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Blue Moon 9.4

by Donna Lamb

Richard went down to deal with the security company while Jo messed around in the studio. That was amazing, she thought. If sex is any better than music, that would explain a lot about how people act.

Some instinct or habit leftover from Melody's hypothetical existence led her to check to see if she had sweated during the impromptu performance. Nope, still dry. I'll spritz before we leave and I'm good. And if that had been more exciting, I might need to change my shorts. Panties. Wait ... yeah, it happens with girls, too, just different. She giggled, glad no one could see her or read her mind.

Going over to the sound board, she checked to see if their session had recorded since she hadn't taken time to really set it up but had simply switched on recording at the keyboard mini-console just before Richard started singing. The tape in the deck looked about half used, so she rewound, held one headphone carefully to one ear and listened.

"Crud," she said out loud after a minute. She hadn't thought to tell Richard to sing into the mike and he was barely audible. Unless he was on the other track. Nope, even in mono playback, no Richard. In fact, when she looked at the drum station, she saw the voice mike turned against the wall.

The music didn't sound bad, though. She played with some ideas in her head, deciding that as a band, they were a bit thin. "More p-piano, less synth on the keyboard; add some guitars. Horn? Maybe."

Her own voice came on, startling her. She'd sung into the mike and her vocals came through very well. Entranced, she listened -- she hadn't yet heard her own voice since the transformation. When the recording reached Richard's indistinct last verse, she shut it off, her fingers trembling a bit. "I'm p-pretty good for just m-messing around. And no stuttering." She'd run into that phenomenon as Joel, the stuttering didn't happen while singing or reciting memorized lines in a play.

She'd heard Richard's voice live; a warm, expressive tenor, a little thin on the high end, that just might need training and experience to be professional. Joel had had a similar voice, in fact, except that he had had training; because singing and reciting had helped his stuttering, he'd tried to get at least one semester course in each year of college. But performing had always nearly paralyzed him.

Jo, on the other hand, felt an excited anticipation at the thought of letting the voice she'd just heard loose on a stage with people -- and audience -- listening. She suppressed a giggle while fluffing her hair, or rather, her wig.

"M-maybe we can form a b-band for real?" She looked around at all the equipment, "M-maybe I already have a b-band?"

She went to the computer on the sound board to see if it held any information on past band members.

Richard came in holding a clipboard, "You need to sign this, Jo," he said. "I don't think they know you're only nineteen, but I want these guys to fix stuff without having to call your lawyer."

"Ah," she said, looking up. "Actually, they'd want the trustee at the b-bank, I think. His name is in the computer downstairs." But she signed. Melody Jo Thierry -- with a tiny heart over the i, and the m and j looking like hearts, too.

Richard held the clipboard, just looking at her for a moment.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you remember that about the trustee? Or?"

"Um, I remembered it from when I w-was looking around down there earlier, yeah?" She frowned. "I think. B-but w-wouldn't that be the logical p-place to f-f-find it?"

"I guess," said Richard. "Look at your signature."

She looked at the paper. "Oh, God." She looked back up at him, "W-well? I w-was a cheerleader, y'know? F-fershur?" She grinned.

"If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me." He shrugged. "There any of Joel still in there?"

"Uh huh," she said. "I'm m-me. What? You want me to go b-back to telling you it's all your f-fault? Hey, you know we sounded pretty good?" She popped the tape out and showed it to him. "Except the drummer forgot to sing into the m-mike."

He stared at her again. "No one told the drummer we were recording. Damn. You know you did sound good and...hey!" He pointed at the big schoolhouse-style clock on the wall, "We've got to get going in ten minutes. Uh, I'm having them do a complete check of everything, but they can't really fix the door before tomorrow, probably. We can come back here after seeing the agent and pick up what we need -- are you listening?"

Jo had switched everything in the studio off and headed through the door to her bedroom. "Going to go p-powder my nose, I'll be ready."

"Are you really?" he asked.

"What?" she paused in the door.

"Going to powder your nose?"

She giggled. "If it needs it, yeah, that, too. Go. M-meet you downstairs."

He went -- after watching her disappear into the bedroom.