The next few days were great at home. Chris was transformed sexually. Whatever I wanted, I got without complaint. A blow job in the shower before she went to school in the morning? No problem. A quick ass fuck between my lessons at the studio? Absolutely. I'm sure Brenda heard Chris moan from that interlude.
I got Chris and the boys off for Chicago the Friday morning before Christmas and packed my bags for Washington. My tuxedo, some work out clothes, my navy pinstripe suit, pajamas, a pair of jeans, a sweater - just the basics.
Emily and Brenda arrived at our house to leave for the contest at 10 AM. We made good time on the 110 mile trip, but you could cut the competitive tension with a knife. A full ride to Georgetown was on the line, and Em was started to feel it. I remembered her crumbling at her lesson a few weeks earlier and shuddered inwardly.
It started snowing as we approached our nation's capitol. We took the 14th Street Bridge into the government district, drove past the National Christmas Tree and Menorrah, the White House, made a couple of quick turns and found ourselves at the J.W. Marriott Hotel. The original Marriott looked as beautiful as I remembered. But since its primary clientele were business travelers, Brenda had been able to book the rooms for Friday and Saturday night online for a song. Em stared in wide-eyed amazement at the four-star lobby. We checked in, changed for the preliminary round of competition and met back in the lobby. It was still not four o'clock, so I warmed Em up at the piano in the lobby bar. She breezed through her warm-ups, every trill and turn a light, flexible, thing of beauty. The Amazing Em was who I was warming up right now – the sweet kid that lived to sing and did it with a passion.
I leaned back from the piano and looked at my star student. The little girl was gone, and an amazingly beautiful young woman stood before me. She had grown to a nice 5'4", and weighed an athletic, trim, 125 pounds. The hair that had been a straggly, dishwater blonde mop was now thick, a little curly, and had become a beautiful shade of auburn. She had it swept up behind her graceful neck, and wore her grandmother's pearl choker for luck. Her eyes were perfectly made up to compliment her deep, brown eyes. The lips had a lovely, not too tart-ish coat of pink lipstick on them, and made them seem even fuller. Her alabaster skin disappeared at her generous 34c cleavage into a beautiful black blouse that fell over a red, satin, tea length skirt. Her arms ended in perfectly manicured French tips with a clear coat on them. What shapely calf I saw ended in a stylish, black, strapped heel that was just the right height for her singer's posture. Due to the vocal training and Alexander technique posture training I had given her, Emily did not look like a teenager playing dress up like most high school seniors. Instead, she had the look of strength, confidence and ease that most women of 25 would envy.
I awoke from my silent assessment after a moment, swallowed hard and said, "All right, then. You sound great. You look great. Let's go do this." We donned our coats and got a cab outside the hotel. We arrived at the performing arts center, went inside and hung up our coats. I found the registration desk and checked Emily in for the competition. We were told that the preliminaries were running a little ahead of schedule, and that Emily would need to be ready to perform in 15 minutes, not the 45 I had anticipated.
I took a few minutes with Em in the warm-up room, with Brenda hovering nervously. I asked Brenda to go find a seat in the auditorium, and that seemed to relax my star significantly. A knock on the door told us it was time and we walked across the hall to the stage door. As I heard the emcee read Emily's competition resume, I stood behind her rubbing her shoulders. She cracked her neck and bounced a little, not unlike a gymnast before taking the floor. "You're ready," I said. "Go have some fun." She nodded strongly, and I knew it was going to be a nice performance. The emcee came to the conclusion of his introduction. "And now, from Midlothian, Virginia, please welcome Miss Emily Ransom."
Would the girl or the woman show up right now? After the five note introduction, Emily bounced into her warm-up song of the set, Caldara's "Che' Fiero Costume'." The Italian art song bounced along like a toy boat in the ocean. Her eyes danced, her body swayed, her tone perfect. This was the singer that had been kicking butt all over the Mid-Atlantic for the past year and a half. I grinned, nodded, and chuckled as I heard her breeze through the French "Apres un Reve" and John Alden Carpenter's haunting "Light, My Light." When she had finished the last note, there was a hush, then hearty applause. Based on the fact that the only people here were the judges, a few college professors and students and Emily's competition and their families, I knew she had easily made the final.
Emily floated off the stage and into my waiting arms. "Way to go, Em. You had fun and gave the audience a performance. You didn't worry about the score or the competition, and you just performed. I'm so proud of you." "Thank you," she whispered into my tie before Brenda scooped in to smother her oldest. "You were AMAZING!" "Thanks, Mom. It was fun. Can we watch some of the others now?" I grimaced inwardly, but said, "Sure, why not?" Why not, indeed?
We entered from the back of the auditorium and listened to seven of the last eight performers. None held a candle to Emily, and we knew it. The last performer was a girl from Bloomington, Indiana, and her resume was the lower Midwest version of Emily's. The 6 foot tall, thin, pretty blonde was named Katie Souder. I recognized Katie's teacher, and knew she would be outstanding. Dr. Sherrie Lawhon was a wonderful soprano, and seriously knew her craft as a voice coach. Sherrie had been a doctoral student when I was doing my master's. She met her husband while we were in the same studio. In fact, I sang at their wedding.
When Katie finished, Emily looked impressed and crushed at the same time. Quickly, I said "Don't worry. We've still got "The Queen of the Night" up our sleeve. You can beat her." Em shook her head slightly in such a way that made me know she didn't believe it. Brenda stared at the opera star Barbie in open hatred. "Let's go get some dinner," I said.
We hailed a cab and went to Chopsticks, a popular Japanese steak house. We were having fun watching the chef go through his sow and Emily lit up like a firefly. Brenda and I both had a couple of sake', and we were feeling fine as well. We went outside, and the snow had become a full-fledged shower. We took a cab back to our hotel, and went to our rooms. I was on the tenth floor, while Brenda and Emily were up on the twelfth. It was 8:00 PM, Friday night, and I had NOTHING to do. I changed, went down to the hotel gym, ran on the cross trainer for 45 minutes, went back up to the room, showered, and got into my pajamas. I found a college basketball game to watch on tv and raided the mini-bar. By 11:00, I had finished five of the little bottles of Jack Daniels. I was feeling VERY comfortable, and called my wife in Chicago to say good night. She asked how Em had done and I told her she was in the finals the next evening.
"What do you think of her chances?"
"Well, Sherrie Lawhon is here with one of her students. Em's going to have to be at her very best to beat her."
"Well, tell her I hope she does wins."
"I will dear. Hey, how was....wait there was a knock on the door."
"Who would knock at this hour?"
"Just the $800 hooker I ordered," I quipped.
"It better not be,"
I looked through the peep hole and saw Emily standing there in a robe. "It's just Emily. I better see what she wants. Love you."
"Love you too!"
I opened the door and looked at Emily. Hair wet, make up gone, in a thick, white robe and barefoot. "Hi, Mr. Michaels. I finished my swim and went back to the room. Mom's asleep already, and I don't want to wake her with the tv. Can I hang out here for a few minutes while I wind down?" All kinds of bells and whistles should have been going off inside my head, but the Jack had my better angels silent. "Sure," I drawled. I have a sofa you can sit on for a while." "Cool. Do you have an extra towel?" I want to rinse the chlorine off." "O.K. I'll give you your privacy in the bathroom and watch the game," I replied. Em padded off to the shower and started singing "The Queen of the Night." I knocked on the shower door and said,
"Emily. If you attract the attention of the management with your beautiful voice at this hour, I'm going to have a hard time explaining why I have a 17 year-old girl in my shower."
