He did say you sang well," Birungi beamed a smile at Marilyn.

"What he said was I sang decently, but if I played the judges I could make the finals."

"Did you not play the judges here?"

"This is different. This is just a night out with good friends. It didn't matter if I won. With this," she waved the card, "everything would change."

"It's going to change anyway," Anna said. "Why not for the good?"

"But I just got things the way I want them," Marilyn moaned.

"That's life," Anna shrugged. "Think about it, Ok?"

"He said I needed a good sob story." Marilyn put her hand on Anna's arm. "That's on you guys."

***

"Slimy bastards are everywhere," Bo tossed the card back at her. "They need cannon fodder for their show. He's out drumming up talent to fill the place and make it look real, for all you know the fix is already in. He's right though, you need a real good story to get anywhere. You can't make it up though, they'll eat you alive on the web. You'd be horrified at what they can find out about you out there."

"So, I'm a transgendered person whose dad had a heart attack and used up all my university money."

Bo rolled his eyes.

"And surgery money,"

"It's a family show, babe."

"My parents moved in with my brother who tried to kill me when I was a kid when I first came out as a girl. I haven't talked to him in seven years."

Bo nodded his head.

"You're going in the right direction."

"My brother is a serving Marine?"

"You'd best not mention the killing part," Bo said, "his superiors might not like it."

"How about if I dedicate the song to him?"

"Killer stuff, kid, there won't be a dry eye in the house. You have to work it hard. Like the drumming, so you don't have to think about the words, just what they're doing to the judges' cold, little hearts." Bo sighed and sat at the table. "Take it from an old man, Marilyn, you won't like what they make you into. You're better to stay here, get your degree and make a real fucking difference in the world."

"I'm going to finish my degree, no matter what."

"Really?"

"Absolutely,"

"Even when you're on tour?"

"They have correspondence courses, Bo. I'll keep up."

"What if they offer to put you under the knife tomorrow in exchange for your soul?"

Marilyn opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"That's what I thought, kid. Just pray they don't learn your price." He walked back into his room. Marilyn stared at the closed door, then sat in the stool and worked the riffs until her arms ached.

***

The Frog was packed, and Marilyn kept busy picking up unusually big tips and fending off more than usual groping hands. It was a relief when Mack asked her up to sing. Until the crowd started cheering and chanting her name. She sang three songs, and didn't think anybody heard a word of them. They quieted a little for Mack's set. Marilyn played the entire set. She felt safer behind the drums. Bo had to help push the crowd out the door. Cher rushed off to pick up Crysta from their sitter.