Page 37 of Loaded

A moment later, I have to leave the audience area and take my place on the stage. Jake jogs along with me until I reach the stairs. “What’ll it be, Hornet?”

“You’re right,” I whisper. “If you come, I’ll never know whether I won, or if Jake Priest did.”

He beams. “Go sting ’em, Bea. You got this.”

Only, when I reach the stage, I realize I totally donothave this. No one else looks even half as nervous as me. Actually, they all look like pros.

There’s a very good looking, probably very gay man next to me. His eyebrows are perfectly shaped, his nails are buffed and polished a dark, navy blue, and there’s a thin, tasteful kohl line above and beneath each of his large eyes.

Makeup.

The man next to me has better makeup game than I do.

I can’t believe I did nothing to touch up my makeup after work. I probably look like a preteen girl.

But then the lights click on, and it’s go time. The woman who stands up and approaches the podium has a large cascade of absolutely gorgeous, rich mahogany curls that are pinned up on one side and flow freely on the other. That’s the reason I don’t notice her face until she turns outward and starts talking.

She’s been badly burned on her left side, from her forehead all the way down to below her nose. Her hair covers some of it, but there’s plenty that’s still visible. It looks like ripples of wax are running down her face andthen it swoops out and down her neck, disappearing into the top of her asymmetrical gown.

Perhaps the most distracting part of her burns is the stunning beauty of her face on the non-burned side. It’s like an artist painted a masterpiece of epic proportions, then upended a bottle of turpentine over one corner. It actually makes me sad, looking at the perfection of her features on the right side, compared to the left. I can’t help thinking that, although on the outside my life looked just fine, I might understand her better than most.

My damage just isn’t as obvious to everyone who sees me.

When she opens her mouth, I almost forget about the disfigurement. She has the smoothest, lightest, loveliest speaking voice I’ve ever heard. “Welcome to the finals of the Jello Jingle,” she begins. She explains how stiff the competition was, and that tonight’s prize includes a job—the Jello Jingle—as well as a cash prize, a small scholarship for some training, and the mentorship from a partner at one of the nation’s leading jingle firms.

I can see why they chose her as tonight’s emcee. She’s poised, well-spoken, and she has a beautiful speaking voice. “I’m delighted to announce that we have talented artists here with us tonight from across the globe. Our first finalist tonight, Dmita Frost, hails from Liverpool, England. She’s here in New York while completing a study abroad program for another four months, and this is her first time entering any musical contests. Please join me in warmly welcoming our contestant from across the Pond.”

Everyone claps as the petite black woman stands up and approaches the spot our emcee just vacated. She’s not playing the piano—but her recording playing fromthe speakers sounds just fine. Her jingle’s short and sweet, but her lungs are powerful. The melodic line is weak, and the words are a little frivolous, but her performance is clearly an A plus.

Next up is another shorty—do all short people go into music these days? His hair’s long and shaggy and almost covers his eyes. But when he starts his song—also using the option of a recorded accompaniment instead of the piano behind us—I can see how he made it into the finals. His words are punchy and memorable. If his tune is a little forgettable, well, we all have our strengths. His voice isn’t compelling, but it’s pleasant enough.

Next up is a very tall, very strong woman with arms that look at least as big as Emerson’s, if not quite as large as Jake’s. “My jingle came to me at my niece’s birthday party.” Unlike the others, she’s seated at the piano, and when she starts to play, I have to work not to cringe. Her dynamics are all over the place. Choppy. Loud and then soft.

But the melody is killer.

It’s the only one so far that I might find myself humming next week. And that’s bad, because that’s my biggest strength. I was hoping no one else’s would be catchy.

I’m hoping they call the very pretty gay man next, because I like going last. But when they call my name, I stand up, my legs working exactly as they should, blessedly. I walk toward the piano as calmly as possible, and then I sit, staring at the familiar keys.

It’s a Steinway S, a pretty common baby grand, and it usually has a rich, full sound, even in a large room like this. I adjust the microphone a bit—it was far too high, thanks to that tall woman—and then I close my eyes fora beat, counting off and then starting, specifically not looking out at the audience at all.

So much for Jake’s admonition to catch the judge’s eye.

There are many things, including most social situations, where I choke. There are times when I’m downright paralyzed. But with a piano in front of me, I never panic. Touching these keys has always been the place where I feel the most at home. For someone who didn’t have a home at all for a long time, that’s not nothing.

After I play the opening stanzas, I open my mouth and sing the simple, clear words. My voice has never floated. It has never soared. But it’s serviceable, and I don’t embarrass myself, at least. When I stand up, the audience claps pretty vigorously, which is always nice.

The last performance is probably technically the best. The guy sits at the piano too, and his navy-painted fingers move deftly across the keys. He flubs a spot and then another, but all-in-all, if I were a judge, I might pick his. It’s catchy without being annoying, and he has a nice, clear voice that doesn’t distract from his message, which is that Jello creates happy memories.

I’m bracing myself for bad news when the brunette with the burned face stands up. “Now, we didn’t tell you that audience votes actually compose ten percent of the scores for each jingle, and I’ll be the one performing the winning jingle on Jello’s behalf. So now that we’ve heard each song from the creator, I’m going to perform them myself. At the end, we’d love it if you could go to the website listed on the screen behind me and vote for the jingle you think is the best.”

It was interesting to hear the jingle from each creator, but it’s a realexperienceto hear it sung by this woman. Her face may have been damaged, but her voice. . .It’s like listening to Michelangelo work on the Sistine Chapel.

I’m convinced that each new jingle’s perfect, just because of how she sings it. I’m surprised they chose someone with such indescribable beauty to sing something designed to be catchy, but it somehow makes something corny sound classy.

Then she sings mine.

When I was comparing it to the others, it was hard. I mean, I was doing the playing and singing, so I couldn’t really listen. But as a less biased onlooker, I realize that mine is good.

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