to his ear and pull a little book out of his jacket pocket.
Holly sits on a stool and arranges her billowing skirt around her legs. “So, Maya, sing something for me.”
She’s the voice coach to the biggest country singer there is. What if she thinks I’m terrible? “Um, I don’t do solos.”
The Charlie Brown music abruptly stops. “That’s getting old real quick,” Jesse growls. “You’ve got a world-class voice coach standing in front of you on my dime. So sing. Or I’m leaving, and you can tell my uncle why you didn’t complete shadow day.”
Crickets.
Holly says, “Okaayy.”
“Fine. I’ll sing,” I tell Holly. “Thank you for the opportunity.” I take a deep breath and try to relax as I belt out the first few lines of “Carolina in My Mind.”
Like Jesse, her face gives away nothing. She taps her lips with two fingers as I sing and nods when I’m finished. “No one’s ever taught you how to sing from your diaphragm?”
“Huh?”
She clucks her tongue. “Schools these days…”
Jesse stands up from the bench. “Sing like you normally would.”
I sing a line from the song, and then he puts his hand on my stomach.
“What the?” I smack his fingers away.
Holly chuckles. “It’s okay, Maya.”
Avoiding my eyes, Jesse moves close to me again and lays his palm on my stomach, his long fingers splayed across the red lace and black leather of my corset. Wow, that feels intense.
“This time when you sing the measure,” Jesse says, “try to push my hand off your stomach using only your breathing.”
“While I’m singing?”
“Yup. You’re going to sing from your stomach instead of your throat. It’ll make the sound fuller.”
I take a deep breath, and he waves a hand again. “No, no. Fill your stomach with air, not your chest.”
I glance at Holly, who is staring at Jesse like she’s seen a ghost. Inside the booth, Mr. Logan stands up, looks from me to Jesse, and pockets his cell phone. He rushes back out into the main room.
I inhale again, filling my stomach with air, and Jesse says, “That’s it. Now start singing.”
I rattle off another measure, trying to push Jesse’s hand away from my stomach. It takes a lot more effort than usual, and I can’t hear anything different in my voice, but whatever. He’s the expert.
“Better,” he says, one side of his mouth upturned.
Mr. Logan paces back and forth across the studio, staring at Jesse. He doesn’t seem all that interested in me or my voice, just his star client. Is he as surprised as I am that Jesse is being kind to me?
Then Holly pulls out the big guns and the real work starts. For the next hour, she has me sing scales and melodies that are way out of my comfort zone. My voice cracks a couple of times, making Jesse wince again like when I screwed up on guitar. Harsh critic.
Holly hands over various sheet music for me to try, and Jesse makes me sing along with a guitar and then the piano and then a cappella. An hour later, my stomach is killing me. Holly is very clear I will not be singing from my throat anymore—I have to sing from my diaphragm—but it’s tough to get used to. I take a break to sip some warm water.
“Maya sounds edgy,” Jesse says.
Holly adds, “I love her raspy tone. She’s got soul. You can’t learn that.”
“Thanks.” It feels good to hear. But it also slices deep. It reminds me that I’m not a part of a band anymore. It’s not like I have anyone to sing with, and I won’t be doing any shows anytime soon unless I find another band.
“You’ll have to work hard on your mechanics,” Holly adds, rising from the stool. Pushing on my tummy and back, she edges me into an uncomfortable posture. “You’ve started late in life.”
“But Uncle Bob was right,” Jesse says. “You have a good voice, but you need a lot of practice and training if you want to become something.”
“Thank you.” I smile at Jesse, and he nods, his gaze floating from my eyes to my nose
Holly sits on a stool and arranges her billowing skirt around her legs. “So, Maya, sing something for me.”
She’s the voice coach to the biggest country singer there is. What if she thinks I’m terrible? “Um, I don’t do solos.”
The Charlie Brown music abruptly stops. “That’s getting old real quick,” Jesse growls. “You’ve got a world-class voice coach standing in front of you on my dime. So sing. Or I’m leaving, and you can tell my uncle why you didn’t complete shadow day.”
Crickets.
Holly says, “Okaayy.”
“Fine. I’ll sing,” I tell Holly. “Thank you for the opportunity.” I take a deep breath and try to relax as I belt out the first few lines of “Carolina in My Mind.”
Like Jesse, her face gives away nothing. She taps her lips with two fingers as I sing and nods when I’m finished. “No one’s ever taught you how to sing from your diaphragm?”
“Huh?”
She clucks her tongue. “Schools these days…”
Jesse stands up from the bench. “Sing like you normally would.”
I sing a line from the song, and then he puts his hand on my stomach.
“What the?” I smack his fingers away.
Holly chuckles. “It’s okay, Maya.”
Avoiding my eyes, Jesse moves close to me again and lays his palm on my stomach, his long fingers splayed across the red lace and black leather of my corset. Wow, that feels intense.
“This time when you sing the measure,” Jesse says, “try to push my hand off your stomach using only your breathing.”
“While I’m singing?”
“Yup. You’re going to sing from your stomach instead of your throat. It’ll make the sound fuller.”
I take a deep breath, and he waves a hand again. “No, no. Fill your stomach with air, not your chest.”
I glance at Holly, who is staring at Jesse like she’s seen a ghost. Inside the booth, Mr. Logan stands up, looks from me to Jesse, and pockets his cell phone. He rushes back out into the main room.
I inhale again, filling my stomach with air, and Jesse says, “That’s it. Now start singing.”
I rattle off another measure, trying to push Jesse’s hand away from my stomach. It takes a lot more effort than usual, and I can’t hear anything different in my voice, but whatever. He’s the expert.
“Better,” he says, one side of his mouth upturned.
Mr. Logan paces back and forth across the studio, staring at Jesse. He doesn’t seem all that interested in me or my voice, just his star client. Is he as surprised as I am that Jesse is being kind to me?
Then Holly pulls out the big guns and the real work starts. For the next hour, she has me sing scales and melodies that are way out of my comfort zone. My voice cracks a couple of times, making Jesse wince again like when I screwed up on guitar. Harsh critic.
Holly hands over various sheet music for me to try, and Jesse makes me sing along with a guitar and then the piano and then a cappella. An hour later, my stomach is killing me. Holly is very clear I will not be singing from my throat anymore—I have to sing from my diaphragm—but it’s tough to get used to. I take a break to sip some warm water.
“Maya sounds edgy,” Jesse says.
Holly adds, “I love her raspy tone. She’s got soul. You can’t learn that.”
“Thanks.” It feels good to hear. But it also slices deep. It reminds me that I’m not a part of a band anymore. It’s not like I have anyone to sing with, and I won’t be doing any shows anytime soon unless I find another band.
“You’ll have to work hard on your mechanics,” Holly adds, rising from the stool. Pushing on my tummy and back, she edges me into an uncomfortable posture. “You’ve started late in life.”
“But Uncle Bob was right,” Jesse says. “You have a good voice, but you need a lot of practice and training if you want to become something.”
“Thank you.” I smile at Jesse, and he nods, his gaze floating from my eyes to my nose
Similar Books
