Hidden Talent

((OOC: The position for the professor has been filled, thank you to all of you who messaged me with your interest.))


Classes had long since let out, and the small two person team contracted to clean the three buildings that made up the New Salem University of Performing arts had been hard at work for over two hours. No one else haunted these hallways after school hours, leaving the two "janitors" in relative silence. Brooke started in the eastern building, and her father Mathew in the western, and they met in the middle by the end of the night, cleaning up the large sprawling auditoriums and kitchens together. All in all, they were usually working from 3 to 11 pm, the first few hours in the wing buildings so as to not disturb practices that may be happening in the center building.

Mathew owned his own janitorial company, but times had been hard and money uneven until the university opened two years ago. With it came prestigious professors and other professionals in the world of acting, singing, dancing, and various other types of performance. The large names and lovely campus facilities attracted students by the thousands, but only the elite few got in... those with not only the money, but the talent as well, giving the school a total of 6 thousand students per year.

It was roughly 5 pm, and Brooke was working on her building with her usual concentration. She was just out of high school, and attending one of the local community colleges, as it was all that her family could afford, even with student loans. Her mop dipped into it's bucket once more, sloshing water over the side and onto the floor, which she began to move the rag-head over, a soft hum leaving her as she did so.

Once upon a time, she'd dreamed of walking these halls as a student, but since graduating high school, she'd come to realize that dream was as far away as China, and there was no point on dwelling on a fool's hope. So instead she simply contented herself with cleaning them, keeping them in the condition she would want them to be in if she were a student here herself. By day a student, by night a janitor... no one who met her these days would dream that she'd once had her own hopes of being a singer.

Even as the mop moved rhythmically over the floors, her head moved slightly along with the music playing into her ears from the tiny ear buds plugged into her mp3 player. Her mouth opened, and without really realizing she was doing it, she was singing along. Her voice was perfect on pitch, singing an octave higher than the singer only because the singer was male and her range didn't go that low. She practically danced with the mop, singing aloud, her voice echoing off the walls of what she thought were empty halls, a voice that could make angels weep with envy.

Her hair was tucked up under her hat, only a few strands falling around her face, which at first glance would seem rather unremarkable with it's smudges from the dirt she managed to collect on her hands and clothes while cleaning. A pair of striking blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of black framed glasses, the mark of her farsighted vision. Her body was mostly hidden by her large, over sized jumpsuit she had to wear over her clothes, all in all she didn't make for an appealing figure, and one might almost think her voice was a recording, when looking at her... how could something so remarkable come out of such a plain girl?

Stanford


Dr. Stanford Miller, associate professor of music and instructor for applied voice, vocal pedagogy, and language of diction gazed blankly out the window on this cold snowy day in February, as he tried to think of a way to get through this mess.

He was working on a highly original multi-media lecture-recital that he called "Claude Debussy: Painter of Music". It includes a piano performance of Debussy's Préludes, Première Livre and incorporated a variety of visual art and song. Historically-based, images of art masterpieces by Monet, Degas, Turner, Van Gogh, Whistler, Toulouse-Lautrec, and O’Keeffe interact with the changing colors and lyrics of the music, creating a new type of performance art.

If all went as planned, the performances would start in August, giving him plenty of time to work with the pianists and singer. Things were not, however, going as planned. It is not as if there was a lack of candidates for the female mezzo soprano role. He had his pick of the students, yet he just could not find the right one. Their voices while technically perfect, did not produce the sound he was looking for. He needed someone unafraid to take chances, to push themselves. These rich kids wanted from success more than they were willing to give to acheive it. Without this successful recital series, he would never gain tenure and he knew it. He wanted to be the youngest member of the New Salem University to ever be granted this honor.

Softly at first, then louder he heard a voice wafting in from the hallway. Who the devil could that be at this time of the evening? He listened halfheartedly at first, but then with increasing interest. The voice was unschooled, and not at all refined like his other students. Still it had a power, a richness that was undefineable. She sounded like a young k.d. lang to his trained ears. Unable to resist, Stanford went out in the hallway.

There, mop in hand was a young woman, facing away from him. Clearly unable to hear him because of her MP3 player, Stanford watched for several long minutes. That voice was even better now that he was close.

Excuse me young lady. I said EXCUSE ME

Startled, she spun around, surprised to see anyone here at this hour. She had the most beautiful cerulian eyes, that were in vivid contrast to the wisps of red hair that escaped from her hat.

Do you read music?

Yes... but why ...

Perfect. My name is Doctor Stanford Miller, I'm on the music faculty. I need your help for a few minutes. Come, follow me, don't be afraid, I'm always crazy, I'm safe for today at least.

Stanford spun around and walked back into his office, and sat down at the piano. He thrust a few pages at her.

This is a translation of the famous Edith Piaf song La Vie En Rose. Sing it the best that you can, I'll play. What is your name again? Ah, it doesn't matter, not with a voice like yours! What key is good for you?

Stanford stopped, and grinned.

Ready?

She'd been in the heart of singing My December by Josh Groban when he'd managed to yell over not only her mp3 player, but her own voice as well. So startled was she, she spun on her heel to face him, wide blue eyes staring at him through her rather thick glasses, the mop in her hand clattering to the ground. Truth be told, the little spin she did was delightfully graceful, even if the other actions accompanying it were not.

Her mouth had just opened to apologize for disturbing him, when he asked if she could read sheet music.

"Yes... but why...?" she managed to stutter out, still in a mild state of shock as he grabbed her hand and practically dragged her into one of the nearby rooms. She half-stumbled after him, and he let her go as he reached the piano, thrusting a small sheaf of papers at her.

Taking them, she pushed her glasses up higher on her nose and looked down at the music in front of her. He expected her to sing this? But why? She wasn't a student... Well... at least it was in English, she mused. If it had been the original, and in French, she'd have sounded like a fool.

He asked for her name, and just as she was ready to answer, he said it didn't matter, not with a voice like hers. A voice like hers? What was so remarkable about her voice? Wait... what had he asked? What key was good for her?

She looked down at the music and mused for a second, then finally sighed and threw caution to the wind. "Uh... I don't care... pick one,"she said, then mumbled to herself. "Its your song, after all..."

When he chose his key and began to play, she found the notes quite easily, hardly looking at the music in front of her except to make sure she had the lyrics right. They slid easily from her lips, and soon she was closing her eyes, singing along with him, her voice full of raw power, emotion, and a tone that anyone who relied too heavily on their training could never truly grasp.

"Hold me close and hold me fast... The magic spell you cast... This is la Vie en Rose. When you kiss me heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes I see la vie en rose."

She opened her eyes, and took him in as he played, her voice catching slightly, though she glanced at the music in front of her, making like she had simply forgotten the words momentarily, catching herself. "When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom..."

Stanford

She was the one. Not maybe, not probably, whoever she was she had that undefineable, you know it when you hear it "special quality". It touched his soul when she got lost in the music. He wanted to weep in joy. The left part of his brain suddenly kicked in and said that he was a fool. Who was she? Would she even want to be his student? Were her grades and test scores good enough to even get in? Stanford shook his head vigorously as if to drive those bad thoughts from his mind.

Left brain be damned! he was a professor of music, for God's sake, as right brained an occupation as there is. By all rights, he shouldn't even know what a left brain reference was, that was for geeks in psychology!

Stanford brushed his long hair away from his eyes. His thin muscular fingers clasped together, as he remained lost in thought. Then he realized that he was just staring at her, not saying a thing! Startled, he began to speak ...

That was beautiful, er... what did you say your name was?

Brooke ...

Thank you. Brooke it is. You have talent. Raw, unrefined, but real talent. I can bring out the best in you, add the confidence and diction that you need to make it in the music business. Yes, you heard me right you have that kind of promise. But that's all it is. You need to decide whether you want to walk these floors at night, mop in hand, or take a chance and be my student. Think about it overnight. If you choose to move forward fill out these admission forms, and drop them off in my office tomorrow. If you have questions for me then, I'll be happy to answer them. For now, that's all.

Waving his hand Stanford indicated that he was clearly done with Brooke for now. Numbly she scooped up the papers and walked toward the door. Maybe he had come on too strong, he hoped not.

He couldn't help but notice the round perfect shape of her ass as she left his office. Mmmm underneath that bulky top, Brooke had a nice body. Despite himself, he started to get hard. Great. That's all he needed. Silently, she left the room.

He had other problems. One in particular. Sara Girard, the dean of students was her name. He would have to go to the dean with this extraordinary request for a full ride scholarship and get her approval.

He heard Brooke's voice singing again in the hallway.

Strangely, he had a premonition that this would all work out.

It just had to!

His compliment to her singing left her blushing, and Brooke answered with her name in the softest, shyest of voices. She wasn't sure just how to handle all of this, but she didn't seem to have a choice for the moment. Still befuddled after being dragged away from her mop and bucket, she went through him talking about about her having promise and her being a student there at the school in a haze.

He shoved another stack of papers at her, and she took them, looking at him wide eyed, shock written over her dirt smudged, glasses wearing face. Turning, she left the room in silence, moving more because her feet decided to, than her brain. Her brain was running a few minutes behind still, and though it kept catching up to her feet, it just seemed to continually get stuck on him.

His hands moving over the keys... his hair hanging around his face... That perfect, straight aristocrat's nose. Gods, but he was handsome... and talented to boot, to be a professor here! He was a slightly older, handsome, talented professor at one of the nation's most prestigious universities... and he had just asked her to be his student.

Still moving along in her haze, she put the admission forms aside on one of the tables in the hall, and picked up her mop once more. Again, her body moved for her as her eyes drifted closed and that song came back to her. She didn't need or even want to use her mp3 player. No... she'd memorized what it sounded like when he played that song.. so romantic, so perfect, so heavenly.

Humming along at first, she went back to mopping the floors, and then went back to singing. "Lalalala la la... la vie en rose...." she sang softly, lifting onto the balls of her feet as she danced around with the mop, moving it over the floors rhythmically.

She could hardly wait to get this work finished so she could run and tell her father the good news. Perhaps her dreams were really going to come true! Perhaps this Dr. Standford Miller would be the one to make it all happen!

(This thread has too much potential... I refuse to give up on it! Looking for someone to replace Darren. Please PM me if you're interested!)