Page 20 of Anton's Grace

Most turned out to be pretty stuffy. They’d ask me to perform for them to evaluate my level. It didn’t take a genius to see they weren’t impressed. Yet, they were all eager to become my trainer, no doubt to garner Anton’s good favor. However, I wasn’t interested in a teacher trying to score points with my lover. Scratch that, with my master. I wanted someone genuinely interested in helping me out.

That someone was Romero.

He was the sixth trainer out of the seven I lined up. I liked him instantly. Tall and skinny, his body looked like it got confused as to what gender he was supposed to be halfway through puberty and settled for the status quo instead. Romero was a pretty man, with a baby face and an easy smile. That he also didn’t look down on me after my performance sealed the deal.

Now wasn’t the time to reminisce though. I needed to get ready.

It took me nearly five minutes of cringing, cussing and half the bottle of lube to get the damn plug in my rear. Another ten minutes to walk without showing – too much – that I had something huge up my ass. Then I went to meet Romero. The auditorium sat on the ground floor of the penthouse complex. Dana reserved it for me, two hours every day.

Like Anton, Romero thought my voice sounded good. Actually, he loved my voice and said it would be amazing once I learned some vocal techniques. That gave me a much-needed mental boost after my crappy week. My repertoire and performance, however… He made me swear to dump every bit of it and never speak of either again. I should have thrown a tantrum. Instead, I laughed.

I missed laughing.

We devoted the first hour and a half to singing techniques: posture, breathing, vocalizations, and diction. In the upcoming weeks, we would work on sound coloration and vocal effects once I mastered the basics. I couldn’t wait to rock the same kind of vibrato Seria used during her performance. We dedicated the last thirty minutes to – yawn – theory.

“Focus, young lady,” Romero said with a friendly scowl. “It may not be as fun as working your vocal techniques, but it’s just as important. Now, why do you think your ‘performances’ never landed you a contract in the elite clubs?”

“Well that’s a no-brainer,” I said. “My show is a slut fest. The elite is too stuck up for that level of sexy.”

Romero shook his head. “That’s not true, and you know better. Everyone wants sex, but there’s a difference between fucking and making love.”

My stomach knotted at his words. They echoed almost perfectly what Anton said on our first date… Well, our first time out at the restaurant that felt like a date. I wanted that Anton back.

“The elite doesn’t want to be caught watching porn. It’s unseemly,” Romero continued, not having noticed my dampened mood. “That’s why you need to give them the same level of excitement by wrapping it into a more palatable presentation. They need to be able to brag about watching your performance in fancy circles, for its elegance, its eloquence, its pizzazz,” he said with a flourish.

“So, I put on a sexy but fancy dress, pick a song from the ‘acceptable’ repertoire, and make minimal movements on a stage and boom, I’m respectable?” I mumbled, sitting down on the stage, legs crossed.

“That’s the first step,” Romero said with a chuckle. “But sweetheart, that will only increase your chances of getting the right doors to open. You need talent and charisma – which you do possess, you little diamond in the rough. But above all, you need honesty.”

I blinked. What the hell did honesty have to do with anything? Romero smiled at my confusion. He brought a chair close to where I sat on the stage. Flipping it around, he sat on it backward, his arms resting on top of the backrest.

“You cannot fool your audience, darling. They will know if you’re faking it. It’s the difference between a B-movie actor and an Academy Award winner. The difference between the singer living off the bar gigs and a superstar. It’s just like a relationship. If you’re not honest with your partner, there is no hope. You can rarely get away with faking an orgasm or faking your affection. Sooner than later, your partner will know, he’ll feel it. The same honesty must flow between you and your audience. Treat them like a lover and they’ll worship you.”

“Well then, I might as well give up now because I fucking suck at relationships.”

“Sugar plum, the key to success in business, on stage and in a relationship, is figuring out what your customer, your audience, or your partner truly wants and give it to them.”

“My partner wants revenge. He wants to hurt me.” My voice broke down. I looked away. “He hates me.”

Romero stared at me quietly as I sniffed, kicking myself for my loose tongue. I shouldn’t be talking badly about Anton, let alone airing out our problems like this. Worse, Anton was paying Romero’s bill. Instead of the tongue lashing I expected, Romero rose from his chair and sat down on the stage, next to me, our shoulders touching.

“No, pumpkin. Nobody spends twelve million credits to get revenge on someone they hate.”

My eyes bugged. “How—?”

“Everyone knows. I’m afraid the creditors weren’t very discreet,” Romero said with a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Myers doesn’t hate you. If his reaction towards you is unfriendly, then it’s the symptoms of you not giving him what he wants, what he needs from you. The same way a disgruntled audience will boo an artist off-stage if they fail to meet expectations.”

Folding my legs, I wrapped my arms around them. I started rocking back and forth but quickly put a stop to that; the butt plug having reminded me of its presence.

“But I do everything he says, everything he asks.”

Romero put a comforting hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“People only tell you what they want you to hear.Youneed to learn to read between the lines. The signs aren’t ten feet tall and all blinking neon, but they are plain to see if you pay attention. Remember when you sang for me before hiring me?”

I nodded, staring at him, hopeful.

“After you noticed me smiling when you held that high note then modulated it, you made sure to repeat it twice more during your performance. You noted what I liked and catered to my tastes. This is what you must do on both the professional and personal stage.”

---