Mysterious Teacher: Songbird (Mysterious Teacher #2)

Chapter 1

Sonya

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Something about going to a big Hollywood studio intimidated Sonya. Everything moved so fast. People rushed from one place to another. Golf carts whizzed by with glamorous starlets and handsome heartthrobs.

But while a bit intimidated, she was excited and filled with a promise that something major was about to change her life.

Having checked in at the gate where a young man told her where to leave of her vehicle and pointed her in the direction of The Muse auditions, Sonya made her way to soundstage 17.

The California sun was hot, and she regretted the full skirt, thick linen shirt and wool jacket, fashionable for 1955. Once inside the air-conditioned facilities, surely, she would appreciate her wardrobe choice, she thought.

But she opened the door with a big 17 on it and was smacked with a puff of even warmer air.

She had no choice. She had to shrug off that wool jacket.

Using her palms, she tried to flatten out as best she could the crinkles on her linen shirt, passed a quick hand through her straight, black bob and headed down the hall.

To her surprise, a long line of women filled the dozen or so chairs and more stood, waiting for their turn to wow the producers with their talent.

She quietly brought her headshot and very brief resumé to the secretary seated at the far corner of the small room.

“Are they all here for The Muse auditions.”

“That’s right, dear,” the secretary said between pops of her gum. She glanced briefly at the resumé. “You haven’t done much now have you.”

Sonya shrugged. “I sang at a few lounges mostly, but I came to audition as a back-up singer.”

The secretary glanced at her, scrutinized her face. “You Japanese?” she said, her voice harsh. “With what just happened in Pearl Harbor, there isn’t much...”

Sonya bristled at the harshness of the woman’s words. “For one thing, Pearl Harbor was hit well over ten years ago. Secondly, that you would still wish to hold Japanese Americans accountable for what happened is simply unjust.”

The secretary stared at her, clearly unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner.

“And thirdly, I am not Japanese. I am Chinese. But most of all, I’m American. I came over legally, received my documents, and just became a Bonafide proud American citizen this year.”

“Well, then, sorry about what I said earlier,” the secretary muttered. “My fiancé was killed during the War.” She looked sad all of a sudden as she gestured toward the end of the long line. “War is horrible,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” Sonya said to the secretary. “War is horrible,” Sonya said as she took her place behind the last girl.

Girls were called in every few minutes. Every once in a while, a loud screech passed through the door as a girl tried to go beyond her singing ability.

As the line in front of her shortened and she was close to getting a seat, the line behind her grew. Her feet hurt, sweat trickled down her back and her arm was itchy from cradling her wool jacket.

“Sorry, I’m so late. Sorry I’m so late,” a young woman called out as she ran to the secretary and plopped down her headshot. “It is really wild out there. I don’t know how you people find your way around here.”

The secretary looked at the lone photo. “No resumé?”

The young woman clasped her hands together. “Nope. This is my very first try. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Sure,” the secretary droned. She looked up in the young Asian woman’s face, shot a quick glance at Sonya and said nothing.

“I go wait in line?”

“That’s right.”

As the young woman turned to head up the line, she looked at Sonya and came right up to her. “Oh, my God. I’m so glad you made it.”

Sonya frowned. Do I know this girl? she wondered.

“I know I don’t have a lot of experience, but I really want this role.”

She came up close, clearly aiming to cut in the line. “Ni lai zheli duodiu le?” The girl said in Mandarin.

Refusing to communicate in Mandarin, Sonya said, “I’ve been here for about an hour. Why?”

The young woman looked at the few women in front of them and back to the end of the long line. “And you would say what... about a five-minute wait?”

“About that.” She looked closely at the young woman, and leaned in to quietly say, “Do we know each other?”

“Hey!” a tall redheaded called from the back of the line. “No cutting in. The end of the line is back here.”

“Yeah,” another joined in.

“I’m Yolanda Yee,” the young woman whispered to Sonya before addressing the redhead with, “My sister was holding my place for me.”

“I...” Sonya began.

“Please, help me out,” Yolanda whispered.

Sonya didn’t like it but glanced back at the line. “Yeah. My little sister asked me to hold a place for her.”

“Still,” the redhead shot back. “It ain’t my problem if she can’t get here on time.”

Yolanda ignored her and concentrated on Sonya. “Is this your first audition?”

“You could say that.”

Two more women were called in.

“Oh, it’s so close I can taste it,” Yolanda said.

Then one more, and another and Sonya was finally next in line. Yolanda might have cut in front of the women behind her, but she was not going to go in before Sonya.

The door opened, and the older woman with a clipboard, the same one who’d been coming to the door calling names for the past hour, poked her head in. Sonya held her breath.

“Miss Sonya Song.”

“That would be me,” Sonya said, marching to the door.

“Yeah, little sister!” the redhead called from the back. “You can cut in all you like. We’re called in by name.”

Sonya ignored the drama and entered the large room. Her shoulders back, her chin high, she walked with the elegance and grace of a woman who knew her worth. There was no arrogance or inflated ego, just the quiet confidence in her ability.

Three people, two men and a woman, sat facing a lone piano and an empty space just waiting for Sonya.

The woman looked at the photo and resumé in front of her. “Sonya, right.”

“That’s right.”

The young man seated beside her smiled, his eyes kind and his smile genuine. His sandy blond hair curled around his ears and framed his face in a pleasant manner.

“Nice to meet you,” Sonya said with a nod.

“And I’m Brian Benjamin,” he said, his voice as warm as his smile.

Her eyes narrowed as she remembered hearing the name somewhere. Then it came to her. “You’re the composer for The Muse.”

His smile widened. “Guilty, or at least partially. I’ve composed much of the music and a few of the songs to be sung by the lead character.”

Sonya nodded.

“This main character is a beautiful songbird who sits outside the window of a grand castle, singing for the almighty powerful king and his lovely wife.”

Sonya nodded. “I understand.”

“This songbird is not shrill. It does not screech. It does not cry. It does not bellow. This songbird is strong but feminine. This songbird is intelligent but sweet. We’re not looking for a childish voice nor that of someone who is... let’s say... too innocent.”

“I think I know what you’re looking for.”

“Good. So, what song would you like to perform for us today?”

“Qin’ai de,” Sonya said.

Brian frowned. “I don’t believe I know that one.” He looked to the pianist. “You?”

The older man at the piano shook his head.

“If I may,” Sonya said, “I would like to try it on my own.”

“Acapella?” Brian said.

“If that’s okay with you.”

“Certainly.”

The man and woman on either side of him nodded, intrigued.

Sonya stood still and looked down to the floor, down at her shoes.

She grounded herself, then dug in. The first long and haunting note seeped from her lips, operatic in nature.

In mandarin, she sang of her great love, and of her heartbreaking loss.

She sang of the soaring highs in her life and of the horrifying lows.

She’d long ago lost those she loved. She’d lost the land she’d called home.

But after the loss, after the heartache, she had once again found happiness.

.. the happiness that comes with being free.

Her eyes filled with tears as she reached the bridge that had her delving deeper still into her emotions. She closed her eyes, her mind going back to a time long ago... a lifetime ago.

When she opened her eyes to look at the trio in front of her, she found them gaping. Annabelle reached for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

With a barely audible whisper, Sonya sang the last heartfelt words. Bowing, she then clasped her hands behind her back and awaited their comments.

“I have no idea what you just sang about,” the woman said. “I didn’t understand a single word... but I felt it. I felt it all. Your way of emoting is incredible.”

Brian stood and quietly clapped. “I have to agree. Every note, every intonation, every whisper. Shivers ran down my back as you hit that sweet high C, then tears filled my eyes when you growled through that aching bridge.”

“And I agree with my cohorts,” Jack said. “Rarely have I been moved as you’ve moved me, and all that without understanding a word. That is the genius of a true artist, a truly talented singer.”

“I am humbled by your praise.” She turned to head to the door.

Annabelle stood and quickly came to her. “Not through that door, dear,” she said. She turned to another door and opened it. “You can wait here.”

Confused, Sonya entered the room, surprised to find herself alone.

The room was nicely furnished; a soft red velvet sofa, two violet velvet armchairs, a piano and a table that was set up against the wall.

A coffee machine awaited a mug and the press of a button to brew fresh hot coffee while small sandwiches and a variety of pastries were set up on various platters.

Sonya looked at the offerings, but nothing tempted her.

As confident as she was in her ability, and encouraged by the high praise she’d received, she was still nervous about the ultimate outcome of this audition, after all, there were still many to follow her.

Perhaps one would be even more talented than she was.

Through the door, she heard the potential talents all vying for the few cherished parts in this new musical. Finally, after almost an hour, the door opened and Brian stepped in, accompanied by Jack and Annabelle.

Sonya jumped to her feet.

“You didn’t even make yourself a cup of coffee,” he said. “No tea?”

She shook her head. “I’m already on edge as it is.”

He chuckled. “Well, I have no idea why. We told you how much we loved your audition.”

She shrugged. “You never know. There’s a lot of talent out there.”

He chuckled again. “Not as much as you’d think. Anyway, I’ll stop dawdling and tell you... you’ve got the part.”

Sonya smiled. “Oh. I’m so pleased. But, which part.”

He laughed. “Why, Ms. Song, the lead role, of course.

Shocked, she stared at him. “What?” she whispered.

“You heard me right. You are the Songbird we’ve been looking for.”

Sonya covered her mouth with both hands, unable to contain her excitement.

“That song,” Annabelle said. “I’m familiar with many Asian operas. I’ve never heard the song you sang for us. Where is it from?”

“Indeed,” Brian said. “I’m intrigued as well. It was such the perfect song for such an audition.”

Sonya thought of that period in her life when she’d begun to hum the now familiar tune. The words came easily enough, filling the song with every imaginable emotion. And while the melody had evolved over time, it was basically the same as when she’d first hummed it.

“I wrote it,” she finally said.

Brian’s jaw dropped. “Well, put me to shame,” he let out with a laugh. “And here I am boasting that I’ve composed much of the music for this musical and here you are, a talented composer.”

If only he knew how much time she had to ponder on every word, every note.

She dared not tell them of a time when she’d been imprisoned.

Could they understand that she’d once been an Empress?

The Last Empress, who had wasted away in a prison thrown in by the Communist guerillas?

Would they take her on if they knew that her beloved country had been overtaken by communist guerillas?

No. Best to keep that to herself.

“I am more than impressed, Ms. Song.... So incredibly aptly named.”

She wanted to let them know how she also knew how to play the piano. She wished she could talk to them about the beautiful poetry she enjoyed writing, something she’d learned from the very best while Empress.

Annabelle came forward and took her hand. “Congratulations. After all the women we listened to today, we were beginning to lose hope.”

“In addition to your powerful voice,” Brian said, “you bring a much-needed sense of nobility to the part, something most of the women here today lacked.”

“I am unbelievably flattered.”

“And when he says nobility,” Annabelle added. “There’s a quiet strength about you. There’s wisdom in your eyes, and just enough vulnerability.”

A bald man with round glasses and an equally round belly walked in. “Ah, and here she is. You’re the beautiful songbird who goes by the name Song, right?”

Sonya nodded. She hadn’t noticed him in the room as she’d auditioned.

“This is Karl Zwick,” Brian said. “He’s the producer of The Muse.”

Annabelle leaned in closer and whispered. “He likes to hide up in the private booth to watch the auditions. Makes him feel like God.”

“I heard that,” Karl said with a laugh. “I must say, Ms. Song, your decision to sing in Mandarin is very much on the nose.”

“I’m sorry? What does that mean?”

A small woman who’d walked in behind the big man came out from the shadows. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving her a rather stern appearance. “I’m Betty,” she said through pursed lips.

“Betty is the writer and director of this little project,” Annabelle said.

Sonya cocked an impressed brow. Not many women held such positions. Even after the war, after women had proved their abilities, women were still undervalued. But this was America. This was far from the old country she knew, and its old ways.

As an Empress, such work was unthinkable.

“Now that we have that settled, let’s get the paperwork out of the way then we’ll sit down to look at the various songs you are to sing.

” Betty smiled. “You really are quite attractive, aren’t you.

Not so much that you threaten women, but definitely enough to attract any man’s eye.

Perfect. And with that voice... perfect.

And with the name Song... well, we can’t go wrong. ”