Chrysalis Part 3-Chapter 5
This story is about a young man's quest to fix a major birth defect--he was born without a penis. On his quest he meets challenges, his soul mate and many other soon to be friends.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person is coincidental.
The story depicts procedures and practices common for gender reassignment; however, this story does not claim to be a medical treatise, and information is primarily for the purpose of the story and not medical advice. This story is written for adults with adult themes. If you are underage or live in a location where references to gay relationships or transgender people is forbidden, please log out of the story or move.
This work is copyrighted by Boethiuscell@gmail.com © 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the copyright owned to the extent permitted by law.
Please contribute to Nifty. They do a great job of providing stories that please the senses, titillate the mind, and expand our view of the world.
Chapter 5--The Coyote's Howl
The flight to L.A. did not arrive until after 1:00 AM because of severe storms in the Midwest. The flight was turbulent with "fasten seatbelt" signs constantly red and fear-of-god lightning fencing in the plane. Tom was waiting for Chris at baggage. Chris fell into him, too tired to stand, too happy to burrow into Tom's chest. Jacob was out front with the car. Chris made it into the backseat and fell asleep. The drive from the airport to the hotel was less than 20 minutes. Chris mumbled something about penguins as Tom carried him into the bedroom, gently stripped him and tucked him into bed.
Chris was more alert by the 10:00 o'clock meeting with Petre. By noon they had the keys, and were at Dreamweavers. Natalie gave Chris a quick kiss on the cheek before listing all that needed to be accomplished before tonight's recording. She had sent a crew out earlier to set up the location with lights, sound equipment, and a piano, which caused the most grips. Jacob would be driving a van, with refreshments, changes of clothes, and Nat, Tom, Chris and Cecelie, who was nervous and subdued one minute and frantic the next. Her mood swings were the music for the four-hour trip to Death Valley. At one point Chris tried to change the pattern by singing and encouraging Cecelie to join--to warm up her voice. That lasted 30 minutes. Chris shut her out by sleeping. Chris woke as the van left the paved road for a gravel road, which meandered through a narrow valley until opening up to the most desolate land Chris had ever seen, but it was not colorless. Shades of greys, taupe, umber, sienna, and ochre melded on the parched landscape, like a plate of dried oatmeal. The severity was breathtakingly beautiful. Jacob pulled to the side of the road, next to three other vans and a park ranger truck. It was late afternoon and deep shadows cut the Playa. Chris's father had taken him camping in northern Wisconsin in late October. Chris remembered sitting in front of the fire: his chest burning and his back freezing. Here was land so caught between the two extremes. It was how he often felt about himself, his duality of body and soul.
"All out," Natalie yelled. She bounded out of the van and to the park ranger. "Now we walk. The park ranger led them across the crusted and cracked sand. Chris passed a sailing stone slowly sliding to its destiny. Another metaphor, thought Chris, the whole place is a metaphor. But Chris did not have time to sit and contemplate the secrets of the sailing stones. The upright piano drew his attention. It was a deep glossy ebony that made it look like a volcanic rock rising from the cracked earth. He ran a rapid arpeggio across the keys. The C two octaves above middle C was slightly sharp. There was little he could do about it; it would barely be noticed. They did sound checks, lighting checks, and waited until almost dark, which was late in early August. Natalie had brought a catered supper with a wide variety of beverages and food. The professional way the shoot was going, Chris knew that Nat had done this before.
About an hour before sunset, Cecelie and Chris were told to change so that wardrobe, hair and makeup could be finalized. Then a dress rehearsal. Technically, it was fine. But Chris's gut told him it was missing emotions. It was not the same as they did at Tom's parent's house. He sat with Cecelie, holding her hand, and talking about music, what it means to her, what it means to the people that listen. The chat helped but did not release her tension. "Come," Chris grabbed Cecelie's hand and dragged her to the piano. "Let's loosen up." Chris did not play the music for the video, he chose a light airy piece from the King and I, "Shall we Dance".
Cecelie, grinned, "I used to sing this with my mother. She loved the movie version. I think she had the hots for Yul Brenner." Her voice echoed with glee across the Racetrack Playa to echo faintly back from the nearby mountains. For the next thirty minutes they did show tones, including "Music of the Night". Her vocal range was amazing. He wanted to hear more, but Natalie, much to the disappointment of the crew, said it was time.
In the depth of night, with only the stars, the puddle of light around the work group was the last survivor of civilization. Seated on the piano bench at the edge of the light, Chris was the observer of humanity, he was their witness. Chris started the introduction to the song, sad and melancholic. Cecelie's voice entered, at first hesitant to join, then quickly stronger, as she vocalized to Chris's now improvisation. The melody returned and Cecelie sang. The music, the words tore across the dark desert and a millisecond later echoed back. The three were one, feeding off each other like lovers dancing. The song ended in a whisper of a lover lost but hope for tomorrow. Chris improvised a short cadenza ending in the C two octaves above middle C. The off note was fading away when a coyote howled in the far distant, melancholic and alone.
For the heartbeat of an angel nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing broke the silence. Natalie finally said, "Cut." The world moved again. "Wow, I don't think another take is necessary. If this does not win you a Grammy, all the members are deaf." People moved quickly to pack the recordings, move the piano to a truck, and finally douse the lights, leaving only flashlights and lanterns moving like fireflies in the eternal dark. Natalie told Chris and Cecelie that they could leave while the rest finished packing up. But Chris insisted on staying to help, so everybody could be home at a reasonable hour. Chris became part of the crew, one of them, part of the brotherhood.
In the van home, Cecelie could not sleep, neither could Chris. The recording session was still vibrating through them. "This recording will make you a star," Chris said as he stroked Cecelie's hand. "You have an amazing voice, a gift with lyrics, and a knack for writing songs. It was a pleasure to accompany you tonight."
Cecelie stared at Chris for so long that he twitched. "I don't know what happened tonight but it was magic. I have never sung like that. I've always been more pop or country. But tonight was not either. I studied at Julliard for four years, classically trained, but never liked opera, too distant from life. Tonight, I felt all that training being challenged and forced into a song I wrote about a man who left me, thankfully. All the passion and range of opera was transmuted into something I am proud of, something that is me. Thank you Chris for helping me find it." She leaned over and kissed Chris on the cheek. "Thank you for bringing the best out of me." Tom chuckled to himself.
It was 2:30 by the time they tossed themselves into bed. "Chris, you take my breath away. You are layers upon layers of talent. You humble me that you love me."
"Shut up and go to sleep." Tom did not need to be told twice.
At eleven they met Natalie and Cecelie at Tom's parents' home to review the recording with a sound and video editors. Max, the sound editor, was overall pleased with the raw recording. He adjusted the volume of the vocal and piano tracks, to enhance the lyrics and then feature the piano. The video editor had more fun. Bruno first adjusted the overall lighting to create moonlight, from a moon thrice the size of normal with a third hidden behind the mountains. The whole desert was softly illuminated. The cracked deadpan glowed, illuminating Cecelie. Chris, he faded to a grey whisper of a ghost playing on an imaginary piano. He matted out the piano. Chris looked demented and lost in the music. Five hours later they were satisfied with the rough draft. Bruno handed Natalie, Cecelie, Tom and Chris a DVD to review for comments, errors, and enjoyment. Both Bruno and Max thanked Cecelie for the privilege of doing her first music video. They both proclaimed her the new music sensation and looked forward to the final album.
Tom's dad let Tom drive his Bugatti to the Powells'. They arrived at the gate and were met by a security guard, who checked ID, and waved them through to the long tree lined driveway ending in a courtyard in front of a massive Tudor style house. Chris thought Quent and Anda's house was a mansion, this was a palace. Chris took a deep breath as a valet opened Chris' door. "Welcome sir, if you could wait by the door, Mark will escort you to the terrace for cocktails."
Tom walked around to join Chris and handed the keys to the valet. Tom looked classically elegant in his black tuxedo, deep green cumber bun and matching bowtie. The cufflink and shirt studs were emeralds. "You are breathtaking," Chris murmured into Tom's ear, "far too fine to be seen with me."
"I know the ploy, complement me and disparage yourself, so I feel obligated to compliment you back."
"Caught me." Chris chuckled, his eyes dancing on the love of his life.
"You look fine. Don't want you showing me up." Tom, however, rolled his eyes because Chris would dazzle everyone in his forest green water silk tuxedo, the coat cut long to just above the knees with a slit up to the small of the back. The shirt was the same shade of green as the coat, with a patterned silk scarf instead of a bow tie. The black gloves and pendant diamond broach on the coat's lapel, and the diamond cufflinks offered the only contrast. Tracey, Linc, and Bette had more fun dressing Chris and styling his hair, which they spiked with hints of green.
Mark introduced himself, giving both of them a more than courteous appraisal, and led them to the terrace, which had a stunning view of L.A. and the Pacific Ocean. The terrace had about 15 people in formal wear enjoying conversation, cocktails and nibbles. Heads turned as Chris and Tom were announced. It was not the look of condescension, if Chris and Tom were invited by the Powells, they were de facto part of the cliché; no, the look was curiosity. The average age of the crowd was late fifties. Tom and Chris were barely 20. What special talent or wealth or connections would someone this young have that might be of interest? Were they the entertainment? Chris looked at Tom not sure if they should make a graceful but hasty exit. Tom held a better front, but wondered the same.
"Chris, so glad you could make it to night." Helena gracefully walked toward them. "I was so afraid that you would be unable to make it." She kissed Chris, cheek to cheek. "You are a hard person to track down, but it was so worth the effort." She looked Chris from head to toe. "You look absolutely regal." She leaned in to whisper in his ear. "So glad you didn't do the boring black." She looked at Tom, in black. "unless you are a stud."
"Helena," Chris pulled her back from appraising Tom's physic, "This is Tom Greenwood, my fiancé."
"Oh, that is so wonderful, congratulations. Tom?" She looked at Tom's face. "Chris said Greenwood, any relationship to Quenton and Amanda?"
"Yes, Mrs. Powell..."
"Tush that Mrs. call me Helena," and then soto voce, "Hell. I do have my reputation."
"I am honored by the privilege of using your first name."
"Is he always such a fuddy duddy?" Helana asked Chris.
"Yes," Chris said with an eye roll.
"Helena, to answer your question, they are my parents." Said with a gracious smile
"That is marvelous. They are both such talented people and nice, which is rare in these hills."
"I agree Helena. I only met them this week and they have opened their arms to me." Chris picked up the conversation.
"I need to introduce you to a few friends, and then we will chat about your stay in this den of iniquity and how the music video went." She introduced them to a score of people, more people arrived while talking to Helena. A handful of the names he recognized, but Tom knew of them and made appropriate comments that were meant to flatter. This was a skill Chris would need to learn. The last small group, sitting off to the side, looking bored, were Helena's sons: Conner, Cryspin, and Claret.
A judgmental scowl was on the face of Conner "You are the impressive Chris from the airplane" He sat back down and nibbled on a bruschetta.
"Like the threads," said Cryspin. "You need to give me the name of your tailor." Cryspin's handshake was more genuine than Conners. "How did Helena con you into attending." A waiter approached with a tray of champagne, followed by three more wait staff with nibbles, Helena snickered, "The waiters are checking out Tom's ass." Chris stifled a grin.
"Hi, I'm Claret, like the wine. I like to think I make men drunk with lust." Conner groaned, while Cryspin just shook his head. Obviously the siblings were tolerant of Claret being gay, but did not like it announced. "You and Tom are engaged. Saw the hug you gave him at LAX, so not surprised."
"Tom actually proposed this week while we were at his parents."
"How long have you known each other."
Tom looked at Chris, his eyes the color of lilacs. "About five months."
"Damn you move fast."
"Needed to before anyone else realizes what a treasure he is." Cryspin stuck a finger down his throat to fake gag, but Chris knew he was jealous.
Claret looked Chris over, judging if Tom's statement was true. "You are from New York." Chris nodded. "You look like someone on a crappy quality video that has been circulating. Jazzabel?"
"C'est moi," Chris blushed. "Jazzabel for some reason insisted that we play together." Chris suddenly realized how that sounded. "I mean onstage..." Not better. "playing the piano and singing long forgotten songs." Tom, Cryspin, and Claret chuckled at Chris's discomfort. "I met him, drag is only for the stage, at a party. He invited us to his club, where he announced to everyone that I just turned 21. He invited me up on stage to play a little ditty, because he heard that I could play. It turned into a competition like stump the band. I've been back several times. It is always gas."
"The video was not rehearsed. It was live?" Connor had joined the conversation.
"Yes, and scary as hell." From the look Connor was reappraising the value of Chris.
"Are you in L.A. to do a recording or break into movies?" Connor asked.
"Tom and I work for Dreamweavers, a modeling and now talent agency since they have acquired Rising Star. I came out here to do a music video, backup and background. With Dreamweavers opening in L.A., I have been assisting with talent evaluations. And we will be moving here in the next few weeks."
"Who is the artist and is the video done?" Connor was definitely interested. He was the oldest and had the most to prove. He wanted to build his own name, however, and was seeking out new talent to feature.
"Cecelie and I finished the video very early this morning. It is in the hands of the editors for visuals and sound."
"Never heard of her." Connor was pulling back again.
"You will."
"Dinner will be served in ten minutes, please repair to the dining room. Please look for your name card for seating." Claret ran off toward the dining room.
In the dining room everybody was milling about looking for their places. Chris spotted Claret changing name cards and sitting to claim the chair. Chris found his seat next to Helena, who sat at the end, and Claret on his right. Across the table was Malvia Strickland, who had arrived after the introductions, and a buxomy blond who was barely 22. Her name was Bubbles, really Bubbles. Chris and Malvia exchanged eye rolls. Tom, by design, was at the other end of the table sitting to the left of Mr. Powell, Bill, who sat at the head of that end of the table. He and Tom seemed to be having a good conversation.
The meal was excellent, not as good as Louis's for Chris's open house, the service was impeccable with ten wait staff serving and then retrieving empty plates, filling water and wine glasses, which changed with each course. The conversation between Chris, Helena, and Malvia was brisk, witty, and perceptive. Bubbles giggled. When Chris mentioned that he had just bought a house and where, Helena said that she needed to introduce him to Dorthea and Victor Glossier. They owned the home until they moved into a condo with less maintenance. It was the same condo that Candy Spelling purchased the two top floors, her "Manor in the Sky". She laughed at the name.
Claret mostly listened as rapt in idolizing Chris as Bubbles was Malvia. It made Chris uncomfortable but he noticed Malvia's resigned shrug. Claret asked questions about New York, about his job, about what he was going to do in L.A., about Tom, about his family, which Chris deftly sidestepped. It did not go unnoticed by Helena. Claret asked if he was recording an album. That he had heard that a pirated performance of him at the piano was circulating. Chris explained the recording Quent did. Claret wanted a copy. A look from Helena, silenced Claret.
Chris liked the man. Although he was older than Chris, he was more immature and clueless about his future. Claret had nothing interesting to say until Chris mentioned social media. Claret blossomed with thoughtful comments on current trends, the latest forums. He mentioned that he just finished his degree in media communication but no jobs interested him. They were all boring and did not offer much creativity.
Chris liked the animated Claret and was blown away by his knowledge. "Claret, stop by Dreamweavers and talk to Natalie Wong. Dreamweavers is looking for someone to manage the social media portion of the company."
"Will you be there?"
"No, I won't be back in L.A. until the end of the month. But Nat will be very interested in talking to you. I don't make hiring decisions, but my opinion is listened to."
"I'll be there Monday morning with a portfolio."
Helena pulled Chris close so that she could whisper in his ear. "You don't need to offer my son a job because of me." Chris looked at her and frowned.
"Claret, I want you to understand that this is an interview. You must present yourself. You will not be judged by your family or their influence. You earn this job by your own merits." Malvia chuckled into her wine.
"That is the way I want it, Chris. I have had several job offers, but they were mostly to gain access to my father. I want to succeed on my own. I am fed up by always being referred to as Bill Powell's son. I am Claret." The last he said with force then added softer "I am Claret."
"I would never mistake you for your father. I strongly believe in being yourself, even if the road is hard." Claret was the baby in the family, his oldest brother was heir apparent, the second oldest was starting a promising career in academia. How could Claret compete? How could he shine as himself? "Claret, you are feeling inadequate when surrounded by high achievers. But there is nothing wrong with you not being them. There is nothing wrong in struggling to find out who you are. What is wrong is not finding out who you are. That takes courage and honesty. And the ability to laugh at yourself when you act stupid." Helena reached over and squeezed Chris's wrist; she was smiling.
"I hear you Chris. But it is tough when people talk down to you."
"Do you think they might talk down to you because you see yourself as below them?" Chris's comment smacked Claret in the face. "It is not easy to be confident, believe me I know, but you can fake it."
"I fake it all the time," Malvia added in support. "Each role I play, I worry if I will be good enough, find the soul of the character, will fall flat on my face. Which I have done several times. But I get up, sing a silly song, and move on, faking all the confidence in the world. People see my confidence and believe in me."
"That is why I admire you, Chris." Claret's eyes were bright and animated. "You are the type of man I want to be."
Chris laughed at the irony of that. "No, you do not want to be me. I am still very actively working on becoming the man I want to be. You are not me. Be you, be who you want to be."
"Sir, would you like coffee?" An attractive waiter, interposed his head between Chris and Claret. Both Chris and Claret said yes.
"This conversation was way too heavy," Claret laughed as he took a bit of dessert. "but thank you for the advice and the chance for a job." Claret took another bit of dessert. "Chris, I've heard you perform on a shitty tape from Jazzabel's, would you play for us. I would love to hear you."
"Claret, Chris is a guest," Helena interrupted sternly, "We do not ask guests to perform for their supper."
"Yes, Mom," Claret was crestfallen. "but ... You are right Mom." Claret slouched in his seat.
Chris turned to Helena. "Do you have a piano away from your guests. I do not want to disappoint Claret, and I don't mind. But after I finish my coffee and the meal is over."
After fifteen minutes, Bill Powell, stood. "Thank you for gracing our table tonight. After dinner beverages, booze, or more coffee for the designated drivers, will be on the patio, since the night is temperate and clear."
Outside, Los Angeles was a field of stars that blotted out most of the night stars. Tom found Chris as he was ordering a port from a wait staff. "Did you survive?"
"He did not survive, he conquered," Malvia said as she joined them, and then Helena and Claret added to the party.
"Chris, you said you would play for me? Can we do it now?"
"Show me to the ivory and I will tinkle it light fantastic." Chris said as he took Claret's arm.
The trek to the music room was an obstacle course of stairs, hallways, suits of armor, frozen lads and lassies of marble, ending in a door, of puti playing musical instruments. Like opening the door to a shrine, silence prevailed. A light switched on, plush chairs were scattered about, guitars like soldiers lined the wall, a harp was centered in front of a window with a harpsichord on the left and a piano on the right.
"Nice," Chris said as he walked over to the C. Bechstein piano. Helena, Malvia, and Claret rolled chairs over while Chris waggled his fingers. He looked out the window and played and sang "California Stars" by Woody Guthrie. Without pause, he moved to a Chopin polonaise.
"I told you he was good," Claret said to Helena.
Chris looked at Malvia and started ABBA. She almost tripped running up to the piano to sing "The Winner Takes It All." Then she started on "Honey, Honey", Chris quickly picked up the melody on the piano. Once done both were laughing. Claret joined them with a decent tenor voice. Helena asked if Chris knew "If I Fell" by the Beatles. Chris waited while Claret pulled off the wall an acoustic guitar. Together they sang a duet to each other.
"Careful there. He's my man." Tom, who had just entered with Bill Powell, scowled at Claret and laughed. "Can't keep him away from a piano. But then he is good with it. And the number of songs he knows is encyclopedic. He and Jazzabel are always trying to stump each other. Neither has won yet." Chris was grinning at Tom like he was a chocolate sundae. "Don't stop because of me."
"Please continue Chris." Bill Powell pulled a chair next to his wife. A few other people from the party had also followed and found chairs. One pulled a drum set from a corner and joined Chris, Claret, and Malvia.
"Requests?" Chris asked. For the next hour they filled requests. Some of the requests only Chris knew like "Am I a Toy or a Treasure". Some Malvia sang along, or played a tambourine. Some Claret and Chris only did.
By midnight Chris was waning and most of the guests had left. "Thank you Chris," Claret said, "you made this party fun."
"Yes, thanks Chris, but the next time you are over, I want you to enjoy yourself and not entertain."
"But this is my enjoyment. Seeing people happy feeds my soul. I have seen the darker side of life. I want joy whenever I can for how fleeting as it might be. So, thank you for sharing your joy, and this exquisite piano."
"I need to get my man home. He has not had much sleep over the last few days--workaholic. And he is leaving my side for two weeks to work. I need our time."
Chris said his thanks and had Claret promise to show up Monday to meet with Natalie Wong. Tom gave Claret a business card.
Helena walked Chris out to the car, which the valet had pulled up to the door. "Thank you Chris for helping my son, Claret. He was the one I always worried about. I see hope for him now. You are a good man. I am glad I met you on the airplane. We will be seeing more of each other."
Chris dragged himself into the seat of the car and was asleep before they left the driveway.