Tuesday evening, NYC--Pace University
Sep. 26th, 2006 09:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-siryn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsTerry's class gets a bit unbearable so she takes a stroll through the city. It's weird the places life takes you.
"...puts everyone in danger. Weak links," and there was a pause that spoke volumes as it roved over the mostly male class, "that insist on joining the chain hold the responsibility for all the weight and failure in the end."
Aye and anyone holding up your fat ass would be a hero to let it drop. Terry thought uncharitably. She'd been tuning out most of this class but given that she couldn't stop hearing altogether, the somewhat endless grind of misogyny interlaced through the lecture was getting intolerable. She'd resolved to ignore it when she'd first noticed it but as the other girls in the class dropped out, giving up in sheer disgust, Terry began to wonder if she too should take the better part of valor.
"When standards are lowered, it endangers everyone. The spirit of inclusivism shouldn't and mustn't be put before the public good. The lowering of standards to accommodate women in the police and fire services, without careful assignment based upon ability and strength, has resulted in predictable and disastrous consequences and goes largely unreported."
That was it. She was going to kill him. She was going to ring his chubby, jowled neck until he squawked. The pencil in her hands snapped and his eyes zeroed in on her, sparkling and just waiting for her to say something. She was the youngest in the class and the smallest, too. Terry could imagine that he was just waiting to make an example out of her. Gritting her teeth, she stared back until he moved on. At the next break, she left, needing the fresh air.
The city streets of New York were stinking and muggy, the air anything but fresh and yet it was preferable to being inside. She walked quickly, with the purposeful stride of one who knew where she was going and could care for herself--appearances were often better than being able to back them up. Two blocks away, her temper had cooled and she was regretting walking out and giving in to the old bastard. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked back over her shoulder, trying to decide what to do next.
Somewhere nearby music spilled into the air supporting a voice that was...decent, Terry decided. She followed the sound, the musicians were far better than the singer. She didn't actually like jazz all that much but the contrast intrigued her. She rounded a corner and nearly walked into a side propped on the sidewalk. Ah, well that explained it. Open mic night. Amateur night and the musicians were the ones to suffer.
Well...it wasn't like she had anything better to do.
*****
"You have 10 minutes. Got music?" Terry shook her head mutely, eyes wide, "Oh well, can't be helped. Get up there, girl, times wasting." The manager shoved her none too gently at the stage. Terry had never had stage fright in her life. Of course, she'd never sung solo in front of a crowd of strangers before either.
Her legs were shaking as she climbed the steps, trying to figure out how she'd gone from asking about how an open mic night worked to being told it was her turn. She wasn't even sure what she was going to sing as she adjusted the mic down...way down, to her level. "Ah..." The microphone echoed the sound and tossed it back at her. She jumped. Someone snickered. Someone else muttered about bitches who thought looks could get them anywhere. Terry's temper kicked back in and she cleared her throat with purpose. "Ahem."
She fixed her gaze on the mutterer, smirked slightly, opened her mouth and sang the first jazz song that came to mind, "Summertime. And the livin' is easy..." Her voice rolled out, silky, hot and seductive. All other sounds in the small club ceased. "Fish are jumpin'. And the cotton is high. Your daddy's rich." The pianist apparently decided to take pity on her and started playing the melody line, "And your mamma's good-lookin'. So hush, little baby, don't you cry."
The other musicians picked up the song and Terry grinned, just a little, letting her voice glide through the music. "One of these mornings you're going to rise up singin'. Then you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky, take to the sky." It was so easy, easier than she'd thought it would be. No powers, no tricks, just her voice and she had every eye on her, every ear tuned to her. Even as the music changed, Terry fell in love with the feeling and the passion of it could be heard in her voice.
*****
Three songs later--and Terry's knowledge of jazz completely exhausted--she stepped off the stage again to a surge of applause. The club was fuller than it had been; people had come in off the street as she sang. The bartender handed her back her bag, she'd shucked it behind the counter when she'd been hustled up on stage--no worries that anything would be taken, her cell phone and wallet were in her pockets. "Thank you."
"Same goes," the trim woman responded with a grin, "Can I get you something? On the house--just nice to have someone with talent show up to one of these things."
Terry hesitated then nodded, "Whiskey, on the rocks." She should have asked for something less hard probably, but she was feeling good and wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking a deep breath, she set her bag on a barstool and opened it just to be sure everything was still there.
"Chase, get this girl a drink!" Terry felt a hard clap on her shoulder and barely kept herself from reacting violently. Instead she just looked up at the manager who was beckoning at the bartender again. The woman just rolled her eyes and returned with Terry's drink. "Ah, ahead of me as always. Sit young lady, sit! We haven't met properly, Grant Colten." He pumped Terry's hand enthusiastically then pressed her drink into it. "You're not sitting. What's your name, girl? Those are some pipes; you must be new in town. Listen, you'll come back again. Friday, we got a spot for you."
Terry sat and took a sip of her whiskey to gain herself time to sort out that mess of information. "I'm Terry, um, Terry Cassidy. I just...I don't usually do this. Um, jazz. It's not my thing."
Grant waved that away like he hadn't even heard it. "Great, settled then. We'll see you Friday, Terry. Two sets, if you have music, get it to the band before Thursday." He was gone before Terry could do more than gape at him. She looked from him to the woman wiping off the bar, who gave her an amused look back.
"He's like that. You get used to it. You need me to call you a cab?" At Terry's slow shake of her head, Chase laughed and nodded, "Okay then. We'll see you Friday. You should show up at 6. You're on at 8."
Terry wondered what the hell they put in the whiskey here.
"...puts everyone in danger. Weak links," and there was a pause that spoke volumes as it roved over the mostly male class, "that insist on joining the chain hold the responsibility for all the weight and failure in the end."
Aye and anyone holding up your fat ass would be a hero to let it drop. Terry thought uncharitably. She'd been tuning out most of this class but given that she couldn't stop hearing altogether, the somewhat endless grind of misogyny interlaced through the lecture was getting intolerable. She'd resolved to ignore it when she'd first noticed it but as the other girls in the class dropped out, giving up in sheer disgust, Terry began to wonder if she too should take the better part of valor.
"When standards are lowered, it endangers everyone. The spirit of inclusivism shouldn't and mustn't be put before the public good. The lowering of standards to accommodate women in the police and fire services, without careful assignment based upon ability and strength, has resulted in predictable and disastrous consequences and goes largely unreported."
That was it. She was going to kill him. She was going to ring his chubby, jowled neck until he squawked. The pencil in her hands snapped and his eyes zeroed in on her, sparkling and just waiting for her to say something. She was the youngest in the class and the smallest, too. Terry could imagine that he was just waiting to make an example out of her. Gritting her teeth, she stared back until he moved on. At the next break, she left, needing the fresh air.
The city streets of New York were stinking and muggy, the air anything but fresh and yet it was preferable to being inside. She walked quickly, with the purposeful stride of one who knew where she was going and could care for herself--appearances were often better than being able to back them up. Two blocks away, her temper had cooled and she was regretting walking out and giving in to the old bastard. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked back over her shoulder, trying to decide what to do next.
Somewhere nearby music spilled into the air supporting a voice that was...decent, Terry decided. She followed the sound, the musicians were far better than the singer. She didn't actually like jazz all that much but the contrast intrigued her. She rounded a corner and nearly walked into a side propped on the sidewalk. Ah, well that explained it. Open mic night. Amateur night and the musicians were the ones to suffer.
Well...it wasn't like she had anything better to do.
"You have 10 minutes. Got music?" Terry shook her head mutely, eyes wide, "Oh well, can't be helped. Get up there, girl, times wasting." The manager shoved her none too gently at the stage. Terry had never had stage fright in her life. Of course, she'd never sung solo in front of a crowd of strangers before either.
Her legs were shaking as she climbed the steps, trying to figure out how she'd gone from asking about how an open mic night worked to being told it was her turn. She wasn't even sure what she was going to sing as she adjusted the mic down...way down, to her level. "Ah..." The microphone echoed the sound and tossed it back at her. She jumped. Someone snickered. Someone else muttered about bitches who thought looks could get them anywhere. Terry's temper kicked back in and she cleared her throat with purpose. "Ahem."
She fixed her gaze on the mutterer, smirked slightly, opened her mouth and sang the first jazz song that came to mind, "Summertime. And the livin' is easy..." Her voice rolled out, silky, hot and seductive. All other sounds in the small club ceased. "Fish are jumpin'. And the cotton is high. Your daddy's rich." The pianist apparently decided to take pity on her and started playing the melody line, "And your mamma's good-lookin'. So hush, little baby, don't you cry."
The other musicians picked up the song and Terry grinned, just a little, letting her voice glide through the music. "One of these mornings you're going to rise up singin'. Then you'll spread your wings and you'll take to the sky, take to the sky." It was so easy, easier than she'd thought it would be. No powers, no tricks, just her voice and she had every eye on her, every ear tuned to her. Even as the music changed, Terry fell in love with the feeling and the passion of it could be heard in her voice.
Three songs later--and Terry's knowledge of jazz completely exhausted--she stepped off the stage again to a surge of applause. The club was fuller than it had been; people had come in off the street as she sang. The bartender handed her back her bag, she'd shucked it behind the counter when she'd been hustled up on stage--no worries that anything would be taken, her cell phone and wallet were in her pockets. "Thank you."
"Same goes," the trim woman responded with a grin, "Can I get you something? On the house--just nice to have someone with talent show up to one of these things."
Terry hesitated then nodded, "Whiskey, on the rocks." She should have asked for something less hard probably, but she was feeling good and wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking a deep breath, she set her bag on a barstool and opened it just to be sure everything was still there.
"Chase, get this girl a drink!" Terry felt a hard clap on her shoulder and barely kept herself from reacting violently. Instead she just looked up at the manager who was beckoning at the bartender again. The woman just rolled her eyes and returned with Terry's drink. "Ah, ahead of me as always. Sit young lady, sit! We haven't met properly, Grant Colten." He pumped Terry's hand enthusiastically then pressed her drink into it. "You're not sitting. What's your name, girl? Those are some pipes; you must be new in town. Listen, you'll come back again. Friday, we got a spot for you."
Terry sat and took a sip of her whiskey to gain herself time to sort out that mess of information. "I'm Terry, um, Terry Cassidy. I just...I don't usually do this. Um, jazz. It's not my thing."
Grant waved that away like he hadn't even heard it. "Great, settled then. We'll see you Friday, Terry. Two sets, if you have music, get it to the band before Thursday." He was gone before Terry could do more than gape at him. She looked from him to the woman wiping off the bar, who gave her an amused look back.
"He's like that. You get used to it. You need me to call you a cab?" At Terry's slow shake of her head, Chase laughed and nodded, "Okay then. We'll see you Friday. You should show up at 6. You're on at 8."
Terry wondered what the hell they put in the whiskey here.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}