Playing the Game Read Free Page A

time
this ordeal was over.
    As I sat backstage with my co-competitors,
we received our instructions. I listened carefully although it
probably wasn’t necessary. My mother was there, after all, soaking
in every single word.
    And then Miguel, the head set guy, sprang
the news on us. I tried to keep my posture the exact same, not
wanting to clue my mother in the least how I absolutely loathed
this idea.
    “ This season, we will do
something new to promote the show. We are going to allow the
viewing audience a chance to vote for their favorite to sing the
National Anthem at the Indianapolis Racers game on Memorial Day. As
you are eliminated, your name will also be eliminated from this
contest, so whoever receives the most votes out of the survivors
will get to sing at the game.”
    He looked so proud of himself that I wanted
to take his clipboard and smack him upside the head. I scanned my
co-competitors again, praying for a sexy, busty blonde or a hot guy
– someone that would send the viewers into a lust-filled frenzy and
crash the server in their eagerness to vote. However, everyone
looked pretty normal. I amended my prayer and asked God for a very
talented make-up person instead. Not for me but for one of the
others.
    I could not step foot in that
stadium nor could I stand just feet away from the dugout and sing.
I’d die first. Or lose, which was worse in my mother’s
eyes.
    ***
    The show started the second week of May and
would eliminate two of the original twenty-five competitors each
week for ten weeks until the finals. The last five would compete
for a record deal.
    I have to say I did fairly well my first
time on television. I only threw up afterwards. Much later, on the
phone, my sister told me how green I looked and that they should
have used more make-up. I told her to…copulate with herself. That
only amused her further.
    My mother, naturally, chose my music –
Mariah Carey- and it definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice.
I am not extremely comfortable singing in that pitch. I prefer
something a little lower with a little more bite to it. Being the
good girl that I am, I went along and stepped out on the stage. As
my knees knocked into each other, I was afraid I’d fall and the
microphone would somehow get lodged up my nose.
    Surprisingly, I managed to avoid that sort
of incident. When the music started, I managed to only flatten two
notes but I chalked that up to nerves. I couldn’t get my feet to
move much as they were frozen to the floor as my terrorized eyes
watched the cameras follow my every breath. I was happy when I
finished and was allowed to flee backstage.
    The next day, I had to reappear for the
results show. It was rather annoying. They lined us up to face the
firing squad (judges) who picked apart our performances. Then, they
would choose five competitors and give them a chance to perform
again. The two that failed to impress were booted.
    When my name was called, I stepped forward
to receive my critique. First in the line was Stephen Cashmain,
lead singer for one of my favorite bands. He winked and I couldn’t
hold in my smile.
    “ I liked your selection,
Miss Aubrey,” he began in that raspy voice that I always had to
close my eyes when listening. Dangerous when driving, definitely.
“Mariah Carey is not the easiest. But you nailed it, sweetheart. I
say you move on.”
    My grin widened as I looked to sweet
Chelsea. “Oh I agree,” she gushed which was her fashion. “Your
voice is amazing! I can’t believe your range. I vote that you move
on.”
    Yay, I thought. Next.
    Big D grinned. He looked dangerous but I
knew he was a softie. I watched the specials, remember? “Girl, not
only do you look good but you sound good. Keep on.”
    I thanked him and took a deep breath to face
Richard. He studied me, head cocked to the side. “I agree you have
the voice but you haven’t made any of the songs you’ve done for us
yours. I’ll move you on but you’re going to have to insert